Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
It's Alive, It's Alive! I'm choosing to embrace my hometown....
“It’s Alive! It’s Alive! It’s Alive!”
This is probably one of the most classic lines ever from a horror movie. And yet, I found myself repeating these same lines over and over this past Sunday while walking the streets of the Oregon District.
For years, everyone from Forbes Magazine to our own media touted that Dayton, Ohio was a dying city. With the loss of the GM and Delphi plants, many large corporations and more, it was almost like people were giving up hope – that there was no reason to even try. Ask almost anyone how they felt about Dayton and the entire Miami Valley, and the general consensus was, “I can’t wait to get the heck outta here.”
Slowly but surely, we are pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps. Slowly but surely, we are – once again – rebuilding our great city. In the aftermath of the flood of 1913, all the residents, near and far, rallied around each other, and helped put together the town, piece by piece, brick by brick.
This time around the re-building may not be as literal as it was after the flood, but the results of the damage were almost as devastating. Apathy seemed to be the common denominator. People took a “why bother” stance.
But something great was happening in the background. Positive energy and forward thinking and visions were brewing underneath the complacency and negativity. There were enough people around that loved Dayton, and that felt strongly enough about the culture, the people and the future, that good things started happening.
As a town that has one of the best arts, music, nightlife and park systems around, people starting re-discovering why they loved this area in the first place.
The “Dayton is Ok – if you’ve never been anywhere else” stickers were being torn down. The wonderful positive attitude of the few started spreading to the many. Our town started a re-birth. And most everyone was drawn to the potential and that we could have an “It’s Great in Dayton” attitude once more.
This past Sunday, at the First Four Festival, I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop looking around at all the people that had come to celebrate not just basketball, but something bigger than that. Something you just can’t name. We were a town again. We were a city to be proud of. Our businesses and our politicians and Wright Pat Air Force Base came together with the Downtown Dayton Partnership and the Dayton Development Coalition to put on a party that celebrated so many things: community, college basketball, families, friends, survival and re-birth. And what a party it was.
Dayton, Ohio isn’t just the Birthplace of Aviation and the home of so many visionaries, inventors and more. More than that, Dayton is a just wonderful place to call home.
This is probably one of the most classic lines ever from a horror movie. And yet, I found myself repeating these same lines over and over this past Sunday while walking the streets of the Oregon District.
For years, everyone from Forbes Magazine to our own media touted that Dayton, Ohio was a dying city. With the loss of the GM and Delphi plants, many large corporations and more, it was almost like people were giving up hope – that there was no reason to even try. Ask almost anyone how they felt about Dayton and the entire Miami Valley, and the general consensus was, “I can’t wait to get the heck outta here.”
Slowly but surely, we are pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps. Slowly but surely, we are – once again – rebuilding our great city. In the aftermath of the flood of 1913, all the residents, near and far, rallied around each other, and helped put together the town, piece by piece, brick by brick.
This time around the re-building may not be as literal as it was after the flood, but the results of the damage were almost as devastating. Apathy seemed to be the common denominator. People took a “why bother” stance.
But something great was happening in the background. Positive energy and forward thinking and visions were brewing underneath the complacency and negativity. There were enough people around that loved Dayton, and that felt strongly enough about the culture, the people and the future, that good things started happening.
As a town that has one of the best arts, music, nightlife and park systems around, people starting re-discovering why they loved this area in the first place.
The “Dayton is Ok – if you’ve never been anywhere else” stickers were being torn down. The wonderful positive attitude of the few started spreading to the many. Our town started a re-birth. And most everyone was drawn to the potential and that we could have an “It’s Great in Dayton” attitude once more.
This past Sunday, at the First Four Festival, I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t stop looking around at all the people that had come to celebrate not just basketball, but something bigger than that. Something you just can’t name. We were a town again. We were a city to be proud of. Our businesses and our politicians and Wright Pat Air Force Base came together with the Downtown Dayton Partnership and the Dayton Development Coalition to put on a party that celebrated so many things: community, college basketball, families, friends, survival and re-birth. And what a party it was.
Dayton, Ohio isn’t just the Birthplace of Aviation and the home of so many visionaries, inventors and more. More than that, Dayton is a just wonderful place to call home.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Exuberance Trumps Caution
“Sometimes your exuberance over-rides your brain.”
This was my husband, speaking to our dog Charlie when he made a failed attempt at jumping up on top of a fairly high chair. Luckily he wasn’t hurt – he never is. I had to laugh though, because it made me think of all the times I’ve done that very thing.
There are many times in my life where the actual idea far outweighs the intended goal. I have no doubt you can relate. As I look back, I’ve had many exuberant ideas that really sounded great – at the time. From failed attempts at jumping a bike over a backyard bench (sorry mom) to the almost relief that my last minute sky-diving lesson had been cancelled due to high winds.
I don’t think I go through life with blinders on; it’s more like rose colored glasses. At the time, almost every idea is a good one. When I am drinking a glass of wine, my ideas aren’t just good, they are utterly fantastic. I’ve planned parties, trips, businesses, another child, new careers, additions to our four-legged clan and the end to world hunger - all over some cabernet.
I’ve watched my children go through the stages of trial and error, as I know you have. They thought that the idea of eating crayons, drinking an entire gallon of milk while standing up at the refrigerator or climbing a fence with barbed wire at the top all sounded like a great idea, yet the end result had some pretty good repercussions. My granddaughters are starting to follow suit, although I do notice that one of them was born with the “caution gene” where the other two are more “throw caution to the wind”. Both are great, but don’t worry – I’m sure I will be able to loosen up the “caution gene”.
I watch my dogs do the same. Apparently they can’t see color, and don’t realize that the fly they’ve chased and are about to swallow is actually a bee. Or when you eat all of the stuffing out of your chew toy, the law of “what goes in must come out” suddenly applies.
I guess I belong to the “jump first, ask questions later” club. Those of you that are members understand that we were born this way, and sometimes common sense just never seems to factor into the equation.
Most of the time, the end results are fine. Or I actually do think about it and realize that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all. Thank God. Otherwise I’d have a child entering kindergarten right now, and I’d be living on a farm raising pot-bellied pigs.
In my world, exuberance trumps caution every time. I may have forgotten one thing though – and it’s quite important. Just as children have their parents, I too am blessed to have my own safety net – in the form of a much grounded husband.
This was my husband, speaking to our dog Charlie when he made a failed attempt at jumping up on top of a fairly high chair. Luckily he wasn’t hurt – he never is. I had to laugh though, because it made me think of all the times I’ve done that very thing.
There are many times in my life where the actual idea far outweighs the intended goal. I have no doubt you can relate. As I look back, I’ve had many exuberant ideas that really sounded great – at the time. From failed attempts at jumping a bike over a backyard bench (sorry mom) to the almost relief that my last minute sky-diving lesson had been cancelled due to high winds.
I don’t think I go through life with blinders on; it’s more like rose colored glasses. At the time, almost every idea is a good one. When I am drinking a glass of wine, my ideas aren’t just good, they are utterly fantastic. I’ve planned parties, trips, businesses, another child, new careers, additions to our four-legged clan and the end to world hunger - all over some cabernet.
I’ve watched my children go through the stages of trial and error, as I know you have. They thought that the idea of eating crayons, drinking an entire gallon of milk while standing up at the refrigerator or climbing a fence with barbed wire at the top all sounded like a great idea, yet the end result had some pretty good repercussions. My granddaughters are starting to follow suit, although I do notice that one of them was born with the “caution gene” where the other two are more “throw caution to the wind”. Both are great, but don’t worry – I’m sure I will be able to loosen up the “caution gene”.
I watch my dogs do the same. Apparently they can’t see color, and don’t realize that the fly they’ve chased and are about to swallow is actually a bee. Or when you eat all of the stuffing out of your chew toy, the law of “what goes in must come out” suddenly applies.
I guess I belong to the “jump first, ask questions later” club. Those of you that are members understand that we were born this way, and sometimes common sense just never seems to factor into the equation.
Most of the time, the end results are fine. Or I actually do think about it and realize that maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all. Thank God. Otherwise I’d have a child entering kindergarten right now, and I’d be living on a farm raising pot-bellied pigs.
In my world, exuberance trumps caution every time. I may have forgotten one thing though – and it’s quite important. Just as children have their parents, I too am blessed to have my own safety net – in the form of a much grounded husband.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Modern (?) Recycling
In this day and age, it is oh so politically and ethically correct to be Green. So much so, that I believe all of you know I am talking about recycling and not Kermit. Recycling should be a habit by now, and by observing most around me, I believe it is.
Being green is much more than trash, however. I actually found out that I was green before green was even cool. (For you country fans, there’s a song in there…) I have been recycling my clothes forever. I found out a long time ago I have a knack for consignment stores and the Goodwill. I seriously have a hard time buying retail, even when I want to spend the money. Don’t worry, I still give back and do my part in re-vitalizing our economy – since I can’t figure out how to recycle a good bottle of wine or a great meal out.
Lately, I have tried to be creative with my recycling – and have certainly looked way out of the box. On some things, old is the “new” new. Take my house – it’s the ultimate green project. I live in a rehabbed home that is 100 years old. If that’s not recycling, I don’t know what is! Same with some of the furniture inside it. I am not normally an antiques kind of girl. I don’t thrive on shopping and hunting for old things and I have no idea what the value of anything old should or could be. But I’ve found that when I use my intuition, there are some wonderful old pieces out there that have just screamed to be a part of my household. And these pieces, acquired from Craigslist, consignment stores, and yes, antique shops, all have wonderful stories all their own. Take my new dining room table. It’s an old oak pedestal table we bought for $20 – just for an interim table, we said, until we find the one we really want. Well, this table decided that it wanted to stay in our home. Not unlike a stray dog or cat, it has been on its’ best behavior for us. Every table cloth, every center piece, every plate or platter placed on the table is welcomed with love and looks like it was meant to be there. I was able to find wonderful chairs for $10 each – beautiful high back chairs that look perfect with the table. They absorbed the joy of the room and they now are keepers as well. Both the table and the chairs came from families with very young children. I was able to get the crayon marks and spaghetti stains off of them, but the happy energy of youth still remains.
Having this house makes me want to try harder to be more responsible for our earth. It makes me want to rejoice in the memories behind me and try harder to keep the planet green for more years ahead. I have a sign that says “Our house is not decorated – it is a display of our favorite things.” And that is pretty much what it is – an eclectic collection of wonderful things that seem to just fit together and want to live with us.
So every step of the way, as I acquire new/old items, antiques and lots and lots of plants, my house keeps smiling bigger and bigger. I refuse to think my home doesn’t give off a positive energy feel, for indeed it does – and many have felt it.
I would like to think that because of all our efforts to reuse and recycle, our planet – and not just our home – will be smiling for hundreds and thousands of years to come. For just like the earth, everything that I have, everything that lives with us – is not owned. It is just on loan, given to us with the hope that we will take good care of it so it can be loved and enjoyed for many generations to come.
Thank you, old home. Thank you, mother earth. Thank you loving beings that care enough to have this circle of life continue on.
Being green is much more than trash, however. I actually found out that I was green before green was even cool. (For you country fans, there’s a song in there…) I have been recycling my clothes forever. I found out a long time ago I have a knack for consignment stores and the Goodwill. I seriously have a hard time buying retail, even when I want to spend the money. Don’t worry, I still give back and do my part in re-vitalizing our economy – since I can’t figure out how to recycle a good bottle of wine or a great meal out.
Lately, I have tried to be creative with my recycling – and have certainly looked way out of the box. On some things, old is the “new” new. Take my house – it’s the ultimate green project. I live in a rehabbed home that is 100 years old. If that’s not recycling, I don’t know what is! Same with some of the furniture inside it. I am not normally an antiques kind of girl. I don’t thrive on shopping and hunting for old things and I have no idea what the value of anything old should or could be. But I’ve found that when I use my intuition, there are some wonderful old pieces out there that have just screamed to be a part of my household. And these pieces, acquired from Craigslist, consignment stores, and yes, antique shops, all have wonderful stories all their own. Take my new dining room table. It’s an old oak pedestal table we bought for $20 – just for an interim table, we said, until we find the one we really want. Well, this table decided that it wanted to stay in our home. Not unlike a stray dog or cat, it has been on its’ best behavior for us. Every table cloth, every center piece, every plate or platter placed on the table is welcomed with love and looks like it was meant to be there. I was able to find wonderful chairs for $10 each – beautiful high back chairs that look perfect with the table. They absorbed the joy of the room and they now are keepers as well. Both the table and the chairs came from families with very young children. I was able to get the crayon marks and spaghetti stains off of them, but the happy energy of youth still remains.
Having this house makes me want to try harder to be more responsible for our earth. It makes me want to rejoice in the memories behind me and try harder to keep the planet green for more years ahead. I have a sign that says “Our house is not decorated – it is a display of our favorite things.” And that is pretty much what it is – an eclectic collection of wonderful things that seem to just fit together and want to live with us.
So every step of the way, as I acquire new/old items, antiques and lots and lots of plants, my house keeps smiling bigger and bigger. I refuse to think my home doesn’t give off a positive energy feel, for indeed it does – and many have felt it.
I would like to think that because of all our efforts to reuse and recycle, our planet – and not just our home – will be smiling for hundreds and thousands of years to come. For just like the earth, everything that I have, everything that lives with us – is not owned. It is just on loan, given to us with the hope that we will take good care of it so it can be loved and enjoyed for many generations to come.
Thank you, old home. Thank you, mother earth. Thank you loving beings that care enough to have this circle of life continue on.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Sleep? Who needs it. Blaming it all on the men in my life...
It seems that I’ve not had a good night sleep for about three decades. And I blame it all on the men in my life. First it was my first born son. Just like any new mommy, I got about 30 minutes of sleep a night. Between feedings, diaper changes and getting up just to make sure he was breathing, I didn’t seem to occupy my bed very often. When he finally was old enough for me to actually attempt to sleep an entire 3 or 4 hours, I was pregnant with his little brother and the cycle began all over again.
Moms were made to sleep with one ear open, and I did just that. I would wake up with every cough, every cry and every request for a glass of water. I soothed bad dreams, read one last story, calmed one last fear and listened to wonderful accounts of amazing ball games. I stayed up way past midnight to bake cupcakes that had to be taken to school the next day (even though they’d known about it for weeks) and spent many a night with David Letterman, putting together last minute touches on science projects. I did laundry at 2am because the baseball uniform wasn’t ready for the big game. I helped address Valentine cards, coached them to memorize words to the Christmas show and tried concoct a witch’s costume late one night so I could be the cool room mom for Halloween.
But it didn’t end when they started sleeping through the night. No, I still didn’t get any sleep. Because then it was waiting for them to get home after the first night having a drivers license. Of listening for the front door to sneak open and click shut because they missed their curfew for the senior prom. I sat waiting for phone calls assuring me they’d arrived safely at camp. And let’s not forget the sleep-overs. Those boys had stamina. They’d stay up all night playing cards and ping pong and video games – grateful for the 2am snack I’d conjure up for the crew. They’d play the movies low, but still I could hear the laughter and the wrestling, long into the wee hours of the morning.
When the bear cubs went away to college or moved out, the entire night sleep scenario didn’t always last. When they came back home, I still slept with one ear open waiting for the front door to close and lock. When they drove back to their respective apartments, I didn’t sleep until I got the “I’m home safe, mom” text.
Even though the kids have all moved out, I still don’t get my beauty sleep. No, now there are other men that impair my potential good night’s sleep. These men are the ones that snore throughout the night. One has two legs, the other has four and lots of fur. They move around, steal covers and generally take up the whole bed.
I wouldn’t trade any of the experiences in my life that have caused me lack of sleep. The joys way out weigh the under eye bags. In fact, sleeplessness seems to have become a habit after all these years, since I have more “men” in my life keeping me awake. Yes, this time it’s the lovely joy of menopause. It’s like having a baby all over again – I wake up automatically at 3am. Instead of the joy of cuddling and feeding my little boys, I am greeted by night sweats and the probability that I won’t fall back asleep until 15 minutes before the alarm is set to go off.
I have calculated that because of all these men in my life, I’ve probably actually only had a week’s worth of a full nights rest for the past 30 years. Most of the men are calming down. And it’s a good thing, because I have three little women in my life that are going to take their place. Thank goodness for menopause – it’s keeping me caught up on my lack of sleep. I will now be already be up at 3am when my granddaughters are visiting and need a drink of water or have a bad dream. Yes, I do believe I can blame these under eye circles on all the men in my life. In all honesty, I wouldn’t trade all the sleep in the world for my life with all my wonderful men. Who needs sleep, anyway? Like the song by Aerosmith says – “I don’t want close my eyes, don’t want to fall asleep – cause I’d miss you, babe – and I don’t want to miss a thing.”
Moms were made to sleep with one ear open, and I did just that. I would wake up with every cough, every cry and every request for a glass of water. I soothed bad dreams, read one last story, calmed one last fear and listened to wonderful accounts of amazing ball games. I stayed up way past midnight to bake cupcakes that had to be taken to school the next day (even though they’d known about it for weeks) and spent many a night with David Letterman, putting together last minute touches on science projects. I did laundry at 2am because the baseball uniform wasn’t ready for the big game. I helped address Valentine cards, coached them to memorize words to the Christmas show and tried concoct a witch’s costume late one night so I could be the cool room mom for Halloween.
But it didn’t end when they started sleeping through the night. No, I still didn’t get any sleep. Because then it was waiting for them to get home after the first night having a drivers license. Of listening for the front door to sneak open and click shut because they missed their curfew for the senior prom. I sat waiting for phone calls assuring me they’d arrived safely at camp. And let’s not forget the sleep-overs. Those boys had stamina. They’d stay up all night playing cards and ping pong and video games – grateful for the 2am snack I’d conjure up for the crew. They’d play the movies low, but still I could hear the laughter and the wrestling, long into the wee hours of the morning.
When the bear cubs went away to college or moved out, the entire night sleep scenario didn’t always last. When they came back home, I still slept with one ear open waiting for the front door to close and lock. When they drove back to their respective apartments, I didn’t sleep until I got the “I’m home safe, mom” text.
Even though the kids have all moved out, I still don’t get my beauty sleep. No, now there are other men that impair my potential good night’s sleep. These men are the ones that snore throughout the night. One has two legs, the other has four and lots of fur. They move around, steal covers and generally take up the whole bed.
I wouldn’t trade any of the experiences in my life that have caused me lack of sleep. The joys way out weigh the under eye bags. In fact, sleeplessness seems to have become a habit after all these years, since I have more “men” in my life keeping me awake. Yes, this time it’s the lovely joy of menopause. It’s like having a baby all over again – I wake up automatically at 3am. Instead of the joy of cuddling and feeding my little boys, I am greeted by night sweats and the probability that I won’t fall back asleep until 15 minutes before the alarm is set to go off.
I have calculated that because of all these men in my life, I’ve probably actually only had a week’s worth of a full nights rest for the past 30 years. Most of the men are calming down. And it’s a good thing, because I have three little women in my life that are going to take their place. Thank goodness for menopause – it’s keeping me caught up on my lack of sleep. I will now be already be up at 3am when my granddaughters are visiting and need a drink of water or have a bad dream. Yes, I do believe I can blame these under eye circles on all the men in my life. In all honesty, I wouldn’t trade all the sleep in the world for my life with all my wonderful men. Who needs sleep, anyway? Like the song by Aerosmith says – “I don’t want close my eyes, don’t want to fall asleep – cause I’d miss you, babe – and I don’t want to miss a thing.”
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
A Human Mutt
Definition of Mutt: Mongrel; dog of many mixed breeds.
My newest acquisition, Lucy (aka Lulu Belle) is a mutt. At any given time I don’t know if she will wiggle her butt and try to catch Frisbees like an Aussie, hunt for ducks (or squirrels) like a Golden Retriever or sit like a regal queen on a pillow like a Poodle. She’s capable of all three and more, and at times it is amusing to watch her morph from one breed to another right before my eyes. Because of the three breeds, she’s quite intelligent. The breeds work together in her favor I believe. The prima-donna Poodle in her convinces the Australian Sheppard in her that’s it is really a waste of time to actually “jump” up and catch a Frisbee. After a futile attempt of chasing the disk, the Poodle pulls her back and whispers in her ear that it’d be much more fun to get her toenails painted and eat doggie bon-bons. The Golden Retriever in her makes her nose very sensitive, and when she’s running across a field like an Aussie, she’ll stop and smell the tracks of a raccoon like a retriever. She’s a canine Sybil in a black, furry body.
I understand what she is going through, however. Being of mixed decent myself, I too am a mutt with an ever-changing personality. The English in me is quite proper and loves tea and the German in me adores sour kraut and gives me, I believe, excellent work ethics. The Welsh part in me makes me want to swivel my hips and sing “It’s Not Unusual”. I found out mid-life that I also have Irish in me and I was grateful. It explained the sudden love of Guinness and obviously contributes to my perfection of the fine art of “you know what-ing”.
I also have a lot of Southern influences in me, since my dad was born in Alabama. Just the other day I found myself saying, quite loudly: “Well butter my buns and call me a biscuit.” That in itself isn’t such a bad thing, except for the fact that I was in a very quiet and subdued Japanese restaurant (a culture of which I share no qualities at all except that I adore Sushi and Saki). There are times when I wish I had other cultures in me, such as Italian or French – it would really give me a good excuse for this whole wine-drinking thing.
It’s hard for me to get upset with Lulu when she turns mid-stride and decides she’d rather chase the birds than herd them. I mean I can do a 180 in a heartbeat – going from my proper English business mode to my blarney mode as fast as you can say “Cheerio”. I can go from drinking a “spot o tea” to singing Danny Boy in zero to sixty.
I’ve come to embrace my “inner mutt”. I mean most of us are a mix of various heritages. My husband has Native American in him. It explains the way he sits cross legged in front of our fireplace. In hanging out with people that are from different descents I find that I also have acquired many of their attributes. I can speak with my hands just as well as my Italian friends, make my kid feel guilty and make great soup just like my Jewish friends, and can (kinda) dance the hula like my Hawaiian friends. And let’s not even talk about dancing – I have also inherited that gene from somewhere along that large pool.
I’m not going to worry when I have my multi-cultural Sybil mode kick in. It’s why it’s so great to live in this melting pot called America – I’m free to be whoever I want to be (even when I’m not trying). I will only start to worry when I go from drinking tea to chasing sticks and Frisbees. If it does happen, I’m sure it will have nothing to do with the Guinness.
My newest acquisition, Lucy (aka Lulu Belle) is a mutt. At any given time I don’t know if she will wiggle her butt and try to catch Frisbees like an Aussie, hunt for ducks (or squirrels) like a Golden Retriever or sit like a regal queen on a pillow like a Poodle. She’s capable of all three and more, and at times it is amusing to watch her morph from one breed to another right before my eyes. Because of the three breeds, she’s quite intelligent. The breeds work together in her favor I believe. The prima-donna Poodle in her convinces the Australian Sheppard in her that’s it is really a waste of time to actually “jump” up and catch a Frisbee. After a futile attempt of chasing the disk, the Poodle pulls her back and whispers in her ear that it’d be much more fun to get her toenails painted and eat doggie bon-bons. The Golden Retriever in her makes her nose very sensitive, and when she’s running across a field like an Aussie, she’ll stop and smell the tracks of a raccoon like a retriever. She’s a canine Sybil in a black, furry body.
I understand what she is going through, however. Being of mixed decent myself, I too am a mutt with an ever-changing personality. The English in me is quite proper and loves tea and the German in me adores sour kraut and gives me, I believe, excellent work ethics. The Welsh part in me makes me want to swivel my hips and sing “It’s Not Unusual”. I found out mid-life that I also have Irish in me and I was grateful. It explained the sudden love of Guinness and obviously contributes to my perfection of the fine art of “you know what-ing”.
I also have a lot of Southern influences in me, since my dad was born in Alabama. Just the other day I found myself saying, quite loudly: “Well butter my buns and call me a biscuit.” That in itself isn’t such a bad thing, except for the fact that I was in a very quiet and subdued Japanese restaurant (a culture of which I share no qualities at all except that I adore Sushi and Saki). There are times when I wish I had other cultures in me, such as Italian or French – it would really give me a good excuse for this whole wine-drinking thing.
It’s hard for me to get upset with Lulu when she turns mid-stride and decides she’d rather chase the birds than herd them. I mean I can do a 180 in a heartbeat – going from my proper English business mode to my blarney mode as fast as you can say “Cheerio”. I can go from drinking a “spot o tea” to singing Danny Boy in zero to sixty.
I’ve come to embrace my “inner mutt”. I mean most of us are a mix of various heritages. My husband has Native American in him. It explains the way he sits cross legged in front of our fireplace. In hanging out with people that are from different descents I find that I also have acquired many of their attributes. I can speak with my hands just as well as my Italian friends, make my kid feel guilty and make great soup just like my Jewish friends, and can (kinda) dance the hula like my Hawaiian friends. And let’s not even talk about dancing – I have also inherited that gene from somewhere along that large pool.
I’m not going to worry when I have my multi-cultural Sybil mode kick in. It’s why it’s so great to live in this melting pot called America – I’m free to be whoever I want to be (even when I’m not trying). I will only start to worry when I go from drinking tea to chasing sticks and Frisbees. If it does happen, I’m sure it will have nothing to do with the Guinness.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Toddlers - the perfect cleaning solution
I was recently at a local shop that sells bedding, kitchen supplies, dishes, and more. It’s one of those stores that you can find anything or nothing…plus lots of fun stuff you really don’t need. I came across something that actually made me look twice – and then ponder the ultimate possibilities.
It was a kids “toy” snow shovel. Looked just like mom and dad’s, but in a smaller size. The tag said “for playtime only” or something like that. It looked like a perfectly good shovel…truly. So why for “play” only? Why not put that kid outside and let him or her “play” at shoveling the sidewalk. That got me to thinking about all the possibilities.
My almost 4-year-old granddaughter told me that she wanted pretend food, fruit and a shopping cart for her upcoming birthday. Why stop there? Why not give her $125 bucks and let her do some shopping for me? Same with the pretend vacuum cleaner and mop. Seriously? Why waste a perfectly good opportunity for clean floors? Let’s just make smaller sized vacuums and let her go to town. And for my granddaughter that isn’t yet walking, but is a crawling maniac, how about taping two Swiffer’s on the bottom of her knees so she can help me clean my hardwood floors.
Remember Easy Bake Ovens? How about making them a little larger so they can make things besides tasteless brownies? And the pretend sinks are great –but they’d be even better if we could actually add water and let them go to town on the real dirty dishes. (The plastic ones, of course – I’m not THAT crazy…).
They now have stuffed dogs that bark and move and kids can take them for pretend walks. I say put a leash on my two furry friends and let the toddlers have at it. See if they can wear each other down.
Now, there are certain things that should remain just for “play” – like the new iPhone look alikes – and the little computers. I am fine with them pretending to call and email. But unfortunately even the one- year-old knows the difference between the “real” cell phone and the “toy” cell phone. So I still get sticky fingerprints on my keypad no matter what.
I will draw the line at certain items that would be a safety issue. I mean pretend ironing boards should be left as just a toy…after all, what toddler knows how to do a perfect crease anyway? And I don’t think a toddler blender and/or food processor would fly either. (Unless they are planning on making their own baby food –but that’s another story). I think a small leaf blower may fly though – and of course a push broom and dust pan would fit right in as well.
Think of the possibilities! We have Merry Maids and Clean Sweep, why not “Babies and Brooms” or “Tots and Vacs”? Maybe “Dirt-Free Dependents” or “Rugrats Rug Cleaners”. How about “Diaper-wearing Dustbusters”. The possibilities are limitless.
Having kids clean is a great idea except for one thing: it only works if they are having fun and it appears to be a game. They are sneaky and intelligent beings. The minute they realize that they are actually helping clean for real, they’d rather go back to watching Dora. Go figure. I guess my next goal is to learn how to “out sneak” them. Wonder how they’d feel about using a pretend hose to clean my pretend car?
It was a kids “toy” snow shovel. Looked just like mom and dad’s, but in a smaller size. The tag said “for playtime only” or something like that. It looked like a perfectly good shovel…truly. So why for “play” only? Why not put that kid outside and let him or her “play” at shoveling the sidewalk. That got me to thinking about all the possibilities.
My almost 4-year-old granddaughter told me that she wanted pretend food, fruit and a shopping cart for her upcoming birthday. Why stop there? Why not give her $125 bucks and let her do some shopping for me? Same with the pretend vacuum cleaner and mop. Seriously? Why waste a perfectly good opportunity for clean floors? Let’s just make smaller sized vacuums and let her go to town. And for my granddaughter that isn’t yet walking, but is a crawling maniac, how about taping two Swiffer’s on the bottom of her knees so she can help me clean my hardwood floors.
Remember Easy Bake Ovens? How about making them a little larger so they can make things besides tasteless brownies? And the pretend sinks are great –but they’d be even better if we could actually add water and let them go to town on the real dirty dishes. (The plastic ones, of course – I’m not THAT crazy…).
They now have stuffed dogs that bark and move and kids can take them for pretend walks. I say put a leash on my two furry friends and let the toddlers have at it. See if they can wear each other down.
Now, there are certain things that should remain just for “play” – like the new iPhone look alikes – and the little computers. I am fine with them pretending to call and email. But unfortunately even the one- year-old knows the difference between the “real” cell phone and the “toy” cell phone. So I still get sticky fingerprints on my keypad no matter what.
I will draw the line at certain items that would be a safety issue. I mean pretend ironing boards should be left as just a toy…after all, what toddler knows how to do a perfect crease anyway? And I don’t think a toddler blender and/or food processor would fly either. (Unless they are planning on making their own baby food –but that’s another story). I think a small leaf blower may fly though – and of course a push broom and dust pan would fit right in as well.
Think of the possibilities! We have Merry Maids and Clean Sweep, why not “Babies and Brooms” or “Tots and Vacs”? Maybe “Dirt-Free Dependents” or “Rugrats Rug Cleaners”. How about “Diaper-wearing Dustbusters”. The possibilities are limitless.
Having kids clean is a great idea except for one thing: it only works if they are having fun and it appears to be a game. They are sneaky and intelligent beings. The minute they realize that they are actually helping clean for real, they’d rather go back to watching Dora. Go figure. I guess my next goal is to learn how to “out sneak” them. Wonder how they’d feel about using a pretend hose to clean my pretend car?
Monday, January 30, 2012
Life as a City Princess
So, I’m really not much of a princess, I swear. I’m not married to a prince (well, yes, he is Prince
Charming to me, but not in the sovereign sense), nor is my mother the Queen (hmm, maybe I should rethink
that statement as well). As for other definitions, I am not a fairytale princess: I don’t live in a
tower, I’ve never been poisoned by a witch and none of my shoes are made from glass. Conversely, I’m
also not a spoiled rich girl: I take out garbage, buy clothes at a consignment store, do dishes and can bait
a hook.
However, there is an addendum to my first statement. I wear tiaras when playing cards and drinking
whiskey, I have clothing that has feathers on it, and I don’t like to be cold or walk far in the rain (unless
it’s on purpose). So when I moved to the city, I realized right away I had to make some changes; I had to
lose part of my inner princess.
First of all, I live in an artsy area, so thank goodness my wardrobe choices didn’t have to change.
Actually, I found I could get even a little more creative and still not seem too far out there. No, what I
had to change was my attitude.
I’ve never been a city mouse. Actually, I’ve never been a country mouse either, unless you count the
time my ex-husband and I lived on a half-acre of land and had chickens and ducks and tomato plants and
a rooster that annoyed the whole neighborhood. No, I’ve always been a suburbs kinda girl. Sidewalks,
driveways, garages, and neighbors who kept to themselves pretty much - that was the norm of my
existence. Walking to a store or restaurant was unheard of. Walking the dog was the only time I’d
venture out. I would drive home, open the garage, pull the car in, close the garage and walk into the
house. If I went outside it was to sit on our back deck. I saw our neighbors when we’d have a party or
when shoveling snow from a big snowfall. (I guess I should be clear – I watched my husband shovel
snow as I played with the dogs and chatted with the neighbors).
Being a suburb mouse is great. It’s what we all know and feel comfortable with. Being a city mouse is
more of an adventure. It’s a life where you aren’t sure what will come next. It’s a life filled with
scraping ice off of the windshield yourself, because your husband left for work early. And not just ice off
the windshield. Since I wasn’t able to just walk into the garage and jump into my warm, dry car, I had to
navigate down icy steps to do it. Wanting to be safe, I realized I needed to salt the steps. There really
isn’t much salt in those little Morton salt shakers.
Being a city mouse means changing how you look at things. Wanting to totally live outside our comfort
zone, we chose a 100 year old home. Old homes are charming and warm and inviting. Old homes
generally don’t have Jacuzzi bathtubs, basements with bars and a pantry the size of a small bedroom.
Old homes don’t have much closet space. Princesses tend to have large wardrobes. Since I’m not really
a princess, my wardrobe is only kind of large. So two weeks after moving in, I am still trying to find
creative ways to store my clothes, and they are all spread out throughout the house. Soon I will need a
map of the places I have squirreled away my wardrobe. (Note to self: remove belts and hats before
turning on the oven). However, I have found that what I lack in space, I have garnered two-fold in
charm.
Being a city princess isn’t that bad. I know my neighbors better here in two weeks than I ever did in the
‘burbs. I can walk just about anyplace worthwhile. I have a front porch. And I will use it. I already know
my mail carriers name and that she is left-handed. I can put out my used treasures in the alley and the
“pickers” will magically make them disappear. I have found more dog-lovers per square foot than I
knew existed. And best of all, I found out that I am stronger willed than I ever thought I was – and that if
I put my mind to something, I truly can do it. Here’s to a new adventure and here’s to a new type of
princess. And here’s to my 180 shift of the show Green Acres – Hello, City Life!
Charming to me, but not in the sovereign sense), nor is my mother the Queen (hmm, maybe I should rethink
that statement as well). As for other definitions, I am not a fairytale princess: I don’t live in a
tower, I’ve never been poisoned by a witch and none of my shoes are made from glass. Conversely, I’m
also not a spoiled rich girl: I take out garbage, buy clothes at a consignment store, do dishes and can bait
a hook.
However, there is an addendum to my first statement. I wear tiaras when playing cards and drinking
whiskey, I have clothing that has feathers on it, and I don’t like to be cold or walk far in the rain (unless
it’s on purpose). So when I moved to the city, I realized right away I had to make some changes; I had to
lose part of my inner princess.
First of all, I live in an artsy area, so thank goodness my wardrobe choices didn’t have to change.
Actually, I found I could get even a little more creative and still not seem too far out there. No, what I
had to change was my attitude.
I’ve never been a city mouse. Actually, I’ve never been a country mouse either, unless you count the
time my ex-husband and I lived on a half-acre of land and had chickens and ducks and tomato plants and
a rooster that annoyed the whole neighborhood. No, I’ve always been a suburbs kinda girl. Sidewalks,
driveways, garages, and neighbors who kept to themselves pretty much - that was the norm of my
existence. Walking to a store or restaurant was unheard of. Walking the dog was the only time I’d
venture out. I would drive home, open the garage, pull the car in, close the garage and walk into the
house. If I went outside it was to sit on our back deck. I saw our neighbors when we’d have a party or
when shoveling snow from a big snowfall. (I guess I should be clear – I watched my husband shovel
snow as I played with the dogs and chatted with the neighbors).
Being a suburb mouse is great. It’s what we all know and feel comfortable with. Being a city mouse is
more of an adventure. It’s a life where you aren’t sure what will come next. It’s a life filled with
scraping ice off of the windshield yourself, because your husband left for work early. And not just ice off
the windshield. Since I wasn’t able to just walk into the garage and jump into my warm, dry car, I had to
navigate down icy steps to do it. Wanting to be safe, I realized I needed to salt the steps. There really
isn’t much salt in those little Morton salt shakers.
Being a city mouse means changing how you look at things. Wanting to totally live outside our comfort
zone, we chose a 100 year old home. Old homes are charming and warm and inviting. Old homes
generally don’t have Jacuzzi bathtubs, basements with bars and a pantry the size of a small bedroom.
Old homes don’t have much closet space. Princesses tend to have large wardrobes. Since I’m not really
a princess, my wardrobe is only kind of large. So two weeks after moving in, I am still trying to find
creative ways to store my clothes, and they are all spread out throughout the house. Soon I will need a
map of the places I have squirreled away my wardrobe. (Note to self: remove belts and hats before
turning on the oven). However, I have found that what I lack in space, I have garnered two-fold in
charm.
Being a city princess isn’t that bad. I know my neighbors better here in two weeks than I ever did in the
‘burbs. I can walk just about anyplace worthwhile. I have a front porch. And I will use it. I already know
my mail carriers name and that she is left-handed. I can put out my used treasures in the alley and the
“pickers” will magically make them disappear. I have found more dog-lovers per square foot than I
knew existed. And best of all, I found out that I am stronger willed than I ever thought I was – and that if
I put my mind to something, I truly can do it. Here’s to a new adventure and here’s to a new type of
princess. And here’s to my 180 shift of the show Green Acres – Hello, City Life!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Every Day is Special
“If I had to live my life over, I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.” Erma Bombeck
“I think I’m going to wear the diamond earrings your dad gave me, even though it’s not a special occasion.”
This was a comment from my mom yesterday.
“I also think I’ll wear the wedding band I had re-designed, even though it’s not a special day or anything.”
She was speaking to the wrong person. I jumped ship on the “waiting for a special time game” a long time ago. I am the person that wears my fake fur with my jeans, my 1940’s fedora with a dress and burns all the candles in my house on a daily basis. So I really thought I belonged to the “every day is special” club. But, I was wrong.
Having just moved, I found out that I have a box of things that I obviously had been storing for a long time. I thought I’d found all of them in the last move, six years ago. Nope – this box was a treasure trove of outdated stuff that apparently I’d set aside for the right time, or the correct special occasion. The box had been carried to our attic, and had just been sitting there – no urgency to open it. It was marked “Karen – mementos and stuff”. Wow, that explains all the contents inside, doesn’t it? It’s no wonder it had been carried from move to move, never opened.
My curiosity finally got the best of me and I sat on the attic floor with the box between my legs. I blew the dust off the top and slowly pulled the yellow tape off the top. I was greeted by a shoe. One, tiny, white baby shoe. It too, had faded with time – since it was now almost 30 years old. It was scuffed and worn, a testament of the busy and happy life of the little boy that wore it. Peering through my tears, I reached down again inside this time capsule. This time I was greeted with a book. The corners were frayed and worn, and when I opened it I saw the handwriting of yet another little boy – his name written in the awkward penmanship of a five-year-old. Lost in my world now, I kept digging. Photos here, cards and letters there. It was an emotional trip down memory lane. Then I found it – there at the bottom of the box. A ring. A small, gold ring with either a ruby or a garnet on it. It was the ring presented to my mom on her 16th birthday. I had set it aside so I could wear it on special occasions. It’d been buried for all these years. I put it on my finger and felt the closeness of mom. I am the one that said I don’t need a vase to remember Grandma. I am the one that is purging my life of all the “stuff” I have acquired through the years. But I realized that maybe I’d hardened my heart a little too much – and tried to give away too much of me. And that some memories are meant to be shared – or in this case worn.
I’m sorry I judged you mom for not wearing your diamond earrings more often. But just like your earrings, I now will wear your childhood ring with love and pride. And when I look at it, it is my reminder that everyday really is special, and I will never save my treasures for a better time – because that time is right now.
“I think I’m going to wear the diamond earrings your dad gave me, even though it’s not a special occasion.”
This was a comment from my mom yesterday.
“I also think I’ll wear the wedding band I had re-designed, even though it’s not a special day or anything.”
She was speaking to the wrong person. I jumped ship on the “waiting for a special time game” a long time ago. I am the person that wears my fake fur with my jeans, my 1940’s fedora with a dress and burns all the candles in my house on a daily basis. So I really thought I belonged to the “every day is special” club. But, I was wrong.
Having just moved, I found out that I have a box of things that I obviously had been storing for a long time. I thought I’d found all of them in the last move, six years ago. Nope – this box was a treasure trove of outdated stuff that apparently I’d set aside for the right time, or the correct special occasion. The box had been carried to our attic, and had just been sitting there – no urgency to open it. It was marked “Karen – mementos and stuff”. Wow, that explains all the contents inside, doesn’t it? It’s no wonder it had been carried from move to move, never opened.
My curiosity finally got the best of me and I sat on the attic floor with the box between my legs. I blew the dust off the top and slowly pulled the yellow tape off the top. I was greeted by a shoe. One, tiny, white baby shoe. It too, had faded with time – since it was now almost 30 years old. It was scuffed and worn, a testament of the busy and happy life of the little boy that wore it. Peering through my tears, I reached down again inside this time capsule. This time I was greeted with a book. The corners were frayed and worn, and when I opened it I saw the handwriting of yet another little boy – his name written in the awkward penmanship of a five-year-old. Lost in my world now, I kept digging. Photos here, cards and letters there. It was an emotional trip down memory lane. Then I found it – there at the bottom of the box. A ring. A small, gold ring with either a ruby or a garnet on it. It was the ring presented to my mom on her 16th birthday. I had set it aside so I could wear it on special occasions. It’d been buried for all these years. I put it on my finger and felt the closeness of mom. I am the one that said I don’t need a vase to remember Grandma. I am the one that is purging my life of all the “stuff” I have acquired through the years. But I realized that maybe I’d hardened my heart a little too much – and tried to give away too much of me. And that some memories are meant to be shared – or in this case worn.
I’m sorry I judged you mom for not wearing your diamond earrings more often. But just like your earrings, I now will wear your childhood ring with love and pride. And when I look at it, it is my reminder that everyday really is special, and I will never save my treasures for a better time – because that time is right now.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Seasons Eatings
‘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.
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 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.
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