Digging Your Potatoes

I have been watching my life pass me by.  Sometimes, the view is not pleasant, but for the most part, it looks pretty enjoyable.   One would wonder, why I just don’t jump right in.  Instead, I keep digging my potatoes.   Let me hip you to what “digging your potatoes” means.     Way back when I was a young lady, we use to play double dutch.   Not only was did it strengthen our legs, stamina, and eye coordination, but  we could make up these cute songs as we jumped.   Songs about boys, kissing, and getting into trouble with the first two.   On my block, every girl, even mothers would jump double dutch.  Keeping up with the rhythm, the twist and turns and the sheer joy.    There was always girls wanting to play.  The line was long to get a turn to jump.   The longer you jumped, the faster the turners would speed up.   Once you finished your turn, you took the place of the turner.    You  tried to stay in the moment as long as possible.


There were times, when  someone  would take a while to get going.  Pumping back and forth, trying to gauge the right entrance into the center to start jumping.   We call that “digging your potatoes”.   I understand the reason behind the digging part.  Usually you would pump your arms like you were in a row-boat, moving your body back and forth,  trying to gauge the right entrance.   The potato part was always a mystery to me.   It could have been tomatoes, carrots, lettuce.  We picked potatoes.  Once that phrase came out, everyone else chimed in.     STOP, DIGGING YOUR POTATOES. Your whole rhythm was thrown off, you jumped in  and you got tangled in the rope, missing your turn.


That is what life feels like now.   I am digging my potatoes.   I am pumping my arms. throwing my body back and forth, trying to get my timing right to jump in.   The voices on the playground have been replaced by family friends, spouse, and even myself.   STOP DIGGING YOUR POTATOES.     So I pump back and forth one more time, jumping in.    Sometimes, I get tangled up in the rope, other times, I succeed and jump to my heart’s content.    It is not success that worries me, but the failures.   As a child, all I have to, is get back line and try again.  As an adult there is  more at stake.    So much more.     OK, here I go, pumping my arms, I am ready…………………………… I could also turn the rope for a while.

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