I birthed a nut case!
Over eighteen years ago, I awaited the birth of a child. Had I known what I was getting, I would still want to be waiting.
How I got something that is so different from me is a mystery of nature. A very cruel joke. Somewhere, someone is laughing at me and it is quite the belly laugh.
He looks like me, tall, good-looking (ha,ha) and has the same sparkling wit. We wear the same size clothes. And there the similarities end. Yep, that is all we got in common. Oh, and we share the same rare blood type. Yippee! I know that if I need a kidney transplant, I have my very own supply.
That's it.
He is driven. Driven to learn. Driven to succeed. I skipped that drive. I like to learn but it isn't the same overwhelming desire that it is for him. He takes the hard classes at school because he wants to know everything. I took typing in school.
He reads books that are actually thinking books. I can tell you how much weight Jessica Simpson gained because I read People magazine.
I like TV. Goofy shows, Drama shows, anything that involves the word "CSI" I am all over it. He watches shows that actually impart knowledge. I can't even tell you what channel that might be, I have never even slowed down when my remote came into contact with learning stuff.
His blog reader is filled with New York Times feeds, Stock Market feeds, Land Rover feeds. Mine is filled with decorating feeds. And humor feeds.
He is so loud. So very loud. And opinionated about everything. Even things he knows nothing about, he has a side. And will defend it ferociously. I am quiet.
You see, nothing.
And yet, something.
We both like organic cranberry juice. And cheese. And diet mug root beer. And Hollywood week on American Idol. And shopping for jeans. And pugs. And Mario Racing on the Wii. And sleeping in. And each other.
So I will take it. The mammoth differences and the small similarities. Because when it comes right down to it, I won the lottery of kids. For he is funny, honorable, and filled with integrity. He is a kid of his word. He is lanky. He can fall upstairs as well as downstairs. He is the best driver in the world and everyone else is the worst. He will eat me out of house and home unless I post notes on items to say "Please don't eat me." He is awesome and a nut case all in one.
And he is mine, all mine. Lucky, lucky me!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
As if the dog world doesn't already judge us enough!
Collecting things used to play a big part of my life. Not so much anymore, mostly because I have run out of room. And until I start to downsize, I have taken a breather.
At first when I started collecting, I was all over the board and then I figured out I am just strange. I like strange collectibles. Goofy things that not many people would collect. Because really who would want them. So I needed strange and cheap. I didn't have a lot of money in my early days of stockpiling strange and unusual pieces of the past, so I had to be able to say "Hey, it only cost 1.00, what an awesome deal it was and instead of looking askew at me, you should be celebrating my ability to find a good deal."
So I started with lipsticks and compacts and small little purses, nice but not strange and not unusual. Then I walked into an antique store and found just what I needed.
POODLES WEARING GLASSES!
I know you are thinking "my gosh, there is such a thing!" Why, yes my Internet friends, there are. Lots and lots of them as it turns out. The '50's and '60's were a very clever time. I have no idea of their thought process back then and why the powers that be decided housewives would want poodles in glasses, I am just glad they did.
So on that fateful day, one came home with me. And then another. And then another. I own a poodle pack, a poodle herd, a poodle mob, or whatever you call a group of poodles. Especially a group all sporting glasses. I call them the perfect decorating accessory.
We have opera glasses. We have spectacles. We have glasses with rhinestones. We have glasses perched on the end of noses. We have glasses on top of berets. Glasses and more glasses.
The poodles come in many colors but the most popular it seems, were pink and blue. All have the funny spaghetti trim and most sport some outlandish dog collar. They all come in different poses. And they even made lovely poodle planters, so your African violets would never be lonely.
Very prim and proper these poodles are. Sporting such unusual color combinations would make most people cringe and question their ability to dress themselves but not these. Nope, turquoise, light purple with white rhinestones, and black with white rhinestones all flow together in perfect harmony. Add in a blue or pink body and we have a little slice of heaven right here on earth.
Now you might be thinking how many people could possible know about such a fantastic collectible. More than you can guess. If you look at the group photo, you will see a pink cow wearing glasses. I know, AWESOME. I received that for a gift a few years ago, so someone out there in the power that be position, knows about this strange group of dogs. Or, they are trying a new collectible, COWS WITH GLASSES.
Which just totally rocks!
At first when I started collecting, I was all over the board and then I figured out I am just strange. I like strange collectibles. Goofy things that not many people would collect. Because really who would want them. So I needed strange and cheap. I didn't have a lot of money in my early days of stockpiling strange and unusual pieces of the past, so I had to be able to say "Hey, it only cost 1.00, what an awesome deal it was and instead of looking askew at me, you should be celebrating my ability to find a good deal."
So I started with lipsticks and compacts and small little purses, nice but not strange and not unusual. Then I walked into an antique store and found just what I needed.
POODLES WEARING GLASSES!
I know you are thinking "my gosh, there is such a thing!" Why, yes my Internet friends, there are. Lots and lots of them as it turns out. The '50's and '60's were a very clever time. I have no idea of their thought process back then and why the powers that be decided housewives would want poodles in glasses, I am just glad they did.
So on that fateful day, one came home with me. And then another. And then another. I own a poodle pack, a poodle herd, a poodle mob, or whatever you call a group of poodles. Especially a group all sporting glasses. I call them the perfect decorating accessory.
We have opera glasses. We have spectacles. We have glasses with rhinestones. We have glasses perched on the end of noses. We have glasses on top of berets. Glasses and more glasses.
The poodles come in many colors but the most popular it seems, were pink and blue. All have the funny spaghetti trim and most sport some outlandish dog collar. They all come in different poses. And they even made lovely poodle planters, so your African violets would never be lonely.
Very prim and proper these poodles are. Sporting such unusual color combinations would make most people cringe and question their ability to dress themselves but not these. Nope, turquoise, light purple with white rhinestones, and black with white rhinestones all flow together in perfect harmony. Add in a blue or pink body and we have a little slice of heaven right here on earth.
Now you might be thinking how many people could possible know about such a fantastic collectible. More than you can guess. If you look at the group photo, you will see a pink cow wearing glasses. I know, AWESOME. I received that for a gift a few years ago, so someone out there in the power that be position, knows about this strange group of dogs. Or, they are trying a new collectible, COWS WITH GLASSES.
Which just totally rocks!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Just pull yourself up by your boot-straps - NOT
I am in therapy.
There, I said it. Something I thought I would never utter in my life. I didn't really have anything against it, I just thought you pushed on through the problems. Sucked it up. Used the power of positive thinking. Pulled yourself up using your boot straps.
I was wrong.
Dead wrong.
My world came crashing down on me six months ago. The life I had built and worked so hard for was no more. My husband had an affair. It's funny how insignificant those five words look when I type them. On my page they seem to have no more power than the sentence that came before them or after them, yet they packed a wallop of a punch. One good hit and I was down for the count, or so I thought.
While all this was happening I was going through some health issues as well. It seemed that the hits just kept on coming and I was drowning. Trying to all of a sudden, run a house on my own, pay bills on my own, fill out college applications on my own, raise my son on my own, make sense of a world all topsy-turvy on my own, was a lot to handle.
Therapy came to the rescue. Oh, it isn't a be all end all, but it is a giant help. I am the one who rescued myself. I found everything I needed to make it inside me. Therapy is the map. With any map, it is only as helpful as the person reading it. If I turn it upside down, or take a wrong turn, that is my fault. The map is still there and I need to try again. and again. and again.
I found that I had more inside me then I knew. More strength then I thought possible. More intelligence then I had been given credit for. More compassion. More humor. More of everything. I lost all of that during my marriage. I didn't have a marriage of equal partnership. I lost myself. Therapy has helped me find, well, me again. A better me. A stronger me. A me I like so much. A me my son is proud of.
The road I travel now is hard, no getting around that. Lots of work ahead for me. I say "Let's Go!" I am prepared and ready. Willing and able. I have the tools inside of me that will enable me to handle what comes next. I have my son who sees that bad decisions made by others can be overcome. That life sometimes just really, really sucks. But it is what we do after we are knocked down that matters.
I don't expect to leap right up and find everything all perfect and rosy. Most days, if I am honest, I am crawling. I'm hoping for a day when I can just sit. I haven't even thought of standing yet, let alone leaping. But it is coming, I feel it and I know it to be true.
Therapy has given me that. Given me hope, courage, and strength to be better than I ever dreamed.
In spite of all that has happened to me, it turns out, that I am lucky indeed.
There, I said it. Something I thought I would never utter in my life. I didn't really have anything against it, I just thought you pushed on through the problems. Sucked it up. Used the power of positive thinking. Pulled yourself up using your boot straps.
I was wrong.
Dead wrong.
My world came crashing down on me six months ago. The life I had built and worked so hard for was no more. My husband had an affair. It's funny how insignificant those five words look when I type them. On my page they seem to have no more power than the sentence that came before them or after them, yet they packed a wallop of a punch. One good hit and I was down for the count, or so I thought.
While all this was happening I was going through some health issues as well. It seemed that the hits just kept on coming and I was drowning. Trying to all of a sudden, run a house on my own, pay bills on my own, fill out college applications on my own, raise my son on my own, make sense of a world all topsy-turvy on my own, was a lot to handle.
Therapy came to the rescue. Oh, it isn't a be all end all, but it is a giant help. I am the one who rescued myself. I found everything I needed to make it inside me. Therapy is the map. With any map, it is only as helpful as the person reading it. If I turn it upside down, or take a wrong turn, that is my fault. The map is still there and I need to try again. and again. and again.
I found that I had more inside me then I knew. More strength then I thought possible. More intelligence then I had been given credit for. More compassion. More humor. More of everything. I lost all of that during my marriage. I didn't have a marriage of equal partnership. I lost myself. Therapy has helped me find, well, me again. A better me. A stronger me. A me I like so much. A me my son is proud of.
The road I travel now is hard, no getting around that. Lots of work ahead for me. I say "Let's Go!" I am prepared and ready. Willing and able. I have the tools inside of me that will enable me to handle what comes next. I have my son who sees that bad decisions made by others can be overcome. That life sometimes just really, really sucks. But it is what we do after we are knocked down that matters.
I don't expect to leap right up and find everything all perfect and rosy. Most days, if I am honest, I am crawling. I'm hoping for a day when I can just sit. I haven't even thought of standing yet, let alone leaping. But it is coming, I feel it and I know it to be true.
Therapy has given me that. Given me hope, courage, and strength to be better than I ever dreamed.
In spite of all that has happened to me, it turns out, that I am lucky indeed.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Can we all count to Four?
Wednesday is the day I spend quite a bit of time on the road. I am used to people eating, talking on their cell phones, gesturing widely while telling a story, conducting a rock band, shaving, and holding dogs on their laps, all the while trying to control their automobile with their elbow or knee. Or as I saw today, their chin.
Fascinating, I tell you. I really enjoy driving when that little bit of terror is thrown at me. Sure, just change lanes, with no turn-signals because as a matter of fact, I can read minds. Sure, turn right from the left hand turn lane, because I didn't need that side of my car anyway. Sure, dart across three lanes of traffic to catch that exit, because I needed to know my anti-lock brakes really do work the way they say they do.
It is all part of sharing the roads, throw in some bicyclists, maybe the sun, someone looking for an address, a garbage truck and we are all just having some serious fun here.
But four way stops, come on people, how hard are they really? You can count to four without taking off your shoes and socks, heck you only need one hand. Four glasses of wine, 2 too many (OK, 1, but still) Four donuts, delicious, but unnecessary. Four pieces of bacon, a dream come true. Four bracelets, the perfect jingly accessory.
Yet, today, total dismal failure for drivers of their cars to count to four. Add in one or two turn lanes, a pedestrian and we are at full grid-lock. Go, Stop, Go, Stop, Honk, Flip Off, Go, Stop, scare pedestrian half to death, Go.
The whole drive to the intersection took less time then actually making it through the four way stop. One person decided to not stop at all, which is always thrilling. One person thought if you stop two cars back, that is enough stopping for that one intersection. Or, my personal favorite, FLOOR IT, and don't look back. Or the saddest of all, someone who has just given up and is permanently stuck in their lane while the cars behind them honk up a storm.
I think if we all try we can achieve this one little goal, to get through the four way stop without swearing, slamming on the brakes, or having a stare down with someone who went when it wasn't their turn.
Now I am off to give it another try. Wish me well!
Fascinating, I tell you. I really enjoy driving when that little bit of terror is thrown at me. Sure, just change lanes, with no turn-signals because as a matter of fact, I can read minds. Sure, turn right from the left hand turn lane, because I didn't need that side of my car anyway. Sure, dart across three lanes of traffic to catch that exit, because I needed to know my anti-lock brakes really do work the way they say they do.
It is all part of sharing the roads, throw in some bicyclists, maybe the sun, someone looking for an address, a garbage truck and we are all just having some serious fun here.
But four way stops, come on people, how hard are they really? You can count to four without taking off your shoes and socks, heck you only need one hand. Four glasses of wine, 2 too many (OK, 1, but still) Four donuts, delicious, but unnecessary. Four pieces of bacon, a dream come true. Four bracelets, the perfect jingly accessory.
Yet, today, total dismal failure for drivers of their cars to count to four. Add in one or two turn lanes, a pedestrian and we are at full grid-lock. Go, Stop, Go, Stop, Honk, Flip Off, Go, Stop, scare pedestrian half to death, Go.
The whole drive to the intersection took less time then actually making it through the four way stop. One person decided to not stop at all, which is always thrilling. One person thought if you stop two cars back, that is enough stopping for that one intersection. Or, my personal favorite, FLOOR IT, and don't look back. Or the saddest of all, someone who has just given up and is permanently stuck in their lane while the cars behind them honk up a storm.
I think if we all try we can achieve this one little goal, to get through the four way stop without swearing, slamming on the brakes, or having a stare down with someone who went when it wasn't their turn.
Now I am off to give it another try. Wish me well!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Winter Blows!
Some people enjoy Winter.
You get to have a slower pace of life, you have snow days, and dark, rainy nights that call out for a nice fire in the fireplace. You get to enjoy hot soups and hot buttered rum. Finally that little bit of weight that has been driving you insane, is covered up and forgotten about. You get hat hair, rain galoshes, and the ability to never find two gloves that match. You get to have the coziest bed linens. And if you're single like me, you don't need to shave everyday, I haven't seen bare legs since August.
I am not one of those people. I hate Winter!
All of my cute clothes, cute shoes, cute purses tempt me. But no, I have to reside in blue jeans, thick unattractive socks, black shoes that are able to stomp through the wild weather, and sweatshirts, always another sweatshirt. I now carry an additional 10 lbs on my frame and it is my clothes. My hair always has that "just frizzed" look, for why blow dry and straighten it when 10 seconds after hitting the great outdoors, it is going to expand itself and can easily be seen from space. I no longer bend in the middle. I am always slightly damp. I am always annoyed.
The first few days of Winter are very enjoyable. Love the fireplace. Love hot apple cider. Love having the dark nights that making going to bed at 9:30 pm totally fine. Love the thick duvet and vintage chenille pillows. Love hot bubble baths. A Winter that is 14 days long, totally awesome. A Winter that is 36 months long, totally sucks.
Here in the Great Northwest, we are already the laughing stock of the country. Ha Ha! it rains here every day! Ha Ha! we close everything in our city if even the hint of snow is coming! Ha Ha! we haven't seen the sun in weeks. This is the problem with Winter, gray, it is always gray. And gray is SO NOT my color. In fact, it shouldn't be a color. And it especially shouldn't be a color that I have to see every day for months.
Today we have snow flurries, yesterday we had snow flurries, tomorrow we will have snow flurries. Oh, I know I have it luckier than some. I watch the news (well, not really but I look at the news on line and occasionally I look at someone else's weather) and I know it is not that bad here. It just feels that way
In a few weeks, I will head off to California for a little sun and a little fun and a little more of sun.
And my mold and moss collection will just have to get along without me for a week.
You get to have a slower pace of life, you have snow days, and dark, rainy nights that call out for a nice fire in the fireplace. You get to enjoy hot soups and hot buttered rum. Finally that little bit of weight that has been driving you insane, is covered up and forgotten about. You get hat hair, rain galoshes, and the ability to never find two gloves that match. You get to have the coziest bed linens. And if you're single like me, you don't need to shave everyday, I haven't seen bare legs since August.
I am not one of those people. I hate Winter!
All of my cute clothes, cute shoes, cute purses tempt me. But no, I have to reside in blue jeans, thick unattractive socks, black shoes that are able to stomp through the wild weather, and sweatshirts, always another sweatshirt. I now carry an additional 10 lbs on my frame and it is my clothes. My hair always has that "just frizzed" look, for why blow dry and straighten it when 10 seconds after hitting the great outdoors, it is going to expand itself and can easily be seen from space. I no longer bend in the middle. I am always slightly damp. I am always annoyed.
The first few days of Winter are very enjoyable. Love the fireplace. Love hot apple cider. Love having the dark nights that making going to bed at 9:30 pm totally fine. Love the thick duvet and vintage chenille pillows. Love hot bubble baths. A Winter that is 14 days long, totally awesome. A Winter that is 36 months long, totally sucks.
Here in the Great Northwest, we are already the laughing stock of the country. Ha Ha! it rains here every day! Ha Ha! we close everything in our city if even the hint of snow is coming! Ha Ha! we haven't seen the sun in weeks. This is the problem with Winter, gray, it is always gray. And gray is SO NOT my color. In fact, it shouldn't be a color. And it especially shouldn't be a color that I have to see every day for months.
Today we have snow flurries, yesterday we had snow flurries, tomorrow we will have snow flurries. Oh, I know I have it luckier than some. I watch the news (well, not really but I look at the news on line and occasionally I look at someone else's weather) and I know it is not that bad here. It just feels that way
In a few weeks, I will head off to California for a little sun and a little fun and a little more of sun.
And my mold and moss collection will just have to get along without me for a week.
Monday, January 26, 2009
He snores, sheds, takes up most of the bed, and I love him to death!
This is Herbie "The Love Pug" a 5 year old black pug. Having a pug is not for the faint of heart. They are obstinate, shed enough that we could make another pug daily, snore, and must always be on top of you, not just by you, but actually on you!
Don't let that cute face fool you! He has the personality of a thug. "Bring it on!" is his motto and he does. Oh, he is all wind and no substance, but that doesn't stop him. He takes his thug job very seriously. The only reason we have not been attacked by a garbage can, is because he was on the job. Leaves, branches, stray garbage blowing in the wind, have not wrecked havoc on his family, because he stood his ground and said "Not on my watch!" He believes delivery men were sent here just to torment him. Garbage men are truly the work of the devil. Small children laughing down at the park, exist only to annoy his sleep.
But every time we return to the home, he welcomes us as if we have been gone for years. 8 seconds to go and check the mail, requires 10 minutes of a leaping, wiggling pug. Closing the door to take a shower, requires 15 minutes of exclaiming "That we did indeed miss him and thought him gone for ever, and it was our lucky day that we found each other in the hallway!"
So we put up with disemboweled stuffed toys, looking like a yeti in our day to day activities, the fact that he has the ability to bark for 20 minutes at the UPS man who has been gone for 18 of those minutes, the fact that he can climb onto my desk, drink my coffee and eat 1/2 lb. of melty mints and feel no remorse when I return 5 minutes later, all because he believes that his family rocks his world. And in this day and age, that is something pretty spectacular.
Don't let that cute face fool you! He has the personality of a thug. "Bring it on!" is his motto and he does. Oh, he is all wind and no substance, but that doesn't stop him. He takes his thug job very seriously. The only reason we have not been attacked by a garbage can, is because he was on the job. Leaves, branches, stray garbage blowing in the wind, have not wrecked havoc on his family, because he stood his ground and said "Not on my watch!" He believes delivery men were sent here just to torment him. Garbage men are truly the work of the devil. Small children laughing down at the park, exist only to annoy his sleep.
But every time we return to the home, he welcomes us as if we have been gone for years. 8 seconds to go and check the mail, requires 10 minutes of a leaping, wiggling pug. Closing the door to take a shower, requires 15 minutes of exclaiming "That we did indeed miss him and thought him gone for ever, and it was our lucky day that we found each other in the hallway!"
So we put up with disemboweled stuffed toys, looking like a yeti in our day to day activities, the fact that he has the ability to bark for 20 minutes at the UPS man who has been gone for 18 of those minutes, the fact that he can climb onto my desk, drink my coffee and eat 1/2 lb. of melty mints and feel no remorse when I return 5 minutes later, all because he believes that his family rocks his world. And in this day and age, that is something pretty spectacular.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
To (Almost) quote from Steve McGarrett "Book 'em Sunday"
I love books. All kinds. All genres. New, old. I own multiple copies of some, to either give them to people or actually have them in my luggage so they can travel with me. I have them in piles everywhere. My dream home has shelves that are loaded with books, books and more books. I vacation to book stores and have flown home from vacations holding books on my lap. One time, after my car broke down, while I was stuck in some town while the mechanic tried to fix the car, I used what little money I had to buy a book.
They fall out of my purse, out of my car, they have fallen into the bath. They stalk me, call to me, but mostly they sustain me. Someone, somewhere has been right where I am now. At any phase of my life, while it may be new to me, someone else has already blazed a path. It might not be a paved road, or a dirt road, heck it may only be a slight indentation in the grass. I travel it knowing that I don't go it alone. My thoughts and feelings are obviously my own, but if I get scared or feel lost, I can look for comfort to those that came before me. And I will be there for those that come after me to provide the same comfort and support.
I read 5 to 6 books a week, mostly mysteries and non fiction. I head off on tangents. One good non-fiction book can open up whole new doors of people's lives that I must know about. Why do I need to know the proper way to throw a knuckle ball? Why do I need to know how to raise chickens? Why do I need to know the poems of Sylvia Plath? Why do I need to know everything there is to know about Walt Whitman? I just do. And I am better for knowing it.
Sitting in my living room, fireplace blazing, pug snoring to beat the band, rain pouring down, I am transported anywhere I want to go. Blazing guns in Africa, Exploring ruins in Italy, Collecting animals for a zoo, Finding out why 18 year olds are strange, Traveling the Oregon Trail, Learning how to Quilt, I'm there. Sometimes I look up and am surprised to see I am still sitting in my living room, for I was sure Gerald Durrell was going to show me the new animal he had acquired for his zoo. I was so sure Jane Austen wanted to sign my copy of Pride and Prejudice. But I know they are there, I can't see them but I feel them and that is enough.
So every Sunday, let's explore some books. Maybe a author or a genre. Maybe our favorite bookstores. Or just the lovely sight of a giant pile of unread books beckoning to us. Maybe the People magazine.
In ending, I will leave you with my favorite quote of all time. I own this as a poster only because I went into the Santa Cruz Bookshop so many times to ask about this poster they had push pinned on their bulletin board, they finally pulled it off and handed it to me. Best gift ever!
They fall out of my purse, out of my car, they have fallen into the bath. They stalk me, call to me, but mostly they sustain me. Someone, somewhere has been right where I am now. At any phase of my life, while it may be new to me, someone else has already blazed a path. It might not be a paved road, or a dirt road, heck it may only be a slight indentation in the grass. I travel it knowing that I don't go it alone. My thoughts and feelings are obviously my own, but if I get scared or feel lost, I can look for comfort to those that came before me. And I will be there for those that come after me to provide the same comfort and support.
I read 5 to 6 books a week, mostly mysteries and non fiction. I head off on tangents. One good non-fiction book can open up whole new doors of people's lives that I must know about. Why do I need to know the proper way to throw a knuckle ball? Why do I need to know how to raise chickens? Why do I need to know the poems of Sylvia Plath? Why do I need to know everything there is to know about Walt Whitman? I just do. And I am better for knowing it.
Sitting in my living room, fireplace blazing, pug snoring to beat the band, rain pouring down, I am transported anywhere I want to go. Blazing guns in Africa, Exploring ruins in Italy, Collecting animals for a zoo, Finding out why 18 year olds are strange, Traveling the Oregon Trail, Learning how to Quilt, I'm there. Sometimes I look up and am surprised to see I am still sitting in my living room, for I was sure Gerald Durrell was going to show me the new animal he had acquired for his zoo. I was so sure Jane Austen wanted to sign my copy of Pride and Prejudice. But I know they are there, I can't see them but I feel them and that is enough.
So every Sunday, let's explore some books. Maybe a author or a genre. Maybe our favorite bookstores. Or just the lovely sight of a giant pile of unread books beckoning to us. Maybe the People magazine.
In ending, I will leave you with my favorite quote of all time. I own this as a poster only because I went into the Santa Cruz Bookshop so many times to ask about this poster they had push pinned on their bulletin board, they finally pulled it off and handed it to me. Best gift ever!
I think that I still have it in my heart someday
to paint a bookshop with the front yellow
and pink in the evening...
like a light in the midst of darkness...
Vincent Van Gogh
to paint a bookshop with the front yellow
and pink in the evening...
like a light in the midst of darkness...
Vincent Van Gogh
Saturday, January 24, 2009
They do live forever
I share my world with a wonderful son, and a black pug. Plus, some assorted fish and two truly horrible parakeets. The parakeets I own so I wouldn't have to have any more cats. What a tragic mistake that was. After our last cat passed away, at age 16, I really didn't want to go the whole litter box, scratching furniture, annoying the dog route. Someone told me "birds are the way to go, they sound cheerful, look pretty, and don't have a very long life span" Perfect! Bought a giant cage, two parakeets and we were off to the races.
I like to imagine I am intelligent. I get through my day relatively unscathed. Oh, I know if you asked the boy I reside with, my intelligence is questionable at the very least. But he is 18 and we all know at 18 you wonder how your parents even breathe without you there to supervise. So I don't take that to heart.
But seriously, what was I thinking! These birds will be the death of me. It has been 8 years. 8 long, horrible, trying years with these things. Capt'n Jack Sparrow and Ms. Tweeters, maybe they are horrible because of their names. Poor thing being called Ms. Tweeters, how do you live up to that? She (or he, I have no idea) probably saw herself as a Audrey, a Katherine, but no she was saddled with Ms. Tweeters, not even a first name to speak off. And the other one, how does he (or she, again, truly a mystery at this house) feel about being named after a Disney ride?
I have tried. They reside in the McMansions of cages. It is made for parrots and is huge. The entire toy world resides in their cage. They have organic bird seed. Clean bedding. And they hate it all. Every last thing. If you put your hand in there, they will try and take off your finger. For being so small and well, bird like, those tiny beaks HURT. And they use them often and meanly. I bought the books, tried to tame them, it was a no go. They want no part of this human life. As it turns out, parakeets live long, very long, very, very long. They delight in throwing seed shells over every part of my family room. Chirping at the top of their little voices every time the TV is turned on. The TV volume goes up, the bird volume goes up, it is a bloody war over volume. If they even see the vacuum, it is a major catastrophe. They screech and fly in a manic attempt to abandon the ship, they fling themselves in the seed bowls and hurl seeds at a wicked pace, rip the bedding off of the cage and throw it. And the vacuum is not EVEN STOPPING IN THE FAMILY ROOM! I use the broom in there. Though sometimes, because I am a small person, I do check the hose width and dream that a small bird could "Accidentally" be sucked into the vacuum.
Though it has not been in vain, owning these things. I have taught them something. Other people are gifted with words, but I figured anyone (of course, not me) could teach their birds to say "Hello" "Pretty Bird" and other simple sayings. Mine have learned the TIVO sound. Yep, every flippin' second of the day, they are down stairs mocking me with the TIVO beep. So when people come to the house and see all the books, and I smile and say "Oh, I read all the time, why yes I have read War and Peace, in its entirety" The two most ungrateful creatures known to man start with a crescendo of TIVO beeps, and my cover is blown. Then I go to my back up plan, blame the kid.
So the next time something in my home dies of old age, I am closing my ears to advice about pets. If you enjoy your mongoose, alligator, lizards, snakes, or hippos, just keep it to yourself.
I like to imagine I am intelligent. I get through my day relatively unscathed. Oh, I know if you asked the boy I reside with, my intelligence is questionable at the very least. But he is 18 and we all know at 18 you wonder how your parents even breathe without you there to supervise. So I don't take that to heart.
But seriously, what was I thinking! These birds will be the death of me. It has been 8 years. 8 long, horrible, trying years with these things. Capt'n Jack Sparrow and Ms. Tweeters, maybe they are horrible because of their names. Poor thing being called Ms. Tweeters, how do you live up to that? She (or he, I have no idea) probably saw herself as a Audrey, a Katherine, but no she was saddled with Ms. Tweeters, not even a first name to speak off. And the other one, how does he (or she, again, truly a mystery at this house) feel about being named after a Disney ride?
I have tried. They reside in the McMansions of cages. It is made for parrots and is huge. The entire toy world resides in their cage. They have organic bird seed. Clean bedding. And they hate it all. Every last thing. If you put your hand in there, they will try and take off your finger. For being so small and well, bird like, those tiny beaks HURT. And they use them often and meanly. I bought the books, tried to tame them, it was a no go. They want no part of this human life. As it turns out, parakeets live long, very long, very, very long. They delight in throwing seed shells over every part of my family room. Chirping at the top of their little voices every time the TV is turned on. The TV volume goes up, the bird volume goes up, it is a bloody war over volume. If they even see the vacuum, it is a major catastrophe. They screech and fly in a manic attempt to abandon the ship, they fling themselves in the seed bowls and hurl seeds at a wicked pace, rip the bedding off of the cage and throw it. And the vacuum is not EVEN STOPPING IN THE FAMILY ROOM! I use the broom in there. Though sometimes, because I am a small person, I do check the hose width and dream that a small bird could "Accidentally" be sucked into the vacuum.
Though it has not been in vain, owning these things. I have taught them something. Other people are gifted with words, but I figured anyone (of course, not me) could teach their birds to say "Hello" "Pretty Bird" and other simple sayings. Mine have learned the TIVO sound. Yep, every flippin' second of the day, they are down stairs mocking me with the TIVO beep. So when people come to the house and see all the books, and I smile and say "Oh, I read all the time, why yes I have read War and Peace, in its entirety" The two most ungrateful creatures known to man start with a crescendo of TIVO beeps, and my cover is blown. Then I go to my back up plan, blame the kid.
So the next time something in my home dies of old age, I am closing my ears to advice about pets. If you enjoy your mongoose, alligator, lizards, snakes, or hippos, just keep it to yourself.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Mermaid Fair
I like to collect things, or it could be called stock piling a bunch of miscellaneous items. Books are my collection of choice but I have branched out into all sorts of things I need to own.
Today we shall cover Mermaids.
When we bought this house years ago, it had no soaking tub. Now I don't know about everyone else but a house is not a home without a wonderful soaking tub. I would prefer an old claw foot tub but really any thing that will hold a large amount of warm, bubbly water will work. So we added a tub but it had to be added into it's own separate room and it had to contain the Washer and Dryer! I know, the horror! Who wants to see those appliances ever and especially not while trying to soak your cares away.
But a tub is a tub and so I took what I could get. How to decorate a room with no windows, a huge sky light that had been added in the 80's and dirty clothes, is certainly a daunting dilemma. Then I found mermaids. They are brightly colored, can be hung on a wall, and are impervious to heat and moisture. I was off and running. Over time I have added fish and sea horses for a little diversity. Let's take a peek at some:
First, we have a large wall with the mermaid family. They run all around the room. Over doors, under lights, they sit on the tub surround and I even have a shelf with sit alone mermaids. If you notice any cobwebs, just think of it as kelp waving in the ocean tide, I know I do and I feel just fine about not dusting.
Where is the washer/dryer I hear you ask. It is tucked away behind closed doors and I had mermaids painted on the door fronts that are doing laundry.
So what do you collect?
Today we shall cover Mermaids.
When we bought this house years ago, it had no soaking tub. Now I don't know about everyone else but a house is not a home without a wonderful soaking tub. I would prefer an old claw foot tub but really any thing that will hold a large amount of warm, bubbly water will work. So we added a tub but it had to be added into it's own separate room and it had to contain the Washer and Dryer! I know, the horror! Who wants to see those appliances ever and especially not while trying to soak your cares away.
But a tub is a tub and so I took what I could get. How to decorate a room with no windows, a huge sky light that had been added in the 80's and dirty clothes, is certainly a daunting dilemma. Then I found mermaids. They are brightly colored, can be hung on a wall, and are impervious to heat and moisture. I was off and running. Over time I have added fish and sea horses for a little diversity. Let's take a peek at some:
First, we have a large wall with the mermaid family. They run all around the room. Over doors, under lights, they sit on the tub surround and I even have a shelf with sit alone mermaids. If you notice any cobwebs, just think of it as kelp waving in the ocean tide, I know I do and I feel just fine about not dusting.
Where is the washer/dryer I hear you ask. It is tucked away behind closed doors and I had mermaids painted on the door fronts that are doing laundry.
So what do you collect?
Who would be
a mermaid fair,
singing alone,
combing her hair
under the sea,
in a golden curl
with a comb of pearl,
on a throne?
I would be a mermaid fair;
I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
with a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
and still as I comb I would sing and say,
"Who is it loves me? Who loves me not?"
Lord Alfred Tennyson
"The Mermaid"
a mermaid fair,
singing alone,
combing her hair
under the sea,
in a golden curl
with a comb of pearl,
on a throne?
I would be a mermaid fair;
I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
with a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
and still as I comb I would sing and say,
"Who is it loves me? Who loves me not?"
Lord Alfred Tennyson
"The Mermaid"
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Are those really your eyebrows?
Wednesday's are my day of pain.
All the things that are needed to keep me upright, healthy and happy are all scheduled for the middle of the week. Not like exercise, which I do every day but waxing, eye exams, doctor's appointments, therapy, those kind of things. Painful things, you know women things.
Over the weekend I had stopped into a makeup store to have a lesson (yet again!) on how to apply eyeliner. I am so happy for the people I see walking down the street with perfectly drawn lines. I on the other hand, look like I either put it on in the dark, or that drawing a straight line is not something I have achieved. One eye looks fine, the other just looks scary. So during the lesson, the helpful salesgirl suggested I have my eyebrows shaped into an arch a little bit more. I have never gone the waxing on the eyebrows before and after leaving the store, with fantastic eyes that I really have no chance of ever duplicating on my own, I made the appointment. Yesterday was the day.
How hard could this be? I laid down on the table, opened my eyes and was laughing and talking with the gal while she applied the wax. The first tape removal, not bad. The second tape removal, I was pretty sure my entire eye lid was gone. The left eye was wondering what the hell had just happened, which made the right eye pretty sure it was not going to happen over there. I couldn't keep the eye open to save my life. Stop Squinting! over and over the gal told me, and I tried, really I did. Finally, she just yanked and then yanked once more, and then tweezed. I was beginning to wonder how I had survived all these years with this amount of eyebrows. Maybe I should have just braided them and called it a day. After it was over, she handed me the mirror so I could see the new, very thin, very arched, brows. Sure somewhere in the redness, the brows were there. The gal did say I was pretty red and it would subside in an hour or so. It is now this morning, still red, still swollen, still look like I am perpetually surprised. But the brows do look arched, hurray!
I made the next appointment for 4 weeks and just to add to the pure joy of my Wednesday's, have added a bikini wax. Being a woman is not for sissies
Wednesday's will from now on be the day of pain and the night of Margaritas.
All the things that are needed to keep me upright, healthy and happy are all scheduled for the middle of the week. Not like exercise, which I do every day but waxing, eye exams, doctor's appointments, therapy, those kind of things. Painful things, you know women things.
Over the weekend I had stopped into a makeup store to have a lesson (yet again!) on how to apply eyeliner. I am so happy for the people I see walking down the street with perfectly drawn lines. I on the other hand, look like I either put it on in the dark, or that drawing a straight line is not something I have achieved. One eye looks fine, the other just looks scary. So during the lesson, the helpful salesgirl suggested I have my eyebrows shaped into an arch a little bit more. I have never gone the waxing on the eyebrows before and after leaving the store, with fantastic eyes that I really have no chance of ever duplicating on my own, I made the appointment. Yesterday was the day.
How hard could this be? I laid down on the table, opened my eyes and was laughing and talking with the gal while she applied the wax. The first tape removal, not bad. The second tape removal, I was pretty sure my entire eye lid was gone. The left eye was wondering what the hell had just happened, which made the right eye pretty sure it was not going to happen over there. I couldn't keep the eye open to save my life. Stop Squinting! over and over the gal told me, and I tried, really I did. Finally, she just yanked and then yanked once more, and then tweezed. I was beginning to wonder how I had survived all these years with this amount of eyebrows. Maybe I should have just braided them and called it a day. After it was over, she handed me the mirror so I could see the new, very thin, very arched, brows. Sure somewhere in the redness, the brows were there. The gal did say I was pretty red and it would subside in an hour or so. It is now this morning, still red, still swollen, still look like I am perpetually surprised. But the brows do look arched, hurray!
I made the next appointment for 4 weeks and just to add to the pure joy of my Wednesday's, have added a bikini wax. Being a woman is not for sissies
Wednesday's will from now on be the day of pain and the night of Margaritas.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
The Times They Are A Changin'
It's a new beginning. And with all new beginnings, it is a little scary. To begin again means that something has ended. For me it is the end of a 23 year marriage. Yep, I'm one of the punch lines to an old joke, "what do you do with the 45 year old wife?, why you replace her with the 30 year old." So now I am off on an new adventure, the ME project. After being a stay at home wife and mother, that phase is ending. My son will head off to Northwestern University in September, the home I have resided in for 16 years will be sold, the last name that I have had for more than half my life will be gone. In some ways it is a rebirth, I like to think it is a "Do Over." Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't have chosen this path if given the option, but it is here now and so I might as well deal with it the best way I know how. With Good Books, Good Salvage Finds, Good Friends, Good Decorating Skills, and Good Old Determination.
So that is just what I plan to do, and Good News, you get to help.
Let's get this Party started.
So that is just what I plan to do, and Good News, you get to help.
Let's get this Party started.
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