When I look in the mirror, I sometimes feel like I’m becoming my mother, but when I look at my arms, it is also revealed that I am becoming my grandmother. By the time she passed away at age 96, any effort to assist her in rising or sitting up by grasping her lower arms could result in the skin actually tearing off in pieces like tissue paper, and although not quite at this stage, At 76, I have grown fragile. My skin has become translucent, showing off deep blue or purple bruises from below given birth to by slight bumps or scrapings against even smooth surfaces—the edge of a table or a door. Small beads of blood flow out from tears of skin caught in a cat’s claw or a dog’s questing paw, and the skin of my lower arms is dappled with these signs of affection left by even the most furtive advances of the smallest of my dogs.
At night, in bed, I am a highway for dogs jumping into bed to snuggle down for the night and likewise for the same dogs springing from the bed to investigate the slightest noise in the backyard or the street. One bound, using me as trampoline, propels them to the floor, and one more, in a flash, shoots them out the door. Any stray possum or other late night intruder into their domain not driven off by their initial loud growls and following barks is dealt with in a snap of the jaw. No furtive ingress into my nighttime garden goes unnoticed. Then, the intruders dealt with, back into bed they bound, usually landing on one arm or the other, leaving yet another mark of their affection. They are my protective angels, these small warriors of the night, but I fear they are loving me to pieces, as one glimpse of my arms will attest to.
The words for Sunday Whirl Wordle 627 are: caught pieces snap flash angel stray furtive dappled flow skin translucent blue

Your fur babies should be gentle with their love
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They err on the side of enthusiasm.
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That they do, just like human babies 🩷
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I see my skin is heading in that direction. Usually I find the bruises but can’t remember the source. My cats don’t sleep with me for the reasons you mention. How big is your bed? You need a king-sized one to hold your pack, or keep them out of your room at night. Sleep deprivation will take its toll over time.
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But they are so disappointed to be relegated to the doggie domain or terrace. And I inevitably graze my arms on furniture anyway. I’ve taken to putting makeup on my arms, they are so ugly. Actually I remember my mother doing the same, so perhaps I get my fragile skin from both sides.
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I’m sure you know that dogs are an endless well of want and guilt. As much as I loved my Chauncey, I went with cats after he passed on. My cats find their warm spots here and there in the rest of the house at night and cozy up to me in the early evening when I’m watching TV. About the bruising my mom’s arms and legs always had bruises on them and they got really bad when she had to go to the hospital and get an IV 😦
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Yikes — I think the dogs need a little training! And please look at that light on the shelf on the left side of these photos — I can envision one doggie leap pulling it down in a horrible crash! Otherwise, this an excellent word picture of the dogs’ reaction to things that disturb them!
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It’s actually on a pole not sitting on the shelf, but thanks for the warning, Janet.
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Whew!
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My great-grandmother had this condition, and wearing long sleeves of somewhat sturdier fabrics helped
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Better for a cold climate than a warm one, however.
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Odessa is pretty warm and quite hot during the summer. We had course cottons and other natural fabrics that were not warm but pretty protective.
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That happens a bit to me, too. I never wear short sleeves and that helps (and saves the world the sight of my grandmother’s arms!! 🤣)
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Oh, my, Judy! Surely there’s some padded clothing to protect you from your perky, playful protectors.
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I guess I could go to bed in hockey gear…;o)
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You may not need the head protector…😊
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Ha.. So far no injuries there, except they do love sleeping on the pillow above my head…one at a time, thankfully.
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How you take your assigned words and see your story seems like magic to me. Wonderful. Older bigger dogs can no longer jump on the bed and loss of hearing keeps them quiet during the night. You have little young ones who love you too much. Good luck.
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It just comes from years and years of writing. When I started without editing as I wrote everything changed. I stopped censoring myself and could always go back later to edit. As a matter of fact, I edit every time I read a piece, no matter how old it is.
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Ah, I understand. I have low platelets and bruise like a peach. I often stand in front of the mirror before my shower and think, “Dogs jumping up to greet me. Dog turning over in bed and pushing a paw into my leg. Dog hearing the sound of a rabbit and rushing over me to get to the door.” We bear the scars of that puppy love, don’t we?
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We do. And it is great to see your name again. Going to go check out your blog.
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Do you no longer have a blog? Can’t seem to find it.
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Yes. I am almost as bad. Frida has learned not to give me love bites cause her sharp teeth bring blood and she has noticed! and felt so ashamed as tony prepares the bandaid after coating the new wound w antiseptic. I bruise especially easy on hands and forearms. Get this…even if I use a hammer and do not hit myself. A bruise always emerges I guess from the force of the downswing. I have heard that one’s body tells no lies and that those who bruise so easily are likewise easily bruised emotionally. I’ve become harder core. I don’t even cry. I wish I could. It dehumanizes me. Once in a great while I’ll get tears but only in my sleep will tears roll down my cheeks. I think you’re emotionally available and I’ll bet you cry a lot. I have strongly felt emotions in other corporeal areas and still occasionally but they are sacred secret places that nobody touches anymore, not even me. Love you. Your candor, your sensitivity. Your great good talent. Ann
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Yes.. I fear I cry more than ever at movies, music, other people’s stories. Sometimes for pure beauty. I can’t seem to separate myself from emotional occurrences or pain. It is as though it is happening to me. I can’t read books set in Nazi Germany any more I just can’t take the cruelty… and that world is seeping back into our own world at a speedy rate.
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Yes, I am sick to my stomach about what’s happening in our world. It seems that people who ought to know better are driven by power hungry. Asshole men. Trump. Putin. Netenjahu (sp), Hamad, etc. they have nuclear weapons. I don’t give us much time. I should be crying rivers. Maybe I’ll assign you my crier. Love you, Judy.
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Just vote right and enjoy your life. Not much else to be done, I fear
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My legs are always black and blue from an over-eager Pointer.
Sometimes affection hurts.
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