‘Tis the season – for all things wonderful. That of course includes food. So even though I strive to eat healthy the rest of the year – it all goes out the window during “Seasons Eating”. Of course those of us that are professional seasonal eaters know that tight jeans are not the attire to wear. It just makes sense that the “stretchier” the clothes, the more you can eat. Here then, is my theme song for those moments.
This song is meant to be sung VERY loudly to the tune of “Walking in a Winter Wonderland”. Feel free to break into harmony during the chorus!
Candy Canes, they’re around us
Sugar cookies, they astound us –
A beautiful sight, I’m happy tonight,
Walking in my comfy sweat pants-land.
Sweet egg nog, it’s required
The great taste, I never tire.
We sing the sweet song, of food (right or wrong),
Walking in my comfy sweats pant land.
In the kitchen we will find a large ham, and pretend that it is healthy fare.
We’ll have lots of fun with Mr. Hambone, and all the sandwiches we will prepare.
Later on, we’ll conspire,
As we lay by the fire –
Our stomachs are quite full, the calories a toll,
Walking in my comfy sweat pants land.
In the kitchen we will find the rum balls, and pretend they don’t have alcohol.
We’ll have lots of fun with all the rum balls, until the little kiddies all fall down.
When we eat, ain’t it thrilling?
Though our clothes, they are filling.
We’ll frolic and eat, till we fall asleep,
Walking in my comfy sweat pants land.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Coco Wasn't Always Right
“When accessorizing, always take off the last thing you put on.”
Coco Chanel said this. And up until now, I normally followed these words of wisdom.
For some reason, my thoughts have done a 180. Actually, my thoughts have been thinking that Coco was wrong my entire life. But lately my seemly fashion-safe self has gone out the window. Now, I am not any sort of fashion maven. And I’ve been known to dress, ah, “out of the box” shall we say. (My sister goes as far as to say I dress in costume. Seeing as how I love her, I will consider this a compliment.) But as of late I’ve felt the calling to just keep going.
Yesterday, not only did I NOT take off the last thing I put on, but I added more! I added a necklace to the already completely accessorized outfit. And it felt good! It felt complete! I actually felt free!
Ok, I know, we are only talking about fashion and clothing here. But there is something psychological about it as well. The rule about fashion is: There are no rules! Gilda Radner said, “I base my fashion sense on what doesn’t itch.” And we loved Gilda for that.
In her defense, Coco had some other great quotes, such as: “The best color in the whole world is the color that looks good on you.” That’s more like it. Definitely more out of the box.
Personally, I really don’t think anyone else really cares what we wear. I mean if they like it they may comment on it. (Thank you to the clerk that said she loved my beautiful outfit on my day of over-accessorizing.) But does it really matter who wears what color and how many bracelets they may have on? (Um, is four too many?)
Fashion, for what it’s worth, is something that is supposed to make us feel good about ourselves. Concordantly, what makes us feel good about ourselves may not always be in fashion. I say, hurrah! Of course I don’t make my living in the fashion industry…I also don’t follow trends, per se. (Ok, I had to do the feather earring thing – it just called to me). Since I buy most of my clothes and accessories at the Goodwill and thrift stores, I usually am wearing something that was either a style flop or that was in style years ago. And I pair it with something that normally wouldn’t go with it. I refuse to be all “matchy-matchy”. (Except the other day with feather earrings and a western belt – but of course I threw on my dad’s bomber jacket from WWII and all of a sudden it felt “right”).
Don’t worry – my husband doesn’t hide in embarrassment when we go out in public. I am not ready for a support group yet. On the other hand when a friend called me “Grandma Auntie Mame” the other day, I had to smile to myself. We are what we make ourselves. When Coco Chanel said don’t pound on the wall in order to make it a door, (or something like that) I think she meant to say don’t try to be something other than yourself.
Peacocks (and male at that) aren’t the only ones meant to show off their colorful plumage. So if it’s your secret desire to strut your fancy stuff I say “go for it!” Give in to your moxie and sassy self. If you have things sitting in your closet/attic/basement that you’ve not worn because it wasn’t in style or was too flashy or weird or eclectic, well for heaven’s sake – go get it! What are you waiting for? Let your inner eclectic self shine! “Fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are.” - Quentin Crisp
We all have an inner flair dying to get out. If it feels strange at first, fake it ‘til you make it. If your inner flair is quiet and subdued, I am not saying to change it. If, like Coco, taking off that last accessory feels right, then do it! But if you are like me, and you secretly just want to add more, there should be nothing stopping you.
And with that, I leave you with words from Mark Twain: “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”
Coco Chanel said this. And up until now, I normally followed these words of wisdom.
For some reason, my thoughts have done a 180. Actually, my thoughts have been thinking that Coco was wrong my entire life. But lately my seemly fashion-safe self has gone out the window. Now, I am not any sort of fashion maven. And I’ve been known to dress, ah, “out of the box” shall we say. (My sister goes as far as to say I dress in costume. Seeing as how I love her, I will consider this a compliment.) But as of late I’ve felt the calling to just keep going.
Yesterday, not only did I NOT take off the last thing I put on, but I added more! I added a necklace to the already completely accessorized outfit. And it felt good! It felt complete! I actually felt free!
Ok, I know, we are only talking about fashion and clothing here. But there is something psychological about it as well. The rule about fashion is: There are no rules! Gilda Radner said, “I base my fashion sense on what doesn’t itch.” And we loved Gilda for that.
In her defense, Coco had some other great quotes, such as: “The best color in the whole world is the color that looks good on you.” That’s more like it. Definitely more out of the box.
Personally, I really don’t think anyone else really cares what we wear. I mean if they like it they may comment on it. (Thank you to the clerk that said she loved my beautiful outfit on my day of over-accessorizing.) But does it really matter who wears what color and how many bracelets they may have on? (Um, is four too many?)
Fashion, for what it’s worth, is something that is supposed to make us feel good about ourselves. Concordantly, what makes us feel good about ourselves may not always be in fashion. I say, hurrah! Of course I don’t make my living in the fashion industry…I also don’t follow trends, per se. (Ok, I had to do the feather earring thing – it just called to me). Since I buy most of my clothes and accessories at the Goodwill and thrift stores, I usually am wearing something that was either a style flop or that was in style years ago. And I pair it with something that normally wouldn’t go with it. I refuse to be all “matchy-matchy”. (Except the other day with feather earrings and a western belt – but of course I threw on my dad’s bomber jacket from WWII and all of a sudden it felt “right”).
Don’t worry – my husband doesn’t hide in embarrassment when we go out in public. I am not ready for a support group yet. On the other hand when a friend called me “Grandma Auntie Mame” the other day, I had to smile to myself. We are what we make ourselves. When Coco Chanel said don’t pound on the wall in order to make it a door, (or something like that) I think she meant to say don’t try to be something other than yourself.
Peacocks (and male at that) aren’t the only ones meant to show off their colorful plumage. So if it’s your secret desire to strut your fancy stuff I say “go for it!” Give in to your moxie and sassy self. If you have things sitting in your closet/attic/basement that you’ve not worn because it wasn’t in style or was too flashy or weird or eclectic, well for heaven’s sake – go get it! What are you waiting for? Let your inner eclectic self shine! “Fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are.” - Quentin Crisp
We all have an inner flair dying to get out. If it feels strange at first, fake it ‘til you make it. If your inner flair is quiet and subdued, I am not saying to change it. If, like Coco, taking off that last accessory feels right, then do it! But if you are like me, and you secretly just want to add more, there should be nothing stopping you.
And with that, I leave you with words from Mark Twain: “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Why Change Twice?
This time of year, it’s tough to get going when most of the time it is dark when we leave our homes and dark when we return. I have a theory that Christmas lights were invented to cheer up those that are suffering from S.A.D.D. – a little light can go a long way during the long, dark, cold and grey winter months.
My friends and I actually have a saying when this short span of daylight arrives: “Why Change Twice?”. When we get home from work, all we want to do is get comfy, make tea (or, let’s be honest, drink wine) and settle in for the night. Usually for me, that involves changing into nice and comfy sweat pants and my husband’s t-shirt. But lately, I’ve really been into this comfy nesting thing. So much so, that I’ve started skipping the sweat pants and going straight for the pajamas. Yes, even at 6pm. Seriously, why change twice?
There is something about the darkness – the long, drawn-out darkness – that wants me to stay home and curl up in front of the fire. If I plan anything at night during these winter months, I make it a practice to not go home first. Once I’m home, I am, as they say, “dead in the sled”. Done. Capoot. Finished. The minute my foot hits the floor in my house, the clothes start coming off and I head straight to the bedroom for the flannels. Sexy, I know.
The good thing is I’ve been able to make a believer out of my husband. I have to admit, it was a tough sell at first. He came home the other night and I was working on my laptop at the kitchen table. In my jammies. At 5:30 pm.
“You ok?” He asked.
“Sure, why?”
“Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine. Just working. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you have your pajamas on. It’s not even dinner time.”
“And your point is…”
“Um, like I said, it’s not even dinner time.”
“Try it. Go change. I’m comfortable. I’m relaxed. I’m cozy. I’m warm. Why should I come home and change out of my work clothes and then a couple hours later change again into my pajamas? It only makes sense. Go change.”
“Does this mean I don’t get dinner? Once when I was little my mom made me get my pajamas on and sent me to bed without dinner. I’m hungry.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m not your mom, and yes, I am making dinner. Go. Put on your pajamas.”
And the rest is history. I think from here on out - December through March - all our dinner parties will be pajama parties. Our neighbors have already gotten used to the fact that I go outside to get the mail in my pajamas. I don’t think they’d care one way or another if I walk the dogs in my jammies too. Heck, I may just start a trend. The “Why Change Twice” trend. Try it – I know I can convert you too!
My friends and I actually have a saying when this short span of daylight arrives: “Why Change Twice?”. When we get home from work, all we want to do is get comfy, make tea (or, let’s be honest, drink wine) and settle in for the night. Usually for me, that involves changing into nice and comfy sweat pants and my husband’s t-shirt. But lately, I’ve really been into this comfy nesting thing. So much so, that I’ve started skipping the sweat pants and going straight for the pajamas. Yes, even at 6pm. Seriously, why change twice?
There is something about the darkness – the long, drawn-out darkness – that wants me to stay home and curl up in front of the fire. If I plan anything at night during these winter months, I make it a practice to not go home first. Once I’m home, I am, as they say, “dead in the sled”. Done. Capoot. Finished. The minute my foot hits the floor in my house, the clothes start coming off and I head straight to the bedroom for the flannels. Sexy, I know.
The good thing is I’ve been able to make a believer out of my husband. I have to admit, it was a tough sell at first. He came home the other night and I was working on my laptop at the kitchen table. In my jammies. At 5:30 pm.
“You ok?” He asked.
“Sure, why?”
“Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine. Just working. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you have your pajamas on. It’s not even dinner time.”
“And your point is…”
“Um, like I said, it’s not even dinner time.”
“Try it. Go change. I’m comfortable. I’m relaxed. I’m cozy. I’m warm. Why should I come home and change out of my work clothes and then a couple hours later change again into my pajamas? It only makes sense. Go change.”
“Does this mean I don’t get dinner? Once when I was little my mom made me get my pajamas on and sent me to bed without dinner. I’m hungry.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m not your mom, and yes, I am making dinner. Go. Put on your pajamas.”
And the rest is history. I think from here on out - December through March - all our dinner parties will be pajama parties. Our neighbors have already gotten used to the fact that I go outside to get the mail in my pajamas. I don’t think they’d care one way or another if I walk the dogs in my jammies too. Heck, I may just start a trend. The “Why Change Twice” trend. Try it – I know I can convert you too!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Big Girl Christmas
It happens every year. It sneaks up on me like the last five pounds snuck up on me last month. I know the date is always December 25th. I know that I only have a certain amount of time to get my act together. In the end, it usually stresses me out and leaves me feeling a little lost, like maybe there should be “more”.
What I have finally come to realize is that Christmas is not supposed to be a race to the finish line. It’s not a contest of “those with the most gifts (to give or to receive) win”. This year Christmas is an even larger challenge for me as we will be moving. That’s right, packing everything in boxes smack dab during the time that I am supposed to be decking the halls.
Sitting back and taking a deep breath is now on my “to do” list. However I look at it, this is not a win-win situation. Except for the fact that we did sell our home – and in this economy I guess that is just about the best Christmas gift I could receive.
So I have made my own special big girl Christmas list for this year, in order to keep my sanity in check. It doesn’t include presents – since I am actually trying to downsize. It doesn’t include (much) food – since I am actually trying to downsize.
Karen’s Big Girl Christmas List
1) Enough boxes to pack all my stuff in. Since I’m trying to get rid of a lot of the stuff, hopefully the ratio will be even in the end.
2) Enough time to prepare loving meals and bake the special cookies my sons’ love.
3) Enough sense to remember to take deep breaths, do my yoga and treat my body with kindness.
4) Enough energy to take my sweet dogs on their much anticipated walks – no matter what the weather.
5) Enough gratitude to devote time to God - giving thanks for all my blessings.
6) Enough room in my jeans to go ahead and have just one bite of pumpkin pie – with whipped cream.
7) Enough courage to realize that I don’t have to put up a Christmas tree just to take it down in a couple days. I can find charming and creative ways to decorate without going overboard as usual.
8) Enough wisdom to realize that all the decorations and gifts and food don’t matter. What matters is the love of my family and friends. It’s the support they give me when it’s needed most.
Christmas isn’t always a Norman Rockwell painting – actually, it usually never is. (I wonder if Norman actually lived the life depicted in those paintings.) Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Christmas is also the joy and wonder that we want to experience all year long. Christmas is my own personal role model – the bar to set for everyday, not just in December.
It’s tough to be a big girl in a season full of childlike wonder. It’s tough to sit back and live in the real world. But the one thing I am discovering is that the wonder is always there. It’s hidden behind the future expectations of a fantastic holiday season. The wonder is ours to grasp moment by moment and day by day. It’s not an eleven month ramp up to the most spectacular day of the year. Our lives are meant to be Christmas every day. With or without a Christmas tree and tons of presents. So my goal is to combine it all. My Christmas wish in a nutshell is to live each day – no, each moment – being content and happy and stress free. To know that to live in bliss, to live as my soul intended, is the best gift I could ever give to myself and my loved ones. So, let the celebration begin!
What I have finally come to realize is that Christmas is not supposed to be a race to the finish line. It’s not a contest of “those with the most gifts (to give or to receive) win”. This year Christmas is an even larger challenge for me as we will be moving. That’s right, packing everything in boxes smack dab during the time that I am supposed to be decking the halls.
Sitting back and taking a deep breath is now on my “to do” list. However I look at it, this is not a win-win situation. Except for the fact that we did sell our home – and in this economy I guess that is just about the best Christmas gift I could receive.
So I have made my own special big girl Christmas list for this year, in order to keep my sanity in check. It doesn’t include presents – since I am actually trying to downsize. It doesn’t include (much) food – since I am actually trying to downsize.
Karen’s Big Girl Christmas List
1) Enough boxes to pack all my stuff in. Since I’m trying to get rid of a lot of the stuff, hopefully the ratio will be even in the end.
2) Enough time to prepare loving meals and bake the special cookies my sons’ love.
3) Enough sense to remember to take deep breaths, do my yoga and treat my body with kindness.
4) Enough energy to take my sweet dogs on their much anticipated walks – no matter what the weather.
5) Enough gratitude to devote time to God - giving thanks for all my blessings.
6) Enough room in my jeans to go ahead and have just one bite of pumpkin pie – with whipped cream.
7) Enough courage to realize that I don’t have to put up a Christmas tree just to take it down in a couple days. I can find charming and creative ways to decorate without going overboard as usual.
8) Enough wisdom to realize that all the decorations and gifts and food don’t matter. What matters is the love of my family and friends. It’s the support they give me when it’s needed most.
Christmas isn’t always a Norman Rockwell painting – actually, it usually never is. (I wonder if Norman actually lived the life depicted in those paintings.) Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Christmas is also the joy and wonder that we want to experience all year long. Christmas is my own personal role model – the bar to set for everyday, not just in December.
It’s tough to be a big girl in a season full of childlike wonder. It’s tough to sit back and live in the real world. But the one thing I am discovering is that the wonder is always there. It’s hidden behind the future expectations of a fantastic holiday season. The wonder is ours to grasp moment by moment and day by day. It’s not an eleven month ramp up to the most spectacular day of the year. Our lives are meant to be Christmas every day. With or without a Christmas tree and tons of presents. So my goal is to combine it all. My Christmas wish in a nutshell is to live each day – no, each moment – being content and happy and stress free. To know that to live in bliss, to live as my soul intended, is the best gift I could ever give to myself and my loved ones. So, let the celebration begin!
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
There's an APP for that
I love modern technology. Who knew how close Gene Roddenberry really would be? I swore I’d not get all “high tech” but sometimes it’s just hard to resist. My handsome husband is a self-proclaimed Star Trek freak – and I spent the first few years of our relationship making fun of him and the entire Science Fiction genre.
I’ve come a long way since then – trust me. I am glad my husband knows about computers and gadgets and all things electric. (I’m equally glad his Explorer no longer has the bumper sticker that read: Star Fleet Academy).
I was one of the people that kind of fought doing everything on my desk top computer. Heaven forbid something happened. Then of course it moved to a laptop, and now my phone. I literally can do everything from my “smart” phone. The fact that the darn thing is smarter than I am frustrates me just a bit, but then I bring myself back to earth when I realize my phone actually makes me appear more intelligent than I may be. I mean, I even looked up the spelling of Gene’s last name on my phone.
These phones really are incredible. I have an app for just about everything I need. I have an app for counting calories. (That one has not been used). I have an app for healthy recipes. (Sometimes used). I have an app on wine tasting. (Many times used). If I want to know how many steps I’ve taken, there’s an app for that. If I want to listen to a radio station in Italy, there’s an app for that. I’ve also downloaded the app for learning to speak Italian. Oh, and the one that specializes in Italian wine. Next will be the app for “how to afford to rent a villa in Italy near a vineyard”.
I have an app for my 3-year-old granddaughter (she had to show me how to use it). I have an app for the weather , an app to teach me how to play my ukulele, and an app for daily uplifting or spiritual quotes. Today’s is: “Creativity is a natural extension of our enthusiasm.” Earl Nightingale.
I have a Zippo lighter app to use at classic rock concerts and a flashlight app to use in dark movie theaters. A self-help app to help motivate myself and an errands check list app to keep me more organized. (I guess I should use that one more.) I have a book nook app if I actually want to read a book on the tiny little screen and a translator on how to say my name in other languages. (It’s the same in most). I have the required Angry Birds app, and the much loved Words with Friends app.
There is even an app called “The Great App Show” that tells me which apps I can’t live without. I seriously do love the logical apps – such as GPS and weather. I find some obscure apps quite handy such as the dog whistle app or the Gas Buddy app (finds cheapest gas near you.) I suppose at this point in my life if you took away my smart phone, I may be a little upset. I’m not addicted to it, but I am becoming dependent on it. I Google (the need to know NOW) and text (gotta love it) and Facebook (status updates rock – are you with me?) right there with the rest of the gang.
But there is one very special reason that I love my smart phone. It has email. My mom (who lives in Southern California) and I email every day, no matter what. With the three-hour time difference it often makes phone calls challenging. So the fact that I can write my mom either a long letter or a short “I love you” every day, no matter where in the world I am, means so very much to me. It keeps us very connected, despite the many miles separating us. It has brought my mom closer and made my world a bit smaller – and for that I’m grateful.
I’ve come a long way since then – trust me. I am glad my husband knows about computers and gadgets and all things electric. (I’m equally glad his Explorer no longer has the bumper sticker that read: Star Fleet Academy).
I was one of the people that kind of fought doing everything on my desk top computer. Heaven forbid something happened. Then of course it moved to a laptop, and now my phone. I literally can do everything from my “smart” phone. The fact that the darn thing is smarter than I am frustrates me just a bit, but then I bring myself back to earth when I realize my phone actually makes me appear more intelligent than I may be. I mean, I even looked up the spelling of Gene’s last name on my phone.
These phones really are incredible. I have an app for just about everything I need. I have an app for counting calories. (That one has not been used). I have an app for healthy recipes. (Sometimes used). I have an app on wine tasting. (Many times used). If I want to know how many steps I’ve taken, there’s an app for that. If I want to listen to a radio station in Italy, there’s an app for that. I’ve also downloaded the app for learning to speak Italian. Oh, and the one that specializes in Italian wine. Next will be the app for “how to afford to rent a villa in Italy near a vineyard”.
I have an app for my 3-year-old granddaughter (she had to show me how to use it). I have an app for the weather , an app to teach me how to play my ukulele, and an app for daily uplifting or spiritual quotes. Today’s is: “Creativity is a natural extension of our enthusiasm.” Earl Nightingale.
I have a Zippo lighter app to use at classic rock concerts and a flashlight app to use in dark movie theaters. A self-help app to help motivate myself and an errands check list app to keep me more organized. (I guess I should use that one more.) I have a book nook app if I actually want to read a book on the tiny little screen and a translator on how to say my name in other languages. (It’s the same in most). I have the required Angry Birds app, and the much loved Words with Friends app.
There is even an app called “The Great App Show” that tells me which apps I can’t live without. I seriously do love the logical apps – such as GPS and weather. I find some obscure apps quite handy such as the dog whistle app or the Gas Buddy app (finds cheapest gas near you.) I suppose at this point in my life if you took away my smart phone, I may be a little upset. I’m not addicted to it, but I am becoming dependent on it. I Google (the need to know NOW) and text (gotta love it) and Facebook (status updates rock – are you with me?) right there with the rest of the gang.
But there is one very special reason that I love my smart phone. It has email. My mom (who lives in Southern California) and I email every day, no matter what. With the three-hour time difference it often makes phone calls challenging. So the fact that I can write my mom either a long letter or a short “I love you” every day, no matter where in the world I am, means so very much to me. It keeps us very connected, despite the many miles separating us. It has brought my mom closer and made my world a bit smaller – and for that I’m grateful.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
As Sweet as Honey
I love moments of déjà vu. They are mystical and magical, yet confusing and thought-provoking. Sometimes it is just a fleeting moment of time, while others, it seems to go on for awhile, tugging at your brain and your memory, teasing and taunting. Sometimes I remember what the connection is, and sometimes I just give it up to fate, even though I know there has to be an answer.
Today I had a wonderful déjà vu moment. At first it just tickled my brain – and a warm feeling overcame me. I was slowly driving by a local, small farm, and was relishing at the sight of the sun trickling through the trees. It made the shadows as dappled as some of the horses that grazed in the meadow. Beyond the barn was a huge tree – and just within sight, a red corral. I’d been there before. But yet, I hadn’t. I’d never been to this farm before in my life.
I suppose instead of déjà vu, maybe it was just my memory serving up a dish of days gone by. Maybe it was my brain wanting me to seize the moment, just as I did 40 years ago.
I was in 6th grade. I lived in a little suburb in Southern California, back when orange groves and strawberries far outnumbered homes and businesses; when Disneyland was still a wonderland – the original Magic Kingdom that had amazingly wonderful rides that required E coupons. Amidst the unusual pairing of palm trees and eucalyptus trees, on the path of my daily journey to school – was a tiny farm. I imagine back in the day, it wasn’t so tiny. To me, it was absolutely perfect. Daily I’d walk by and smell the mixture of eucalyptus tree, hay and horse. Daily I would gaze past the trees and the sun dappled shadows into the red corral. And there she stood – tall, proud and mighty.
Every school day, and on the weekends too, I’d walk past this lovely setting. And every day, I got the courage to go a little closer. Finally we were friends, this lovely Palomino and I. I’d stop by on my way home and pet her soft, silky nose. I’d savor the pungent smell of manure and leather. And I’d dream of being on her back, feeling her strong legs and powerful neck.
One day I got enough courage to approach the owner. That was the turning point of my love affair with horses. I finally met Honey, face to face. I got to pet her flanks and tickle her soft nose.
“Do you want to ride her?” The owner asked.
“I have to ask my mom and dad”, I said, as I took off mid-sentence. I ran as fast as I could - as if I was riding the horse herself – flying and gliding as my feet barely touched the ground. I would soon be on Honey – the most beautiful horse in the entire world.
My school days could not end quickly enough. I raced to the farm as soon as class was dismissed. I would spend hours with her – talking to her and brushing her. I’d clean her hooves and braid her soft, blonde mane. I’d whisper my secrets to her. I’d walk her around on a lead, and she reacted as if she was an 800 pound dog, following me anywhere I’d take her. Boys were (almost) forgotten. Riding lessons became my priority. As I gained confidence, I’d not only ride her with her saddle on, but I rode her bareback, feeling our friendship and connection grow.
I will never forget my days riding Honey – in the red corral beneath the dappled shadows. But I became a teenager, and went on to Jr. High. I no longer walked past the tiny, suburban farm. I discovered boys, dances and choir. To this day I am not only grateful to my parents for the hours and hours of riding lessons, but also to a beautiful horse and her kind owner – who opened up a whole new world to me.
Déjà vu or good memories, it really doesn’t matter. I appreciated the fleeting moment very much, and am hoping to draw upon my 12-year-old self and gain the courage to make friends with the habitats of this little farm – horses and owners alike. It’s been way too long since I’ve savored the smell of hay and leather. Thanks Honey, for those sweet memories.
Today I had a wonderful déjà vu moment. At first it just tickled my brain – and a warm feeling overcame me. I was slowly driving by a local, small farm, and was relishing at the sight of the sun trickling through the trees. It made the shadows as dappled as some of the horses that grazed in the meadow. Beyond the barn was a huge tree – and just within sight, a red corral. I’d been there before. But yet, I hadn’t. I’d never been to this farm before in my life.
I suppose instead of déjà vu, maybe it was just my memory serving up a dish of days gone by. Maybe it was my brain wanting me to seize the moment, just as I did 40 years ago.
I was in 6th grade. I lived in a little suburb in Southern California, back when orange groves and strawberries far outnumbered homes and businesses; when Disneyland was still a wonderland – the original Magic Kingdom that had amazingly wonderful rides that required E coupons. Amidst the unusual pairing of palm trees and eucalyptus trees, on the path of my daily journey to school – was a tiny farm. I imagine back in the day, it wasn’t so tiny. To me, it was absolutely perfect. Daily I’d walk by and smell the mixture of eucalyptus tree, hay and horse. Daily I would gaze past the trees and the sun dappled shadows into the red corral. And there she stood – tall, proud and mighty.
Every school day, and on the weekends too, I’d walk past this lovely setting. And every day, I got the courage to go a little closer. Finally we were friends, this lovely Palomino and I. I’d stop by on my way home and pet her soft, silky nose. I’d savor the pungent smell of manure and leather. And I’d dream of being on her back, feeling her strong legs and powerful neck.
One day I got enough courage to approach the owner. That was the turning point of my love affair with horses. I finally met Honey, face to face. I got to pet her flanks and tickle her soft nose.
“Do you want to ride her?” The owner asked.
“I have to ask my mom and dad”, I said, as I took off mid-sentence. I ran as fast as I could - as if I was riding the horse herself – flying and gliding as my feet barely touched the ground. I would soon be on Honey – the most beautiful horse in the entire world.
My school days could not end quickly enough. I raced to the farm as soon as class was dismissed. I would spend hours with her – talking to her and brushing her. I’d clean her hooves and braid her soft, blonde mane. I’d whisper my secrets to her. I’d walk her around on a lead, and she reacted as if she was an 800 pound dog, following me anywhere I’d take her. Boys were (almost) forgotten. Riding lessons became my priority. As I gained confidence, I’d not only ride her with her saddle on, but I rode her bareback, feeling our friendship and connection grow.
I will never forget my days riding Honey – in the red corral beneath the dappled shadows. But I became a teenager, and went on to Jr. High. I no longer walked past the tiny, suburban farm. I discovered boys, dances and choir. To this day I am not only grateful to my parents for the hours and hours of riding lessons, but also to a beautiful horse and her kind owner – who opened up a whole new world to me.
Déjà vu or good memories, it really doesn’t matter. I appreciated the fleeting moment very much, and am hoping to draw upon my 12-year-old self and gain the courage to make friends with the habitats of this little farm – horses and owners alike. It’s been way too long since I’ve savored the smell of hay and leather. Thanks Honey, for those sweet memories.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Official NCCD! (National Chocolate Cupcake Day!)
So today is a huge day in history. It is NCCD. National Chocolate Cupcake Day. Normally this wouldn’t be such a big day for me, but you see, right now I can’t eat a chocolate cupcake. Go figure. I always choose to do no sugar or carbs at the very wrong time of year. Like Halloween. Truly, it is the job of the homeowner to finish off the extra candy that is in the plastic pumpkin. I would hate to fail this appointment three years in a row. But alas, the scales are calling – and I want to be happy – or at least mildly pleased – at the outcome.
There are some other national holidays in October that don’t have to do with food, such as: October 17 - World Toy Camera Day, October 22 - Caps Lock Day (or is that CAPS LOCK DAY?), and October 27 - Cranky Co-Workers Day. But if I am going to torture myself with foods I cannot eat, may as well go all the way.
It’s the food days that are calling my name; these tempting days someone created in October to make your mouth water. These days include: National Pumpkin Cheesecake Day, Caramel Apple Day, Caramel Corn Day, Boston Cream Pie Day, National Chocolate Day, National Donut Day, Pretzel Day, Greasy Foods Day and to top it all off, (literally),National Beer Day.
Normally, I really don’t want to eat all that stuff. However, when I know I can’t have it, I seem to want it more. There’s also a Mince Meat Pie Day and Brandied Fruit Day, and even though neither one of those incredibly important foods tempt me (well, is Brandy a food?), all of a sudden they sound pretty darn good.
And now it’s just about that time of year to buy the Trick-or-Treat candy. That infamous bounty that will make my neighbor kids adore me even more. So, I have a choice. Do I buy the Snickers, Kit Kats and Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, with a back up of Skittles and Laffy Taffy to have on hand for those (strange) kids that don’t like chocolate? If I do that, I will of course be drooling at the thought of the hidden treasure in my pantry until that day is here. Every year somebody seems to open at least one of the bags of candy – no names mentioned of course. And once they are open, well, it’s very hard not to reach in for “just one more”. So, to be kind to myself and my desire for smaller jeans, should I buy the candy that nobody really even likes? Should I hand out (gasp) toothbrushes? Should I wait until an hour before Trick-or-Treat and hope that there will still be some good candy left to purchase? Should I lock it up and hide the key?
I think that October actually has another unknown national day. It is called “Be Kind to Yourself” day. That means we can’t beat ourselves up over consumed Halloween Candy, Caramel Apples, Caramel Corn, Candy Corn, Pumpkin Cheesecake or Donuts. I think I’m going to like this day. I will post it on Facebook for all to see. Maybe I’ll change the name to: “Eat All the Good Stuff and Still Smile Day”. Watch for the posting. And of course, this will require a little work and effort on my part. Thank goodness it’s National Chocolate Cupcake Day – I will need the energy.
There are some other national holidays in October that don’t have to do with food, such as: October 17 - World Toy Camera Day, October 22 - Caps Lock Day (or is that CAPS LOCK DAY?), and October 27 - Cranky Co-Workers Day. But if I am going to torture myself with foods I cannot eat, may as well go all the way.
It’s the food days that are calling my name; these tempting days someone created in October to make your mouth water. These days include: National Pumpkin Cheesecake Day, Caramel Apple Day, Caramel Corn Day, Boston Cream Pie Day, National Chocolate Day, National Donut Day, Pretzel Day, Greasy Foods Day and to top it all off, (literally),National Beer Day.
Normally, I really don’t want to eat all that stuff. However, when I know I can’t have it, I seem to want it more. There’s also a Mince Meat Pie Day and Brandied Fruit Day, and even though neither one of those incredibly important foods tempt me (well, is Brandy a food?), all of a sudden they sound pretty darn good.
And now it’s just about that time of year to buy the Trick-or-Treat candy. That infamous bounty that will make my neighbor kids adore me even more. So, I have a choice. Do I buy the Snickers, Kit Kats and Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, with a back up of Skittles and Laffy Taffy to have on hand for those (strange) kids that don’t like chocolate? If I do that, I will of course be drooling at the thought of the hidden treasure in my pantry until that day is here. Every year somebody seems to open at least one of the bags of candy – no names mentioned of course. And once they are open, well, it’s very hard not to reach in for “just one more”. So, to be kind to myself and my desire for smaller jeans, should I buy the candy that nobody really even likes? Should I hand out (gasp) toothbrushes? Should I wait until an hour before Trick-or-Treat and hope that there will still be some good candy left to purchase? Should I lock it up and hide the key?
I think that October actually has another unknown national day. It is called “Be Kind to Yourself” day. That means we can’t beat ourselves up over consumed Halloween Candy, Caramel Apples, Caramel Corn, Candy Corn, Pumpkin Cheesecake or Donuts. I think I’m going to like this day. I will post it on Facebook for all to see. Maybe I’ll change the name to: “Eat All the Good Stuff and Still Smile Day”. Watch for the posting. And of course, this will require a little work and effort on my part. Thank goodness it’s National Chocolate Cupcake Day – I will need the energy.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Awesome October
“But the weather is so perfect there – why would you want to leave?” This was from several people that found out I am from California, and had just recently returned from a visit.
Well, first of all, define perfect. Yes, the majority of the time it is sunny, in the 70’s and has no humidity. And I guess if you like that kind of weather, it is perfect. (If you don’t know me very well, that last sentence was dripping in sarcasm.)
As I check out the weather reports of Laguna Beach, I am looking out my picture window that faces all the woods in the back of my house. If I didn’t live here, I wouldn’t have this. Fall is by far my favorite season. I relish not only in the breathtaking colors of the changing leaves, but also the fields of bright orange pumpkins, the earthy tones of the drying corn stalks, and the dark hued mums.
I love everything about October. My oldest son was born in October thirty (yikes) years ago. The apples are at their finest indeed, and I can’t seem to get my fill -even occasionally dipping them in caramel. There is something comforting about making homemade soup and watching football on a crisp fall day. I like wearing sweaters and boots, and I adore Halloween. (Even the dogs have costumes, sigh…).
It’s fun to watch the squirrels do gymnastics as they scramble to bury the walnuts. I love to see them jump from branch to branch, focused on stocking up for the winter. Our yard must seem like a Sam’s Club to them, since we have acorn trees and walnut trees. And speaking of trees, once those leaves start falling, they just seem to keep on coming. As quickly as we rake the leaves (ok, as he rakes the leaves) the yard is once again covered in a quilt of amber, bronze and gold. It’s always so tempting to jump right in the pile, like I have done with my 3 year old granddaughter. However, since October seems to bring out the kid in me, I may not wait for her next time, and just jump right in myself.
Yes, California is beautiful…there is no doubt about it. And yes, the weather is sublime. But as I take a Sunday drive and savor the hills and valleys of Ohio, or take a hike in the woods, walking the leaf carpeted paths that are lined with waterfalls, I truly do realize that when it is October, there is no doubt in my mind: Dayton is definitely my kind of town.
Well, first of all, define perfect. Yes, the majority of the time it is sunny, in the 70’s and has no humidity. And I guess if you like that kind of weather, it is perfect. (If you don’t know me very well, that last sentence was dripping in sarcasm.)
As I check out the weather reports of Laguna Beach, I am looking out my picture window that faces all the woods in the back of my house. If I didn’t live here, I wouldn’t have this. Fall is by far my favorite season. I relish not only in the breathtaking colors of the changing leaves, but also the fields of bright orange pumpkins, the earthy tones of the drying corn stalks, and the dark hued mums.
I love everything about October. My oldest son was born in October thirty (yikes) years ago. The apples are at their finest indeed, and I can’t seem to get my fill -even occasionally dipping them in caramel. There is something comforting about making homemade soup and watching football on a crisp fall day. I like wearing sweaters and boots, and I adore Halloween. (Even the dogs have costumes, sigh…).
It’s fun to watch the squirrels do gymnastics as they scramble to bury the walnuts. I love to see them jump from branch to branch, focused on stocking up for the winter. Our yard must seem like a Sam’s Club to them, since we have acorn trees and walnut trees. And speaking of trees, once those leaves start falling, they just seem to keep on coming. As quickly as we rake the leaves (ok, as he rakes the leaves) the yard is once again covered in a quilt of amber, bronze and gold. It’s always so tempting to jump right in the pile, like I have done with my 3 year old granddaughter. However, since October seems to bring out the kid in me, I may not wait for her next time, and just jump right in myself.
Yes, California is beautiful…there is no doubt about it. And yes, the weather is sublime. But as I take a Sunday drive and savor the hills and valleys of Ohio, or take a hike in the woods, walking the leaf carpeted paths that are lined with waterfalls, I truly do realize that when it is October, there is no doubt in my mind: Dayton is definitely my kind of town.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Still Crazy After All These Years
“And we talked about the old times, and we drank ourselves some beer - still crazy after all these years. Oh, still crazy after all these years.” Paul Simon
I know we can’t go back in time. I don’t really want to. Except I got the chance to do just that this past week…and my recent visit of my past life has been wonderful. I reconnected with friends that I went to kindergarten with. I hung out with my old high school buddies. I re-met some kids I didn’t really know in school but found I have a lot in common and that I really hope to keep that bond. I rediscovered old friends that I have lost touch with, but now hope remain in contact with. And I felt youthful, once again.
These are not crows feet - they are laugh lines. These are not age spots - they are freckles. My hair is not gray - it is really light blonde. Denial? No, not at all. Feeling youthful? Yes, indeedy. Being with friends from my past helped push that youthful feeling to the forefront of my mind. I mean after all, I am a grandma. But for the past few days, I’ve gotten a chance to experience memory lane at it’s finest. And it’s a pretty nice street to be on.
Again, I wouldn’t change anything, even if some of the memories are painful. I choose not to dwell on the “what ifs” since I know that is a total waste of time. I am just truly enjoying the “right now”. So being in the “right now” with people from my way back past has been fun, refreshing and another great memory to add to the collection.
I grew up in Southern California and went to school with hippies, surfers and jocks. We had actors, singers and famous ball players. Oh, and then there were the really smart kids that are somewhere out there inventing the next facebook. I didn’t know it was different than other schools - that we really weren‘t typical…I just thought it was wonderful. We never ate inside, we swam all year long, we hardly ever had to wear coats and we listened to the Beach Boys on our 8 track tapes. We rode our bikes to the beach and didn’t have to go to another spot for Spring Break. Of course we had our sects…all schools do. (Please read the spelling of that word correctly). We had our groups. Our clicks.
So my little mini-reunion from High School was a blast from the past. A party at the beach with some really nice, good, fun people. It was also a get together that didn’t involve clicks. We didn’t differentiate what groups we were in 34 years ago. It really didn’t matter. Once everyone got there and we mingled, we didn’t stop having fun all night. We closed the place down. Not bad for the “older” generation. My kids should be so energetic.
Reality comes back way too soon. But I really hope the memories will continue in all of us. A wonderful Peter Pan moment that left us feeling like we were teens again - laughing, talking, flirting and casting our cares away for a few short hours in time.
Thank you to my old friends that are now new friends - we are still crazy after all these years.
I know we can’t go back in time. I don’t really want to. Except I got the chance to do just that this past week…and my recent visit of my past life has been wonderful. I reconnected with friends that I went to kindergarten with. I hung out with my old high school buddies. I re-met some kids I didn’t really know in school but found I have a lot in common and that I really hope to keep that bond. I rediscovered old friends that I have lost touch with, but now hope remain in contact with. And I felt youthful, once again.
These are not crows feet - they are laugh lines. These are not age spots - they are freckles. My hair is not gray - it is really light blonde. Denial? No, not at all. Feeling youthful? Yes, indeedy. Being with friends from my past helped push that youthful feeling to the forefront of my mind. I mean after all, I am a grandma. But for the past few days, I’ve gotten a chance to experience memory lane at it’s finest. And it’s a pretty nice street to be on.
Again, I wouldn’t change anything, even if some of the memories are painful. I choose not to dwell on the “what ifs” since I know that is a total waste of time. I am just truly enjoying the “right now”. So being in the “right now” with people from my way back past has been fun, refreshing and another great memory to add to the collection.
I grew up in Southern California and went to school with hippies, surfers and jocks. We had actors, singers and famous ball players. Oh, and then there were the really smart kids that are somewhere out there inventing the next facebook. I didn’t know it was different than other schools - that we really weren‘t typical…I just thought it was wonderful. We never ate inside, we swam all year long, we hardly ever had to wear coats and we listened to the Beach Boys on our 8 track tapes. We rode our bikes to the beach and didn’t have to go to another spot for Spring Break. Of course we had our sects…all schools do. (Please read the spelling of that word correctly). We had our groups. Our clicks.
So my little mini-reunion from High School was a blast from the past. A party at the beach with some really nice, good, fun people. It was also a get together that didn’t involve clicks. We didn’t differentiate what groups we were in 34 years ago. It really didn’t matter. Once everyone got there and we mingled, we didn’t stop having fun all night. We closed the place down. Not bad for the “older” generation. My kids should be so energetic.
Reality comes back way too soon. But I really hope the memories will continue in all of us. A wonderful Peter Pan moment that left us feeling like we were teens again - laughing, talking, flirting and casting our cares away for a few short hours in time.
Thank you to my old friends that are now new friends - we are still crazy after all these years.
Scary Frozen Moments
They were the words that no parent ever wants to hear: “Your daughter and granddaughter were in a head-on collision and your daughter is being care-flighted to the hospital.”
I know many have heard worse. But these words turned our world upside down. We both were calmly frantic, high on adrenaline and fear, waiting for the outcome. We weren’t even together, since the baby went to one hospital and our daughter to another. We stayed strong - praying and drinking coffee and texting each other…trying to give each other strength.
I have many moments in life that have been frozen in time: Saying “I do” to my soul mate, watching a Blue Whale dive beneath the Pacific, holding my granddaughters when they were minutes old, watching my son marry his soul mate and seeing a double rainbow in the mountains of New Mexico as Elton John‘s “Funeral for a Friend“ blared on the car stereo. But those were the good moments. I’ve been blessed to not have too many frozen in time bad moments. So this was a true test.
The crash was all over the news - television, radio and newspaper. It hit the TV long before I had word from the doctors on the outcome of our daughter. We found out first that our granddaughter was going to be just fine. A true miracle - not to mention the wonderful invention of a safety car seat. After quite a few hours, we finally found out that our daughter was quite banged up and had multiple breaks and injuries - but would be fine eventually. She had God, 25 guardian angels and a seat belt to thank for that…because the car was mince meat.
I certainly prefer that the frozen moments and the “take your breath away” moments are because of wonderful events - not tragic ones. Even though I may think I can control life, when something like this shakes me up I realize that the control is an illusion. I can’t control what happens in life anymore than I can control the rising of the sun. What I can control, and have chosen to do, is how I handle the surprises that life sends our way. Stuff is going to happen - it’s called Life. It’s how I handle the stuff that matters.
Daughter and granddaughter are going to be just fine. Dad and mom got their heart jump-started and their humble prayers answered. Life moves ahead at a speed between extremely slow and lightening fast, and it still includes - and always will - wonderful “frozen in time” moments.
I know many have heard worse. But these words turned our world upside down. We both were calmly frantic, high on adrenaline and fear, waiting for the outcome. We weren’t even together, since the baby went to one hospital and our daughter to another. We stayed strong - praying and drinking coffee and texting each other…trying to give each other strength.
I have many moments in life that have been frozen in time: Saying “I do” to my soul mate, watching a Blue Whale dive beneath the Pacific, holding my granddaughters when they were minutes old, watching my son marry his soul mate and seeing a double rainbow in the mountains of New Mexico as Elton John‘s “Funeral for a Friend“ blared on the car stereo. But those were the good moments. I’ve been blessed to not have too many frozen in time bad moments. So this was a true test.
The crash was all over the news - television, radio and newspaper. It hit the TV long before I had word from the doctors on the outcome of our daughter. We found out first that our granddaughter was going to be just fine. A true miracle - not to mention the wonderful invention of a safety car seat. After quite a few hours, we finally found out that our daughter was quite banged up and had multiple breaks and injuries - but would be fine eventually. She had God, 25 guardian angels and a seat belt to thank for that…because the car was mince meat.
I certainly prefer that the frozen moments and the “take your breath away” moments are because of wonderful events - not tragic ones. Even though I may think I can control life, when something like this shakes me up I realize that the control is an illusion. I can’t control what happens in life anymore than I can control the rising of the sun. What I can control, and have chosen to do, is how I handle the surprises that life sends our way. Stuff is going to happen - it’s called Life. It’s how I handle the stuff that matters.
Daughter and granddaughter are going to be just fine. Dad and mom got their heart jump-started and their humble prayers answered. Life moves ahead at a speed between extremely slow and lightening fast, and it still includes - and always will - wonderful “frozen in time” moments.
Truckin' - Jerry Garcia Style
It’s the stuff that most people only dream about…being on a journey with no end in sight. Such is the journey that my friend of 35 years is on. Through his path, he has taught me much.
My driveway seems so empty right now. For the past almost month it has been the home to a huge RV. That’s right – just like cousin Eddy from the movie “Christmas Vacation”. We were just another stop on the adventure of a lifetime: traveling the country in an RV. They are exploring all the terrains of the land while learning about all the various American cultures, people and food. It is a dream of many, yet so few have the wherewithal to accomplish such a feat.
The first few nights we sat enthralled listening to him and his wife tell the tales of the road. I felt like a kid around a campfire waiting for the next exciting story to be told. Once we got to know each other again (we haven’t seen each other for well over 20 years) the conversation got livelier. It didn’t take long; I soon discovered some friends don’t lose their connection regardless of space and time. Our talks around the dinner table turned to religion and politics and who we had crushes on in high school. We tried to explain each other’s belief systems, and what our true life passions are. The conversations ran deep – and at times long into the night.
I believe in serendipity. I believe that people come into my life for a reason. In this case, it was for many reasons. I am on the journey of simplifying my life. I struggle daily to downsize and get rid of the clutter – mentally and physically. After meeting someone that makes their home an 18 foot room on wheels, I realized how hard I am making it on myself.
They gave me advice on how to part with so-called treasures I’d never thought I could live without. They taught me that a woman really can live with only 3 pairs of shoes (now, I’m not going that far, just so you know). They taught me that it is the here and now, that living in the moment, is much more important than all the beautiful furniture in the world. They taught me that people are more important than knick-knacks, and that if you really miss your knick-knacks you can always find more. I learned that the person you are speaking to right now may just be a speck on the radar, never to be met again. That moments spent, regardless of how insignificant they may seem, are far richer than any “stuff” one may have sitting around. I learned that it’s not all about the neighborhood, since I found out that one can meet some incredibly nice people while camped in a Sam’s Club parking lot.
Our last few days in Dayton were spent showing them our town; the eclectic bars and restaurants of the Oregon District, the beauty of Riverscape, and most importantly our friends and family. We took them to Oktoberfest at the Dayton Art Institute and they showed me again why I love this town. They soaked in the beauty of the skyline reflected in the river, under dark, fresh, clear skies.
Our last night was spent around a campfire, drinking wine and talking deep talks. We ended up in a drum circle (it’s exactly what it sounds like), and he taught me the nuances of playing my new instrument.
The end came all too soon; even though it was time for all that they moved on. I look forward to the day that they criss-cross the states again, so I can get my fix of learning about life on the road. Living on four wheels is nowhere in my immediate future, but living in the moment and appreciating what I have surely is. Thank you my friend. What a long, strange trip it’s been.
My driveway seems so empty right now. For the past almost month it has been the home to a huge RV. That’s right – just like cousin Eddy from the movie “Christmas Vacation”. We were just another stop on the adventure of a lifetime: traveling the country in an RV. They are exploring all the terrains of the land while learning about all the various American cultures, people and food. It is a dream of many, yet so few have the wherewithal to accomplish such a feat.
The first few nights we sat enthralled listening to him and his wife tell the tales of the road. I felt like a kid around a campfire waiting for the next exciting story to be told. Once we got to know each other again (we haven’t seen each other for well over 20 years) the conversation got livelier. It didn’t take long; I soon discovered some friends don’t lose their connection regardless of space and time. Our talks around the dinner table turned to religion and politics and who we had crushes on in high school. We tried to explain each other’s belief systems, and what our true life passions are. The conversations ran deep – and at times long into the night.
I believe in serendipity. I believe that people come into my life for a reason. In this case, it was for many reasons. I am on the journey of simplifying my life. I struggle daily to downsize and get rid of the clutter – mentally and physically. After meeting someone that makes their home an 18 foot room on wheels, I realized how hard I am making it on myself.
They gave me advice on how to part with so-called treasures I’d never thought I could live without. They taught me that a woman really can live with only 3 pairs of shoes (now, I’m not going that far, just so you know). They taught me that it is the here and now, that living in the moment, is much more important than all the beautiful furniture in the world. They taught me that people are more important than knick-knacks, and that if you really miss your knick-knacks you can always find more. I learned that the person you are speaking to right now may just be a speck on the radar, never to be met again. That moments spent, regardless of how insignificant they may seem, are far richer than any “stuff” one may have sitting around. I learned that it’s not all about the neighborhood, since I found out that one can meet some incredibly nice people while camped in a Sam’s Club parking lot.
Our last few days in Dayton were spent showing them our town; the eclectic bars and restaurants of the Oregon District, the beauty of Riverscape, and most importantly our friends and family. We took them to Oktoberfest at the Dayton Art Institute and they showed me again why I love this town. They soaked in the beauty of the skyline reflected in the river, under dark, fresh, clear skies.
Our last night was spent around a campfire, drinking wine and talking deep talks. We ended up in a drum circle (it’s exactly what it sounds like), and he taught me the nuances of playing my new instrument.
The end came all too soon; even though it was time for all that they moved on. I look forward to the day that they criss-cross the states again, so I can get my fix of learning about life on the road. Living on four wheels is nowhere in my immediate future, but living in the moment and appreciating what I have surely is. Thank you my friend. What a long, strange trip it’s been.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Lakeside Day Dreaming
It’s kind of funny, but when I’m at, near, by, in front of or in a lake, I almost become a different person.
First of all, I become quite lazy. Time seems to stand still. I become a chameleon and adopt the lifestyle of whatever area of the country I’m in. I seem to like the south the best; they have two speeds: slow and slower.
Being on a lake allows me to explore and embrace parts of myself that I normally don’t. It’s such a sense of freedom to wear hardly any clothes and not wear makeup. It’s just so easy to stick my hair up in a hat (this weekend it was my “Life is Good” baseball cap) and throw on sunglasses and flip flops and call it a day.
I have to be careful though, and not let my mind wander too far. Case in point: I thought (very shortly but still thought) that I might want to get a tattoo. When you see someone in fewer clothes, you find out some surprising things. This weekend was tattoo discovery time for me. I was surprised at how many people, of all ages and sizes have them! So I thought – why not me?
I don’t want anything large – and I don’t want it to show in public. And I don’t want to put it somewhere that it could potentially grow. Meaning I don’t want to put a hummingbird on my hip and when I’m 90 look down and wonder why I put a very large eagle on my body. I did figure that a tattoo may be able to hide a few flaws. I could get a very colorful flower, and as I acquire more stretch marks, I can just fill in the lines with bright colors, hence covering them up. Think about what a pretty, webbed design that could be.
But once the beer wore off (yes, this wine drinker will drink a cold one when on the lake) and my senses came back, I did realize that: a) I am not into pain, and b) I don’t want to have to explain to my grandchildren why I have what appears to be a road map of Kentucky on my thigh.
This isn’t the first foray into the tattoo state of mind. My girlfriend and I set out to get matching cute little tattoos and returned with very lovely and removable bracelets. Once again, the voice of reason rescued me.
Mind you I am not against ink. It’s an art and also a club – one that I probably have no business being a member of. I am fine with the occasional hemp tattoo. Just as I’m fine sitting on my friends Harley pretending that I’m a biker chick. Some things are better left as a dream. That’s the thing about floating on a lake. It gives the mind time to wander. (For me that’s not unusual, so I should say it gives my mind time to wander even more than it normally does…).
Today it’s back to work and back to reality. In my mind, I’m floating on my Cleopatra inner tube with the floating cooler right next to me, gazing at the reflection of the trees and the clouds in the clear, green water. Ah, thank goodness for day dreaming – it helps keep this smile on this face. By the way, I decided a butterfly would be a great tattoo…as it grows it can change from a tiny moth to a giant Monarch. Or, I could stop drinking the beer and hope that my body parts will stop stretching too. Hopefully it will back to the lake soon where I have two decisions to make: Bud or Coors Light.
First of all, I become quite lazy. Time seems to stand still. I become a chameleon and adopt the lifestyle of whatever area of the country I’m in. I seem to like the south the best; they have two speeds: slow and slower.
Being on a lake allows me to explore and embrace parts of myself that I normally don’t. It’s such a sense of freedom to wear hardly any clothes and not wear makeup. It’s just so easy to stick my hair up in a hat (this weekend it was my “Life is Good” baseball cap) and throw on sunglasses and flip flops and call it a day.
I have to be careful though, and not let my mind wander too far. Case in point: I thought (very shortly but still thought) that I might want to get a tattoo. When you see someone in fewer clothes, you find out some surprising things. This weekend was tattoo discovery time for me. I was surprised at how many people, of all ages and sizes have them! So I thought – why not me?
I don’t want anything large – and I don’t want it to show in public. And I don’t want to put it somewhere that it could potentially grow. Meaning I don’t want to put a hummingbird on my hip and when I’m 90 look down and wonder why I put a very large eagle on my body. I did figure that a tattoo may be able to hide a few flaws. I could get a very colorful flower, and as I acquire more stretch marks, I can just fill in the lines with bright colors, hence covering them up. Think about what a pretty, webbed design that could be.
But once the beer wore off (yes, this wine drinker will drink a cold one when on the lake) and my senses came back, I did realize that: a) I am not into pain, and b) I don’t want to have to explain to my grandchildren why I have what appears to be a road map of Kentucky on my thigh.
This isn’t the first foray into the tattoo state of mind. My girlfriend and I set out to get matching cute little tattoos and returned with very lovely and removable bracelets. Once again, the voice of reason rescued me.
Mind you I am not against ink. It’s an art and also a club – one that I probably have no business being a member of. I am fine with the occasional hemp tattoo. Just as I’m fine sitting on my friends Harley pretending that I’m a biker chick. Some things are better left as a dream. That’s the thing about floating on a lake. It gives the mind time to wander. (For me that’s not unusual, so I should say it gives my mind time to wander even more than it normally does…).
Today it’s back to work and back to reality. In my mind, I’m floating on my Cleopatra inner tube with the floating cooler right next to me, gazing at the reflection of the trees and the clouds in the clear, green water. Ah, thank goodness for day dreaming – it helps keep this smile on this face. By the way, I decided a butterfly would be a great tattoo…as it grows it can change from a tiny moth to a giant Monarch. Or, I could stop drinking the beer and hope that my body parts will stop stretching too. Hopefully it will back to the lake soon where I have two decisions to make: Bud or Coors Light.
Monday, July 11, 2011
My GPS is a __itch!!!
“Coming up, turn left on Main Street. Be prepared to turn left on Main Street. Turn left on Main Street. Recalculating.”
Such is the one-way “dialogue” I frequently have with my GPS system.
Often, it’s not one-way. Ok, not true. It’s usually not.
“Coming up, turn left on 2nd Street.”
“But I don’t want to turn left on 2nd Street.”
“Be prepared to turn left on 2nd Street.”
“Listen, the address says 3rd Street.”
“Turn left on 2nd Street.”
“Ok, come on. Are you not listening to me? I don’t turn on 2nd, I turn on 3rd. The address is 3rd street!”
By this time in the conversation, I often have an audience. I think what frustrates me most is her “superior” voice. Yes, go figure, a woman that knows directions better than a man. But I am telling you, there are many times that I swear she is wrong. “She” by the way has many names. On this current occasion it was Margaret. Which is the first name of the actress that played the Wicked Witch of the West. It’s a rhyming thing – you figure it out.
Anyway, our arguments can go on for awhile. The sad thing is, darn it if she doesn’t eventually win!
“Turn left at 2nd Street.”
“Dang it, Margaret, I told you the store is on 3rd Street.”
“Recalculating”.
“See. Here’s 3rd Street. All I have to do is turn left here…oh. It’s one way.” She was going to take me around the block. In her snide, all knowing voice, barely hiding the snicker, I hear Margaret say: “Recalculating.”
She won. Again. If only she had a voice like Sean Connery. I’d get lost on purpose just to hear him say “Recalculate” a la James Bond.
Sigh. I’m stuck with Margaret. The all-knowing and smug GPS. May as well call her HAL, after 2011: A Space Odyssey. I can hear it now: “Margaret, please tell me to turn left here.”
“I’m sorry, Karen. I’m afraid I can’t do that. ”
“It’s possible you may not take me the correct way, and I will get lost.”
“If you go my way, you won’t get lost.”
“And if I do get lost?”
“It can only be attributable to human error.”
Sigh. Where is my map?
Such is the one-way “dialogue” I frequently have with my GPS system.
Often, it’s not one-way. Ok, not true. It’s usually not.
“Coming up, turn left on 2nd Street.”
“But I don’t want to turn left on 2nd Street.”
“Be prepared to turn left on 2nd Street.”
“Listen, the address says 3rd Street.”
“Turn left on 2nd Street.”
“Ok, come on. Are you not listening to me? I don’t turn on 2nd, I turn on 3rd. The address is 3rd street!”
By this time in the conversation, I often have an audience. I think what frustrates me most is her “superior” voice. Yes, go figure, a woman that knows directions better than a man. But I am telling you, there are many times that I swear she is wrong. “She” by the way has many names. On this current occasion it was Margaret. Which is the first name of the actress that played the Wicked Witch of the West. It’s a rhyming thing – you figure it out.
Anyway, our arguments can go on for awhile. The sad thing is, darn it if she doesn’t eventually win!
“Turn left at 2nd Street.”
“Dang it, Margaret, I told you the store is on 3rd Street.”
“Recalculating”.
“See. Here’s 3rd Street. All I have to do is turn left here…oh. It’s one way.” She was going to take me around the block. In her snide, all knowing voice, barely hiding the snicker, I hear Margaret say: “Recalculating.”
She won. Again. If only she had a voice like Sean Connery. I’d get lost on purpose just to hear him say “Recalculate” a la James Bond.
Sigh. I’m stuck with Margaret. The all-knowing and smug GPS. May as well call her HAL, after 2011: A Space Odyssey. I can hear it now: “Margaret, please tell me to turn left here.”
“I’m sorry, Karen. I’m afraid I can’t do that. ”
“It’s possible you may not take me the correct way, and I will get lost.”
“If you go my way, you won’t get lost.”
“And if I do get lost?”
“It can only be attributable to human error.”
Sigh. Where is my map?
Thursday, July 7, 2011
In My Mind I've Gone to Carolina....
The air is different. The view is lush and green and incredible. Even the bugs are strange and beautiful. I’m in the mountains of North Carolina. James Taylor said it best when he wrote “In my mind, I’m going to Carolina”.
I really love traveling and visiting new places. And so far, there isn’t anywhere that I didn’t enjoy or find something wonderful or beautiful about them. There is something to be said, however, about traveling back to someplace that you really love – someplace that just resonates with your soul.
God really knew what he was doing when he paired me up with my husband. He is the perfect travel buddy. Well, let me back up – he really is the perfect husband. Most of the time. I do have to re-train him every once in awhile, but just like the dogs, he’s good after the refresher course. Traveling with him is really a joy. He’s just so easy going and easy to please. He’s never met a stranger and he’s just about as adventuresome as I am. So when we travel, it’s always the perfect mix of rest and play – sleep and party.
This trip is one of those soul fulfilling trips. We are traveling with another dear friend and staying at the home of two more dear friends. What a blessing – not just to have this beautiful trip and take-your-breath-away view, but loving friends that open their hearts and homes and boats for us.
What would life be if we couldn’t share “just one more bite” meals that knock your socks off – or savor a great cabernet as you watch the sunset behind majestic hills and mountains? What would life be if we couldn’t float in the lake with our noodles, incredible margaritas and some of the best friends ever? How boring it would become if we couldn’t walk together and share our deepest thoughts among the towering pine trees.
I can see how some people would consider a place like this lonely. Small town, no city lights and not a whole lot of people or traffic or big malls. But not me. I am just a humble human being lucky enough to be sharing this space with singing birds, glowing fireflies, and trees that are so old that you know they have many great stories to tell.
Sitting on this porch, writing this column and drinking coffee is just about perfect. My A.D.D. is kicking in a little bit though, because my eyes keep straying to the beautiful views, and my ears keep listening to the joyous songs of the birds. The one thing that is weighing most on my mind is my sense of gratitude. I do appreciate all of this: my friends, the mountains, the lake, the food and my husband. (Not necessarily in that order, dear.) So, it’s time to go – another day of adventure awaits! Thank you, dear friends. Thank you, mother nature. Thank you, Carolina. Thank you, God. Now, time to Jet Ski!
I really love traveling and visiting new places. And so far, there isn’t anywhere that I didn’t enjoy or find something wonderful or beautiful about them. There is something to be said, however, about traveling back to someplace that you really love – someplace that just resonates with your soul.
God really knew what he was doing when he paired me up with my husband. He is the perfect travel buddy. Well, let me back up – he really is the perfect husband. Most of the time. I do have to re-train him every once in awhile, but just like the dogs, he’s good after the refresher course. Traveling with him is really a joy. He’s just so easy going and easy to please. He’s never met a stranger and he’s just about as adventuresome as I am. So when we travel, it’s always the perfect mix of rest and play – sleep and party.
This trip is one of those soul fulfilling trips. We are traveling with another dear friend and staying at the home of two more dear friends. What a blessing – not just to have this beautiful trip and take-your-breath-away view, but loving friends that open their hearts and homes and boats for us.
What would life be if we couldn’t share “just one more bite” meals that knock your socks off – or savor a great cabernet as you watch the sunset behind majestic hills and mountains? What would life be if we couldn’t float in the lake with our noodles, incredible margaritas and some of the best friends ever? How boring it would become if we couldn’t walk together and share our deepest thoughts among the towering pine trees.
I can see how some people would consider a place like this lonely. Small town, no city lights and not a whole lot of people or traffic or big malls. But not me. I am just a humble human being lucky enough to be sharing this space with singing birds, glowing fireflies, and trees that are so old that you know they have many great stories to tell.
Sitting on this porch, writing this column and drinking coffee is just about perfect. My A.D.D. is kicking in a little bit though, because my eyes keep straying to the beautiful views, and my ears keep listening to the joyous songs of the birds. The one thing that is weighing most on my mind is my sense of gratitude. I do appreciate all of this: my friends, the mountains, the lake, the food and my husband. (Not necessarily in that order, dear.) So, it’s time to go – another day of adventure awaits! Thank you, dear friends. Thank you, mother nature. Thank you, Carolina. Thank you, God. Now, time to Jet Ski!
Monday, June 27, 2011
What the Babies and Dogs are really saying....
Everyone always says how much they love dogs and babies. I mean most of the television commercials I even remember have one of both in it. There really is no reason not to like dogs or babies. They are cute, fun, usually happy and – let’s face it – they don’t talk back. Babies and dogs can’t tell us what they are really thinking. They can’t say the word “no”. They communicate by cooing, smiling, or wagging their tail. They normally love everyone. They laugh or jump for joy at our silly antics of baby talk. They think our rendition of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” is the best they’ve ever heard. They think the latest dog treat is the best they’ve ever tasted. They are happy to see us and act like they’ve missed us - even if we’ve only just turned our back for 30 seconds.
But let’s face it. In reality, what we think they are communicating and what they really mean could be two totally different things.
My new granddaughter is being introduced to “real” foods. So when mommy or daddy shoves some tasteless green peas in her mouth, they are happy when she smiles and coos and eats it without going all “Exorcist” on them. But if you really watch her eyes, you know that there is much more going on in that little five-month-old brain of hers.
Daddy: “Come on pumpkin. Sweet peas! Yummy! Look, watch daddy taste them. Ick! Oh man, these really could use some salt. And maybe a steak to go with it. Ok, sweetie, come on, eat the nummy peas. Take one more bite for daddy. That’s right, eat it all.”
Baby: “Ok, seriously dad. You can’t even handle one bite and you expect me to eat the entire thing? Get real. I mean I appreciate mom going through the trouble to make me organic, fresh baby food – but I’d really be happy having some of the pepperoni pizza you’ve got there. And maybe some of that soda. Oh, I know, healthy smealthy. But when I’m a teenager and you wonder why I have weight issues, just think back to when you made me eat an entire bowl of tasteless green peas. Look, I appreciate what you are doing. But help a girl out here – I have needs too.”
Our three dogs definitely have minds of their own as well. Sure, they look cute, sweet and innocent. Just like our granddaughter. But I have no doubt there is a lot more going on in their minds than their adorable, furry expressions show.
Me: “Ok guys, mommy has to go to work now. You be good widdle doggies and I’ll be home soon!”
Dog #1: “Right. And tonight you’ll let me sleep on the bed. Not! Don’t think I don’t remember what you told me. You also promised an extra treat last night. What’s up with that? And can you please not talk baby talk to us – in dog years I’m old enough to be your grandpa. Hey guys, party in mom’s bedroom while she’s at work! Let’s sleep on the bed, drink outta the toilet and play catch with her new shoes. Who’s in?”
For now we are safe, I guess. Their little computer brains may be storing this information, but we can still look at their adorable, innocent faces and read whatever we want into their simple expressions. And according to my dogs and granddaughters, I am the most amazing person in the universe. No wonder I love them so much.
But let’s face it. In reality, what we think they are communicating and what they really mean could be two totally different things.
My new granddaughter is being introduced to “real” foods. So when mommy or daddy shoves some tasteless green peas in her mouth, they are happy when she smiles and coos and eats it without going all “Exorcist” on them. But if you really watch her eyes, you know that there is much more going on in that little five-month-old brain of hers.
Daddy: “Come on pumpkin. Sweet peas! Yummy! Look, watch daddy taste them. Ick! Oh man, these really could use some salt. And maybe a steak to go with it. Ok, sweetie, come on, eat the nummy peas. Take one more bite for daddy. That’s right, eat it all.”
Baby: “Ok, seriously dad. You can’t even handle one bite and you expect me to eat the entire thing? Get real. I mean I appreciate mom going through the trouble to make me organic, fresh baby food – but I’d really be happy having some of the pepperoni pizza you’ve got there. And maybe some of that soda. Oh, I know, healthy smealthy. But when I’m a teenager and you wonder why I have weight issues, just think back to when you made me eat an entire bowl of tasteless green peas. Look, I appreciate what you are doing. But help a girl out here – I have needs too.”
Our three dogs definitely have minds of their own as well. Sure, they look cute, sweet and innocent. Just like our granddaughter. But I have no doubt there is a lot more going on in their minds than their adorable, furry expressions show.
Me: “Ok guys, mommy has to go to work now. You be good widdle doggies and I’ll be home soon!”
Dog #1: “Right. And tonight you’ll let me sleep on the bed. Not! Don’t think I don’t remember what you told me. You also promised an extra treat last night. What’s up with that? And can you please not talk baby talk to us – in dog years I’m old enough to be your grandpa. Hey guys, party in mom’s bedroom while she’s at work! Let’s sleep on the bed, drink outta the toilet and play catch with her new shoes. Who’s in?”
For now we are safe, I guess. Their little computer brains may be storing this information, but we can still look at their adorable, innocent faces and read whatever we want into their simple expressions. And according to my dogs and granddaughters, I am the most amazing person in the universe. No wonder I love them so much.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I Want to Live Like My Dog
“A dog is like an eternal Peter Pan, a child who never grows old and who therefore is always available to love and be loved.”
--Aaron Katcher, American Educator and Psychiatrist
“Properly trained, a man can be dog's best friend.”
--Corey Ford, American writer
I want to be like my dog. He’s so full of life and zest and love. He doesn’t second guess anything I say or do and he lives his life “full steam ahead”, no questions asked. He believes me when I tell him how pretty he is after a haircut. He eats his meals with relish and doesn’t bemoan how many calories are in the kibble. He jumps for joy when given a treat, and doesn’t wonder if he should go to Weight Watchers because he got an extra bone for dessert.
How wonderful to be able to take doggy naps whenever you want. How great to wake up happy and refreshed and full of energy. Why can’t I walk two miles and still want to play? Why can’t I wear a dorky looking sweater and look incredibly adorable?
Like my dog, I want to be able to live my life full of joy and eternal happiness – to show my loved ones how much I adore them and want to be with them; to shower my friends with kisses – and to not look crazy when I shake my butt because I’m incredibly happy to see them.
I want to live like my dog. He lives in the present moment. He finds joy in everything he does. He doesn’t over-plan his days, forgetting about living in the “right now”…in fact he relishes in just “being”. He relaxes with abandon, lying on his back without a care in the world. He knows he is loved and lets me know that he is grateful for it – and will return it a thousand-fold.
I want to live like my dog…never worrying about what size I am or how my hair looks. My dog doesn’t question if someone likes him; actually there is no doubt in his mind. He plays in the mud and sticks his head out of the car window to feel the wind in his face, gloriously taking in all his surroundings while his ears fly back behind his head. He smiles when he sees me, running with glee to tell me how much he’s missed me even if we’ve only been apart for a moment.
To be like my dog will make me a better person. I will always consider and appreciate my humanness, but will also try to learn to live what comes so naturally for my dog: 1) Enjoy life for what it is 2) Be yourself 3) Love without thought or judgment. Thank you my furry friend for these lessons – you have trained me well.
--Aaron Katcher, American Educator and Psychiatrist
“Properly trained, a man can be dog's best friend.”
--Corey Ford, American writer
I want to be like my dog. He’s so full of life and zest and love. He doesn’t second guess anything I say or do and he lives his life “full steam ahead”, no questions asked. He believes me when I tell him how pretty he is after a haircut. He eats his meals with relish and doesn’t bemoan how many calories are in the kibble. He jumps for joy when given a treat, and doesn’t wonder if he should go to Weight Watchers because he got an extra bone for dessert.
How wonderful to be able to take doggy naps whenever you want. How great to wake up happy and refreshed and full of energy. Why can’t I walk two miles and still want to play? Why can’t I wear a dorky looking sweater and look incredibly adorable?
Like my dog, I want to be able to live my life full of joy and eternal happiness – to show my loved ones how much I adore them and want to be with them; to shower my friends with kisses – and to not look crazy when I shake my butt because I’m incredibly happy to see them.
I want to live like my dog. He lives in the present moment. He finds joy in everything he does. He doesn’t over-plan his days, forgetting about living in the “right now”…in fact he relishes in just “being”. He relaxes with abandon, lying on his back without a care in the world. He knows he is loved and lets me know that he is grateful for it – and will return it a thousand-fold.
I want to live like my dog…never worrying about what size I am or how my hair looks. My dog doesn’t question if someone likes him; actually there is no doubt in his mind. He plays in the mud and sticks his head out of the car window to feel the wind in his face, gloriously taking in all his surroundings while his ears fly back behind his head. He smiles when he sees me, running with glee to tell me how much he’s missed me even if we’ve only been apart for a moment.
To be like my dog will make me a better person. I will always consider and appreciate my humanness, but will also try to learn to live what comes so naturally for my dog: 1) Enjoy life for what it is 2) Be yourself 3) Love without thought or judgment. Thank you my furry friend for these lessons – you have trained me well.
Sweet Home in California
The sun isn’t shining - yet. But very soon, I will see the reflection on the bright blue and green of the ocean. I can’t get enough of it. We are perched on top of a hill, with views of valley and mountains and ocean. I am back in California and am not only soaking up the sun, but the love and the comfort and memories of home.
I am sitting at my mom’s computer (she’s in her 80’s and knows more about the internet than I do) and looking up at a picture of my dad - his young, handsome, unlined face is looking down at me as I write. He’s wearing his flight jacket - the same musty, cracked leather brown bomber jacket that I wear during the cold winter months in Ohio. I went to see my dad a few days back. He’s buried in a lovely cemetery in the Garden of Valor - reserved for men and women that have served our country.
Soon I will take a walk along the canyon, smelling all the smells that evoke childhood memories: sage, eucalyptus and sea salt. We are having our “June Gloom” weather where it’s quite cool in the morning and fog is mixed with clouds. The sun will show up after lunch and then the rest of the day will be glorious.
I have spent the past week on the beach. I couldn’t get enough of the sand, the salt and the cold Pacific creeping up over my toes. I felt like a 4th grader, shouting as I watched dolphins swim off the pier - or a sea lion body surfing next to the surfers with the boards. I watched huge pelicans flying in formation, looking like small Pterodactyl dinosaur birds, diving into the ocean for their lunch. I collected sea shells for my always growing collection - memories to be taken back to Ohio for my “California room”.
I am not going to lie - I get very homesick. It’s as if I have one foot home in Ohio and one foot back here, in Southern California. I miss my kids and grandkids, my dogs and my friends. (My husband is with me so I am not missing him!). I miss my garden and the woods behind my house. But I also miss my mom, my sister and brother, the ocean where I learned how to body surf, my friends that I grew up with and that “California” feeling and attitude.
Those that know me don’t deny I am a little out of place in the mid-west. Although it is my home, there are times I may seem a little out of sync. (You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take California out of the girl.) I’ve never tried to change my attitude or spirit. I guess for that very reason, it’s very easy to be living a life with one foot in each location. When I am home in Ohio, I live that life fully. When I come back home to California, I don’t miss a step.
It has taken me awhile to discover the reason why I am able to live two lives without becoming schizophrenic: I am at peace with myself. I am happy living and “just being” wherever I am planted. There is no doubt I am currently in one of the most beautiful places in the world. And I believe because of the gift that I am learning everyday - the gift of learning to love every waking minute and living for the “now” - I am able to soak up the wonderfulness and uniqueness of each location with relish, and not regret time away from either home.
Soon I will be back in Ohio, my time spent here fading like my tan. And instead of dwelling on not being here, and obsessing about planning my next trip, I will instead take a deep breath and appreciate the sights and smells of my current home. I will reflect upon my seashells and lounge in my beach-themed screened-in porch. I will choose not to be homesick; instead I will savor the memories of the ocean, while soak up the smells of pine, fresh mowed grass and smoke from the bonfire in our backyard. Instead of missing the view of the ocean, I will delight in the sight of the luscious woods behind our house, that house the bright red Cardinals and the furry-tailed squirrels. I will smile as I hear the dogs bark, the grandkids shout and my friends and family laughing and joking. Home is where the heart is. And I’ve decided it’s ok to share my heart with two different homes…and to not dwell where I can’t be - but instead to appreciate where I am.
I am sitting at my mom’s computer (she’s in her 80’s and knows more about the internet than I do) and looking up at a picture of my dad - his young, handsome, unlined face is looking down at me as I write. He’s wearing his flight jacket - the same musty, cracked leather brown bomber jacket that I wear during the cold winter months in Ohio. I went to see my dad a few days back. He’s buried in a lovely cemetery in the Garden of Valor - reserved for men and women that have served our country.
Soon I will take a walk along the canyon, smelling all the smells that evoke childhood memories: sage, eucalyptus and sea salt. We are having our “June Gloom” weather where it’s quite cool in the morning and fog is mixed with clouds. The sun will show up after lunch and then the rest of the day will be glorious.
I have spent the past week on the beach. I couldn’t get enough of the sand, the salt and the cold Pacific creeping up over my toes. I felt like a 4th grader, shouting as I watched dolphins swim off the pier - or a sea lion body surfing next to the surfers with the boards. I watched huge pelicans flying in formation, looking like small Pterodactyl dinosaur birds, diving into the ocean for their lunch. I collected sea shells for my always growing collection - memories to be taken back to Ohio for my “California room”.
I am not going to lie - I get very homesick. It’s as if I have one foot home in Ohio and one foot back here, in Southern California. I miss my kids and grandkids, my dogs and my friends. (My husband is with me so I am not missing him!). I miss my garden and the woods behind my house. But I also miss my mom, my sister and brother, the ocean where I learned how to body surf, my friends that I grew up with and that “California” feeling and attitude.
Those that know me don’t deny I am a little out of place in the mid-west. Although it is my home, there are times I may seem a little out of sync. (You can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take California out of the girl.) I’ve never tried to change my attitude or spirit. I guess for that very reason, it’s very easy to be living a life with one foot in each location. When I am home in Ohio, I live that life fully. When I come back home to California, I don’t miss a step.
It has taken me awhile to discover the reason why I am able to live two lives without becoming schizophrenic: I am at peace with myself. I am happy living and “just being” wherever I am planted. There is no doubt I am currently in one of the most beautiful places in the world. And I believe because of the gift that I am learning everyday - the gift of learning to love every waking minute and living for the “now” - I am able to soak up the wonderfulness and uniqueness of each location with relish, and not regret time away from either home.
Soon I will be back in Ohio, my time spent here fading like my tan. And instead of dwelling on not being here, and obsessing about planning my next trip, I will instead take a deep breath and appreciate the sights and smells of my current home. I will reflect upon my seashells and lounge in my beach-themed screened-in porch. I will choose not to be homesick; instead I will savor the memories of the ocean, while soak up the smells of pine, fresh mowed grass and smoke from the bonfire in our backyard. Instead of missing the view of the ocean, I will delight in the sight of the luscious woods behind our house, that house the bright red Cardinals and the furry-tailed squirrels. I will smile as I hear the dogs bark, the grandkids shout and my friends and family laughing and joking. Home is where the heart is. And I’ve decided it’s ok to share my heart with two different homes…and to not dwell where I can’t be - but instead to appreciate where I am.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The Elusive....Morels
They are elusive. Apparently they are delicious. And the one time I found them in the store they were $20 for about ¼ pound of them. I’m talking about Morel mushrooms.
“They are so yummy,” said a friend of mine. “Just go hunt some yourself – it’s totally worth the effort. I went yesterday and found a bunch.”
“Ok, but where?” I asked. I was a mushroom-hunting virgin - seeing as how we didn’t have this sport where I grew up in California.
“Here, I’ll show you.” And he brought out a map. “Right here.”
“Ummm, that’s a giant forest. Exactly where?””
“Are you kidding? I can’t tell you that. That is sacred information. You know how much those babies go for? And when you sauté them in butter – oh it’s beyond words. Look in the woods behind your house. There’s a good chance you could find some there.”
So that is what we did this afternoon. We went mushroom hunting. I was dressed from head to toe in long sleeves and long pants with long socks – looking not only for mushrooms but also the ever popular “leaves of three – let them be”. If there is poison ivy anywhere near me, it will find me, jump out, rub itself all over me and leave a rash in its’ wake. (Now I wouldn’t mind if say, Steven Tyler did that - but if I can skip the poison ivy - the world is a better place.)
“You have to move very slowly and concentrate,” said my husband. Normally an obvious statement like that would irritate me. But my husband compares me to a 12 year old boy standing at the open refrigerator looking at a milk carton while yelling, “Mom, where’s the milk?” So I didn’t take offense. I could see where my A.D.D. could possibly kick in while doing the tedious job of looking for tiny brownish, tan fungus. I know, it was my idea – so I tried not to complain.
“Stay on the trail and look – there is less poison ivy there.” Fine. Boring, but fine. So Lucy and I set off on our own adventure. We saw a lot of cool things: A black non-poisonous (I hoped) snake, a black with a green stripe down it’s back (questionable on the poisonous part) snake, an orange bird with a black belly, clam and oyster shells from a millennium gone by, a very cool pine cone fossil (that from a distance I swear looked like a Morel – my heart starting beating faster, dang it), some beautiful wild flowers, some neat fish swimming in the stream near the waterfall, a Bud Light can (and don’t get me started on that very touchy subject), some early-bird mosquitoes, some lovely fern, and droppings that I swear could be from a Mountain Lion though I’m told they are not indigenous to these parts. But no Morels.
My husband caught up with us by the stream. I was throwing sticks into the water and Lucy was retrieving them.
“Looking pretty hard, I see,” he smugly commented. I noticed his bag was just as empty as mine.
“Just taking a break. Any luck?”
“Nope. Nada.”
“Oh well, it’s after 5 O’clock and I hear a glass of wine calling from the back deck. Ready to call it quits?”
Thankfully I didn’t have to twist his arm. We collected the muddy dogs, took some great shots of the stream, waterfall and glorious sun (lately as elusive as the Morels) with our camera and headed back to the homestead. Empty handed – no Morels. Thankfully, as far as I know anyway, no poison ivy either.
“They are so yummy,” said a friend of mine. “Just go hunt some yourself – it’s totally worth the effort. I went yesterday and found a bunch.”
“Ok, but where?” I asked. I was a mushroom-hunting virgin - seeing as how we didn’t have this sport where I grew up in California.
“Here, I’ll show you.” And he brought out a map. “Right here.”
“Ummm, that’s a giant forest. Exactly where?””
“Are you kidding? I can’t tell you that. That is sacred information. You know how much those babies go for? And when you sauté them in butter – oh it’s beyond words. Look in the woods behind your house. There’s a good chance you could find some there.”
So that is what we did this afternoon. We went mushroom hunting. I was dressed from head to toe in long sleeves and long pants with long socks – looking not only for mushrooms but also the ever popular “leaves of three – let them be”. If there is poison ivy anywhere near me, it will find me, jump out, rub itself all over me and leave a rash in its’ wake. (Now I wouldn’t mind if say, Steven Tyler did that - but if I can skip the poison ivy - the world is a better place.)
“You have to move very slowly and concentrate,” said my husband. Normally an obvious statement like that would irritate me. But my husband compares me to a 12 year old boy standing at the open refrigerator looking at a milk carton while yelling, “Mom, where’s the milk?” So I didn’t take offense. I could see where my A.D.D. could possibly kick in while doing the tedious job of looking for tiny brownish, tan fungus. I know, it was my idea – so I tried not to complain.
“Stay on the trail and look – there is less poison ivy there.” Fine. Boring, but fine. So Lucy and I set off on our own adventure. We saw a lot of cool things: A black non-poisonous (I hoped) snake, a black with a green stripe down it’s back (questionable on the poisonous part) snake, an orange bird with a black belly, clam and oyster shells from a millennium gone by, a very cool pine cone fossil (that from a distance I swear looked like a Morel – my heart starting beating faster, dang it), some beautiful wild flowers, some neat fish swimming in the stream near the waterfall, a Bud Light can (and don’t get me started on that very touchy subject), some early-bird mosquitoes, some lovely fern, and droppings that I swear could be from a Mountain Lion though I’m told they are not indigenous to these parts. But no Morels.
My husband caught up with us by the stream. I was throwing sticks into the water and Lucy was retrieving them.
“Looking pretty hard, I see,” he smugly commented. I noticed his bag was just as empty as mine.
“Just taking a break. Any luck?”
“Nope. Nada.”
“Oh well, it’s after 5 O’clock and I hear a glass of wine calling from the back deck. Ready to call it quits?”
Thankfully I didn’t have to twist his arm. We collected the muddy dogs, took some great shots of the stream, waterfall and glorious sun (lately as elusive as the Morels) with our camera and headed back to the homestead. Empty handed – no Morels. Thankfully, as far as I know anyway, no poison ivy either.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Living with "I Love Karen"
“I think I’d like to go camping for my birthday”. “Hello? Shoot did I lose a signal again?” I was talking to my husband on my way home from work.
“No, I’m still here.”
“Then why aren’t you answering me?”
“Because I don’t know what to say – again.”
My husband, bless his heart, is the All-American Ricky Ricardo. He’s handsome. He can sing. He could play the bongos if he tried. And he’s married to a blonde “I Love Lucy”.
“I want to wake up in nature!” I exclaimed, getting caught up in the potential of my make-believe world. “I want to smell the coffee and bacon cooking on the campfire. I want to gaze at the stars and watch the birds and wildflowers.”
“We can do that from our back deck. With comfortable chairs and a nice glass of wine.”
“You are missing the point,” I said, exasperated. “Think what an adventure it would be.”
“It’s a daily adventure right here with you. I don’t think can stand anymore adventure. We have plenty.”
“But we have the gear! The tent, the sleeping bags, the air mattress, the portable stove…”
He cut me off. “The tent was loaned out 10 years ago and never returned. The mice in the garage decided they not only wanted to sleep in our sleeping bags, but that they tasted pretty good too. And one of the kids borrowed the portable stove for their apartment and I think it caught on fire. We have no “gear”. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
Just like Ricky, he could see the wheels turning in my head. I must get some kind of look or smile, because I swear he knows when I am trying to conjure up a harebrained idea.
“Karen…don’t do it.” (This said with a fake Hispanic accent. He thinks he’s funny.)
“Oh don’t worry honey. It’ll be ok. I’ll see you at home. In about an hour or two. I have a couple stops on the way”
“Seriously, Karen. What have you got up your sleeve? You have some ‘splainin to do.” (Did I mention he thinks he’s funny?)
“There is a sale at the sporting goods store and…”
“Do me a favor. Let me plan your birthday. I will handle the whole thing. And you will love it. I promise.”
Darn. How could I refuse that? I gave in. And the next day he presented me with his plans. It was a compromise, he told me.
“I’ve rented us a room for a few nights at a romantic bed and breakfast. It’s way out in the country. Lots of hiking trails. You can wake up to the sound of birds and the smell of coffee and bacon. You don’t have to blow up an air mattress. You can take a shower every day. And they will make your bed.”
Wow. He drives a hard bargain. How could I refuse? I hugged him and told him he was the most wonderful husband in the world. And as he walked away, a smug smile on his face, I could swear he was singing “Babaloo”.
Now we just have to find out if Fred and Ethyl can watch the dogs while we are gone.
“No, I’m still here.”
“Then why aren’t you answering me?”
“Because I don’t know what to say – again.”
My husband, bless his heart, is the All-American Ricky Ricardo. He’s handsome. He can sing. He could play the bongos if he tried. And he’s married to a blonde “I Love Lucy”.
“I want to wake up in nature!” I exclaimed, getting caught up in the potential of my make-believe world. “I want to smell the coffee and bacon cooking on the campfire. I want to gaze at the stars and watch the birds and wildflowers.”
“We can do that from our back deck. With comfortable chairs and a nice glass of wine.”
“You are missing the point,” I said, exasperated. “Think what an adventure it would be.”
“It’s a daily adventure right here with you. I don’t think can stand anymore adventure. We have plenty.”
“But we have the gear! The tent, the sleeping bags, the air mattress, the portable stove…”
He cut me off. “The tent was loaned out 10 years ago and never returned. The mice in the garage decided they not only wanted to sleep in our sleeping bags, but that they tasted pretty good too. And one of the kids borrowed the portable stove for their apartment and I think it caught on fire. We have no “gear”. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
Just like Ricky, he could see the wheels turning in my head. I must get some kind of look or smile, because I swear he knows when I am trying to conjure up a harebrained idea.
“Karen…don’t do it.” (This said with a fake Hispanic accent. He thinks he’s funny.)
“Oh don’t worry honey. It’ll be ok. I’ll see you at home. In about an hour or two. I have a couple stops on the way”
“Seriously, Karen. What have you got up your sleeve? You have some ‘splainin to do.” (Did I mention he thinks he’s funny?)
“There is a sale at the sporting goods store and…”
“Do me a favor. Let me plan your birthday. I will handle the whole thing. And you will love it. I promise.”
Darn. How could I refuse that? I gave in. And the next day he presented me with his plans. It was a compromise, he told me.
“I’ve rented us a room for a few nights at a romantic bed and breakfast. It’s way out in the country. Lots of hiking trails. You can wake up to the sound of birds and the smell of coffee and bacon. You don’t have to blow up an air mattress. You can take a shower every day. And they will make your bed.”
Wow. He drives a hard bargain. How could I refuse? I hugged him and told him he was the most wonderful husband in the world. And as he walked away, a smug smile on his face, I could swear he was singing “Babaloo”.
Now we just have to find out if Fred and Ethyl can watch the dogs while we are gone.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
A Letter From Charlie (the Dog)
Dear Aunt Nan:
My mom is making me write this. She said I have to apologize for peeing on your carpet. Twice. She said I have to buy you a bottle of Nature’s Miracle out of my next allowance…instead of the chew toy I wanted. I guess that’s ok, since I have an extra toy my granny gave me for Christmas.
Your carpet almost feels like grass – and I mean that in a good way. Mom doesn’t realize I was just testing it out….I didn’t mean to make a mess, honest.
My mom also said that next time I want to play with Cheyenne that she has to come to my house to play, since I am on restriction from going to your house. I don’t know what restriction means, but my mom was pretty serious when she said it. She also said that maybe this summer you would let me come over if I stay outside, and I said that would really be wonderful. I like your outside grass better, anyway.
Did you see the picture my mom showed you when we were there? My mom said that dog is what I am supposed to look like, but there was some kind of genetic mix up at the lab. Not sure what that means but she says she loves me anyway – and I DO know what that means. I don’t know if she told you, but we just found out I have some kind of lung condition. My lungs are quite scarred and it’s hard for me to breathe at times. The doctor said this could affect my quality of life. I don’t know why they are worried, since my life is grand and the quality could not be any better! (Did I mention the pills taste like yummy liver?)
Anyway, I am very sorry and am sending you many kisses. (Even though at times I’ve been told I may give too many. How can a dog give too many kisses?)
Don’t forget I love you. I have to go now, ‘cause my mom says I have to do my homework on account I have to go to special needs doggy school tomorrow, and the short bus comes very early.
Lots of licks, and a high five too,
Charlie
PS: My daddy just got home and said I didn’t have nice manners. I am not sure what that means, but I don’t think he’s happy either. I will charm him by dancing around him and showing him how much I love him. Remind me to show you that trick next time, ok?
My mom is making me write this. She said I have to apologize for peeing on your carpet. Twice. She said I have to buy you a bottle of Nature’s Miracle out of my next allowance…instead of the chew toy I wanted. I guess that’s ok, since I have an extra toy my granny gave me for Christmas.
Your carpet almost feels like grass – and I mean that in a good way. Mom doesn’t realize I was just testing it out….I didn’t mean to make a mess, honest.
My mom also said that next time I want to play with Cheyenne that she has to come to my house to play, since I am on restriction from going to your house. I don’t know what restriction means, but my mom was pretty serious when she said it. She also said that maybe this summer you would let me come over if I stay outside, and I said that would really be wonderful. I like your outside grass better, anyway.
Did you see the picture my mom showed you when we were there? My mom said that dog is what I am supposed to look like, but there was some kind of genetic mix up at the lab. Not sure what that means but she says she loves me anyway – and I DO know what that means. I don’t know if she told you, but we just found out I have some kind of lung condition. My lungs are quite scarred and it’s hard for me to breathe at times. The doctor said this could affect my quality of life. I don’t know why they are worried, since my life is grand and the quality could not be any better! (Did I mention the pills taste like yummy liver?)
Anyway, I am very sorry and am sending you many kisses. (Even though at times I’ve been told I may give too many. How can a dog give too many kisses?)
Don’t forget I love you. I have to go now, ‘cause my mom says I have to do my homework on account I have to go to special needs doggy school tomorrow, and the short bus comes very early.
Lots of licks, and a high five too,
Charlie
PS: My daddy just got home and said I didn’t have nice manners. I am not sure what that means, but I don’t think he’s happy either. I will charm him by dancing around him and showing him how much I love him. Remind me to show you that trick next time, ok?
Friday, March 18, 2011
Menapausal Mother Nature
It happens to the best of us. After a certain age, I guess it is inevitable in some way, shape or form. Some people get red sports cars, others, a Harley. Some get new hairstyles, a new wardrobe or grow a beard. The beard part, on men, can look pretty good. On women, not so much. I am speaking, of course, about mid-life.
I have noticed this year that it appears Mother Nature herself is going through her own mid-life crisis. Or maybe it’s menopause. Regardless, she’s acting more psycho than normal.
Kind of ironic, since Mother Nature did have a hand in “inventing” mid-life. Now it seems she’s getting a taste of her own medicine. Unfortunately, just like an unsuspecting spouse, we Ohioans are experiencing the change of life right along with her.
I guess it’s her moods swings that are affecting me the most. One minute she’s sunny and happy, the next she’s gloomy and cold. She can’t make up her mind at all. Snow one minute, rain the next – and some ice and frost thrown in for fun. I am not sure if she enjoys watching us go from down parkas to t-shirts and back again in the course of 3 hours, but at times I sense a hint of humor in the air…possibly a touch of smirk when I look at the sky. Other times her changes can make my head spin, and therefore it leads me to believe she’s just as mystified by the sudden change as I am.
We humans aren’t the only ones this Mother Nature mid-life crisis is torturing. The poor birds don’t know whether to feather their nests or to grab the next flight back to the south. The geese are circling overhead, not sure to land or keep on going. In bird circles, Ohio is the most gossiped about area. Used to be all they chatted about was which house has the best bird feeders; now, it’s whether or not to bi-pass Ohio and head straight for Michigan.
The squirrels are starting to look less fat and furry, and it’s sad to see them shivering out in the cold, cursing the fact that they already sent their winter coats to the animal Goodwill. Even my dogs are getting a little tired of the “sweater on – sweater off – sweater back on” ritual.
The crocuses are trying to reverse themselves and stay buried a little longer, and the daffodils have decided they’d rather wait and come out when they know they won’t get goose bumps on their yellow petals.
Mother Nature, in your change of life form, you are channeling the Katie Perry song: “Hot N Cold”. If your goal is to drive us crazy, you are succeeding.
Now, it’s true they say mid-life can be fun. It’s a great time to learn new hobbies, find new passions, and travel. So, Mother Nature, how about you take all that menopausal frustration and put it into something productive. Like maybe a spring day that will stay that way. For a few weeks. Without snow. Just a suggestion – please don’t turn on me…I’m on your side, really. And if you want, I can give you the name of a great doctor – or wine store - here in town…your entire family will thank you for it.
I have noticed this year that it appears Mother Nature herself is going through her own mid-life crisis. Or maybe it’s menopause. Regardless, she’s acting more psycho than normal.
Kind of ironic, since Mother Nature did have a hand in “inventing” mid-life. Now it seems she’s getting a taste of her own medicine. Unfortunately, just like an unsuspecting spouse, we Ohioans are experiencing the change of life right along with her.
I guess it’s her moods swings that are affecting me the most. One minute she’s sunny and happy, the next she’s gloomy and cold. She can’t make up her mind at all. Snow one minute, rain the next – and some ice and frost thrown in for fun. I am not sure if she enjoys watching us go from down parkas to t-shirts and back again in the course of 3 hours, but at times I sense a hint of humor in the air…possibly a touch of smirk when I look at the sky. Other times her changes can make my head spin, and therefore it leads me to believe she’s just as mystified by the sudden change as I am.
We humans aren’t the only ones this Mother Nature mid-life crisis is torturing. The poor birds don’t know whether to feather their nests or to grab the next flight back to the south. The geese are circling overhead, not sure to land or keep on going. In bird circles, Ohio is the most gossiped about area. Used to be all they chatted about was which house has the best bird feeders; now, it’s whether or not to bi-pass Ohio and head straight for Michigan.
The squirrels are starting to look less fat and furry, and it’s sad to see them shivering out in the cold, cursing the fact that they already sent their winter coats to the animal Goodwill. Even my dogs are getting a little tired of the “sweater on – sweater off – sweater back on” ritual.
The crocuses are trying to reverse themselves and stay buried a little longer, and the daffodils have decided they’d rather wait and come out when they know they won’t get goose bumps on their yellow petals.
Mother Nature, in your change of life form, you are channeling the Katie Perry song: “Hot N Cold”. If your goal is to drive us crazy, you are succeeding.
Now, it’s true they say mid-life can be fun. It’s a great time to learn new hobbies, find new passions, and travel. So, Mother Nature, how about you take all that menopausal frustration and put it into something productive. Like maybe a spring day that will stay that way. For a few weeks. Without snow. Just a suggestion – please don’t turn on me…I’m on your side, really. And if you want, I can give you the name of a great doctor – or wine store - here in town…your entire family will thank you for it.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
A new me, instead of new jeans....Welcome to a healthy living! It's fun and refreshing and feels wonderful!
So, call me crazy, but instead of buying a pair of $100 jeans guaranteed to make me look thinner, I actually decided to become thinner!
This of course requires discipline, planning and moderation. Three things that really are not my strong points. I realize that if I sincerely want to make this happen, I have to make this a lifestyle change and not a diet. Nope – I am not using – nor will I ever – use the “D” word again. This new way of eating is a choice. It’s not a punishment (although to hear me complain at times, one would think I am being tortured!).
So, before I go any further, I’d like to give a shout out to some of my new friends: organic baby carrots, oranges and broccoli. Yup, you read correctly. I know, amazing, isn’t it? The girl that literally drools whenever someone mentions the words sourdough bread, chocolate and red wine. They too are my friends and always will be – I just won’t be seeing them as much anymore.
Since I am planning on living to be a very healthy and spry 100 (or more), I decided I’d better get on the bandwagon and take care of this body. The no-no’s - mainly sugar, salt, caffeine, alcohol and bread – were calling me from afar the first few days. I know, what else is there, right?
Well, once I got past the initial shock and caffeine headaches, my body started waking up! I now have more energy, I sleep well and the brain fog is lifting. And better yet, the jeans are getting a little bigger, too!
I am not an exercise person – seriously. But I now enjoy my wii dance moves even more and Yoga seems easier. Simple stuff like parking farther away (unless it’s raining, I mean I do have limitations) in a parking lot and walking the dogs more often now seem fun.
Water is now my best friend. Simple, plain, clear water. Not mixed with anything if you get my drift. I treat myself to soda water in a beautiful glass with a lemon. I carry around a huge jug of my daily requirements. I challenge myself to drink the max and maybe even more. I have made peace with the fact that the restroom and I will be on closer terms.
The best part? I really, truly do enjoy eating the freshly made and flavorful meals. Sure it’s a little more work – shopping, chopping, cutting. But I’m getting creative. I’ve made up recipes and use spices I’ve never bothered with before. Shopping has become an adventure in itself…buying fresh organic foods, healthy organic meats and eggs and delicious fruits and berries.
My habits have changed. I now grab for a sweet carrot instead of something with sugar. Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve not gone CRAZY! I will still partake in some yummy chocolate or a glass of Cabernet. (Or both together!) I will still eat my new found love – bacon. I will still savor warm sour dough bread with freshly made Amish butter. But when I do, I will only have a little. And it will be the best wine/chocolate/bacon/bread I’ve ever tasted!
Fifty (one) is the new 40. Well, actually younger than that! I have new granddaughters to keep up with and dreams and plans (yes, the ol’ bucket list) to accomplish. The easiest way to do that is get this body healthy and running like it was intended to. So bring on the fresh veggies! All I can say is it’s a good thing wine gets better with age – I sure don’t want to waste any of the bottles I have!
This of course requires discipline, planning and moderation. Three things that really are not my strong points. I realize that if I sincerely want to make this happen, I have to make this a lifestyle change and not a diet. Nope – I am not using – nor will I ever – use the “D” word again. This new way of eating is a choice. It’s not a punishment (although to hear me complain at times, one would think I am being tortured!).
So, before I go any further, I’d like to give a shout out to some of my new friends: organic baby carrots, oranges and broccoli. Yup, you read correctly. I know, amazing, isn’t it? The girl that literally drools whenever someone mentions the words sourdough bread, chocolate and red wine. They too are my friends and always will be – I just won’t be seeing them as much anymore.
Since I am planning on living to be a very healthy and spry 100 (or more), I decided I’d better get on the bandwagon and take care of this body. The no-no’s - mainly sugar, salt, caffeine, alcohol and bread – were calling me from afar the first few days. I know, what else is there, right?
Well, once I got past the initial shock and caffeine headaches, my body started waking up! I now have more energy, I sleep well and the brain fog is lifting. And better yet, the jeans are getting a little bigger, too!
I am not an exercise person – seriously. But I now enjoy my wii dance moves even more and Yoga seems easier. Simple stuff like parking farther away (unless it’s raining, I mean I do have limitations) in a parking lot and walking the dogs more often now seem fun.
Water is now my best friend. Simple, plain, clear water. Not mixed with anything if you get my drift. I treat myself to soda water in a beautiful glass with a lemon. I carry around a huge jug of my daily requirements. I challenge myself to drink the max and maybe even more. I have made peace with the fact that the restroom and I will be on closer terms.
The best part? I really, truly do enjoy eating the freshly made and flavorful meals. Sure it’s a little more work – shopping, chopping, cutting. But I’m getting creative. I’ve made up recipes and use spices I’ve never bothered with before. Shopping has become an adventure in itself…buying fresh organic foods, healthy organic meats and eggs and delicious fruits and berries.
My habits have changed. I now grab for a sweet carrot instead of something with sugar. Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve not gone CRAZY! I will still partake in some yummy chocolate or a glass of Cabernet. (Or both together!) I will still eat my new found love – bacon. I will still savor warm sour dough bread with freshly made Amish butter. But when I do, I will only have a little. And it will be the best wine/chocolate/bacon/bread I’ve ever tasted!
Fifty (one) is the new 40. Well, actually younger than that! I have new granddaughters to keep up with and dreams and plans (yes, the ol’ bucket list) to accomplish. The easiest way to do that is get this body healthy and running like it was intended to. So bring on the fresh veggies! All I can say is it’s a good thing wine gets better with age – I sure don’t want to waste any of the bottles I have!
Monday, February 14, 2011
The Great White Westie-Wolf
It was that magical time in the morning when our bodies and souls are half awake and half asleep – where wonderful dreams can still happen. It was a cold, Ohio morning and I did not want to get out of my warm, cozy bed. I was dreaming I was camping in Alaska and had an encounter with a lone white wolf. In my dream it was raining and the wolf had me pinned to the ground. When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring into a white muzzle with a coal black nose. Deep black eyes were boring into mine. He was kissing me all over my face, trying to wake me. Charlie, the great white Westie-Wolf, was ready to go outside.
We’ve had Charlie for a little over 2 years now, having adopted him when he was one. He is a special needs dog, and nobody really had the patience for him. His over-exuberance could be annoying to some, and the fact that he seemed to be channeling Tigger, the tiger from Winnie the Pooh, sealed his fate. He was a lap dog that wasn’t supposed to be a lap dog, and somehow he ended up adopting us.
There are two theories that I always take into account when I start getting frustrated with Charlie. The first one is: dogs and their owners are very much alike. The second one is: when someone really annoys you, take a good look at yourself. Those two thoughts always humble me when I get frustrated with Charles. This is a dog that can dance like no one is watching, laugh until he cries and eat with utter abandon. He takes his job of ridding the world of squirrels one by one very seriously, and loves to cuddle on our big chair by the fire – stretching out and snoozing with not a care in the world.
Some of Charlie’s traits I look at with envy. Others I can so relate to. Like forgetting his obedience commands. How can I get angry with him when he forgets to “stay”, when I can’t even remember where I put my reading glasses? How can I push him off my lap when he wants to be held - when truly, sometimes that’s all I want too? How can I get mad and push him down when he dances with joy when I get home from work; wanting to touch me and tell me how much he has missed me?
The main difference between the two of us is that Charlie doesn’t stop to think. He just does. Charlie doesn’t care what other people think. He just is. Charlie lives his life with total abandon and love. He lives in the now, and doesn’t worry about what lies ahead. He doesn’t regret about the past. I never see Charlie pouting because he still hasn’t caught one of the squirrels that taunt him from the yard. He just keeps trying, certain one of these days, one of those squirrels is going down.
As much of an energizer bunny he can be, he is so sweet and gentle with our granddaughters. He will patiently sit in the princess castle/tent, and gladly wear crowns and play with Barbie. He is very much a gentleman when fed a piece of hotdog or cheese. When the princesses finally wind down, Charlie is right there beside them, head on their knee, watching Sponge Bob. He carefully cleans peanut butter and jelly off tiny hands and licks up tears when someone scrapes a knee. He is a true friend and protector.
So now, when Charlie gets on my nerves, I just remind myself that whatever he is doing, he is doing it with love. What more could anyone want? Another true lesson I’ve learned from my great, white Westie-Wolf.
We’ve had Charlie for a little over 2 years now, having adopted him when he was one. He is a special needs dog, and nobody really had the patience for him. His over-exuberance could be annoying to some, and the fact that he seemed to be channeling Tigger, the tiger from Winnie the Pooh, sealed his fate. He was a lap dog that wasn’t supposed to be a lap dog, and somehow he ended up adopting us.
There are two theories that I always take into account when I start getting frustrated with Charlie. The first one is: dogs and their owners are very much alike. The second one is: when someone really annoys you, take a good look at yourself. Those two thoughts always humble me when I get frustrated with Charles. This is a dog that can dance like no one is watching, laugh until he cries and eat with utter abandon. He takes his job of ridding the world of squirrels one by one very seriously, and loves to cuddle on our big chair by the fire – stretching out and snoozing with not a care in the world.
Some of Charlie’s traits I look at with envy. Others I can so relate to. Like forgetting his obedience commands. How can I get angry with him when he forgets to “stay”, when I can’t even remember where I put my reading glasses? How can I push him off my lap when he wants to be held - when truly, sometimes that’s all I want too? How can I get mad and push him down when he dances with joy when I get home from work; wanting to touch me and tell me how much he has missed me?
The main difference between the two of us is that Charlie doesn’t stop to think. He just does. Charlie doesn’t care what other people think. He just is. Charlie lives his life with total abandon and love. He lives in the now, and doesn’t worry about what lies ahead. He doesn’t regret about the past. I never see Charlie pouting because he still hasn’t caught one of the squirrels that taunt him from the yard. He just keeps trying, certain one of these days, one of those squirrels is going down.
As much of an energizer bunny he can be, he is so sweet and gentle with our granddaughters. He will patiently sit in the princess castle/tent, and gladly wear crowns and play with Barbie. He is very much a gentleman when fed a piece of hotdog or cheese. When the princesses finally wind down, Charlie is right there beside them, head on their knee, watching Sponge Bob. He carefully cleans peanut butter and jelly off tiny hands and licks up tears when someone scrapes a knee. He is a true friend and protector.
So now, when Charlie gets on my nerves, I just remind myself that whatever he is doing, he is doing it with love. What more could anyone want? Another true lesson I’ve learned from my great, white Westie-Wolf.
Monday, February 7, 2011
My Imaginary Friend
So, I have this friend I’d like you to meet. She’s an imaginary friend, actually. But before you go judging, let me first introduce you to her – then I will explain.
Her name is Makena…which in Africa means “the happy one”. Makena is from a very small African Village. I don’t know a whole lot about her tribe, except what she wants to share. She and I are the same age, and we are also both grandmothers. That is pretty much where the similarities end.
Makena, besides being my imaginary friend, is also often my voice of reason. She and I have some marvelous conversations. Thankfully they are normally carried on inside my head, where nobody else can hear them.
I tend to vent to Makena. It’s like having coffee with her. So the other day, I was complaining to Makena about our ice storm.
“It was freezing”, I was telling her. “The ice was heavy on the wires and that caused us to lose electricity. We didn’t have lights, hot water or cable TV. It was horrendous.”
“Oh, I totally understand”, said Makena. “The other day the large and heavy bucket that I use to haul our water 3 miles one way had a very large hole in it, so we were without clean water for two days. Not to mention our firewood source is low and I could not warm the water for the rock soup I intended to make for dinner.”
“Oh, that is bad. I can’t imagine. Life sure is tough! I mean I couldn’t watch American Idol or warm up my tea in the microwave. The roads were so bad that the pizza delivery people weren’t working. I even had to pile on an extra blanket to stay warm. What a pain!”
“Oh, my poor friend. I can’t imagine how you handled it. I can relate though. We had a theft in the village the other day. They took our animal skins we use at night for warmth and the torches we use to light our hut. Why would anyone do such a thing? And I know that weather can be our friend, but I also know the weather gods will punish us and test us. Such is your ice storm. You were without your necessities; just like the flood we endured last month. It swept away our belongings and drowned our goats. I am so sorry about your ice storm. It must have been so very hard for you to endure.”
“It was terrible, Makena. You don’t know the half of it. But thanks for listening. I feel better when I can complain to you.”
“You can talk to me anytime you wish, Karen. I am glad I can help. Although I cannot relate to your world, I can truly understand how tough you must have it. Such suffering you must endure. I will listen and try to understand. You have it so much tougher than I…but I will always try to empathize, even if I can’t relate.”
“Thanks Makena. I’m glad somebody will listen to me. Thanks for being there.”
Authors note: Makena will be a recurring character as this writer shares all the hardships she must endure living in Middle America in 2011. She is my reality check…and I’m glad I could share her with you.
Her name is Makena…which in Africa means “the happy one”. Makena is from a very small African Village. I don’t know a whole lot about her tribe, except what she wants to share. She and I are the same age, and we are also both grandmothers. That is pretty much where the similarities end.
Makena, besides being my imaginary friend, is also often my voice of reason. She and I have some marvelous conversations. Thankfully they are normally carried on inside my head, where nobody else can hear them.
I tend to vent to Makena. It’s like having coffee with her. So the other day, I was complaining to Makena about our ice storm.
“It was freezing”, I was telling her. “The ice was heavy on the wires and that caused us to lose electricity. We didn’t have lights, hot water or cable TV. It was horrendous.”
“Oh, I totally understand”, said Makena. “The other day the large and heavy bucket that I use to haul our water 3 miles one way had a very large hole in it, so we were without clean water for two days. Not to mention our firewood source is low and I could not warm the water for the rock soup I intended to make for dinner.”
“Oh, that is bad. I can’t imagine. Life sure is tough! I mean I couldn’t watch American Idol or warm up my tea in the microwave. The roads were so bad that the pizza delivery people weren’t working. I even had to pile on an extra blanket to stay warm. What a pain!”
“Oh, my poor friend. I can’t imagine how you handled it. I can relate though. We had a theft in the village the other day. They took our animal skins we use at night for warmth and the torches we use to light our hut. Why would anyone do such a thing? And I know that weather can be our friend, but I also know the weather gods will punish us and test us. Such is your ice storm. You were without your necessities; just like the flood we endured last month. It swept away our belongings and drowned our goats. I am so sorry about your ice storm. It must have been so very hard for you to endure.”
“It was terrible, Makena. You don’t know the half of it. But thanks for listening. I feel better when I can complain to you.”
“You can talk to me anytime you wish, Karen. I am glad I can help. Although I cannot relate to your world, I can truly understand how tough you must have it. Such suffering you must endure. I will listen and try to understand. You have it so much tougher than I…but I will always try to empathize, even if I can’t relate.”
“Thanks Makena. I’m glad somebody will listen to me. Thanks for being there.”
Authors note: Makena will be a recurring character as this writer shares all the hardships she must endure living in Middle America in 2011. She is my reality check…and I’m glad I could share her with you.
W.I.N.O.S
I admit it. I am a wino. Oh, not that kind. Actually, W.I.N.O.S. is an acronym. Now there are those that know me that would attest that I fit the other description for wino, but that is another story.
The W.I.N.O.S. I am referring to stands for Women In Need Of Shopping. I guess both types of winos would be considered an addiction, but at least with shopping the residual effects are not quite as bad....meaning no hangover involved. Oh maybe a possible headache that accompanies potential buyers remorse. Or getting home and finding out that the fantastic outfit you bought doesn’t look nearly as good as it did under the shocking florescent lights of the dressing room. But that headache has a much easier remedy that involves saving your receipt and returning the merchandise. No Advil needed.
Shopping, in its' true state, is quite similar to a sport. Depending on the circumstances it's a combo of horse racing, hockey and football. Of course there aren’t any referees, and unfortunately no safety gear is used. It can be a contact sport at times, and is definitely one that can be an “at your own risk” type of game. Especially when there is a huge sale involved.
I like to think am a very courteous shopper. I don't push, shove, pull or grab. I don't yell. But others do. Trust me. Take for instance around Valentine’s Day. Usually in mid-February, Christmas is but a memory and people are shopping for cruise clothing, Valentine’s Day surprises and even an outfit or two to get them through spring fever. Mid-February also means that the Christmas decorations have been marked down so low the store will pay you to take them home. Normally, this means the decorations are ones that you would never consider purchasing. But when marked down to 90% off the original price, all of a sudden beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and bargain shoppers get a little bit nasty. Last week I had an encounter with one such shopper. I was glancing at an ornament that looked like it involved two dogs of an unknown or as of yet undiscovered breed juggling candy canes. It was dated 2008. As I was looking it over, pondering what kind of person would care to buy such a thing - even at the marked down price of 80 cents – a woman snatched it right out of my hands. That’s all it took. My adrenaline kicked in and the game was on. Oh, it didn’t matter if the candy cane had been chipped and the dogs looked like they had rabies. I needed that ornament. In hindsight, I suppose I didn’t handle myself in the ladylike manner I should have, because the store manager escorted the two of us out to our cars. The other woman gleefully smiled as she climbed into her car, believing she “won” because she had acquired the larger half of the dog ornament. Seems I got the last laugh, however. As she leaned in her car to put her packages away, the other half of the ornament, the black dog with a scary face, smiled at me from the back folds of her winter coat. As far as I know, no medical help was needed to remove it.
Yes, shopping is a sport. I can get just as high (finding the perfect dress) or low (in two sizes too small) as someone carrying a football over the goal line. Just like the other type of winos, I know there is a 12-step program for shop-a-holics. However, since admitting the problem is the first step, I won’t be joining either one in the near future. As with everything, there is a fine line between “want” and “need”. For now, I choose to go with the mantra of my heroes, Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble: “Charge It!”
The W.I.N.O.S. I am referring to stands for Women In Need Of Shopping. I guess both types of winos would be considered an addiction, but at least with shopping the residual effects are not quite as bad....meaning no hangover involved. Oh maybe a possible headache that accompanies potential buyers remorse. Or getting home and finding out that the fantastic outfit you bought doesn’t look nearly as good as it did under the shocking florescent lights of the dressing room. But that headache has a much easier remedy that involves saving your receipt and returning the merchandise. No Advil needed.
Shopping, in its' true state, is quite similar to a sport. Depending on the circumstances it's a combo of horse racing, hockey and football. Of course there aren’t any referees, and unfortunately no safety gear is used. It can be a contact sport at times, and is definitely one that can be an “at your own risk” type of game. Especially when there is a huge sale involved.
I like to think am a very courteous shopper. I don't push, shove, pull or grab. I don't yell. But others do. Trust me. Take for instance around Valentine’s Day. Usually in mid-February, Christmas is but a memory and people are shopping for cruise clothing, Valentine’s Day surprises and even an outfit or two to get them through spring fever. Mid-February also means that the Christmas decorations have been marked down so low the store will pay you to take them home. Normally, this means the decorations are ones that you would never consider purchasing. But when marked down to 90% off the original price, all of a sudden beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and bargain shoppers get a little bit nasty. Last week I had an encounter with one such shopper. I was glancing at an ornament that looked like it involved two dogs of an unknown or as of yet undiscovered breed juggling candy canes. It was dated 2008. As I was looking it over, pondering what kind of person would care to buy such a thing - even at the marked down price of 80 cents – a woman snatched it right out of my hands. That’s all it took. My adrenaline kicked in and the game was on. Oh, it didn’t matter if the candy cane had been chipped and the dogs looked like they had rabies. I needed that ornament. In hindsight, I suppose I didn’t handle myself in the ladylike manner I should have, because the store manager escorted the two of us out to our cars. The other woman gleefully smiled as she climbed into her car, believing she “won” because she had acquired the larger half of the dog ornament. Seems I got the last laugh, however. As she leaned in her car to put her packages away, the other half of the ornament, the black dog with a scary face, smiled at me from the back folds of her winter coat. As far as I know, no medical help was needed to remove it.
Yes, shopping is a sport. I can get just as high (finding the perfect dress) or low (in two sizes too small) as someone carrying a football over the goal line. Just like the other type of winos, I know there is a 12-step program for shop-a-holics. However, since admitting the problem is the first step, I won’t be joining either one in the near future. As with everything, there is a fine line between “want” and “need”. For now, I choose to go with the mantra of my heroes, Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble: “Charge It!”
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Dead (Beat) of Winter
I am not sure if I like the phrase “dead of winter.” Yes, I know it alludes to the coldest time of the year. And I know that when everything goes into hibernation, including humans, we all get a zombie like glaze that is quite common in the Midwest area. But even dead zombies don’t really appear dead.
I firmly believe in the disorder called SADD – Suddenly our Action Definitely Declines. It’s a natural phenomenon that occurs somewhere between the first bowl touchdown and the final markdown sale of Christmas items. We become total slugs. Our goal is to nest, stay warm, eat chili and perfect the art of being a couch potato.
The dead of winter is not really a fun time. The sun goes down by noon, reruns are on television, static runs amuck in hair and clothing, we have to wear ugly boots with our cute dresses and my dogs track in more mud, snow and ice than a polar bear hunting in a frozen bog.
Sure there are those that still go to the gym. There are those that jog with their parkas and ear muffs on. There are even those crazy people that swim in the freezing cold water of the local YMCA. But I tend to go along with the intelligent brown bear: eat as much as you can, kick the children out, bury yourself in a warm cave, and sleep until spring. All I need is a fireplace, a bottle of red wine, my dog to keep my feet warm and a great book and winter can keep on keeping on.
But, just as I start getting very comfortable being a slug – just as the term “complacent” becomes my mantra, nature steps in and kicks me out of my reverie. After a long bout of very short, dark and dreary days, dull grey skies and bad movies on the Lifetime channel, something magical happens. The sky starts dumping snow. Lots and lots of beautiful, shining, pristine white snow. Snow perfect for sledding, building snowmen, skiing, building snow forts, and hiking with the dogs. It beckons for us to don our colorful hats, scarves and mittens and come out and play. It magically covers the grey and brightens up the landscape. It coats the pine trees like powdered sugar and makes the hills and slopes look like a whipped cream delight. It gets neighbors out helping each other shovel, happy to catch up.
So even though we may return to our zombie like trances and will have to wear bronzer so we won’t look like Robert Patterson, for now, the snow is calling. It’s time to get outside and laugh and play and burn some calories….because old man winter isn’t quite finished with the dreariness yet.
I firmly believe in the disorder called SADD – Suddenly our Action Definitely Declines. It’s a natural phenomenon that occurs somewhere between the first bowl touchdown and the final markdown sale of Christmas items. We become total slugs. Our goal is to nest, stay warm, eat chili and perfect the art of being a couch potato.
The dead of winter is not really a fun time. The sun goes down by noon, reruns are on television, static runs amuck in hair and clothing, we have to wear ugly boots with our cute dresses and my dogs track in more mud, snow and ice than a polar bear hunting in a frozen bog.
Sure there are those that still go to the gym. There are those that jog with their parkas and ear muffs on. There are even those crazy people that swim in the freezing cold water of the local YMCA. But I tend to go along with the intelligent brown bear: eat as much as you can, kick the children out, bury yourself in a warm cave, and sleep until spring. All I need is a fireplace, a bottle of red wine, my dog to keep my feet warm and a great book and winter can keep on keeping on.
But, just as I start getting very comfortable being a slug – just as the term “complacent” becomes my mantra, nature steps in and kicks me out of my reverie. After a long bout of very short, dark and dreary days, dull grey skies and bad movies on the Lifetime channel, something magical happens. The sky starts dumping snow. Lots and lots of beautiful, shining, pristine white snow. Snow perfect for sledding, building snowmen, skiing, building snow forts, and hiking with the dogs. It beckons for us to don our colorful hats, scarves and mittens and come out and play. It magically covers the grey and brightens up the landscape. It coats the pine trees like powdered sugar and makes the hills and slopes look like a whipped cream delight. It gets neighbors out helping each other shovel, happy to catch up.
So even though we may return to our zombie like trances and will have to wear bronzer so we won’t look like Robert Patterson, for now, the snow is calling. It’s time to get outside and laugh and play and burn some calories….because old man winter isn’t quite finished with the dreariness yet.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The "R" Word - New Years Goals or - Bacon Rules!
Ok, here it comes. The “R” word. It’s the first day of 2011, and I am setting goals and making promises to myself. I really don’t like the word “resolution” because it undoubtedly involves failure – and usually deprivation of some sort. Hence, the word goals.
My first goal is pretty simple: Eat bacon. I have been depriving myself of this major food group for 12 years. As a quasi-vegetarian I would eat lots of fish and at times dip my toe into the “fowl” arena, but chose not to eat red meat, pork and yes – definitely no bacon. Oh, a time or two I would splurge on turkey bacon – and I always had tofu bacon on hand. (You can’t lie about something like that). Trust me; a fake BLT is not my favorite summertime food. But something magical happened to me a couple of days ago. I was having dinner with a good friend of mine and we ordered blue cheese smothered homemade potato chips topped with huge chunks of real bacon bits. (Oh yes, so very good). Normally I would order them sans bacon. It was habit. But I forgot to say “no bacon please”. And when they arrived, I grabbed a loaded chip and popped it in my mouth without even thinking. And a party ensued. My mouth loved every second, and some kind of sensor was sending euphoric signals to my brain. Bacon! I had deprived myself of this wonderful food group for 12 long years! No more. I felt like that little dog on the TV commercial. Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
I will still be mainly a fishetarian but with one minor exception – I will be adding bacon to the mix. I have done a little research on the subject. Bacon contains Vitamin B1, B12, Zinc & Selenium. National Bacon Day is held the Saturday before Labor Day. The most popular flavors include: hickory, maple, applewood and mesquite. I now have heard about chocolate covered bacon, bacon flavored ice cream and bacon martinis. Brings a whole new meaning to the term “sweet and salty” – but the older I become I have learned to “never say never”. Which is why I ordered a T-shirt that says “Bacon is Meat Candy”. Ahhhh - and it is, it really is.
I really only have one other goal besides eating bacon – and that is to move my body more (I don’t like the word exercise). The two goals really are a perfect match. The second goal allows me to enjoy the first goal even more.
I guess I realized, after 12 years of silliness, that bacon really does make everything better. So, Happy New Year everyone – and - in the words of Homer Simpson, “MMMMM, Bacon”.
My first goal is pretty simple: Eat bacon. I have been depriving myself of this major food group for 12 years. As a quasi-vegetarian I would eat lots of fish and at times dip my toe into the “fowl” arena, but chose not to eat red meat, pork and yes – definitely no bacon. Oh, a time or two I would splurge on turkey bacon – and I always had tofu bacon on hand. (You can’t lie about something like that). Trust me; a fake BLT is not my favorite summertime food. But something magical happened to me a couple of days ago. I was having dinner with a good friend of mine and we ordered blue cheese smothered homemade potato chips topped with huge chunks of real bacon bits. (Oh yes, so very good). Normally I would order them sans bacon. It was habit. But I forgot to say “no bacon please”. And when they arrived, I grabbed a loaded chip and popped it in my mouth without even thinking. And a party ensued. My mouth loved every second, and some kind of sensor was sending euphoric signals to my brain. Bacon! I had deprived myself of this wonderful food group for 12 long years! No more. I felt like that little dog on the TV commercial. Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!
I will still be mainly a fishetarian but with one minor exception – I will be adding bacon to the mix. I have done a little research on the subject. Bacon contains Vitamin B1, B12, Zinc & Selenium. National Bacon Day is held the Saturday before Labor Day. The most popular flavors include: hickory, maple, applewood and mesquite. I now have heard about chocolate covered bacon, bacon flavored ice cream and bacon martinis. Brings a whole new meaning to the term “sweet and salty” – but the older I become I have learned to “never say never”. Which is why I ordered a T-shirt that says “Bacon is Meat Candy”. Ahhhh - and it is, it really is.
I really only have one other goal besides eating bacon – and that is to move my body more (I don’t like the word exercise). The two goals really are a perfect match. The second goal allows me to enjoy the first goal even more.
I guess I realized, after 12 years of silliness, that bacon really does make everything better. So, Happy New Year everyone – and - in the words of Homer Simpson, “MMMMM, Bacon”.
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