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....)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
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.
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