“Keep jiggling, Peggy, please keep jiggling.”
For the life of me, I cannot fathom how I ever thought that was funny. But it’s a song replayed in my head since I was a kid. In this episode of “I Love Lucy”, Ricky can’t shake a gaga young fan—so Lucy’s scheme was to show how old Ricky was. He has this gal shake his arthritic legs, while he whines, “Keep jiggling, Peggy!”
I’m thinking that’s good advice in general: Just keep jiggling.
Today I got some sad news. Last weekend was one of the worst ever. The Country’s gone down the tubes, and so has my figure. But life goes on (for the moment), and a person’s just got to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Brush, floss. Lather, rinse, repeat. The old joke is, “Repeat? How many times?” …As many as it takes.
In God’s infinite wisdom, we have been blessed with a thing called routine. When the heart is heavy, it can be therapeutic to just pack up your troubles in the old kit-bag, and …fold the laundry.
Eccl. 3:22 So I perceived that nothing is better than that a man should rejoice in his own works, for that is his heritage.
I’ve long theorized that’s part of why the Curse included labor. (Double entendre!) Once sin entered the world, God brought work—which, while intrinsically a pain in the backside, ironically can make the unbearable, bearable. (I guess that explains the millions of city dwellers that spend an inordinate amount of time at the office.)
So, in spite of it all, we continue: job, school, home, and all of the above.
Ha. Now my mind is regaling classic Lucy and Ethel—frantically stuffing chocolates down their dresses.