I thought “a line in the sand” was moveable, not immutable. You know: more like a line in wind-blown shifting sands. Or a line that is eradicated by the tides. One that must be redrawn to accommodate changing circumstances, that kind of thing. I always thought of a line in the sand being something that you could play with. Something you could shift around based on new information that might have you changing your mind. Or one that has you changing positions based on fear. Regardless of the circumstances that dictate the change, all you’d have to do is swish your foot over the line in the sand & it’s gone. Only to be redrawn elsewhere. To suit whatever today’s longings & limitations might be.

Now when my mother “drew the line”, I knew it wasn’t a line in the sand. It was a much firmer line. Possibly even a red line. And one that that were I to cross it, would have me in serious trouble. This is a whole different kind of line.

As it happens, when I looked it up, it turns out that the line in the sand is supposed to be more the kind of line my mother used to draw. But it’s treated more like what I believed it to be. Politicians, for example, are always drawing lines in the sand. But next day, they don’t only move the line, they move the whole beach.

The bottom line is that most lines aren’t worth the sand they’re drawn upon. Even my own. I often find myself flip-flopping on lines that I draw in this proverbial sand. It sometimes happens so quickly that I wonder why I bother drawing lines at all.

But I really wish I could draw a line on some of the crap I put in my mouth so I could lose some weight!!! 😊

PS … Happy Canada Day!!!