Have you ever read Simple Abundance? A very good friend of mine sent it to me. I leafed through it and even though I appreciated the time and trouble she went through to send it to me, I put it in my bookshelf and literally ignored it until Jan 1st of the following year. I pulled it back out feeling honor bound and determined that I would honor her selection consciously making the daily reads a priority.
Gotta tell ya it was a rough start. I scoffed (yes, truly scoffed literally) at some of author's exercises. I rolled my eyes (yes, again, literally) when she told me to light some candles, climb into my bed surrounding myself with pets, favorite things, and just enjoy the moment. WHAT?*#@?? Who has time for that crap? I have one day a week to get everything done that I want to and I'm supposed to throw open the windows, inhale the fresh air, make lists of what I loved about my childhood and fill a drawer full things that make me happy??? Well, I suppose it's cheaper than a therapist but really, Sara Ban Breathnach, are you nuts??
With much trepidation and head shaking I stuck to the plan and finished the book in 365 days. That was December 31, 1998. Twelve years ago. And I'm still thinking about it. When I took away the fluff, accepted that she referred to God as the Great Spirit and other some such nicknames, put my own prejudices behind me to go-with-the flow of the moment, I found that she had some interesting things to say. As Life would have it I actually 'lived' on July 3rd what she actually published in her July 4th posting. I had big expectations for that Friday. VOLUMINOUS big. The last day of work at a job I held for fifteen years. And let me tell you as far as those expectations went -- the day was a total flop. My feelings were hurt. My spirit was disappointed. I thought I would be treated as others who had left with far fewer years contributed than I had. So when I read that next-day entry, I was flabbergasted. She was writing to me. To me. Who knew the timing would be perfect for my life and what I had felt. Was still feeling. On that day. That singular day. It was one of those life lesson kind-of-days.
It is an interesting book. Worth the fifteen minutes you'll spend each day. I started out dragging my feet and protesting loudly. Oh! so loudly. I finished it feeling all the better for it. Do something outside the norm today. Go kicking and screaming into whatever it is you chose to challenge yourself. You'll be better for it, too. On some level.With some new perspective. Promise.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Took the Leap!!!!!! AAAAHHHHH!!!!!
We call it The OMG Call, those of us who experienced that phone conversation on both ends of the line and now had only half of our hearing left. A friend had called to tell me she had just discovered the sister of a friend was a literary agent in NYC. "ISN'T FANTASTIC!!!??? ", she screamed at me. Because of the overwhelming ringing in my ear it took a few seconds to let her words register. "YOU KNOW I AM GOING INTO THE CITY IN TWO WEEKS SO I CAN TAKE SOMETHING TO HER. PROMISE ME YOU WILL GIVE ME SOMETHING!!!! YOU HEAR ME??"(no, I can't hear a darned thing right now) I figured what the heck. I will send this person a sampling of what I had to see if I could get some kind of response. Sort of a barometer reading on my stuff. So I printed off some chapters and sent them along.
Didn't hear for almost three months. I had the stomach butterflies for the first couple weeks wondering if the agent had actually read it (or tossed it in the can); what impression she had(loved it? hated it?) ; did she share it with her buddies (and they all had a good laugh?). As weeks gradually flowed into months I eventually forgot about it. Then what do you know I received an email from her. I waited a day to open it -- guess I wasn't prepared to read a 'don't-give-up-your-day-job' letter. To my pleasant (and relieved) surprise she said that I had a smooth, readable style and should keep on writing and submit something later. Wow. And the kicker? I looked this professional up on the internet and the agency she works for is one of the biggest, handling huge contracts with all kinds of best-selling authors. Glad I didn't know that before....
I haven't finished that novel yet. The plot continues to expand, dialogues stream with all sorts of voices, characters keep on developing. My dream of publication burns bright. I'm having the best time challenging myself to draw the storyline out of my head and craft the written word to precisely reflect the lively, multi-layered tale that demands my attention day and night. My biggest desire is that when I've finished and the reader begins the first page of the first chapter they will be pulled into a world (my world!) which commands their complete and utter attention...makes them forget meals and miss appointments and lose a little sleep...that kind of stuff. Big dreams, I know. We shall see. Wish me luck!
Didn't hear for almost three months. I had the stomach butterflies for the first couple weeks wondering if the agent had actually read it (or tossed it in the can); what impression she had(loved it? hated it?) ; did she share it with her buddies (and they all had a good laugh?). As weeks gradually flowed into months I eventually forgot about it. Then what do you know I received an email from her. I waited a day to open it -- guess I wasn't prepared to read a 'don't-give-up-your-day-job' letter. To my pleasant (and relieved) surprise she said that I had a smooth, readable style and should keep on writing and submit something later. Wow. And the kicker? I looked this professional up on the internet and the agency she works for is one of the biggest, handling huge contracts with all kinds of best-selling authors. Glad I didn't know that before....
I haven't finished that novel yet. The plot continues to expand, dialogues stream with all sorts of voices, characters keep on developing. My dream of publication burns bright. I'm having the best time challenging myself to draw the storyline out of my head and craft the written word to precisely reflect the lively, multi-layered tale that demands my attention day and night. My biggest desire is that when I've finished and the reader begins the first page of the first chapter they will be pulled into a world (my world!) which commands their complete and utter attention...makes them forget meals and miss appointments and lose a little sleep...that kind of stuff. Big dreams, I know. We shall see. Wish me luck!
Real Wealth
My day off is planned to efficiently execute the priorities chosen and any pre-set appointments. I write "The List' each week. It is specifically created in descending order of priority which is then merged into an eight-hour time. All are included. Then I make a route list that encompasses all my errands so that I don't backtrack or miss any of my stops.
Most of the days are nutty. Crazy nutty. I always have 50 'things' that I want to do in the 8 to 10 hours I have to work with each and every week. One of my biggest dreams for my life is to simply -- truthfully it could not be more simple -- have the freedom to spend my time in my own way.
Wrapping beautiful Christmas presents in hand selected wrapping papers bound by luscious ribbons with hand-written cards on heavy stock cards. Thus the presentation becomes part of the gift and adds a sparkling enhancement to what's been gingerly tucked for the recipient's pleasure.
Create beautiful cut-out cookies. For a holiday. A birthday. A special celebration. Carefully collect wonderful accents and mix all shades of icing colors to exquisitely ice and decorate each shape so that lips will actually hesitate before biting into each of these pieces of edible art.
To discover the web. Take hours. Days. Follow where my fingers want to go, winding in, out and through the wealth of information in the cosmos. To research everything from Henry VIII to the newest area restaurants to other blog sites. Out-of-the-way weekend spots to fashion trends to tracing a family's ancestry. Wherever fancy leads.....
To sit with a friend and listen. No rushed visit. No interruptions. Having the steam off two hot cups of tea slowly drift through a long conversation spiced with laughter. With memories. Being able to savor tales never before shared.
Finally start on that list of book titles collected over a lifetime. To sit nestled in a favorite chair with the afternoon sun tickling the crafted words as it moves across the opened pages. To be immersed into another time. Another place.
Real wealth? Time. I hope you carve out some for yourself. Some just-for-you space. To restore. To balance. To enrich. To spoil.
Most of the days are nutty. Crazy nutty. I always have 50 'things' that I want to do in the 8 to 10 hours I have to work with each and every week. One of my biggest dreams for my life is to simply -- truthfully it could not be more simple -- have the freedom to spend my time in my own way.
Wrapping beautiful Christmas presents in hand selected wrapping papers bound by luscious ribbons with hand-written cards on heavy stock cards. Thus the presentation becomes part of the gift and adds a sparkling enhancement to what's been gingerly tucked for the recipient's pleasure.
Create beautiful cut-out cookies. For a holiday. A birthday. A special celebration. Carefully collect wonderful accents and mix all shades of icing colors to exquisitely ice and decorate each shape so that lips will actually hesitate before biting into each of these pieces of edible art.
To discover the web. Take hours. Days. Follow where my fingers want to go, winding in, out and through the wealth of information in the cosmos. To research everything from Henry VIII to the newest area restaurants to other blog sites. Out-of-the-way weekend spots to fashion trends to tracing a family's ancestry. Wherever fancy leads.....
To sit with a friend and listen. No rushed visit. No interruptions. Having the steam off two hot cups of tea slowly drift through a long conversation spiced with laughter. With memories. Being able to savor tales never before shared.
Finally start on that list of book titles collected over a lifetime. To sit nestled in a favorite chair with the afternoon sun tickling the crafted words as it moves across the opened pages. To be immersed into another time. Another place.
Real wealth? Time. I hope you carve out some for yourself. Some just-for-you space. To restore. To balance. To enrich. To spoil.
Discovering Rima at the-hermitage.uk
I had a recent email conversation with my niece about how one's blog gets promoted thus their readership grows and grows as its own entity or even reaches that magical place called DISCOVERED such as the Julie and Julie spot which became the movie featuring Meryl Streep. How does that happen??
From her perspective the advantage may go to a blogger who spends time connecting with others through reading their pages and in turn inviting these folks to then hook-up to theirs. Thus the network grows and spreads potentially exponentially. When I logged onto to write some last Saturday night I found myself reading a blog listed on the blogspot home page. "The Hermitage" was there under their Most Popular heading. I was intrigued. I wanted to burst beyond the friends/family bubble my writing exists in, peeking into new realms to explore so I dove head-first and clicked into an amazing adventure.
Take a half hour and join me there. (Really. A half hour. And I'm not even being practical with that time frame -- 'a few minutes' is not going to do the trick...not after you relish the first spoonful of the palate that awaits you down Rima's rabbit hole. You just have to go and smile and wonder and shake your head.) You will find yourself peering over my shoulder as I peek over hers as the truck house rambles along the by-ways and hedgerows of she and Tui's adventures.
I wrote to her asking permission to do just that. I received a missive from her the following day, and I quote: "I'm no less chained (or brave actually!) than anyone else, I just chose to live how I wish... we do appreciate the beauty of it of course too! You are welcome to tag along :) Best wishes to you from the house on wheels. Rima"
Have fun -- it will be like your own Alice in Wonderland experience.
From her perspective the advantage may go to a blogger who spends time connecting with others through reading their pages and in turn inviting these folks to then hook-up to theirs. Thus the network grows and spreads potentially exponentially. When I logged onto to write some last Saturday night I found myself reading a blog listed on the blogspot home page. "The Hermitage" was there under their Most Popular heading. I was intrigued. I wanted to burst beyond the friends/family bubble my writing exists in, peeking into new realms to explore so I dove head-first and clicked into an amazing adventure.
Take a half hour and join me there. (Really. A half hour. And I'm not even being practical with that time frame -- 'a few minutes' is not going to do the trick...not after you relish the first spoonful of the palate that awaits you down Rima's rabbit hole. You just have to go and smile and wonder and shake your head.) You will find yourself peering over my shoulder as I peek over hers as the truck house rambles along the by-ways and hedgerows of she and Tui's adventures.
I wrote to her asking permission to do just that. I received a missive from her the following day, and I quote: "I'm no less chained (or brave actually!) than anyone else, I just chose to live how I wish... we do appreciate the beauty of it of course too! You are welcome to tag along :) Best wishes to you from the house on wheels. Rima"
Have fun -- it will be like your own Alice in Wonderland experience.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Milk Carton
Have you ever had a plastic jugs make you smile? I went to the grocery store today and milk was on the list. It takes me a while to get to the dairy case because it is in the farthest diagonal corner from the entrance as the crow flies. I was looking at all the stuff in the cart that I had collected along my route as I approached the displayed rows of half-gallons, full gallons. Two-percent, one-percent, skim. White, Chocolate, Buttermilk.
I noticed there was a sticker stuck just above the handle but paid no attention to it until I was standing in the check-out line. (Let me interject an opinion here: I LOVE MARKETING GENIUS. It makes me happy. No kidding. Ok, back to the story....) So I'm staring at the magazines lining the cashier's space waiting my turn ever so politely reading all the headlines filled with the latest gossip and I reach down to lift the gallon out of the cart when I hear, "How are you doing today, ma'am? Paper or plastic?".
And that's when I focus on the sticker. It's an ad. For Oreo cookies. Oreo cookies. How smart is that?? Milk and Oreos. As all-American as baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. I salute whoever came up with this flash of inspiration. It's ingenious. It's clever. It's smart. I LOVE IT!!!!!! So to answer the young cashier's question: I am great!!
(Have you seen the new Budweiser commercial where the hand flips the beer cap upside down to look like a crown perched on the top of the bottle?? The cap isn't new. The bottle isn't new. 'King of beer' claim isn't new. All three have been around for years. But someone got inspired to put the sharp points 'up' creating a whole new take on something so utilitarian. So mundane. Adds another fresh touch to their updated campaign. New twist. Trendy feel. Kudos, Budweiser. Kudos.)
I noticed there was a sticker stuck just above the handle but paid no attention to it until I was standing in the check-out line. (Let me interject an opinion here: I LOVE MARKETING GENIUS. It makes me happy. No kidding. Ok, back to the story....) So I'm staring at the magazines lining the cashier's space waiting my turn ever so politely reading all the headlines filled with the latest gossip and I reach down to lift the gallon out of the cart when I hear, "How are you doing today, ma'am? Paper or plastic?".
And that's when I focus on the sticker. It's an ad. For Oreo cookies. Oreo cookies. How smart is that?? Milk and Oreos. As all-American as baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. I salute whoever came up with this flash of inspiration. It's ingenious. It's clever. It's smart. I LOVE IT!!!!!! So to answer the young cashier's question: I am great!!
(Have you seen the new Budweiser commercial where the hand flips the beer cap upside down to look like a crown perched on the top of the bottle?? The cap isn't new. The bottle isn't new. 'King of beer' claim isn't new. All three have been around for years. But someone got inspired to put the sharp points 'up' creating a whole new take on something so utilitarian. So mundane. Adds another fresh touch to their updated campaign. New twist. Trendy feel. Kudos, Budweiser. Kudos.)
Monday, October 12, 2009
And What About Squeezed-Up Sleeves??
Still building on that very tempting 'grab-the-brass-ring-grant-idea' I have a second area of study. I personally cannot stand loose, baggy cuffs around my wrists. Can you? Sweaters, blouses, T-shirts, jackets, whatever. Anything long-sleeved MUST fit nice and snug.
Thus most of my clothes get pushed up my arms to bunch around my elbows either due to age of the garment (loss of elasticity in the material) or its construction. Kind of gives me that cool preppy look and gets that sloppy material out of my way. In fact as I type this entry my sweatshirt cuffs were folded back once before I shoved them up my forearms. Hint: that fold makes a secured band for the weight of the material to rest against so it doesn't fall or collapse back down as quickly. Kind of a physical anti-gravity thing. If only my high school physics teacher Mr. Drinkhouse could see me now. He would be so proud. (psst - back up NOW coz the lightening bolt is on its way.)
Wow. Come to think of it this phenomenon could turn into a two-fold study. On the one hand a sociological one of the demographic kind and on the other a psychological one where we analyzed any phobias or personal issues which may have caused this trait tot begin with in the first place. You know. Like this could be a symptom of rebelling against the establishment rules such as having-to-always-having-to-keep-your-room-clean-while-growing-up or those 'you-must-be-clean-plater' statements made nightly at the supper table. That kind of stuff. OH! OH! And what if it went full circle, so to speak, where these findings and statistics fed back into the Loud Night Noise Study shedding even more light on possible causes of that condition. I don't know about you but my mind is just being blown away by what this all could mean for the entire world-at-large. And possibly...just possibly...there might be a Presidential Medal of Honor for Contributions to the Betterment of Mankind waiting out there for me when all these findings are published and hailed as 'brilliant' and 'enlightening'. Perhaps even 'unparalleled'. (bravo, mes amis! caught my tongue in cheek tone, have you?)
Seems to me this calls for TWO different grant applications. Let's do the math: Two studies. Twice the money. Thus the real issue is why the heck am I sitting here typing on this keyboard when I could be raking in the BIG bucks...and building a trophy case for all the fancy hardware bound to come this way. I just love hand engraving, don't you?
Thus most of my clothes get pushed up my arms to bunch around my elbows either due to age of the garment (loss of elasticity in the material) or its construction. Kind of gives me that cool preppy look and gets that sloppy material out of my way. In fact as I type this entry my sweatshirt cuffs were folded back once before I shoved them up my forearms. Hint: that fold makes a secured band for the weight of the material to rest against so it doesn't fall or collapse back down as quickly. Kind of a physical anti-gravity thing. If only my high school physics teacher Mr. Drinkhouse could see me now. He would be so proud. (psst - back up NOW coz the lightening bolt is on its way.)
Wow. Come to think of it this phenomenon could turn into a two-fold study. On the one hand a sociological one of the demographic kind and on the other a psychological one where we analyzed any phobias or personal issues which may have caused this trait tot begin with in the first place. You know. Like this could be a symptom of rebelling against the establishment rules such as having-to-always-having-to-keep-your-room-clean-while-growing-up or those 'you-must-be-clean-plater' statements made nightly at the supper table. That kind of stuff. OH! OH! And what if it went full circle, so to speak, where these findings and statistics fed back into the Loud Night Noise Study shedding even more light on possible causes of that condition. I don't know about you but my mind is just being blown away by what this all could mean for the entire world-at-large. And possibly...just possibly...there might be a Presidential Medal of Honor for Contributions to the Betterment of Mankind waiting out there for me when all these findings are published and hailed as 'brilliant' and 'enlightening'. Perhaps even 'unparalleled'. (bravo, mes amis! caught my tongue in cheek tone, have you?)
Seems to me this calls for TWO different grant applications. Let's do the math: Two studies. Twice the money. Thus the real issue is why the heck am I sitting here typing on this keyboard when I could be raking in the BIG bucks...and building a trophy case for all the fancy hardware bound to come this way. I just love hand engraving, don't you?
Federal Grants
We hear or read about the 'odd' or preposterous ones every now and again. The nightly news loves these kinds of exposes. The print media provides a list to make us shudder. We shake our heads at the theme or theory or product given thousands of dollars for research or testing. But we don't do anything about the waste. At least I'll own up. I don't.
After writing yesterday's post I was inspired. I should be filling out the required application paper work right this very minute to receive some of this pot of available money. Why not? Somebody else out there did the submission and consequently received a big, fat check. Maybe I'll just jump on the old lucrative gravy-train.
With my windfall I could outfit a lab to do brain wave testing crossing over every demographic category and testing all sorts of people to trace and audio record brain transmissions as the participants fall asleep. Male. Female. Age. Race. Location of home. Location of job. Color of eyes. Color of hair. Height. Weight. What they ate for dinner. Favorite snack. Coffee or tea. Straight up or decaffeinated. The music they listen to. The movies they watch. Favorite color. Leather watch strap or metal bracelet. Over or under toilet paper. Stilettos or flats. Hershey bars with or without almonds. Maybe my staff and I would discover some unknown brain 'thing' in charge of night time activity which directly impacts the volume of that activity. I'm not sure but maybe we could win the Nobel Prize for Medicine. (Seems highly possible and probable to moi after last week's winner. Plus I could donate my million to charity as well and avoid any angst my husband might have --see my 11.22.08 entry.)
What? You say this is nuts. Really. No, really? I'm merely considering the security of long-term employment. All of the multitude of possible contributing factors ~ wacky and logical alike ~are positively endless. My research could go on and on and on and..... Forever! I'm set!! Won't ever have to worry about economy fluctuations or outsourcing. Maybe the lab would even evolve into a popular TV reality show. Wow. A Nobel Prize AND an Emmy. Could I ask for anything more??!
And I would look very cute and quite official, I might add, in a little white lab coat. So-o-o my color.
After writing yesterday's post I was inspired. I should be filling out the required application paper work right this very minute to receive some of this pot of available money. Why not? Somebody else out there did the submission and consequently received a big, fat check. Maybe I'll just jump on the old lucrative gravy-train.
With my windfall I could outfit a lab to do brain wave testing crossing over every demographic category and testing all sorts of people to trace and audio record brain transmissions as the participants fall asleep. Male. Female. Age. Race. Location of home. Location of job. Color of eyes. Color of hair. Height. Weight. What they ate for dinner. Favorite snack. Coffee or tea. Straight up or decaffeinated. The music they listen to. The movies they watch. Favorite color. Leather watch strap or metal bracelet. Over or under toilet paper. Stilettos or flats. Hershey bars with or without almonds. Maybe my staff and I would discover some unknown brain 'thing' in charge of night time activity which directly impacts the volume of that activity. I'm not sure but maybe we could win the Nobel Prize for Medicine. (Seems highly possible and probable to moi after last week's winner. Plus I could donate my million to charity as well and avoid any angst my husband might have --see my 11.22.08 entry.)
What? You say this is nuts. Really. No, really? I'm merely considering the security of long-term employment. All of the multitude of possible contributing factors ~ wacky and logical alike ~are positively endless. My research could go on and on and on and..... Forever! I'm set!! Won't ever have to worry about economy fluctuations or outsourcing. Maybe the lab would even evolve into a popular TV reality show. Wow. A Nobel Prize AND an Emmy. Could I ask for anything more??!
And I would look very cute and quite official, I might add, in a little white lab coat. So-o-o my color.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Night Sounds
No, I don't mean the comforting tune of the whistle cutting through the thin,crisp fall air from the late night train speeding on the tracks near your home.
No, I don't mean the sound of the tires careening around the corner on a car driven by the neighborhood teenager desperate to get home before his (or her) midnight curfew.
And, no, I don't mean the approaching airplane arching its flight pattern in a path directly over your roof to position itself for its final approach.....and you could swear by the sound barrier being broken that the pilot's true intention is to land his baby on the street in front of your house AND destroy your hearing at the same time.
What I am talking about is when you crawl in bed, turn out the light, nestle down under your covers creating that perfect cocoon you'll inhabit for the next few hours and then... =WHOA= This incredible cacophony explodes in your head. Your eyes fly open. Immediately you realize there's not going to be any rest in your oh-so-cozy little sanctuary of soft sheets and puffy pillows until the brain slows down all the messages that are zipping round and back and forth and in and out between your ears. It's LOUD. Wild. Crazy. Mad-den-ing.
Concentrate the next time this happens to you. Really listen to all the layers of noises. What you do you sense? What can you pick up? Mine are whizzing high-pitched electronic noises like radar or maybe animal communications ( you know ~ like bats send to one another). And then others sound like speeding after-work-drive-time-freeway-car-and-truck traffic. I can distinguish patterns and sequences and rhythms ~ Oh, my!! Can you? Hey~Don't you roll your eyes. (i saw you...) You might as well listen and analyze. You're awake anyway, right?
Best advice for getting to sleep? Become the alpha dog. Be firm. Tell that brain of yours it's time to be quiet and go to bed. (Lean on all those experiences from babysitting, your own kids, your husband/partner, roommate, neighbor.......whatever.) And Remember: You are in charge. As soon as that gray matter knows you are waiting and your patience has a limit the intensity will lessen and the level will drop. Promise.
C'mon now. (nudge, nudge) Just try it. I'm telling you it will work. Betcha ya that quarter (read 10-27-08's entry).
(*** Please leave me a comment below -- I love to hear from all of you!)
No, I don't mean the sound of the tires careening around the corner on a car driven by the neighborhood teenager desperate to get home before his (or her) midnight curfew.
And, no, I don't mean the approaching airplane arching its flight pattern in a path directly over your roof to position itself for its final approach.....and you could swear by the sound barrier being broken that the pilot's true intention is to land his baby on the street in front of your house AND destroy your hearing at the same time.
What I am talking about is when you crawl in bed, turn out the light, nestle down under your covers creating that perfect cocoon you'll inhabit for the next few hours and then... =WHOA= This incredible cacophony explodes in your head. Your eyes fly open. Immediately you realize there's not going to be any rest in your oh-so-cozy little sanctuary of soft sheets and puffy pillows until the brain slows down all the messages that are zipping round and back and forth and in and out between your ears. It's LOUD. Wild. Crazy. Mad-den-ing.
Concentrate the next time this happens to you. Really listen to all the layers of noises. What you do you sense? What can you pick up? Mine are whizzing high-pitched electronic noises like radar or maybe animal communications ( you know ~ like bats send to one another). And then others sound like speeding after-work-drive-time-freeway-car-and-truck traffic. I can distinguish patterns and sequences and rhythms ~ Oh, my!! Can you? Hey~Don't you roll your eyes. (i saw you...) You might as well listen and analyze. You're awake anyway, right?
Best advice for getting to sleep? Become the alpha dog. Be firm. Tell that brain of yours it's time to be quiet and go to bed. (Lean on all those experiences from babysitting, your own kids, your husband/partner, roommate, neighbor.......whatever.) And Remember: You are in charge. As soon as that gray matter knows you are waiting and your patience has a limit the intensity will lessen and the level will drop. Promise.
C'mon now. (nudge, nudge) Just try it. I'm telling you it will work. Betcha ya that quarter (read 10-27-08's entry).
(*** Please leave me a comment below -- I love to hear from all of you!)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
For Goodness Sake: Moisturize!!
I have a darling client who has become a friend. She is vivacious, cute, funny, and straight-out honest. She recently attended a high school class reunion. She stopped in to tell me about it and even brought a few photos.
After she had explained who was who and what all they had done she looked me right in the eye and said "I have one word of advice for you: Moisturize!" My left eyebrow shot up, which it has all of my life when I am reacting to something said or done that is unexpected or doubted or astonishing and I simply looked at her in that "Huh?" kind-of-way.
"I love all these girls to death. We have been so close all these years and we stick together like family. But, my word, we are in our 70's and their skin looks pathetic and dry. Lines are running all over the place so their faces and necks like road maps and all the men kept telling me how wonderful I looked. I just wanted to tell my friends to get a clue." She looked at me in all sincerity like a teacher advising a student. She punctuated her message by punching her finger three times in the air at me. "Moisturize. Moisturize. Moisturize."
I assured her... geez, I promised her... that I have since I was 14 and that I would never, ever stop. She patted my hand and told me I was indeed a "good girl". I accepted her praise with a big smile knowing I had dodged that bullet....and feeling like I should be rewarded with a good old-fashioned tummy scratching or at the very least have my ears rubbed!
After she had explained who was who and what all they had done she looked me right in the eye and said "I have one word of advice for you: Moisturize!" My left eyebrow shot up, which it has all of my life when I am reacting to something said or done that is unexpected or doubted or astonishing and I simply looked at her in that "Huh?" kind-of-way.
"I love all these girls to death. We have been so close all these years and we stick together like family. But, my word, we are in our 70's and their skin looks pathetic and dry. Lines are running all over the place so their faces and necks like road maps and all the men kept telling me how wonderful I looked. I just wanted to tell my friends to get a clue." She looked at me in all sincerity like a teacher advising a student. She punctuated her message by punching her finger three times in the air at me. "Moisturize. Moisturize. Moisturize."
I assured her... geez, I promised her... that I have since I was 14 and that I would never, ever stop. She patted my hand and told me I was indeed a "good girl". I accepted her praise with a big smile knowing I had dodged that bullet....and feeling like I should be rewarded with a good old-fashioned tummy scratching or at the very least have my ears rubbed!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Got a Flash!!! (...and I don't mean "Hot")
Creativity. Can happen anytime. Any place. Such as a kitchen counter at 11:32 pm on a Tuesday night. (Hint Hint) And, yes, I have to admit I am feeling a teeny-weeny bit proud of myself at the moment. Plus I can't wait to share it with all of you!
Remember the window treatment tip I gave you (refer back to 4-28-09)?? Well if you loved that one you'll be thrilled about this one!! See what you think: I needed to replace the batteries in a clock. Took it out to the kitchen. Went to the drawer where I keep all the new batteries. Grabbed two AA's and put them on the counter beside the clock. Slid open the bottom panel, removed the dead cells and laid them on the counter as well. I stood looking at the four batteries lying in close proximity to each other ~ all four of which happened to be labeled exactly the same. I would bet that each of us has experienced this quandary at least once....maybe twice truth be told....or even three (confessed totally under extreme conditions of duress, of course)...wondering which was which, the old versus the new.
Lucky for me I did know. Whew. But I decided I didn't want to experience that pang of angst again. ** FLASHING LIGHT BULB IN-THE-BRAIN TIME** (You are gonna love this. You are going to embrace this. Really!! Prepare to be amazed.) This incredible idea spurred me to carry the clock and panel into the bathroom. Selected one of my favorite nail polish shades ~ OPI's You're Such a Kabuki Queen. Very hot. Very pink. Perfect for summer bare-toe days. Oops! Sorry. Back to the subject at hand. (Focus, girl. Focus.) I put a dot of the polish on the two new cells. Voila! Problem solved. I can now just pop these out in the future when they are dead and it won't matter if I drop them in the wastebasket right away before reaching for new ones or if the new and old get mixed up. Any confusion will be eliminated by placing this designation on the fresh ones after installation.
Logical. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Hey! Why don't you try it? Go and mark the batteries in use around you right now with nail polish, spray paint, whatever is permanent and handy. I sure do like 'easy'. Don't you?
Remember the window treatment tip I gave you (refer back to 4-28-09)?? Well if you loved that one you'll be thrilled about this one!! See what you think: I needed to replace the batteries in a clock. Took it out to the kitchen. Went to the drawer where I keep all the new batteries. Grabbed two AA's and put them on the counter beside the clock. Slid open the bottom panel, removed the dead cells and laid them on the counter as well. I stood looking at the four batteries lying in close proximity to each other ~ all four of which happened to be labeled exactly the same. I would bet that each of us has experienced this quandary at least once....maybe twice truth be told....or even three (confessed totally under extreme conditions of duress, of course)...wondering which was which, the old versus the new.
Lucky for me I did know. Whew. But I decided I didn't want to experience that pang of angst again. ** FLASHING LIGHT BULB IN-THE-BRAIN TIME** (You are gonna love this. You are going to embrace this. Really!! Prepare to be amazed.) This incredible idea spurred me to carry the clock and panel into the bathroom. Selected one of my favorite nail polish shades ~ OPI's You're Such a Kabuki Queen. Very hot. Very pink. Perfect for summer bare-toe days. Oops! Sorry. Back to the subject at hand. (Focus, girl. Focus.) I put a dot of the polish on the two new cells. Voila! Problem solved. I can now just pop these out in the future when they are dead and it won't matter if I drop them in the wastebasket right away before reaching for new ones or if the new and old get mixed up. Any confusion will be eliminated by placing this designation on the fresh ones after installation.
Logical. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? Hey! Why don't you try it? Go and mark the batteries in use around you right now with nail polish, spray paint, whatever is permanent and handy. I sure do like 'easy'. Don't you?
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Fantasies and Window Shopping
How many times have you walked by a shop and stopped because a selection of merchandise caught your eye. Whether it be clothing or shoes or jewelry or artwork or home furnishings doesn't matter. You stop. You take a second look at whatever intrigued you, musing over the color, line, material, whatever. Pretending that price doesn't matter you contemplate its purchase. Sometimes you walk in and examine the item closer. A few times you might even take it home. More often you put it back down on the display deciding that today isn't the day. At times you regret leaving it behind. Others not so much.
Boutiques embody the "love~hate" thing for me. Depending on my mood or location I can find boutiques either intimidating or enticing. They tend to be small in space with clerks who hover. None of the above are condusive to 'invisible' shopping. What I mean is I like to enter a store, acknowledge the salesperson then quietly discover what treasures are to be found by myself. Undisturbed. I expect the prices to be higher as these specialized stores have more overhead than a large chain. Don't mind that. I like the little guy.
Sunday I was in the vicinity of the Pine Tree Barn just south of Wooster, OH (www.pinetreebarn.com). Ever been there? You must go. Sits on State Route 226 amid a few houses and farmland. Started out as an actual barn remodeled to offer country accessories back when that was the trend of the day. They also grew and sold Christmas trees on the surrounding acreage. After several years of morphing I find this place to be extremely exciting - the inventory is endless, the mix sophisticated, the vibe energizing. Every twist, turn and room captivates. On the lower level is a womens clothing and accessory area. Not large but great variety, color and style. My eye was drawn to an unusual top displayed on a three-drawer chest. Never had I seen anything like it. I was pulled over to it by some undeniable gravitational pull. (Go to: www.magicscarf.com) Totally unique this fabric origami is a work of art on two levels. When it is lying flat there is such a incredible sculptural quality to the intricate design that you feel compelled to hang it in a lucite frame as a captivating wall decoration. But when worn the unseen, thus unexpected, second color is exposed which draws the eye in a most dramatic fashion.
Now the surprise. The icing on the cake. $23.95. Let me repeat that: $23.95. I expected a much higher price. Truth be told I was hesitant to check the price tag. I was shocked. Better yet... thrilled! I plucked that gorgeous garment right off the display and walked with firm purpose to the dressing room. Could not believe how delightful the light-as-a-feather fabric felt against my skin. Only one word came to mind: Mine.
Moral of the story? Let your eye discover what it will. Follow that serendipitous path. Treasure may well sit at the end of the trail.
Boutiques embody the "love~hate" thing for me. Depending on my mood or location I can find boutiques either intimidating or enticing. They tend to be small in space with clerks who hover. None of the above are condusive to 'invisible' shopping. What I mean is I like to enter a store, acknowledge the salesperson then quietly discover what treasures are to be found by myself. Undisturbed. I expect the prices to be higher as these specialized stores have more overhead than a large chain. Don't mind that. I like the little guy.
Sunday I was in the vicinity of the Pine Tree Barn just south of Wooster, OH (www.pinetreebarn.com). Ever been there? You must go. Sits on State Route 226 amid a few houses and farmland. Started out as an actual barn remodeled to offer country accessories back when that was the trend of the day. They also grew and sold Christmas trees on the surrounding acreage. After several years of morphing I find this place to be extremely exciting - the inventory is endless, the mix sophisticated, the vibe energizing. Every twist, turn and room captivates. On the lower level is a womens clothing and accessory area. Not large but great variety, color and style. My eye was drawn to an unusual top displayed on a three-drawer chest. Never had I seen anything like it. I was pulled over to it by some undeniable gravitational pull. (Go to: www.magicscarf.com) Totally unique this fabric origami is a work of art on two levels. When it is lying flat there is such a incredible sculptural quality to the intricate design that you feel compelled to hang it in a lucite frame as a captivating wall decoration. But when worn the unseen, thus unexpected, second color is exposed which draws the eye in a most dramatic fashion.
Now the surprise. The icing on the cake. $23.95. Let me repeat that: $23.95. I expected a much higher price. Truth be told I was hesitant to check the price tag. I was shocked. Better yet... thrilled! I plucked that gorgeous garment right off the display and walked with firm purpose to the dressing room. Could not believe how delightful the light-as-a-feather fabric felt against my skin. Only one word came to mind: Mine.
Moral of the story? Let your eye discover what it will. Follow that serendipitous path. Treasure may well sit at the end of the trail.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
"Discontinued"...The Worst News A Woman Could Hear
We all have our favorites. Whether it be foods or beverages or clothing lines or colors. Furniture styles, movie genres, entertainers, sports teams. Sometimes we find them quickly. Sometimes our tastes require time and trials. Choices are extremely personal. Some are forever. Some are not. When we make our decisions, change can be very disturbing. Upsetting. Downright unacceptable.
Monday I was at the grocery store. In our Sunday paper circulars was a coupon for one dollar off any Cover Girl product. Fabulous. Timing couldn't be better. I wanted a back-up tube of lipstick so I added #936 to my shopping list and cut out that coupon. Make-up is not inexpensive and that dollar would be very helpful.
Made my way through the produce section, stopped and selected three birthday cards, grabbed some pop. Pushed the cart down the row of mascaras, powders and eye shadows to my focused destination. Reached out my hand to slip the silver metallic case from the display and noticed the sale tag directly over my favorite color. Woo-Hoo! I silently rejoiced. Mine is on sale. What luck!! Maybe I should grab another. Then I noticed the twelve-letter word on the price tag. Discontinued.
What?? Discontinued!!?!! What do you mean Discontinued??!! You've got to be kidding me. It CANNOT be. It took me 29 years to find this particular shade and you just can't withdraw it from your line. You can't arbitrarily take it from me. I just stared at that stupid little red and white sign. I was so disconcerted that I even leaned down to take a double take and made absolutely sure I hadn't misread it. Sure enough. My fate was sealed. Don't panic I told myself. Don't sweat. Think of your alternatives. The obvious would be to find a new favorite shade of course. But remembering all of the numerous brands and colors I had tried over those years was disheartening and the idea of going through that effort (not to mention the money) to find another one was daunting. So I did the next best thing. The second choice. Sort of a treasure hunt of sorts.
I have gone to four stores as of yesterday and now own seven tubes. I've got a plan. I am building an arsenal of #936's to last me for a while. I called my neighbors and friends asking for their coupons. They gladly handed them over. And in my search I discovered that one chain had discounted this selection by 50% and with that dollar off to boot I am making out like a bandit. I just hope my husband doesn't discover my stash. Don't think he'd understand how dear to a woman's heart her lipstick truly is. Nor my desperation. Nor why one would want to run around "wasting time and gas" to search for for it. And between you and me I'm not through yet. No sirree bob. After I'm done completely scouring the area I will staved off the pain of searching for a new fav for quite some time. Yep. Quite...some...time.
Monday I was at the grocery store. In our Sunday paper circulars was a coupon for one dollar off any Cover Girl product. Fabulous. Timing couldn't be better. I wanted a back-up tube of lipstick so I added #936 to my shopping list and cut out that coupon. Make-up is not inexpensive and that dollar would be very helpful.
Made my way through the produce section, stopped and selected three birthday cards, grabbed some pop. Pushed the cart down the row of mascaras, powders and eye shadows to my focused destination. Reached out my hand to slip the silver metallic case from the display and noticed the sale tag directly over my favorite color. Woo-Hoo! I silently rejoiced. Mine is on sale. What luck!! Maybe I should grab another. Then I noticed the twelve-letter word on the price tag. Discontinued.
What?? Discontinued!!?!! What do you mean Discontinued??!! You've got to be kidding me. It CANNOT be. It took me 29 years to find this particular shade and you just can't withdraw it from your line. You can't arbitrarily take it from me. I just stared at that stupid little red and white sign. I was so disconcerted that I even leaned down to take a double take and made absolutely sure I hadn't misread it. Sure enough. My fate was sealed. Don't panic I told myself. Don't sweat. Think of your alternatives. The obvious would be to find a new favorite shade of course. But remembering all of the numerous brands and colors I had tried over those years was disheartening and the idea of going through that effort (not to mention the money) to find another one was daunting. So I did the next best thing. The second choice. Sort of a treasure hunt of sorts.
I have gone to four stores as of yesterday and now own seven tubes. I've got a plan. I am building an arsenal of #936's to last me for a while. I called my neighbors and friends asking for their coupons. They gladly handed them over. And in my search I discovered that one chain had discounted this selection by 50% and with that dollar off to boot I am making out like a bandit. I just hope my husband doesn't discover my stash. Don't think he'd understand how dear to a woman's heart her lipstick truly is. Nor my desperation. Nor why one would want to run around "wasting time and gas" to search for for it. And between you and me I'm not through yet. No sirree bob. After I'm done completely scouring the area I will staved off the pain of searching for a new fav for quite some time. Yep. Quite...some...time.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
OH! WAIT! I Forgot My Favorite Maternity Story!!
I can't believe I left this out of my reminisces of birthing stories. I'm still smiling twenty one years later over this one. This is about my experience with those oh-so-lovely newborn photos some nameless hospital photographer produces. The ones where 95% of the poor tiny babies look like someone pinched them silly. And the other 5% are the product of some mothers who know the routine and come prepared with darling outfits and hair accessories that make the rest of us look sadly lacking.
I did not see the photos of my child until I was dressed sitting on my bed all packed and ready to go, merely waiting for baby and wheelchair and the release papers. I had wondered why we'd never seen the pictures during the two days I was there but they never had showed up so I just didn't worry about it. My husband had left on his third trip to the car transporting all the flowers we had received when this harried lady scurries into my room, arms filled with a clip board and a stack of photo envelopes and asks me if I am who I am. Yes, that's me. She hands me my packet and I looked down at the picture of a screaming infant shown in see-through window on the front.
Oh-my-heavens I thought. I calmly looked up at her and succinctly told her that was the ugliest baby I had ever seen in my life and that this could not possibly be my child. She didn't crack a smile or make some urbane comment about the quality of hospital photos or something about how most of the infants in these pictures look so upset with their little faces all scrunched up like bright red prunes. No, nothing of the sort. With very serious intent she starts rifling through her paperwork to confirm, with a totally confused look on her face, that she had pulled the correct one out of her pile. Aren't you so-and-so and isn't your baby so-and-so, she asked me? Yes, that's correct, I calmly replied as I handed her back the packet. She looked at me in the most perplexed fashion and said (you are going to love this ~ I will never forget this ever ever ever): "So-o-o... you don't want to buy these?"
Nope. Like I just told you that is an extremely ugly child and he certainly is not mine. She reluctantly accepted the package and left the room. I could 'hear' the wheels turning in her head as she left the room contemplating our very short conversation. Probably something like: That poor woman. She definitely has postpartum depression. A really bad case. I feel really sorry for that baby. And on the flip side I'm still sitting on the bed watching her retreating figure thinking why ever would I give you money for those incredibly awful shots.
I was picturing her poor befuddled expression when the nurse came in with our son. How could I not smile at his darling face and glow with pride at this tiny miracle all wrapped up in a soft little blanket? My husband arrived and off we went with me holding the baby, the nurse pushing the wheelchair and my proud spouse carrying my suitcase. I was happy that one: I didn't have that lady's job and two: how lucky we were to be taking home this beautiful child to start our life as a family. We could use that word because we were no longer just two people. We were three.
Now years later I'm thinking "Darn It!". Maybe I should have purchased that packet. Would have been outstanding blackmail material -- could have threatened to embarrass the son with poster-sized versions of the wizened screaming infant sporadically positioned around the room at his 16th birthday party. Shoot. Why didn't I think of that then: Packet=$18.95. Reaction from him and his friends=Priceless.
I did not see the photos of my child until I was dressed sitting on my bed all packed and ready to go, merely waiting for baby and wheelchair and the release papers. I had wondered why we'd never seen the pictures during the two days I was there but they never had showed up so I just didn't worry about it. My husband had left on his third trip to the car transporting all the flowers we had received when this harried lady scurries into my room, arms filled with a clip board and a stack of photo envelopes and asks me if I am who I am. Yes, that's me. She hands me my packet and I looked down at the picture of a screaming infant shown in see-through window on the front.
Oh-my-heavens I thought. I calmly looked up at her and succinctly told her that was the ugliest baby I had ever seen in my life and that this could not possibly be my child. She didn't crack a smile or make some urbane comment about the quality of hospital photos or something about how most of the infants in these pictures look so upset with their little faces all scrunched up like bright red prunes. No, nothing of the sort. With very serious intent she starts rifling through her paperwork to confirm, with a totally confused look on her face, that she had pulled the correct one out of her pile. Aren't you so-and-so and isn't your baby so-and-so, she asked me? Yes, that's correct, I calmly replied as I handed her back the packet. She looked at me in the most perplexed fashion and said (you are going to love this ~ I will never forget this ever ever ever): "So-o-o... you don't want to buy these?"
Nope. Like I just told you that is an extremely ugly child and he certainly is not mine. She reluctantly accepted the package and left the room. I could 'hear' the wheels turning in her head as she left the room contemplating our very short conversation. Probably something like: That poor woman. She definitely has postpartum depression. A really bad case. I feel really sorry for that baby. And on the flip side I'm still sitting on the bed watching her retreating figure thinking why ever would I give you money for those incredibly awful shots.
I was picturing her poor befuddled expression when the nurse came in with our son. How could I not smile at his darling face and glow with pride at this tiny miracle all wrapped up in a soft little blanket? My husband arrived and off we went with me holding the baby, the nurse pushing the wheelchair and my proud spouse carrying my suitcase. I was happy that one: I didn't have that lady's job and two: how lucky we were to be taking home this beautiful child to start our life as a family. We could use that word because we were no longer just two people. We were three.
Now years later I'm thinking "Darn It!". Maybe I should have purchased that packet. Would have been outstanding blackmail material -- could have threatened to embarrass the son with poster-sized versions of the wizened screaming infant sporadically positioned around the room at his 16th birthday party. Shoot. Why didn't I think of that then: Packet=$18.95. Reaction from him and his friends=Priceless.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Especially The F-word
Just as words are annually eliminated from the dictionary due to some committee's opinion they are antiquated and no longer have relevance in our society's vocabulary...and just as ripped jeans, exposed bra straps and flip-flops seem to be the uniform of the day...and just as multi-tasking by carrying a cup of Starbucks and talking on a cell while shopping in a store is seen more and more... these familiar examples are signs of our 'casual times'.
What I truly can't abide, and N-E-V-E-R will, is the F-word. When did that word which was previously ostracized by decency for generations become accepted and common place? Was I asleep? In a cave? Without human contact for months? Years? Written in a novel or highlighted by graffiti on a railway car. Shouted in anger or spoken as an off-handed aside. It makes my skin crawl. It is vulgar, coarse and totally unnecessary. I hear it all the time now. So is this another result of the breaking down of social mores? Does the easing of culture and the peeled-off layers of manners introduce the crack which allows the slithering specter of crassness to infiltrate our daily existence?
I don't have that answer but if that's true I am happy to admit that I will remain very comfortably cloaked in my dinosaur skin, thank you very much. If I am out of touch so be it. Clinging to the hope that one day in this lifetime the art and skill of verbalizing an opinion or sitting down to pen a story or even perhaps by virtue of eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table will once again bear witness to the re-incorporation of the exceedingly vast reservoir of untapped descriptive vocabulary which is waiting in expectant silence for a summons to be useful once again. Wouldn't that just send a flash across the planet signaling the beginning of the end for this ugly four-letter word. (Wouldn't that be so cool? "I would love it", she smugly confesses.)
Well, perhaps one day you will be present to hear me say, "Please join me as I offer a toast!! We are gathered in this place to celebrate the expulsion of a word crafted by the attachment of four letters from our alphabet. Lift your glass and hail the void that exists in its place. May it never be filled!!" (And the crowd will go wild.....)
What I truly can't abide, and N-E-V-E-R will, is the F-word. When did that word which was previously ostracized by decency for generations become accepted and common place? Was I asleep? In a cave? Without human contact for months? Years? Written in a novel or highlighted by graffiti on a railway car. Shouted in anger or spoken as an off-handed aside. It makes my skin crawl. It is vulgar, coarse and totally unnecessary. I hear it all the time now. So is this another result of the breaking down of social mores? Does the easing of culture and the peeled-off layers of manners introduce the crack which allows the slithering specter of crassness to infiltrate our daily existence?
I don't have that answer but if that's true I am happy to admit that I will remain very comfortably cloaked in my dinosaur skin, thank you very much. If I am out of touch so be it. Clinging to the hope that one day in this lifetime the art and skill of verbalizing an opinion or sitting down to pen a story or even perhaps by virtue of eavesdropping on a conversation at the next table will once again bear witness to the re-incorporation of the exceedingly vast reservoir of untapped descriptive vocabulary which is waiting in expectant silence for a summons to be useful once again. Wouldn't that just send a flash across the planet signaling the beginning of the end for this ugly four-letter word. (Wouldn't that be so cool? "I would love it", she smugly confesses.)
Well, perhaps one day you will be present to hear me say, "Please join me as I offer a toast!! We are gathered in this place to celebrate the expulsion of a word crafted by the attachment of four letters from our alphabet. Lift your glass and hail the void that exists in its place. May it never be filled!!" (And the crowd will go wild.....)
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Just Back from Exhaling in Paradise
We hadn't been able to take a full week away from the city for over two years. With many thanks to the One Above we took a week and headed south to our favorite spot on the planet for our fifth time. Each of us were thrilled to our toes for months just savoring what was to come. Sun. Waves. Shallow tidal pools. Gulf breeze. Shells. Uncomplicated. Quiet. Quirky. Tropical. All parts of the equation that sum up to Sanibel. "What?", you say, "Florida in August?? Are you out of your minds?"
I must admit that question has been posed to us in person several times and here is my answer: It's hot here. It's hot there. You have air conditioning here. There's AC and a 24/7 breeze there. You wear sunscreen here. We wear sunscreen there. You have lots of people here. There are NO crowds there. You walk for exercise in a gym or in your neighborhood here. We walk 5 to 8 miles a day on an expanse of sandy beach that is breathtaking. You pick up your kids dirty clothes and toys here. We reach for whelks, conchs, olives, tulips, lions paws, sea urchins, sand dollars....twice a day there. You yell at the crows squawking in your yard here. We laugh at the antics of the seabirds, gulls, and pelicans there. You watch the neighbors' dog run through your yard (one more time) here. We stand in awe of the dolphins five feet away as they frolic in the surf there. You discover trash thrown in your front yard from teenagers tossing away evidence. We discover Gofer tortoises, baby sea turtles, manna rays and blue crabs literally crossing our paths there. (The son actually saw one of the islands gators out-n-about on a West Gulf Drive sidewalk but it had slipped into a marshy spot by the time we got the car turned around.) Hmmm. Which place won? 'Here' or 'there'?
We ate at some of our old favorites like Island Cow, Cheeburger Cheeburger and the Bubble Room. And discovered new ones ~ the Over Easy Cafe, Matzaluna, plus took the Lady Chadwick to Cabbage Key for a cheeseburger (of Jimmy Buffet's 'Cheeseburger in Paradise' song fame). We scoured the antique store for the first time and strolled through wonderful boutiques at Periwinkle Place and Tangiers Outlet Mall added some great finds on the mainland side of the causeway. We stopped to shop several times for groceries at Baileys, the family owned and operated grocery store on Tarpon Bay. It is wonderfully small (no football field-long aisles here), comfortable and filled with friendly employees.
We stayed at our favorite place. Off the beaten path. Perfectly located for beach access. All I need other than a wonderful bed, a great shower, and clean floors? Some quietly whooshing ceiling fans, a screened-in lanai, a well equipped kitchen, three tv's (perfect for different tastes in entertainment -- reality, sports, comedies/movies -- everyone is happy, n'est pas?), and the absence of bugs or creepy crawly things. All of the above were in place. All of us were satisfied.
So once again after 7 days we had gotten our souls renewed yet were sad to say goodbye. Guess that's a good thing, isn't it. Best sign you could hope for. Can't wait for visit number six. Anticipation is always part of the joy. Exhaling is always part of the blessing.
I must admit that question has been posed to us in person several times and here is my answer: It's hot here. It's hot there. You have air conditioning here. There's AC and a 24/7 breeze there. You wear sunscreen here. We wear sunscreen there. You have lots of people here. There are NO crowds there. You walk for exercise in a gym or in your neighborhood here. We walk 5 to 8 miles a day on an expanse of sandy beach that is breathtaking. You pick up your kids dirty clothes and toys here. We reach for whelks, conchs, olives, tulips, lions paws, sea urchins, sand dollars....twice a day there. You yell at the crows squawking in your yard here. We laugh at the antics of the seabirds, gulls, and pelicans there. You watch the neighbors' dog run through your yard (one more time) here. We stand in awe of the dolphins five feet away as they frolic in the surf there. You discover trash thrown in your front yard from teenagers tossing away evidence. We discover Gofer tortoises, baby sea turtles, manna rays and blue crabs literally crossing our paths there. (The son actually saw one of the islands gators out-n-about on a West Gulf Drive sidewalk but it had slipped into a marshy spot by the time we got the car turned around.) Hmmm. Which place won? 'Here' or 'there'?
We ate at some of our old favorites like Island Cow, Cheeburger Cheeburger and the Bubble Room. And discovered new ones ~ the Over Easy Cafe, Matzaluna, plus took the Lady Chadwick to Cabbage Key for a cheeseburger (of Jimmy Buffet's 'Cheeseburger in Paradise' song fame). We scoured the antique store for the first time and strolled through wonderful boutiques at Periwinkle Place and Tangiers Outlet Mall added some great finds on the mainland side of the causeway. We stopped to shop several times for groceries at Baileys, the family owned and operated grocery store on Tarpon Bay. It is wonderfully small (no football field-long aisles here), comfortable and filled with friendly employees.
We stayed at our favorite place. Off the beaten path. Perfectly located for beach access. All I need other than a wonderful bed, a great shower, and clean floors? Some quietly whooshing ceiling fans, a screened-in lanai, a well equipped kitchen, three tv's (perfect for different tastes in entertainment -- reality, sports, comedies/movies -- everyone is happy, n'est pas?), and the absence of bugs or creepy crawly things. All of the above were in place. All of us were satisfied.
So once again after 7 days we had gotten our souls renewed yet were sad to say goodbye. Guess that's a good thing, isn't it. Best sign you could hope for. Can't wait for visit number six. Anticipation is always part of the joy. Exhaling is always part of the blessing.
Monday, August 17, 2009
From Then....To Now
When I look at my son today I see a tall, cute college guy who still exhibits that mischievous gleam in his eye, has the ability to make us cr-a-zy, and gives us moments of shining promise for the man is he becoming.
Of all the times I shared with my son by myself the character he created by himself after a bath one night out-of-the-blue are some of my fondest. He climbed out of the tub, curled himself into a tight little ball on the floor and proceeded to totally cover himself with a towel. I used his name something like "Alex, let's get you dried off." He responded in a very low, deep voice, "I'm not Alex." "Oh, I'm sorry! Who are you?" "I am Bob the Lump." I was so surprised. I just giggled went right along with this fabulous, creative turn in the emerging personality huddled in front of me on the tile. I properly introduced myself to 'Bob" and that began a friendship with a facet of my son's imagination which appeared after every bath for a very long time. Those were wonderful moments.
Now I look at him and see my temperament and his father's ability to argue extemporaneously.
I see my artistic slant and his dad's sports expertise. But more importantly I see his own big heart, his stubbornness, his wonderful sense of humor, his need to be taken seriously. I see a relentless three year old now a young adult who will not only survive but will thrive and succeed as a strong Christian bound to make his own personal mark on this world he embraces with arms wide open. And isn't that the grandest blessing of all.
Of all the times I shared with my son by myself the character he created by himself after a bath one night out-of-the-blue are some of my fondest. He climbed out of the tub, curled himself into a tight little ball on the floor and proceeded to totally cover himself with a towel. I used his name something like "Alex, let's get you dried off." He responded in a very low, deep voice, "I'm not Alex." "Oh, I'm sorry! Who are you?" "I am Bob the Lump." I was so surprised. I just giggled went right along with this fabulous, creative turn in the emerging personality huddled in front of me on the tile. I properly introduced myself to 'Bob" and that began a friendship with a facet of my son's imagination which appeared after every bath for a very long time. Those were wonderful moments.
Now I look at him and see my temperament and his father's ability to argue extemporaneously.
I see my artistic slant and his dad's sports expertise. But more importantly I see his own big heart, his stubbornness, his wonderful sense of humor, his need to be taken seriously. I see a relentless three year old now a young adult who will not only survive but will thrive and succeed as a strong Christian bound to make his own personal mark on this world he embraces with arms wide open. And isn't that the grandest blessing of all.
Favorite Quotes
I kept a daily diary on our son for the first two years of his life. From then through middle school I wrote frequently just not everyday. The high school years were busy and I made notes of the special times and signs of maturity that had begun to peek through adding hope and senses of accomplishment to his progress.
This gift of ours has given us endless days of laughter and frustration. Pride and humility. Stress and joy. What most parents experience . Here are some sparkling examples of how he has enriched our days and made it all worthwhile.
"You know Christ the Lord is Jesus' nickname."
"Great. My mother is losing her mind." (This after he asked me is I remember something that he was trying to explain which supposedly had happened some time in the past and I had NO idea what he was talking about.)
"That's the Civil War. Lots of Americans fought there and lots died. They went up to heaven and turned into angels and one got to be the Tooth Fairy." (A TV commercial promoting a new Civil War documentary caught his attention.)
"That's just the way the world works. (I made the observation that he was playing with a boy he was very angry with the day before.)
"Because it takes too much of my energies to think of it."(when asked by his dad why he couldn't hit the baseball each time it was tossed to him at age 5.)
What a hoot. Made it all worthwhile.
This gift of ours has given us endless days of laughter and frustration. Pride and humility. Stress and joy. What most parents experience . Here are some sparkling examples of how he has enriched our days and made it all worthwhile.
"You know Christ the Lord is Jesus' nickname."
"Great. My mother is losing her mind." (This after he asked me is I remember something that he was trying to explain which supposedly had happened some time in the past and I had NO idea what he was talking about.)
"That's the Civil War. Lots of Americans fought there and lots died. They went up to heaven and turned into angels and one got to be the Tooth Fairy." (A TV commercial promoting a new Civil War documentary caught his attention.)
"That's just the way the world works. (I made the observation that he was playing with a boy he was very angry with the day before.)
"Because it takes too much of my energies to think of it."(when asked by his dad why he couldn't hit the baseball each time it was tossed to him at age 5.)
What a hoot. Made it all worthwhile.
Favorite Stories
(**NOTE: My grand plan to write a post each day prior to my son's birthday was interrupted by the "modem not communicating with the server" for the three days prior to our departure and then the actual onset of our week-long family vacation. Now back, the son is officially an adult and I am ready to write the three remaining entries! Thanks for your patience and understanding.)
While the child grew up the general greeting I received at work was not "How are you?" or "Good Morning!"...it was "We want another story!" and ""What happened yesterday??". Our son had a knack for finding himself as the poster child for behavior that all other mothers loved to hear about (and were secretly thrilled that it was NOT their child!!!). I laughed along with the rest of them. Couldn't really do much else...and heck, it made life interesting and most of his scrapes were funny (at least after the shock wore off).
Some of my favorites:
Soon after his enrollment in a very well known and hallowed child care program in our community he decided to test his balance. He climbed up on a little wooden chair to see if he could stand on the top. Alas, he could not and four stitches ensued.
As we all know children at the age of 3 or 4 tend to say what they think or feel. They are curious and blunt and make verbal observations without any qualms at all. One afternoon when I picked him up at the same care center one of the teachers came over and requested a moment of my time. She was quite prime and proper ( a little too un-bending in my opinion to be with little people all day long if you get my drift). She quietly told me that my son had made a loud statement about a lady's anatomy when this mother who was very well endowed had come to get her child. I was quite adamantly told that those types of statements were frowned upon at the school and would not be tolerated. I just looked at her and said, "Beth, do you really believe that at home my husband and I teach our son that those bold announcements are both polite and acceptable? Really? Am I hearing your message correctly? Because if I am I want to erase that pre-conceived notion from your head and assure you that he would be quickly censored and asked to give an apology to the subject of his statement." She just looked down her nose at me with the most aghast expression on her face.
Another time was during a summer daycare situation. He was in an inaugural program at his elementary school and had decided to see if he could toss his freshly crafted playdoh up to the high ceiling of the auditorium/general assembly room. And guess what?? He could! And it stuck! That action prompted a call from the principal herself. Now what you need to understand here is that our student was not one of her honor program students -- thus she didn't really have the time nor the inclination to have anything to do with him. In a voice dripping with pure condescention she explained that this behavior was simply not allowed and punishment would follow. The janitor was able by way of a very tall ladder to clean the goo off the tiles, leaving just a slight stain that would not call attention to itself if you didn't know it existed. I just knew that pitching arm would be tested one day and prove its true potential -- 'course I couldn't tell her that!! And, yes, my son received discipline at home and at school (even though we laughed and shook our heads once again at the colorful antics of an active young boy).
These are just three of the many, many stories that filled our youngster's life. As you can imagine those years were an unending stream of trials and triumphs.... lectures and hugs. What a kid.
While the child grew up the general greeting I received at work was not "How are you?" or "Good Morning!"...it was "We want another story!" and ""What happened yesterday??". Our son had a knack for finding himself as the poster child for behavior that all other mothers loved to hear about (and were secretly thrilled that it was NOT their child!!!). I laughed along with the rest of them. Couldn't really do much else...and heck, it made life interesting and most of his scrapes were funny (at least after the shock wore off).
Some of my favorites:
Soon after his enrollment in a very well known and hallowed child care program in our community he decided to test his balance. He climbed up on a little wooden chair to see if he could stand on the top. Alas, he could not and four stitches ensued.
As we all know children at the age of 3 or 4 tend to say what they think or feel. They are curious and blunt and make verbal observations without any qualms at all. One afternoon when I picked him up at the same care center one of the teachers came over and requested a moment of my time. She was quite prime and proper ( a little too un-bending in my opinion to be with little people all day long if you get my drift). She quietly told me that my son had made a loud statement about a lady's anatomy when this mother who was very well endowed had come to get her child. I was quite adamantly told that those types of statements were frowned upon at the school and would not be tolerated. I just looked at her and said, "Beth, do you really believe that at home my husband and I teach our son that those bold announcements are both polite and acceptable? Really? Am I hearing your message correctly? Because if I am I want to erase that pre-conceived notion from your head and assure you that he would be quickly censored and asked to give an apology to the subject of his statement." She just looked down her nose at me with the most aghast expression on her face.
Another time was during a summer daycare situation. He was in an inaugural program at his elementary school and had decided to see if he could toss his freshly crafted playdoh up to the high ceiling of the auditorium/general assembly room. And guess what?? He could! And it stuck! That action prompted a call from the principal herself. Now what you need to understand here is that our student was not one of her honor program students -- thus she didn't really have the time nor the inclination to have anything to do with him. In a voice dripping with pure condescention she explained that this behavior was simply not allowed and punishment would follow. The janitor was able by way of a very tall ladder to clean the goo off the tiles, leaving just a slight stain that would not call attention to itself if you didn't know it existed. I just knew that pitching arm would be tested one day and prove its true potential -- 'course I couldn't tell her that!! And, yes, my son received discipline at home and at school (even though we laughed and shook our heads once again at the colorful antics of an active young boy).
These are just three of the many, many stories that filled our youngster's life. As you can imagine those years were an unending stream of trials and triumphs.... lectures and hugs. What a kid.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
This is Nothing Like Babysitting
I did lots and lots of babysitting as a teenager. Thought I could rely on those years of training with all the kids I had taken care of along the way. HA!! That gap of some fifteen years in addition to skills now gone rusty made bringing our little bundle home a whole new ballgame. Kind of like being a grandparent. Love the grandkids. Spoil the grandkids. Send them home. Watch the neighbor's son and daughter for a few hours. Play. Read. Color a few pictures. Go home. No muss. No fuss.
First of all let me state that if EVER I hear someone in the future say that a new mother will know what an infant needs by the sound of their cry I will call them CRAZY to their face. I had no idea if our son was hungry or wet or mad or sad or any of that. I just went down that checklist in the last sentance and tried to figure it out. Then I kept him all wrapped up like a papoose because that's what they did in the hospital....until my mother calmly asked me if I walked around the house tightly wrapped up in a blanket. And I scrubbed everything 2 or 3 or 4 times to make sure whatever came in contract with the baby was germ-free. To which a good friend calmly said, and I quote: "Babies survive in Ethiopia, you know." So I only scrubbed two times after that.
I wasn't very good at sharing either. Especially at first. I was extremely possessive. Didn't let family members or friends hold him for 'too' long a time. Made me nervous. I eventually learned to 'exhale' and got comfortable with the fact that those who wanted to have him in their arms for a while would be extra-special careful. Babies do that to people. They bring out the best in us.
We read and we rocked. Bathed him and sang to him. Gasped the first time he did the little boy arch of water during a diaper change....and laughed whenever it happened again because we were prepared with a quick washcloth. We took pictures. We would stare and study him, memorizing each tiny feature. Every little expression. Listened to all the sounds he made. Rained kisses on his soft cheeks and downy head. Those were the moments I knew it didn't matter if I remembered all the details from my Red Cross Babysitting Class lessons. What we did know was that a far greater hand was leading us and teaching us. What we didn't know was that He was also slowly preparing us for the adventures yet to be.....
First of all let me state that if EVER I hear someone in the future say that a new mother will know what an infant needs by the sound of their cry I will call them CRAZY to their face. I had no idea if our son was hungry or wet or mad or sad or any of that. I just went down that checklist in the last sentance and tried to figure it out. Then I kept him all wrapped up like a papoose because that's what they did in the hospital....until my mother calmly asked me if I walked around the house tightly wrapped up in a blanket. And I scrubbed everything 2 or 3 or 4 times to make sure whatever came in contract with the baby was germ-free. To which a good friend calmly said, and I quote: "Babies survive in Ethiopia, you know." So I only scrubbed two times after that.
I wasn't very good at sharing either. Especially at first. I was extremely possessive. Didn't let family members or friends hold him for 'too' long a time. Made me nervous. I eventually learned to 'exhale' and got comfortable with the fact that those who wanted to have him in their arms for a while would be extra-special careful. Babies do that to people. They bring out the best in us.
We read and we rocked. Bathed him and sang to him. Gasped the first time he did the little boy arch of water during a diaper change....and laughed whenever it happened again because we were prepared with a quick washcloth. We took pictures. We would stare and study him, memorizing each tiny feature. Every little expression. Listened to all the sounds he made. Rained kisses on his soft cheeks and downy head. Those were the moments I knew it didn't matter if I remembered all the details from my Red Cross Babysitting Class lessons. What we did know was that a far greater hand was leading us and teaching us. What we didn't know was that He was also slowly preparing us for the adventures yet to be.....
In Control
About 4am the contractions started. I was making sure my bag was packed, the house was neat, the baby's room ready. I was wide awake. My husband calmly went back to bed. From my perspective I thought he should be as wound-up as I was. Looking from his perspective it was very early and there was still time left to catch a little more sleep. Who could argue?? Everything was going as planned so let him sleep!
Called the doctor appropriately when the labor pains were getting closer. Waited for their call back. Waited. Waited. And waited some more. Finally my husband called the office ~ "OH! We thought you said a different last name and we have soooo many of those in our system that we couldn't possibly have called them all. Thank you for calling back." Now I am listening to this conversation thinking this is going well so far. Helloooo. She asked him which one of the two hospitals, where the OB/GYN group delivered, we would like to go to. And my logical husband replied we would go wherever the doctor was (do we hear a 'dah'??) that morning as he repeated that my labor pains were now less than ten minutes apart.
After getting that all straightened out he put me in the car and off we went. This begins my favorite part of the story. The shortest route was down a extremely well traveled street in our community that desperately needed repair. Think corregated cardboard. Bump-bump....Bump-bump....Bump-bump. Hear my poor driver apologizing after every Bump-bump. And me telling him, keeping in the same rhythm as in my breathing techniques, that everything was okay. It wasn't his fault. That he was doing a fine job. I was calm and cool and supportive on the outside (while secretly hoping after every rise in that asphalt the baby didn't decide to pop out on the inside!!!).
He dropped me off at the hospital's lobby so he could get the car parked in the adjacent garage. What you have to picture and understand here is that the hospital's lobby and attached corridors were under construction. We're talking caution tape and bare drywall. The only other person in this entire place is a woman seated at a little desk who must have been there to give directions, whatever. I have no idea what her use was. All I can tell you is that she paid absolutely no attention to this very pregnant, obviously near birth mother-to-be. I should have been screaming to get her attention or something. But noooooo. Not me. I was in control. I didn't need her...or a wheelchair....or an attendant to push me to Labor and Delivery...or anybody or anything. Finally my spouse rushed through the door and led me toward the elevator. For this 'visual' think of the old Batman TV show where he and Robin would "walk" up the side of buildings by pulling themselves up a rope (remember that??). Now picture me pulling myself down the hallway hand-over-hand on the handrail. Seriously. The thought went through my mind that this was it. The headlines in the next morning edition of the newspaper would read: "Baby Shoots Out Like a Stick of Butter in Hospital Hallway". But I was in control.
Long story short. I was put in a delivery room, took out my sour cherry sucker, took two licks and made to the bathroom sink before I threw up (already in Transition and the stomach wasn't interested in refreshments). The nurse left me alone for 45 minutes. Sauntered in (finally) to fill out a form. The husband was giving wrong answers so I interrupted in-between my hee-hee's and ho-ho's (heck I was so lost I just decided to make whatever noise made sense to me and kept my mind off the contractions!) to give the correct answers. Never raised my voice. Never shouted any insults. I was going to be a sweet loving lady through the entire ordeal until.....she told me to turn on my side which I did. Then she asked me if I felt like pushing. PUSHING?? That was it. This was my first baby. I had no idea if I felt like pushing or not. But I certainly felt like punching 'Nurse Rachet" then, that's for sure!! So she decided to meander over to do a little checking. And what do you know?? "The baby's crowning!!" Her eyes got real big and she turned on her heel to rush over to push the double doors wide open. "I NEED HELP IN HERE!!!" she yelled down the hall. Instantly there was a doctor, an intern, a nurse in the room. The lights were turned down. The team got down to business and after four pushes and a little over six hours after the labor started I presented a darling baby boy to a very proud father.
My first thought after I got to hold him? I wondered what his voice would sound like. Second? I realized I felt perfectly normal as if I had never been pregnant. Third? I couldn't wait to have grandchildren. Fourth? I was starved and steak sure sounded good. Fifth? Control was a very good thing.
Called the doctor appropriately when the labor pains were getting closer. Waited for their call back. Waited. Waited. And waited some more. Finally my husband called the office ~ "OH! We thought you said a different last name and we have soooo many of those in our system that we couldn't possibly have called them all. Thank you for calling back." Now I am listening to this conversation thinking this is going well so far. Helloooo. She asked him which one of the two hospitals, where the OB/GYN group delivered, we would like to go to. And my logical husband replied we would go wherever the doctor was (do we hear a 'dah'??) that morning as he repeated that my labor pains were now less than ten minutes apart.
After getting that all straightened out he put me in the car and off we went. This begins my favorite part of the story. The shortest route was down a extremely well traveled street in our community that desperately needed repair. Think corregated cardboard. Bump-bump....Bump-bump....Bump-bump. Hear my poor driver apologizing after every Bump-bump. And me telling him, keeping in the same rhythm as in my breathing techniques, that everything was okay. It wasn't his fault. That he was doing a fine job. I was calm and cool and supportive on the outside (while secretly hoping after every rise in that asphalt the baby didn't decide to pop out on the inside!!!).
He dropped me off at the hospital's lobby so he could get the car parked in the adjacent garage. What you have to picture and understand here is that the hospital's lobby and attached corridors were under construction. We're talking caution tape and bare drywall. The only other person in this entire place is a woman seated at a little desk who must have been there to give directions, whatever. I have no idea what her use was. All I can tell you is that she paid absolutely no attention to this very pregnant, obviously near birth mother-to-be. I should have been screaming to get her attention or something. But noooooo. Not me. I was in control. I didn't need her...or a wheelchair....or an attendant to push me to Labor and Delivery...or anybody or anything. Finally my spouse rushed through the door and led me toward the elevator. For this 'visual' think of the old Batman TV show where he and Robin would "walk" up the side of buildings by pulling themselves up a rope (remember that??). Now picture me pulling myself down the hallway hand-over-hand on the handrail. Seriously. The thought went through my mind that this was it. The headlines in the next morning edition of the newspaper would read: "Baby Shoots Out Like a Stick of Butter in Hospital Hallway". But I was in control.
Long story short. I was put in a delivery room, took out my sour cherry sucker, took two licks and made to the bathroom sink before I threw up (already in Transition and the stomach wasn't interested in refreshments). The nurse left me alone for 45 minutes. Sauntered in (finally) to fill out a form. The husband was giving wrong answers so I interrupted in-between my hee-hee's and ho-ho's (heck I was so lost I just decided to make whatever noise made sense to me and kept my mind off the contractions!) to give the correct answers. Never raised my voice. Never shouted any insults. I was going to be a sweet loving lady through the entire ordeal until.....she told me to turn on my side which I did. Then she asked me if I felt like pushing. PUSHING?? That was it. This was my first baby. I had no idea if I felt like pushing or not. But I certainly felt like punching 'Nurse Rachet" then, that's for sure!! So she decided to meander over to do a little checking. And what do you know?? "The baby's crowning!!" Her eyes got real big and she turned on her heel to rush over to push the double doors wide open. "I NEED HELP IN HERE!!!" she yelled down the hall. Instantly there was a doctor, an intern, a nurse in the room. The lights were turned down. The team got down to business and after four pushes and a little over six hours after the labor started I presented a darling baby boy to a very proud father.
My first thought after I got to hold him? I wondered what his voice would sound like. Second? I realized I felt perfectly normal as if I had never been pregnant. Third? I couldn't wait to have grandchildren. Fourth? I was starved and steak sure sounded good. Fifth? Control was a very good thing.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
So If You Had A Girl, What Would You Name Her?
Yep. That's how my husband broached the subject of having a baby. We were driving down to Myrtle Beach and we had just gone throught the kink on I-77 in North Carolina continuing south. We had been married ten years and had decided early on we would not have children. We would spoil our nieces and nephews and be a career-oriented couple. You can picture the look on my face, I'm sure. Sort of the mixture of "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" and "Are you crazy??!?" Well, I went along with the program and in about fifteen minutes we had a name. Morgan (because we both liked it) Margaret (after his very special paternal grandmother). The surprising part was with our last name starting with an S not every first name flows well with it and we made short work of finding . I, of course, was thrilled with her would-be monogram knowing it would look classic. Clean. Plus I knew what my nickname for her would be: M&M's. Perfect for a chocoholic's daughter, don't you think!! The boy's name, on the other hand, took us 14 months to choose. (The cool part of that was that he has grown up to like his name. He has shun every nickname I have ever tried to hang on him.)
I loved being pregnant. Really and truly I did. I had never felt healthier. I ate well. Never, not for one second, felt nauseous. I was just tickled to be carrying this new life inside of me.
Had some bumps along the way with the standard tests given at certain weeks. Even got a call from my OB/GYN on a Friday night to give me the results. After I shook off the shock that hit me I had enough wits about me to ask him one question: If I was his wife what would he tell me to do. He gave his answer after asking me one question to answer first. My husband and I accepted his advice deciding not to have further testing done. With God's hand that recommendation was sound and we did not regret our response to the doctor's essential inquiry.
I was put to 'sofa' rest (after a promise made and some gentle persuation ~ the bed rest was driving me crazy!) with 7 weeks to go. How long I had been have labor pains I will never know. I just chalked up the little pains and twinges to indigestion or just regularly expected pregnancy 'stuff'. Oops!! Guess this naive mother-to-be thought she was just doing fine and dandy and had no need to bother anyone. My husband was traveling 4 days a week so the dog kept me company, my grandmother called every afternoon to check on me, the postman was especially attentive helping me any way he could (wasn't that nice??), friends brought meals. Life was good as long as I did what I was supposed to do.
The day we became parents started early for me. I woke up at 3:15am and I remember thinking I should change my sleeping position from my back to my side. As soon as I did I had this instantaneous flash that I had to get to the bathroom. FAST. Don't think about it. Just move. I listened to my instinct and I was just sitting down when my water broke. The first thought that shattered my brain? I was going to be a mother. Today. TODAY!! Life would never be the same. Ever. And I have been so thankful for every single day.
I loved being pregnant. Really and truly I did. I had never felt healthier. I ate well. Never, not for one second, felt nauseous. I was just tickled to be carrying this new life inside of me.
Had some bumps along the way with the standard tests given at certain weeks. Even got a call from my OB/GYN on a Friday night to give me the results. After I shook off the shock that hit me I had enough wits about me to ask him one question: If I was his wife what would he tell me to do. He gave his answer after asking me one question to answer first. My husband and I accepted his advice deciding not to have further testing done. With God's hand that recommendation was sound and we did not regret our response to the doctor's essential inquiry.
I was put to 'sofa' rest (after a promise made and some gentle persuation ~ the bed rest was driving me crazy!) with 7 weeks to go. How long I had been have labor pains I will never know. I just chalked up the little pains and twinges to indigestion or just regularly expected pregnancy 'stuff'. Oops!! Guess this naive mother-to-be thought she was just doing fine and dandy and had no need to bother anyone. My husband was traveling 4 days a week so the dog kept me company, my grandmother called every afternoon to check on me, the postman was especially attentive helping me any way he could (wasn't that nice??), friends brought meals. Life was good as long as I did what I was supposed to do.
The day we became parents started early for me. I woke up at 3:15am and I remember thinking I should change my sleeping position from my back to my side. As soon as I did I had this instantaneous flash that I had to get to the bathroom. FAST. Don't think about it. Just move. I listened to my instinct and I was just sitting down when my water broke. The first thought that shattered my brain? I was going to be a mother. Today. TODAY!! Life would never be the same. Ever. And I have been so thankful for every single day.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
We Made It!! Woo-Hoo!!!!
My son will be twenty-one VERY soon. With a full heart, a happy smile and a loud "Alleluia" we made it. We have reached the milestone. Believe me there were days.... months..... and the entire year of the age of three.....that I had my doubts. I am NOT kidding you. My dentist at the time even told me that stress was a major cause of the two new cavities he found. (That alone put me over the top. I also found a new dentist. Immediately.)
The next seven days I am dedicating to my child and will share some highlights of his 'beginning' and his life journey up to this point. I'm sitting here now smiling as I remember my personal favorites. All I can say is God in His infinite wisdom knew that one child (yes, I was hoping for twins) was what we could handle so with a touch of humor He bundled a whole lot into this darling cute little package we were given. The up-side is that we haven't been commited yet to a sanitarium on a permanent basis. The down-side? I guess there's still time....
The next seven days I am dedicating to my child and will share some highlights of his 'beginning' and his life journey up to this point. I'm sitting here now smiling as I remember my personal favorites. All I can say is God in His infinite wisdom knew that one child (yes, I was hoping for twins) was what we could handle so with a touch of humor He bundled a whole lot into this darling cute little package we were given. The up-side is that we haven't been commited yet to a sanitarium on a permanent basis. The down-side? I guess there's still time....
Thursday, July 23, 2009
I said. They said. What's with that???
This is a phenomenon that I believe started with Adam and Eve and has flowed down through the Romans and Greeks and Incas and Persians and Egyptians and Vikings and Highlanders and Shoguns and Pilgrims and ... you get my drift by now I think. It hasn't changed yet as I can bear witness and I am pretty sure that it will continue to be passed on for many, many generations to come.
In a nutshell: Why is it that a wife can tell her husband something and he tells her she is wrong or crazy or gives her no credit at all. Yet if a neighbor or colleague or golf partner tells him the EXACT SAME THING a day or a week or whatever later that person has just shared a pearl of wisdom that he must rush right home and share with you. What?? Your face does not seem to display the reaction he was expecting. "Isn't that interesting, Honey? I can't believe you haven't heard about this." he'll say to you. "Aren't you impressed? I thought you would be?!"
Now we just went through this (again) last week. I suggested something to him and he pretty much ignored me. Then two days later a third party suggested the EXACT SAME THING. He relayed to me their conversation in its entirety. I sat there with absolutely no hint of what was going through my mind. I let him lay out the whole discourse they had and when he was all finished I very quietly asked, "Did you happen to tell with this person that I put this very idea out on the table earlier this week?" No, I did not add allow myself to cover my words with a nasty overtone...even though I surely deserved the right to do just that!?#@??!! And, no, I did not look at him like he had two heads. And do you know what that man said to me with a straight face?? Only four words. "Well, no, I didn't."
That was all. He didn't apologize. Didn't acknowledge my perceptiveness nor my intuitive insight. Nothing. Very disappointing. But you know what I personally feel so good about?? I never lost my cool. Never once raised my voice to yell "you lout!!" or "how insensitive can you be?" or "where is my credit?". (Just between us I must confess that on the in inside I was a screaming mess as I clearly deserved to be.) I simply added it onto that invisible unpenned list that exists in the unseen cosmos that all women have, and forever will, made contributions to for all eternity. Alas, we must face this never ending challenge and accept that it is just one of the crosses we have to bear, Girls. (heavy sigh, hand draped over forehead)
In a nutshell: Why is it that a wife can tell her husband something and he tells her she is wrong or crazy or gives her no credit at all. Yet if a neighbor or colleague or golf partner tells him the EXACT SAME THING a day or a week or whatever later that person has just shared a pearl of wisdom that he must rush right home and share with you. What?? Your face does not seem to display the reaction he was expecting. "Isn't that interesting, Honey? I can't believe you haven't heard about this." he'll say to you. "Aren't you impressed? I thought you would be?!"
Now we just went through this (again) last week. I suggested something to him and he pretty much ignored me. Then two days later a third party suggested the EXACT SAME THING. He relayed to me their conversation in its entirety. I sat there with absolutely no hint of what was going through my mind. I let him lay out the whole discourse they had and when he was all finished I very quietly asked, "Did you happen to tell with this person that I put this very idea out on the table earlier this week?" No, I did not add allow myself to cover my words with a nasty overtone...even though I surely deserved the right to do just that!?#@??!! And, no, I did not look at him like he had two heads. And do you know what that man said to me with a straight face?? Only four words. "Well, no, I didn't."
That was all. He didn't apologize. Didn't acknowledge my perceptiveness nor my intuitive insight. Nothing. Very disappointing. But you know what I personally feel so good about?? I never lost my cool. Never once raised my voice to yell "you lout!!" or "how insensitive can you be?" or "where is my credit?". (Just between us I must confess that on the in inside I was a screaming mess as I clearly deserved to be.) I simply added it onto that invisible unpenned list that exists in the unseen cosmos that all women have, and forever will, made contributions to for all eternity. Alas, we must face this never ending challenge and accept that it is just one of the crosses we have to bear, Girls. (heavy sigh, hand draped over forehead)
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Shopping Strategy Secret (Shhh...Pass It On)
When I was growing up and my mother, sister and I would go shopping we always hit the sale racks first. Remember: this was WAY before the days of the "wait five minutes and it will got on sale" trend and mentality. During that time the major department stores only had 3 or 4 main sales a year. So when we would went to a store we would make our selections, try the pieces on in that store's dressing rooms (none of this buy it now/return it later stuff either). Then we would proudly take our prizes home where we would show my dad everything we bought. Mother would emphasize that each item had been marked down once, twice, maybe even three times. He would ALWAYS (yes, you can make money on this bet) respond by saying "These sales are going to kill me!" while rolling his eyes.
Contrast that scenario with the following: We shopped mostly at two stores with Sears being one of them. Dad would usually go with us for the annual fall shopping spree to get new shoes and school clothes. PAY ATTENTION! This is a very important life lesson I learned early on and have utilized this secret countless times throughout my days at home and my married life. For example: Say during this family event I had picked out two tops, a skirt, a pair of pants and a dress. I would go into the dressing room, put on one of the tops and the skirt, go back out into the store where my dad was waiting and I would model them for him. He would tilt his head, tell me to turn around, ask me how they fit. Then I would repeat the process until he had seen each piece. He would do that for my sister as well. Then there would be a family conference as to what would be bought. And you know what? Nine times out of ten we were allowed to take home all of the things we tried on and liked. There was no talk of "this is going to kill me". Not one little peep. So we would smile, say thank you and skip all the way to the car.
I have found that works with my husband as well. If he is not with us on a shopping expedition whether it be for clothes, shoes, household goods, athletic equipment, food, whatever he will question selections, price, choices, reasons. But if he is with us he will offer to buy more than our immediate need or expectations.
Hmmmm. Sounds like there is a method to the madness after all. Conduct your own experiment. See how well this works for you. You think this is sly? I'm not sneaking anything into the house under his nose. Manipulative? I'm not bargaining or threatening bodily harm or throwing a tantrum. Nope, nothing like that. Just common sense I guess. The whole key is to involve the male when he is interested. Lay out the why's and pro's. And VOILA! POOF! Your wish is fulfilled!! What's not to love? (Psst ~ add a hug, kiss and a "thank you". Appreciation is always appreciated.)
Contrast that scenario with the following: We shopped mostly at two stores with Sears being one of them. Dad would usually go with us for the annual fall shopping spree to get new shoes and school clothes. PAY ATTENTION! This is a very important life lesson I learned early on and have utilized this secret countless times throughout my days at home and my married life. For example: Say during this family event I had picked out two tops, a skirt, a pair of pants and a dress. I would go into the dressing room, put on one of the tops and the skirt, go back out into the store where my dad was waiting and I would model them for him. He would tilt his head, tell me to turn around, ask me how they fit. Then I would repeat the process until he had seen each piece. He would do that for my sister as well. Then there would be a family conference as to what would be bought. And you know what? Nine times out of ten we were allowed to take home all of the things we tried on and liked. There was no talk of "this is going to kill me". Not one little peep. So we would smile, say thank you and skip all the way to the car.
I have found that works with my husband as well. If he is not with us on a shopping expedition whether it be for clothes, shoes, household goods, athletic equipment, food, whatever he will question selections, price, choices, reasons. But if he is with us he will offer to buy more than our immediate need or expectations.
Hmmmm. Sounds like there is a method to the madness after all. Conduct your own experiment. See how well this works for you. You think this is sly? I'm not sneaking anything into the house under his nose. Manipulative? I'm not bargaining or threatening bodily harm or throwing a tantrum. Nope, nothing like that. Just common sense I guess. The whole key is to involve the male when he is interested. Lay out the why's and pro's. And VOILA! POOF! Your wish is fulfilled!! What's not to love? (Psst ~ add a hug, kiss and a "thank you". Appreciation is always appreciated.)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
True Confession
"Hi. My name is XXX and I don't smoke, hardly drink at all, don't cheat on my husband, never have done drugs. But I need to publicly confess my greatest weakness. You have to help me. What makes me do this? How do I justify this craziness? This obsession?
No, it is not chocolate. Don't blame you for guessing that. It would appear to be the obvious. I guess that is a testament to how well I have hid this addiction for so many years now. This total lack of self control. I can rationalize my action on several levels luckily. Let's see: cheaper than cigarettes or alcohol or drugs; time saver compared to taking the time to find, book and spend money to attend therapy sessions; it keeps people employed. (Bet that last one caught your attention. Read on, curious one, read on.)
Drum Roll Please! (A little drama is always appreciated when a deep, dark secret is about to be revealed. ) I spend an extra three to five minutes in the shower letting the cascading hot water pound a hand-less massage on my neck and back. I am especially fond of partaking in this activity at night. The house is quiet. I turn the bright lights down to a comforting glow. I am relaxed and refreshed and cleansed before I climb into the cool sheets and let the wings of slumber rock me to sleep. (And the 'keep people employed' line above? That's the plumber if I ever need one.)
Not spicy enough for you? Not front-page tabloid fodder? Well wait just a doggone minute here. Maybe this is small potatoes to your way of thinking but it definitely rocks my world. After working all day then grocery shopping before I arrive home to cook dinner followed by cleaning up the kitchen....then doing laundry and ironing....or studying....or having a wonderful conversation with my husband....or watering the grass seed that has been sewn on the perimeter of our lot due to the street construction....or weeding the garden and shooing away the furry little gray squirrel which is coveting my growing red bell peppers....or signing birthday and anniversary cards and writing letters to my friend and relatives who don't have computers I feel positively justified in spoiling myself in such a wonderfully decadent manner.
Now it's your turn. All eyes of the support group are focused on you. What do you mean you don't want to? I shared mine and, yes, I expect you to live up to your part of the bargain. Spill. Hurry up. You can do it. Yes, I'll still be your friend and, no, you can't get out of it. Just share yours by clicking on the word 'Comments' below. Liberation is just a moment away! I am so proud of you!!
No, it is not chocolate. Don't blame you for guessing that. It would appear to be the obvious. I guess that is a testament to how well I have hid this addiction for so many years now. This total lack of self control. I can rationalize my action on several levels luckily. Let's see: cheaper than cigarettes or alcohol or drugs; time saver compared to taking the time to find, book and spend money to attend therapy sessions; it keeps people employed. (Bet that last one caught your attention. Read on, curious one, read on.)
Drum Roll Please! (A little drama is always appreciated when a deep, dark secret is about to be revealed. ) I spend an extra three to five minutes in the shower letting the cascading hot water pound a hand-less massage on my neck and back. I am especially fond of partaking in this activity at night. The house is quiet. I turn the bright lights down to a comforting glow. I am relaxed and refreshed and cleansed before I climb into the cool sheets and let the wings of slumber rock me to sleep. (And the 'keep people employed' line above? That's the plumber if I ever need one.)
Not spicy enough for you? Not front-page tabloid fodder? Well wait just a doggone minute here. Maybe this is small potatoes to your way of thinking but it definitely rocks my world. After working all day then grocery shopping before I arrive home to cook dinner followed by cleaning up the kitchen....then doing laundry and ironing....or studying....or having a wonderful conversation with my husband....or watering the grass seed that has been sewn on the perimeter of our lot due to the street construction....or weeding the garden and shooing away the furry little gray squirrel which is coveting my growing red bell peppers....or signing birthday and anniversary cards and writing letters to my friend and relatives who don't have computers I feel positively justified in spoiling myself in such a wonderfully decadent manner.
Now it's your turn. All eyes of the support group are focused on you. What do you mean you don't want to? I shared mine and, yes, I expect you to live up to your part of the bargain. Spill. Hurry up. You can do it. Yes, I'll still be your friend and, no, you can't get out of it. Just share yours by clicking on the word 'Comments' below. Liberation is just a moment away! I am so proud of you!!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Being in the 'Now'
How many times have you heard your parents say: "Now, in my day we......"? What was/is your very first reaction? C'mon admit it, set yourself free. It's 'cringe' isn't it? Or 'dread'? Whichever descriptive word you prefer. Your insides clench knowing for the most part you are about to hear something you really aren't interested in or that you have already heard several times before in one form or another. The second? It's all right you can say it now. Remember you are among friends who understand. Your eyes roll. I guessed it, didn't I? You try and hide it by looking away for a moment so they won't see you do it. But you can't just help yourself. And the third and final stage of coping is the emphasized exhale. The volume not loud enough for the story teller to hear but just enough for your satisfaction to be fulfilled. We all do these because we sincerely don't want to be rude. We can't hold up our hand and say "Stop!" because we have been introduced to this tale on previous occasions or we know we are about to be bored beyond tears or simply we have no interest in this particular scenario. The underlying purpose for the above is to provide a few nano seconds for our minds to place an invisible cushion between our frustration and our patience which enables us to listen attentively with a smile firmly planted on our face thus diverting any hurt feelings. At least that's the concept I have fashioned over time to protect my own sanity.
Now playing Devil's Advocate and analyzing the flip-side, how many times have you caught yourself repeating that infamous intro line to your kids? Do you become a screaming mimi realizing you HAVE become your parents!!?!! It has now truly happened and you swore it NEVER EVER EVER would!!!??!!!! Or is it actually part of every person's DNA? There is a gene that forces us to start using that when we reach a certain age. We have absolutely no control at all. It could be a possibility, you know. Wouldn't that be convenient if it were true! But, alas, I fear that is a wish, a fantasy (darn it all!).
I am here to fortuitously sprinkle some of my famous Happy Fairy Dust (HFD) over your head to ease your pain and to assure you there is a way to stop that annoying generational trend. How can we, as the masses who want to end this thousands-of-years-old-tiresome-generational-habit, turn the corner to a unveil a shockingly new and fresh next-thousands-of-years-old-generational-mindset?
Stay current. Be in the 'Now'. Then practice what you are learning. Converse with your kids, your partner, your lunch buddies. It's as simple as that. Starting right this very minute use a new application on your PC, surf YouTube, listen to a radio station that plays the Top 40, go to exhibits at museums and galleries, subscribe to a new magazine that features trendy (not meaningless 'fluff' but current, timely events) articles, catch a new TV series, try new recipes or go to that little bistro that opened up around the corner, buy the HUGELY thick September issue of Vogue and see what's predicted for spring. Do not wait until tomorrow. Do not profess false and insincere intentions. I'm telling you this will only work if we start a grassroots push through our connected personal networks. (Wouldn't that be way cool if two or three or ten generations from now those folks could point to a time line and say that in 2009 there was a torque in the American culture that brought about change?? We would be famous!!!)
Are you with me?? I am your friend, your relative, your neighbor, your acquaintance. Take my advice. I promise that if you do you will be happier. If you listen and do what I say your life will be easier, better. Wait!! What just happened?? OH NO!! I DO SOUND LIKE MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!!
Now playing Devil's Advocate and analyzing the flip-side, how many times have you caught yourself repeating that infamous intro line to your kids? Do you become a screaming mimi realizing you HAVE become your parents!!?!! It has now truly happened and you swore it NEVER EVER EVER would!!!??!!!! Or is it actually part of every person's DNA? There is a gene that forces us to start using that when we reach a certain age. We have absolutely no control at all. It could be a possibility, you know. Wouldn't that be convenient if it were true! But, alas, I fear that is a wish, a fantasy (darn it all!).
I am here to fortuitously sprinkle some of my famous Happy Fairy Dust (HFD) over your head to ease your pain and to assure you there is a way to stop that annoying generational trend. How can we, as the masses who want to end this thousands-of-years-old-tiresome-generational-habit, turn the corner to a unveil a shockingly new and fresh next-thousands-of-years-old-generational-mindset?
Stay current. Be in the 'Now'. Then practice what you are learning. Converse with your kids, your partner, your lunch buddies. It's as simple as that. Starting right this very minute use a new application on your PC, surf YouTube, listen to a radio station that plays the Top 40, go to exhibits at museums and galleries, subscribe to a new magazine that features trendy (not meaningless 'fluff' but current, timely events) articles, catch a new TV series, try new recipes or go to that little bistro that opened up around the corner, buy the HUGELY thick September issue of Vogue and see what's predicted for spring. Do not wait until tomorrow. Do not profess false and insincere intentions. I'm telling you this will only work if we start a grassroots push through our connected personal networks. (Wouldn't that be way cool if two or three or ten generations from now those folks could point to a time line and say that in 2009 there was a torque in the American culture that brought about change?? We would be famous!!!)
Are you with me?? I am your friend, your relative, your neighbor, your acquaintance. Take my advice. I promise that if you do you will be happier. If you listen and do what I say your life will be easier, better. Wait!! What just happened?? OH NO!! I DO SOUND LIKE MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A Well Written Book - The Love/Hate Conundrum
Do you remember turning to the last page of a book and thinking, "NOOOO!!! I'm not ready to say goodbye!! Come back!!" Your heart was sad. Your fingers weren't ready to stop turning pages. You felt bereft. Lonely. Like you were in a canoe in the middle of a lake with no paddles and no buddies to row with. Just you. Sitting in the boat. Wanting to keep going and going and goi......
The colorful collection of characters cast their spell into the very core of you, binding your imagination to their story. Drawing your mind into their world making their reality yours. You become a silent partner. A witness. Isn't that the true measure of a treasured tome? You plunge into each paragraph. The next chapter. You love and hate and bleed and sleep and laugh and eat. You discover a whole new collection of trusted friends. Of dreaded enemies. The plot finds you sweating in the heat, exhausted in the fields, satisfied after the feast, splashing in the brook, crying about the loss, smiling at the joke, caught in the awe of a magnificent sunrise and the resplendent glory of a sunset.
The twist of a phrase. The placement of the perfect adjective. The unanticipated surprise revealed in a BURST. The richly painted cerebral images of the characters. All artfully mixed and swirled into one glorious tale. To anticipate. To savor. To captivate. To fascinate. To entertain. To leave you wanting more.
The colorful collection of characters cast their spell into the very core of you, binding your imagination to their story. Drawing your mind into their world making their reality yours. You become a silent partner. A witness. Isn't that the true measure of a treasured tome? You plunge into each paragraph. The next chapter. You love and hate and bleed and sleep and laugh and eat. You discover a whole new collection of trusted friends. Of dreaded enemies. The plot finds you sweating in the heat, exhausted in the fields, satisfied after the feast, splashing in the brook, crying about the loss, smiling at the joke, caught in the awe of a magnificent sunrise and the resplendent glory of a sunset.
The twist of a phrase. The placement of the perfect adjective. The unanticipated surprise revealed in a BURST. The richly painted cerebral images of the characters. All artfully mixed and swirled into one glorious tale. To anticipate. To savor. To captivate. To fascinate. To entertain. To leave you wanting more.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Oprah Winfrey, Where are You?
Remember your first day on campus as a freshman? You were feeling pretty darned cool. You had taking your first step into your future and life was good. I was going to major in Art History and go on to be a world-renown expert in either Baroque Arts (emphasis on the genius of Bernini) or Jewelry (specifically Faberge) OR add Archeology as a co-major and dedicate my life to discover the next greatest tomb or temple. But my parents politely told me they would not support a major that did not have proven odds in my favor that would lead to a paying job. So not having the funds to support my own 4-year college degree I acquiesced changing my focus to Nursing then to Floriculture. I have loved all the designing and commentating and awards in my floral career but my heart still wistfully feels the "what if" of being established at Christies or Sothebys OR conducting a dig in Eygpt or Greece...... Part of the self-prescribed cure? I envision myself at a dig ripe with fabulous potential highlighted in Smithsonian magazine. And there I am!! Dust covered, heart racing, huge grin, excitement running high holding up some beautifully handcrafted ancient artifact that I had just plucked from the ground.
That was then. This is now and my Big-Girl dream is to be a writer. Actually it is more of an obsession. This blog would be incredible if it led to the chance for me to be a contributor to a newspaper or magazine (in print or on their website) AND writing the eleven books ~ three for kids and eight for adults that are living and growing in my head.. (Clarification: "Adults" meaning 'not children' as opposed to 'x-rated'). Plus I can keep my day job while I enjoy this new and exciting path of possibilities. I can think of one other wonderful avenue that could come to life: A fairy godmother.
Hey, Oprah! I am an energetic, hard-working adult who would love to be discovered by you. I would gratefully accept with sincere thanks a grant from you so I could write full-time and YOU would get the rights to publish the books and produce the movies sure to follow. What a great partnership!! If anyone reading this has a connection, an "in" personally or through another with this lady who likes to discover, support and encourage new talent PLEASE tell her about me. I would be more than happy to go to Chicago to meet her, write for her magazine, be an addition to her list of successes. Or if you know a publisher, editor or manager in the print field I am extending the same request for exposure to them to show them what I've got.
I do believe that Dreams can come true. So if any of you could give mine a shove I would be ecstatic!! and crazy appreciative!! and eternally grateful!! Tell the staff you have discovered a lady who would add spice and humor and thought-provoking tidbits in a little column space. Really! I'm not very big. I wouldn't take up much space. Send an email to oprah.com or MAKE THAT CALL!!! What are you waiting for??
That was then. This is now and my Big-Girl dream is to be a writer. Actually it is more of an obsession. This blog would be incredible if it led to the chance for me to be a contributor to a newspaper or magazine (in print or on their website) AND writing the eleven books ~ three for kids and eight for adults that are living and growing in my head.. (Clarification: "Adults" meaning 'not children' as opposed to 'x-rated'). Plus I can keep my day job while I enjoy this new and exciting path of possibilities. I can think of one other wonderful avenue that could come to life: A fairy godmother.
Hey, Oprah! I am an energetic, hard-working adult who would love to be discovered by you. I would gratefully accept with sincere thanks a grant from you so I could write full-time and YOU would get the rights to publish the books and produce the movies sure to follow. What a great partnership!! If anyone reading this has a connection, an "in" personally or through another with this lady who likes to discover, support and encourage new talent PLEASE tell her about me. I would be more than happy to go to Chicago to meet her, write for her magazine, be an addition to her list of successes. Or if you know a publisher, editor or manager in the print field I am extending the same request for exposure to them to show them what I've got.
I do believe that Dreams can come true. So if any of you could give mine a shove I would be ecstatic!! and crazy appreciative!! and eternally grateful!! Tell the staff you have discovered a lady who would add spice and humor and thought-provoking tidbits in a little column space. Really! I'm not very big. I wouldn't take up much space. Send an email to oprah.com or MAKE THAT CALL!!! What are you waiting for??
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Age Appropriate
Am I talking about movies with naked people? Nah. Perhaps television shows in the afternoon that feature cussing and disrespect? Nope. Then maybe I am referring to books that are explicit in their descriptions of intimate moments? No, no, and no.
I am in the prime of my life. You know, those wonderful confident years where you're past trying to figure out who you are. You like yourself. You have crafted your own style. You can hold conversations with ease. You handle your job with aplomb. You face challenges knowing you already know part of the answers.
BUT when I wake up in the morning and see a pimple on my chin that is when I lose it. WHY ME?? I am way past the turbulent years of a teen. Heck I have to use moisturizer now -- twice a day --just to try to keep the lines and dry skin at bay. So where oh where did that little surprise come from?
Not fair. Not fair. Not fair. I keep repeating to myself. Already paid my dues. So what do I do? I use the old trick I discovered for myself. Take a little liquid makeup and dab it on top. Dries it the fastest way possible. Simple. No fancy expensive products. I just have to be three days patient. RATS!! I hate being patient!!! (Oops...stay calm...act your age....)
I am in the prime of my life. You know, those wonderful confident years where you're past trying to figure out who you are. You like yourself. You have crafted your own style. You can hold conversations with ease. You handle your job with aplomb. You face challenges knowing you already know part of the answers.
BUT when I wake up in the morning and see a pimple on my chin that is when I lose it. WHY ME?? I am way past the turbulent years of a teen. Heck I have to use moisturizer now -- twice a day --just to try to keep the lines and dry skin at bay. So where oh where did that little surprise come from?
Not fair. Not fair. Not fair. I keep repeating to myself. Already paid my dues. So what do I do? I use the old trick I discovered for myself. Take a little liquid makeup and dab it on top. Dries it the fastest way possible. Simple. No fancy expensive products. I just have to be three days patient. RATS!! I hate being patient!!! (Oops...stay calm...act your age....)
Friday, May 15, 2009
Ignorance IS Bliss
Now don't get yourself all up in a huff. You are probably thinking, "What do you mean 'ignorance is bliss'??? In this day and age with the internet and kids and cells and...and...and... You can't ignore the world. You have to be diligent and listen and read and be current." I totally agree with you. TOTALLY. Give me a second to explain where I'm coming from.
I met a gentleman last evening who is a publisher of a magazine. Do I know anything about publishing? All the jargon and the deadlines and the pressures of that industry's competition and the organization of putting a monthly together and the hierarchy of staff and.... No, I don't. I am ignorant. I sat listening to his presentation realizing that in the time frame he was given I had just been exposed to the mere tip of the iceberg. But I was learning. I was blissfully learning.
My young adult son just had his tonsils removed. Did I know anything about tonsils? Sure, I know they are located in your throat and I had mine extracted when I was five. I was satisfied with that. But do you know what I found out this week? Tonsils get pitted by Mono and Strept. Food settles in those and harden becoming what is known as Concretions or Tonsilliths. You can actually see these white 'pearls' when you look in someone's throat. Did you know they pop out on occasion? Did you know tonsils get warts? Aha! They do indeed. I didn't have any idea. I was ignorant. I blissfully learned.
Flip a coin. On the one side Ignorance gives us the precious opportunity to keep growing, to soak up information and knowledge for ourselves alone or to share with others. Then there is the darker flip side where this chance is shunned, ignored. Even reviled. I urge you to keep your eyes and ears and mind open to absorb all things new. Makes this journey of life much more interesting and makes you more interesting to be around. For instance when you play Trivial Pursuit next time and the question is: What are concretions? You'll know!!! and you can astound your fellow players when you sweep them by casually saying the right answer!! They will be shaking their heads mumbling "how did she know that?"and you will be sitting there smiling ever so sweetly.
I met a gentleman last evening who is a publisher of a magazine. Do I know anything about publishing? All the jargon and the deadlines and the pressures of that industry's competition and the organization of putting a monthly together and the hierarchy of staff and.... No, I don't. I am ignorant. I sat listening to his presentation realizing that in the time frame he was given I had just been exposed to the mere tip of the iceberg. But I was learning. I was blissfully learning.
My young adult son just had his tonsils removed. Did I know anything about tonsils? Sure, I know they are located in your throat and I had mine extracted when I was five. I was satisfied with that. But do you know what I found out this week? Tonsils get pitted by Mono and Strept. Food settles in those and harden becoming what is known as Concretions or Tonsilliths. You can actually see these white 'pearls' when you look in someone's throat. Did you know they pop out on occasion? Did you know tonsils get warts? Aha! They do indeed. I didn't have any idea. I was ignorant. I blissfully learned.
Flip a coin. On the one side Ignorance gives us the precious opportunity to keep growing, to soak up information and knowledge for ourselves alone or to share with others. Then there is the darker flip side where this chance is shunned, ignored. Even reviled. I urge you to keep your eyes and ears and mind open to absorb all things new. Makes this journey of life much more interesting and makes you more interesting to be around. For instance when you play Trivial Pursuit next time and the question is: What are concretions? You'll know!!! and you can astound your fellow players when you sweep them by casually saying the right answer!! They will be shaking their heads mumbling "how did she know that?"and you will be sitting there smiling ever so sweetly.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Not Before 70 If Ever
A very funny gentleman I know was talking about age during our last conversation. He recently had both knees replaced. We were sharing how time passes quickly and that the body changes without any warning. This big smile grew on his face and his eyes twinkled as his hands pointed toward his chest when he laughingly said "There's an 18 year old inside thinking 'What happened??!?'''.
Age has become a big issue with me. I am NOT ready for what has begun to change. So I have come up with a proposal for future generations. First, no white hairs of any kind will appear before the age of 70 if ever.. Second, no 'erosion lines' (clever, huh?, yet so descriptive) shall appear on a lady's chest appearing to run down into her cleavage if ever. Third, no crepe paper- like skin will appear on thighs before the age of 70 if ever. Fourth, upper arms will not resemble cottage cheese before the age of 70 if ever. Fifth,no joint or muscle aches before the age of 70 if ever. Sixth, No dark skin spots will appear before the age of 70 if ever. Seventh, hearing and sight will remain unimpaired before 70. Period. And Eighth, and most important, menopause will begin on a woman's 50th birthday lasting two weeks. That's it. Not a minute more. And for those 14 days the woman will choose a resort of her choice where she will reside during this difficult transition holding a fruity beverage sporting a cute little paper umbrella, enjoying a plethora of extreme pampering. She won't have to deal with little fresh-colored bumps that appear along collarbones and necks. Her nails won't break 'just because' and her eyelashes won't come out in multiples of five. Her moods will be only one: serene.
The obvious theme here is that I want to look as good on the outside as I feel on the inside. We make the effort to exercise and eat healthy and I believe we should be rewarded. Don't you agree? We have been taught since childhood that if you do your chores you earn your allowance. Or if you get good grades you earn bragging rights and the pride that comes with a job well done. So Bah Humbug! to tradition. Be gone! to bad genes. (~thought bubble~ I'm inserting my ideas in the Heavenly Suggestion Box of Life. I wonder if anyone upstairs is listening.....)
Age has become a big issue with me. I am NOT ready for what has begun to change. So I have come up with a proposal for future generations. First, no white hairs of any kind will appear before the age of 70 if ever.. Second, no 'erosion lines' (clever, huh?, yet so descriptive) shall appear on a lady's chest appearing to run down into her cleavage if ever. Third, no crepe paper- like skin will appear on thighs before the age of 70 if ever. Fourth, upper arms will not resemble cottage cheese before the age of 70 if ever. Fifth,no joint or muscle aches before the age of 70 if ever. Sixth, No dark skin spots will appear before the age of 70 if ever. Seventh, hearing and sight will remain unimpaired before 70. Period. And Eighth, and most important, menopause will begin on a woman's 50th birthday lasting two weeks. That's it. Not a minute more. And for those 14 days the woman will choose a resort of her choice where she will reside during this difficult transition holding a fruity beverage sporting a cute little paper umbrella, enjoying a plethora of extreme pampering. She won't have to deal with little fresh-colored bumps that appear along collarbones and necks. Her nails won't break 'just because' and her eyelashes won't come out in multiples of five. Her moods will be only one: serene.
The obvious theme here is that I want to look as good on the outside as I feel on the inside. We make the effort to exercise and eat healthy and I believe we should be rewarded. Don't you agree? We have been taught since childhood that if you do your chores you earn your allowance. Or if you get good grades you earn bragging rights and the pride that comes with a job well done. So Bah Humbug! to tradition. Be gone! to bad genes. (~thought bubble~ I'm inserting my ideas in the Heavenly Suggestion Box of Life. I wonder if anyone upstairs is listening.....)
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Why is that??
You awaken in the middle of the night by that innate mother's ear that is always listening for the sounds of your children. Your eyes open quickly and your feet start to swing off the bed before you are even fully awake. You grab your robe and head to the bedroom across the hall.
It is immediately apparent that your child is going to be sick within seconds. You try to scoot them out from under their sheets in order to carry them quickly to the bathroom. Not going to happen so you turn and reach for the wastebasket. Too late! The sheets and bedspread are now a mess.
Does this phase you at all? Nope. Your husband, having been wakened by your child's crying, is now beside you ready to strip the bed while you change the pj's and softly cuddle the little one. Fresh new clothes, cool/soft sheets, tears all dried you settle the child back into bed. You and your husband return to your room. He falls easily back to sleep. You? Not so easily. You stare into the blackness concentrating on the sounds of the night. There! Your child calls "Mommy!" and off you go, again, this time successful in getting to the bathroom. You shut the door to keep your voices contained so your spouse can get his rest. Again your child empties what is left in their stomach then needs to sit on the commode. After all is done you take a cool washcloth and softly wipe their face and neck and chest to help them feel refreshed. Back to the bed, tucking the sheets around their body. You turn off the light and sit in the dark until you hear the even, relaxed breathing. Then you soundlessly go back to the bathroom to clean up the sink and commode. How easily we do this. Without even thinking about the distastefulness of it all. The protective love we feel takes us beyond the mess and the smell and the laundry. This is our baby and we will cover them with our wings keeping them from any harm. Anytime. Anywhere.
Then why is it when we have to clean up after a child that is not ours we react differently? Do we help them? Yes! Do we do whatever we must? Absolutely! But now the sensual details listed above come to play in an uncomfortable fashion and !UGH! Not so easy to ignore, are they? An observation which I was forced to confront recently and, if I may say so, carried off the diaper duty with much (gag) aplomb! Now don't get any ideas--even though I was proud of myself I have no desire to repeat the activity more than I must!
It is immediately apparent that your child is going to be sick within seconds. You try to scoot them out from under their sheets in order to carry them quickly to the bathroom. Not going to happen so you turn and reach for the wastebasket. Too late! The sheets and bedspread are now a mess.
Does this phase you at all? Nope. Your husband, having been wakened by your child's crying, is now beside you ready to strip the bed while you change the pj's and softly cuddle the little one. Fresh new clothes, cool/soft sheets, tears all dried you settle the child back into bed. You and your husband return to your room. He falls easily back to sleep. You? Not so easily. You stare into the blackness concentrating on the sounds of the night. There! Your child calls "Mommy!" and off you go, again, this time successful in getting to the bathroom. You shut the door to keep your voices contained so your spouse can get his rest. Again your child empties what is left in their stomach then needs to sit on the commode. After all is done you take a cool washcloth and softly wipe their face and neck and chest to help them feel refreshed. Back to the bed, tucking the sheets around their body. You turn off the light and sit in the dark until you hear the even, relaxed breathing. Then you soundlessly go back to the bathroom to clean up the sink and commode. How easily we do this. Without even thinking about the distastefulness of it all. The protective love we feel takes us beyond the mess and the smell and the laundry. This is our baby and we will cover them with our wings keeping them from any harm. Anytime. Anywhere.
Then why is it when we have to clean up after a child that is not ours we react differently? Do we help them? Yes! Do we do whatever we must? Absolutely! But now the sensual details listed above come to play in an uncomfortable fashion and !UGH! Not so easy to ignore, are they? An observation which I was forced to confront recently and, if I may say so, carried off the diaper duty with much (gag) aplomb! Now don't get any ideas--even though I was proud of myself I have no desire to repeat the activity more than I must!
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Black Painted Car? Or the White?
I'm sure you have these riveting discussions in your households as well. Pork or chicken? The brocade or the chintz? Boxwood or privet? Wall-to-wall or area? Tylenol or Advil?
Much discussion can be attached to each of the above. But I am focusing specifically on my title for we have had an on-going friendly verbal fencing for years concerning this very comparison. The first car we bought for me alone was white. Now I had never owned a car before let alone considered white as the perfect color for a vehicle. When questioned the salesman did two things. First, he led me outside the sales room and pointed to the extremely busy road which ran in front of the dealership. "What color really stands out when you look at that traffic?" he asked me. "White." I answered. He congratulated me. "It is the safest color because a driver's eye will pick that color up quicker visually thus accidents have/will be avoided because of their speedier response time." Secondly he took me around the corner of the building where a fellow salesman was standing beside his own white car. "Hey, Steve....how easy is it to keep it clean?" "Super simple. A white car will show less dirt than a darker model."
Hmmmm. Think about that. Mud gets splattered on a black car and a white car. It dries and as it does it becomes paler in color. Thus against the deep backdrop it still "pops" because of the contrast. But against the lighter paint the contrast is less thus fades to the eye. So logical. I'm convinced. My husband not so much. I'll take the white one. Sold!! (OH! I'm still stickin' to my story but I must tell you I now own a black one 25 years later....which I love and just wash more often!!! I call her "Olive". Get it?? ...black olive...)
Much discussion can be attached to each of the above. But I am focusing specifically on my title for we have had an on-going friendly verbal fencing for years concerning this very comparison. The first car we bought for me alone was white. Now I had never owned a car before let alone considered white as the perfect color for a vehicle. When questioned the salesman did two things. First, he led me outside the sales room and pointed to the extremely busy road which ran in front of the dealership. "What color really stands out when you look at that traffic?" he asked me. "White." I answered. He congratulated me. "It is the safest color because a driver's eye will pick that color up quicker visually thus accidents have/will be avoided because of their speedier response time." Secondly he took me around the corner of the building where a fellow salesman was standing beside his own white car. "Hey, Steve....how easy is it to keep it clean?" "Super simple. A white car will show less dirt than a darker model."
Hmmmm. Think about that. Mud gets splattered on a black car and a white car. It dries and as it does it becomes paler in color. Thus against the deep backdrop it still "pops" because of the contrast. But against the lighter paint the contrast is less thus fades to the eye. So logical. I'm convinced. My husband not so much. I'll take the white one. Sold!! (OH! I'm still stickin' to my story but I must tell you I now own a black one 25 years later....which I love and just wash more often!!! I call her "Olive". Get it?? ...black olive...)
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
A First
Each of us have a few situations that we hope to avoid for the entirety of our life. Personal aspirations to feel that satisfying ability to state, with pure truth and conviction and just a touch of arrogance, as we tuck our thumbs under our suspenders while puffing out our chest with pride: "Nope. Never happened to me, no sir." Well, today I actually met "never''.
You must make absolutely sure that your envelopes are properly addressed and tightly sealed and the postage secure. For at the second you unhand your stack is the moment you relinquish all control. Thus the conundrum: Knowing you must thrust your mail inside, must let go feeling very much in command as you set your postings free to flutter down to nest at the bottom and walk away accepting you have fulfilled your due diligence.
But what if you realize, as you are closing that trapdoor, that the check to pay your son's credit card bill (which you were subsequently going to drop off at the bank located just a few blocks away and was the reason why you decided to save a stamp in the first place) was on the bottom of that stack previously lying on your car seat just moments ago? Your stomach gets a little tight. You close your eyes and curse your stupidity having to face that you have just committed one of those "never-want-to" errors. Rats. Double Rats.
All I can say is that in the midst of my angst I recognized the blessing. I had decided to go to our community post office to utilize the boxes I could drive by for two reasons. First was my desire to make sure these would be postmarked with today's date and, secondly, was the ease of staying in my car. I was so thankful I had not chosen a box located in my residential neighborhood. What chance for help would I have? Slim if any. So like the little boy that throws the baseball through his neighbor's window and must confess and garner forgiveness, I found myself walking inside the building to expose my blunder and ask for help. The gentlemen were very kind. No jokes made. No laughter heard. The check easily found. Gratitude shared.
I know I wasn't the first nor will I be the last. The fact is I just never wanted to "be".
Monday, May 4, 2009
You Have No Pen...
So what do YOU do when you are driving along and you are mentally making a list of "stuff" you want to remember? One or two things suddenly become a collection as more ideas float in there and your stomach starts to get that cramped feeling (or your head starts to reel from overload). AHHHH!!! What if you don't remember every single detail AND you panic thinking the one ... or two ... you forget might be the most important of all!!?!
My solution: Julie Sentances. What are those you say? (Didn't think I could hear that, did you? And, by the way, I saw your eyes rolling as well. Remember I am a mother and we can see and hear everything.) Here's an honest-t0-goodness example that happened to me last week.: As I was driving my car filled to the brim with yard waste (twigs, boxwood trimmings, pulled weeds, etc etc) out to our community's composting site, I was deluged (yes, deluged, I say!) with this streaming one-after-the-other, very important not-to-be-forgotten errands, customer ideas, necessary web research, etc, etc, and I didn't have paper or a writing instrument. Did I start to sweat or shake? NEVER!! (yeah, right) I took one word from each item and made a sentance. I will share the beautiful prose, if I may say so myself, that I repeated to myself until I got home. Ready?
Here goes: Matt's diamond dogwood eats purple oats while Jan reads treadmills. Made perfect sense to me!! The interpretation? I called my computer guy; wrote a note to a customer that his wife saw a cross she likes; called an older couple, who I haven't seen in a while and live out of town, ostensively to ask about their pink dogwood (I have a white one and we compare notes every spring) but really just wanted to hear how they were faring; cut out the material (matches the new window coverings in the bedroom) to sew the matching chest runner; went to the garden center and to buy Northern Sea Oats to plant in front of our brand new gas meter that was installed by the front door last Tuesday (don't ask--that's fodder for a future blog); wrote 4 letters; started to write promotional materials for my part-time boss; read a 15-page paper my son wrote; went to the gym. Whew! and Woo-hoo! Done and Done.
My solution: Julie Sentances. What are those you say? (Didn't think I could hear that, did you? And, by the way, I saw your eyes rolling as well. Remember I am a mother and we can see and hear everything.) Here's an honest-t0-goodness example that happened to me last week.: As I was driving my car filled to the brim with yard waste (twigs, boxwood trimmings, pulled weeds, etc etc) out to our community's composting site, I was deluged (yes, deluged, I say!) with this streaming one-after-the-other, very important not-to-be-forgotten errands, customer ideas, necessary web research, etc, etc, and I didn't have paper or a writing instrument. Did I start to sweat or shake? NEVER!! (yeah, right) I took one word from each item and made a sentance. I will share the beautiful prose, if I may say so myself, that I repeated to myself until I got home. Ready?
Here goes: Matt's diamond dogwood eats purple oats while Jan reads treadmills. Made perfect sense to me!! The interpretation? I called my computer guy; wrote a note to a customer that his wife saw a cross she likes; called an older couple, who I haven't seen in a while and live out of town, ostensively to ask about their pink dogwood (I have a white one and we compare notes every spring) but really just wanted to hear how they were faring; cut out the material (matches the new window coverings in the bedroom) to sew the matching chest runner; went to the garden center and to buy Northern Sea Oats to plant in front of our brand new gas meter that was installed by the front door last Tuesday (don't ask--that's fodder for a future blog); wrote 4 letters; started to write promotional materials for my part-time boss; read a 15-page paper my son wrote; went to the gym. Whew! and Woo-hoo! Done and Done.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Had a Flash of Interior Design Genius!!
We redecorated the hall bath recently. Decided not to remove the Tan-colored (not my favorite -- I'm just not a more-yellow-than- brown Tan kind-of-girl) ceramic tile because of expense and mess plus the fact that it is in great condition. Painted the walls in a fabulous....FAB-U-LOUS ...deep red which changed the feel of the aforementioned tile immensely. We had already installed new stink and counter top several years ago thus we didn't have to deal with that.
Next step for me was finding a pre-made shower curtain and window treatment or the fabric to make them. I searched and searched. Too fancy. Too cutesy. Too plain. Too orange/Too yellow. Too ugly. Too "Too"!! Finally found one that matched our tone of red and dull gold in a textured stripe patterned material. Perfect. Now what to do about the window. I stood in the store envisioning what I wanted and how to produce that look using the existing plain old extension-style curtain rod. EUREKA!! Hit me like a great ideas do -- right between the eyes. I grabbed shower curtain number two and left with a big fat smile on my face and money in my pocket. (Love those sales!)
Here's what I did:
1. Measured the height of the window.
2. Cut off the one curtain at the top (very important) according to the length I had determined I would need to achieve my concept, leaving the nice straight existing hemline at the bottom.
3. Took the rough edge and turned it down (to the back) and sewed to create a "tube" allowing for the thickness of the rod.
4. Slid the new window curtain on the rod and hung the rod up.
4. Now here is where the FLASH came in: I glued small squares of velcro (one-half inch long) at the top of a stripe on the backside of the curtain at the top along the line of stitches.
5. Followed each stripe down to the bottom of the hem. There I glued the other half of the velcro cut in the matching small square size, again on the backside.
Have you guessed my idea yet?? I have to tell you before I =pop=! I'm still patting myself on the back for this one. Very Proud. Maybe gloating better describes it. Ok -- here it is. I let the curtain hang straight down at night for privacy purposes. But then in the mornings I pull the base hem up and stick the two coordinating Velcro pieces together. And.....
And VOILA! Instant Balloon Shade. How slick is that?!? No fuss. Super easy. Two looks for the price of one! I'm telling you-- pure genius. Now you can copy this idea. I guarantee your family and friends will think you are soooo clever. I promise it will be just between us.
Next step for me was finding a pre-made shower curtain and window treatment or the fabric to make them. I searched and searched. Too fancy. Too cutesy. Too plain. Too orange/Too yellow. Too ugly. Too "Too"!! Finally found one that matched our tone of red and dull gold in a textured stripe patterned material. Perfect. Now what to do about the window. I stood in the store envisioning what I wanted and how to produce that look using the existing plain old extension-style curtain rod. EUREKA!! Hit me like a great ideas do -- right between the eyes. I grabbed shower curtain number two and left with a big fat smile on my face and money in my pocket. (Love those sales!)
Here's what I did:
1. Measured the height of the window.
2. Cut off the one curtain at the top (very important) according to the length I had determined I would need to achieve my concept, leaving the nice straight existing hemline at the bottom.
3. Took the rough edge and turned it down (to the back) and sewed to create a "tube" allowing for the thickness of the rod.
4. Slid the new window curtain on the rod and hung the rod up.
4. Now here is where the FLASH came in: I glued small squares of velcro (one-half inch long) at the top of a stripe on the backside of the curtain at the top along the line of stitches.
5. Followed each stripe down to the bottom of the hem. There I glued the other half of the velcro cut in the matching small square size, again on the backside.
Have you guessed my idea yet?? I have to tell you before I =pop=! I'm still patting myself on the back for this one. Very Proud. Maybe gloating better describes it. Ok -- here it is. I let the curtain hang straight down at night for privacy purposes. But then in the mornings I pull the base hem up and stick the two coordinating Velcro pieces together. And.....
And VOILA! Instant Balloon Shade. How slick is that?!? No fuss. Super easy. Two looks for the price of one! I'm telling you-- pure genius. Now you can copy this idea. I guarantee your family and friends will think you are soooo clever. I promise it will be just between us.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Not-So-Good-For-You Secret Pleasures
We all have habits that make us feel good. Mine are chocolate, Pepsi, and romantic historical novels. The first two are just fine if done in moderation. ** a little off the subject, perhaps, but an insightful sidebar: I get a kick out of the nurses at my family doctor's office. Whenever you go for an appointment --whether it is your lenthy annual physical or simply to pick up prescription renewal -- they have you stand on the scales, check your blood pressure and take your pulse. Then they go over the permanant details that are written down on your record -- "Do you still take a multivitamin, a B-complex, and Calcium everyday? ("Yes.") Drink alcohol at a minimum?("About two drinks a year.") Have one Pepsi everyday? ( I lower my voice and respond in a conspiritor tone: "Sometimes, just on a rare occasion, I even have two.")
So what do you think their reaction would be to my lunchtime reading material? Maybe I should bring it up. That would throw them a curve, huh! Can't you just imagine their faces? They'd turn to look at me just to see how sincere I was about that huge revelation. They would see me smiling and nodding my head up and down, realizing I was not being facitious. Their reaction would be reflected in their shocked expressions: What??!? She reads novels. Then they'd raise their voices and scream: AHHHHH!!!! DIAL 911!!!! CALL THE SQUAD!!!!! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY HERE!!!!!
Ok, I'll pull myself back on task here. On the flip side of the above we all have one or two favorite pasttimes or pleasures that either are not safe or not healthy for our bodies...or for the longevity of our life for that matter. But you have to promise not to tell my dermatologist before I reveal the secret I'm about to tell you. Not only is she a great doc but she is also a very good friend and she would absolutely KILL ME if she knew this. Mine...are you ready? You sure?
Mine is the tanning booth. There! It is finally out in the open. Whew! I love to rub the cocoanut-fragranced lotion on my arms and legs. Then I turn the radio to some station that plays current pop music -- the kind you play at the pool when you're laying out. Next I lay down on the bed and let the lights make me feel like I'm on the beach somewhere faraway. It's my "Take me away Calgon" minutes. I feel myself exhale. My body totally relaxes. I let my mind wander to warmer climes and palm trees and little paper umbrellas topping off delicious fruity beverages.
Wow. Did that feel good or what? Sharing something I've kept bottled up inside for years is pure relief. Now I don't want you to think I'm "hooked" on this terrible-for-your-skin machine. That last time I was actually in a booth? Over two years ago. Maybe I should go to a support group for these long lulls in between my sessions. TBUA: Tanning Booth Users Anonymous. Known as "Taboo" for short. All right. All right. I know this entity doesn't exist. Maybe it should. I think my coined name is darn cute. Don't you?
So what do you think their reaction would be to my lunchtime reading material? Maybe I should bring it up. That would throw them a curve, huh! Can't you just imagine their faces? They'd turn to look at me just to see how sincere I was about that huge revelation. They would see me smiling and nodding my head up and down, realizing I was not being facitious. Their reaction would be reflected in their shocked expressions: What??!? She reads novels. Then they'd raise their voices and scream: AHHHHH!!!! DIAL 911!!!! CALL THE SQUAD!!!!! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY HERE!!!!!
Ok, I'll pull myself back on task here. On the flip side of the above we all have one or two favorite pasttimes or pleasures that either are not safe or not healthy for our bodies...or for the longevity of our life for that matter. But you have to promise not to tell my dermatologist before I reveal the secret I'm about to tell you. Not only is she a great doc but she is also a very good friend and she would absolutely KILL ME if she knew this. Mine...are you ready? You sure?
Mine is the tanning booth. There! It is finally out in the open. Whew! I love to rub the cocoanut-fragranced lotion on my arms and legs. Then I turn the radio to some station that plays current pop music -- the kind you play at the pool when you're laying out. Next I lay down on the bed and let the lights make me feel like I'm on the beach somewhere faraway. It's my "Take me away Calgon" minutes. I feel myself exhale. My body totally relaxes. I let my mind wander to warmer climes and palm trees and little paper umbrellas topping off delicious fruity beverages.
Wow. Did that feel good or what? Sharing something I've kept bottled up inside for years is pure relief. Now I don't want you to think I'm "hooked" on this terrible-for-your-skin machine. That last time I was actually in a booth? Over two years ago. Maybe I should go to a support group for these long lulls in between my sessions. TBUA: Tanning Booth Users Anonymous. Known as "Taboo" for short. All right. All right. I know this entity doesn't exist. Maybe it should. I think my coined name is darn cute. Don't you?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Pulling an All-Nighter
Wow. What memories this brings back. Staying up all night. I remember in college it was a desperate necessity. Tonight it is a gift. A gift of time. My desk stack that needed attention now is demanding attention. Pronto. In fact it is downright SCREAMING. How do these little "things" collect? Gather? Congregate? Magazines that have interesting articles. Websites scribbled down you want to check out. Letters to write. A shared DVD from a neighbor. Addresses that need entered in your book. The answer is of the multiple choice variety. Pick one: A. By ignoring B. By letting them C. Your daily schedule doesn't allow for them D. All of the above
Ok, which one did you pick? Mine? It was definitely D. Thus I decided not to do A, not to allow B, and do the opposite of C. I am maturely taking responsibility and firmly grasping my destiny. I am embracing each item that found itself not immediately tossed out and/or refused but was, almost unconciously so, brushed into THE PILE. I have put my foot down and quite responsibly, I might add, not allowing any further growth. (Kind of like rabbits, you know? You start out with 2 then WHAM before you know it there are 150 !!)
I like challenging myself to meet my lofty goal. So far I'm wide-eyed and bushy tailed. And, best of all, I am plowing through the eclectic collection of goodies. The desk already looks cleaner. Almost empty. My husband is going to lay his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. (Always a good idea to catch 'em off guard every once in a while with a little surprise.) Just you wait. He'll probably nose around a bit out of pure curiosity and, perhaps, a little dose of doubt, to see if I didn't scoop it all into a drawer. Or hide it under the bed. Or stuff it in a closet. Funny. I hadn't considered the closet option before. Hmmmm.......
Ok, which one did you pick? Mine? It was definitely D. Thus I decided not to do A, not to allow B, and do the opposite of C. I am maturely taking responsibility and firmly grasping my destiny. I am embracing each item that found itself not immediately tossed out and/or refused but was, almost unconciously so, brushed into THE PILE. I have put my foot down and quite responsibly, I might add, not allowing any further growth. (Kind of like rabbits, you know? You start out with 2 then WHAM before you know it there are 150 !!)
I like challenging myself to meet my lofty goal. So far I'm wide-eyed and bushy tailed. And, best of all, I am plowing through the eclectic collection of goodies. The desk already looks cleaner. Almost empty. My husband is going to lay his hand on my forehead to check my temperature. (Always a good idea to catch 'em off guard every once in a while with a little surprise.) Just you wait. He'll probably nose around a bit out of pure curiosity and, perhaps, a little dose of doubt, to see if I didn't scoop it all into a drawer. Or hide it under the bed. Or stuff it in a closet. Funny. I hadn't considered the closet option before. Hmmmm.......
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