If you are my friend, you have never been to my house, and you love me, please. PLEASE. Please tell me you're coming over for a visit. Give me about 2 weeks advance notice.
If you have babies, toddlers, or small children, all the better.
When I know that we are having a party, or that company is coming, I motivate myself to do the things around my house that I otherwise put off due to depression and/or being busy and/or pure laziness. Things like windows, baseboards, removal of the mystery goo that collects underneath the crispers in the fridge, cleaning ceiling fans...and I mean cleaning ceiling fans. Not just dusting.
By the way, does anyone know of anyone whose house caught on fire because of grease-caked kitchen ceiling fans? My house is safe. Now.
As I clean, I actually feel stress sweat away almost the way stress melts when we exercise, but not quite the way stress floats away when we're at the beach. Let's be real. But, still, I find that deep cleaning is a wonderful tool for stress alleviation. It leaves my soul rested. Gives me the ability to go out and do what I need to go out and do.
This afternoon my sweet, precious nephews are visiting from out of state. One is nearly 2 1/2, and the other is 8 1/2 months old. My house isn't baby-proofed, and I have a dog that sheds almost as badly as me. Stress. Hair loss. But, with all this cleaning, and all that stress sweating away, my hair shall bounce back, and I shall bounce around a house I feel settled in, when I crawl into bed at night.
They will be here in a few hours. Back to work.
Showing posts with label Did I Really Say That?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Did I Really Say That?. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
The Time I Dreamed I was Spooned by Bono
My Aunt Donna has told my dad, "Don. You are not just a fan of USC. You are a fanatic!" And if you know my dad, you know his sister is kind of onto something. So, not wanting to let the apple fall too far from the tree, my sisters, brother and I kind of share his energy when it comes to our "thing." Our own brand of fanaticism. Our love of 4 Irish rock stars, known as U2.
My brother exhibits a little bit more class in his demonstration of devotion than my sisters and I...not quite as much PDA, but don't let him fool you. He's wearing his U2 Underoos, mark my word.
In honor of the birthday of Mr. Paul Hewson, Bono to U2 fanatics and the rest of the world, and lead singer of U2, I'd like to share an actual dream I had. We will call it, "The Time I was Spooned by Bono." My dream went something like this:
I had been assigned to interview U2 either prior to, or directly following a performance. My sister Lori was with me, and I had to leave her behind in a building temporarily, while I went on ahead into a house (dreams don't have to make sense) where I would meet up with the band. After the interview, I could get Lori for a meet and greet.
I was in the kitchen of the house, intimidated by all the people everywhere, so I guess I did what felt natural, and I stood by the sink and washed dishes. Then I realized Adam Clayton (bass player for U2) was in the kitchen with me, smoking a cigarette. Totally dazed and in a state of disbelief, I tried to keep my cool. But, I was silent...I didn't even try to get in on an early scoop. Next thing I knew, Bono entered the house. He came into the kitchen through the crowd, took my hand, and led me back into the main room of the house. The living room, I'm guessing? There was no furniture in the room. Just people. And a blanket spread out on the floor. So, naturally, he laid down on it, and he brought me down with him (still holding my hand). And then we cuddled. And he spooned me. That's it. Nothing naughty, nothing risque, just very familiar. For Bono, this sort of thing just happens. Take this, for example. So, I went with it. It was awesome. And then, just like that, he was done. We got up, I was led out of the house, and then I realized I FORGOT TO GET LORI!!! And then I realized, I WAS MISSING MY FRONT RIGHT TOOTH!!! And I never interviewed them.
This dream came after Abi asked me why it is that Bono seems to lay down on the stage a lot with women in the audience. He is, after all, a happily married man of nearly 30 years. I told her that he exudes love for everyone, including the hotties he brings onto the stage. And I can vouch for him, that he isn't one to give sexual advances. We just spooned.
Seriously, I'm happy to be a fan of a man who would take his fame, and his fortune, and do all that he has done with it, by bettering the world we all live in. Happy Birthday, Bono.
My brother exhibits a little bit more class in his demonstration of devotion than my sisters and I...not quite as much PDA, but don't let him fool you. He's wearing his U2 Underoos, mark my word.
In honor of the birthday of Mr. Paul Hewson, Bono to U2 fanatics and the rest of the world, and lead singer of U2, I'd like to share an actual dream I had. We will call it, "The Time I was Spooned by Bono." My dream went something like this:
I had been assigned to interview U2 either prior to, or directly following a performance. My sister Lori was with me, and I had to leave her behind in a building temporarily, while I went on ahead into a house (dreams don't have to make sense) where I would meet up with the band. After the interview, I could get Lori for a meet and greet.
I was in the kitchen of the house, intimidated by all the people everywhere, so I guess I did what felt natural, and I stood by the sink and washed dishes. Then I realized Adam Clayton (bass player for U2) was in the kitchen with me, smoking a cigarette. Totally dazed and in a state of disbelief, I tried to keep my cool. But, I was silent...I didn't even try to get in on an early scoop. Next thing I knew, Bono entered the house. He came into the kitchen through the crowd, took my hand, and led me back into the main room of the house. The living room, I'm guessing? There was no furniture in the room. Just people. And a blanket spread out on the floor. So, naturally, he laid down on it, and he brought me down with him (still holding my hand). And then we cuddled. And he spooned me. That's it. Nothing naughty, nothing risque, just very familiar. For Bono, this sort of thing just happens. Take this, for example. So, I went with it. It was awesome. And then, just like that, he was done. We got up, I was led out of the house, and then I realized I FORGOT TO GET LORI!!! And then I realized, I WAS MISSING MY FRONT RIGHT TOOTH!!! And I never interviewed them.
This dream came after Abi asked me why it is that Bono seems to lay down on the stage a lot with women in the audience. He is, after all, a happily married man of nearly 30 years. I told her that he exudes love for everyone, including the hotties he brings onto the stage. And I can vouch for him, that he isn't one to give sexual advances. We just spooned.
Seriously, I'm happy to be a fan of a man who would take his fame, and his fortune, and do all that he has done with it, by bettering the world we all live in. Happy Birthday, Bono.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Working Out Because My Buttocks is So Big
This daily exercise thing is kicking my butt. But, that's the goal, right?
I just twisted in my chair to see Lee, when he ran into my room. On the wall, behind my desk, is a floor-length mirror. One I've had since my dad brought it home from the furniture store he managed when I was a little girl. As I caught my reflection, my eyes immediately traveled south. I always notice my caboose. Probably because it's the biggest object in the mirror. Warning: Objects in the mirror just appear to be bigger than they really are. If only.
I'm not one for exercise. Well, not deliberate exercise, at least. I like exercise that sneaks up on me, like when I'm riding a horse (you do have to mount and dismount, after all), or painting a wall, or paddle-boarding. But, let's face it. I haven't been on the back of a horse since I left Nebraska 5 years ago, my bedrooms walls are just as pink as they were when we bought the house a year ago, and the only time I've gone paddle boarding was in Maui last February, in spite of the fact that the Pacific Ocean reaches California too.
I'm freaking lazy. I hate to sweat. I hate it that when I exercise, I have to choose between talking and breathing. But do you know what I hate the absolute most? The feeling of my fat jiggling when I move. It's exactly why I need to be exercising, I know. But, still.
Somewhere after my last birthday, I started developing some seriously disturbing pains. Aches and pains, to be precise, and although a woman my age is no spring chicken, I'm not an old woman yet, and nowhere near needing to cut holes in tennis balls, so that I can put them on my walker wheels. Besides, I don't even have any tennis balls. I hate tennis.
So, I got back into yoga. I've been doing it for a while now, and recently added a nice walk every morning to my routine as well. My dog Luke loves it. He thinks he is going to die after our second lap around the neighborhood, but he still gets excited every time I come home from taking Lee to school. It's walk time.
A friend of mine shared on her blog that Dr. Oz recommends exercising right away in the morning, before we eat breakfast. Something about butter melting on a hot pan, or something like that. I don't know, I just thought I'd give it a try. Mostly, because my habit of getting into my exercise clothes in the morning, getting going with my day, showering, and getting dressed, without ever exercising was a habit I needed to break. So it's potty, brush the teeth, and then Downward-Facing Dog. And then, walk the dog later.
This is so a new me. In my entire thirties, I completely let myself go. Extreme control and constant belittling from my now ex-husband had taken me to such a low, that I sought comfort in food, swallowing with every calorie-filled bite, the broken pieces of my self-esteem. I'm 5'3", and I weighed 105 pounds when I married him. I let myself go to 165 pounds, and I wore a size 14.
I joined a class that deals with the whys of our poor eating habits, and then teaches how to view food, and eat it so that it helps our body, mind, and spirit. That was the first of many big steps, and I lost 40 pounds. This was in 2007. I've put about 10 of those pounds back on, so I'm thinking that through exercise, I'd like to see myself get back to a more comfortable size, and rid myself of those premature aches and pains.
I'd have to say, though, that this new way of living has been working well for me. The thing I hate the most about exercising, though, is that slowly but surely, I'm seeing results. Dang it. That means I can't stop in exasperation, because it isn't working. But what I like the most about it, is the high I get afterward, that seems to follow me throughout the day. It's like caffeine, without the shakes, and I'm digging it.
Hugo called me this afternoon, and I found out that he hadn't eaten lunch yet, but that he thought he might go downstairs to see if he could get a danish to hold him over. I freaked out all over him, and told him that he needed to get a sandwich, or something more healthy. I even made him promise.
I suppose the down side on this transformation of mine is that I'm pretty sure I've gone over into the Dark Side, and have become a Health Nazi. It's OK. I know I'll settle down with time. But as I have commissioned myself as the Manager of Nutrition Services in my house, I take my job very seriously. Just don't look for me to become the Manager of P.E. anytime soon. I do good to get myself on the Stupid Elliptical. I won't be strong-arming anyone else to do it too. But I do find that I talk to the kids a lot about how much better I feel after I exercise...
However, this I know about myself, or at least about my booty. No matter how many laps I walk, or bicycle, or no matter how many yoga postures I master, when I look in the mirror, my eyes will still travel down south, and the object in the mirror will still be big. But, rather than let that make me lose my focus and cause me to give up, I choose to thank GOD for making Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce, and Kim Kardashian just as juicy as He did.
And my now in vogue posterior and I will feel better, in spite of it.
I just twisted in my chair to see Lee, when he ran into my room. On the wall, behind my desk, is a floor-length mirror. One I've had since my dad brought it home from the furniture store he managed when I was a little girl. As I caught my reflection, my eyes immediately traveled south. I always notice my caboose. Probably because it's the biggest object in the mirror. Warning: Objects in the mirror just appear to be bigger than they really are. If only.
I'm not one for exercise. Well, not deliberate exercise, at least. I like exercise that sneaks up on me, like when I'm riding a horse (you do have to mount and dismount, after all), or painting a wall, or paddle-boarding. But, let's face it. I haven't been on the back of a horse since I left Nebraska 5 years ago, my bedrooms walls are just as pink as they were when we bought the house a year ago, and the only time I've gone paddle boarding was in Maui last February, in spite of the fact that the Pacific Ocean reaches California too.
I'm freaking lazy. I hate to sweat. I hate it that when I exercise, I have to choose between talking and breathing. But do you know what I hate the absolute most? The feeling of my fat jiggling when I move. It's exactly why I need to be exercising, I know. But, still.
Somewhere after my last birthday, I started developing some seriously disturbing pains. Aches and pains, to be precise, and although a woman my age is no spring chicken, I'm not an old woman yet, and nowhere near needing to cut holes in tennis balls, so that I can put them on my walker wheels. Besides, I don't even have any tennis balls. I hate tennis.
So, I got back into yoga. I've been doing it for a while now, and recently added a nice walk every morning to my routine as well. My dog Luke loves it. He thinks he is going to die after our second lap around the neighborhood, but he still gets excited every time I come home from taking Lee to school. It's walk time.
A friend of mine shared on her blog that Dr. Oz recommends exercising right away in the morning, before we eat breakfast. Something about butter melting on a hot pan, or something like that. I don't know, I just thought I'd give it a try. Mostly, because my habit of getting into my exercise clothes in the morning, getting going with my day, showering, and getting dressed, without ever exercising was a habit I needed to break. So it's potty, brush the teeth, and then Downward-Facing Dog. And then, walk the dog later.
This is so a new me. In my entire thirties, I completely let myself go. Extreme control and constant belittling from my now ex-husband had taken me to such a low, that I sought comfort in food, swallowing with every calorie-filled bite, the broken pieces of my self-esteem. I'm 5'3", and I weighed 105 pounds when I married him. I let myself go to 165 pounds, and I wore a size 14.
I joined a class that deals with the whys of our poor eating habits, and then teaches how to view food, and eat it so that it helps our body, mind, and spirit. That was the first of many big steps, and I lost 40 pounds. This was in 2007. I've put about 10 of those pounds back on, so I'm thinking that through exercise, I'd like to see myself get back to a more comfortable size, and rid myself of those premature aches and pains.
I'd have to say, though, that this new way of living has been working well for me. The thing I hate the most about exercising, though, is that slowly but surely, I'm seeing results. Dang it. That means I can't stop in exasperation, because it isn't working. But what I like the most about it, is the high I get afterward, that seems to follow me throughout the day. It's like caffeine, without the shakes, and I'm digging it.
Hugo called me this afternoon, and I found out that he hadn't eaten lunch yet, but that he thought he might go downstairs to see if he could get a danish to hold him over. I freaked out all over him, and told him that he needed to get a sandwich, or something more healthy. I even made him promise.
I suppose the down side on this transformation of mine is that I'm pretty sure I've gone over into the Dark Side, and have become a Health Nazi. It's OK. I know I'll settle down with time. But as I have commissioned myself as the Manager of Nutrition Services in my house, I take my job very seriously. Just don't look for me to become the Manager of P.E. anytime soon. I do good to get myself on the Stupid Elliptical. I won't be strong-arming anyone else to do it too. But I do find that I talk to the kids a lot about how much better I feel after I exercise...
However, this I know about myself, or at least about my booty. No matter how many laps I walk, or bicycle, or no matter how many yoga postures I master, when I look in the mirror, my eyes will still travel down south, and the object in the mirror will still be big. But, rather than let that make me lose my focus and cause me to give up, I choose to thank GOD for making Jennifer Lopez, Beyonce, and Kim Kardashian just as juicy as He did.
And my now in vogue posterior and I will feel better, in spite of it.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
My Unsightly Confession
(This Post was written last Friday...but not edited and posted until today. I suck.)
OK, Ladies. It has to be done. I need to publicly call out the women in my life. Especially my daughters. Why, you ask?! For not watching my back...or, literally, for not watching my chin.
That's right. My chin.
I sat at my desk this afternoon, writing. From time to time, as I'd edit or think about what I wanted to write next, I'd rest my chin in my hand. Yes, the chin the women in my life haven't properly watched for me.
Imagine my horror, if you would, as I felt, with my finger tips, on said unwatched chin, the familiar feeling of something growing. Or, since it wasn't actually growing under my fingers at the time, it would be best to say that it was something that had grown. And I was feeling it. I knew what it was. It always grows there. And I have told m'ladies to keep their eyes peeled.
It is my whisker.
She resides on the right side, just under my face. Left to her own devices, she grows as long as 1/2 inch. It's long enough to blow in the wind.
If I've asked it once, I've asked it a hundred times. Signal if you see my chin is hairy! Even if it is only one strand, a whisker is a whisker, and there isn't enough room on that space for my dignity and that unsightly strand.
I remember the first time I noticed her. It was, oh, maybe 7 or so years ago. I volunteered in the cafe at the Dawson County Fair, selling pies for 4-H. I had hundreds of people pass me in the pie buffet line. When the weekend was over, and I was back home, I saw something. Something I tried to brush off. Something that was attached.
Nice.
I pluck, and then go on whisker watch. But since months can pass between growth spurts, I usually relax my vigil, only searching once in a while, when I get that panicked feeling of having not checked in a while. Usually there is nothing there. Sometimes there is, and I get it when it's only a tiny stubble. Then there are other times, like this time, when it's full length. This time, I think I broke my own record.
I'm a middle-aged woman. Have mercy, and help me out a little. Please. Thank you.
OK, Ladies. It has to be done. I need to publicly call out the women in my life. Especially my daughters. Why, you ask?! For not watching my back...or, literally, for not watching my chin.
That's right. My chin.
I sat at my desk this afternoon, writing. From time to time, as I'd edit or think about what I wanted to write next, I'd rest my chin in my hand. Yes, the chin the women in my life haven't properly watched for me.
Imagine my horror, if you would, as I felt, with my finger tips, on said unwatched chin, the familiar feeling of something growing. Or, since it wasn't actually growing under my fingers at the time, it would be best to say that it was something that had grown. And I was feeling it. I knew what it was. It always grows there. And I have told m'ladies to keep their eyes peeled.
It is my whisker.
She resides on the right side, just under my face. Left to her own devices, she grows as long as 1/2 inch. It's long enough to blow in the wind.
If I've asked it once, I've asked it a hundred times. Signal if you see my chin is hairy! Even if it is only one strand, a whisker is a whisker, and there isn't enough room on that space for my dignity and that unsightly strand.
I remember the first time I noticed her. It was, oh, maybe 7 or so years ago. I volunteered in the cafe at the Dawson County Fair, selling pies for 4-H. I had hundreds of people pass me in the pie buffet line. When the weekend was over, and I was back home, I saw something. Something I tried to brush off. Something that was attached.
Nice.
I pluck, and then go on whisker watch. But since months can pass between growth spurts, I usually relax my vigil, only searching once in a while, when I get that panicked feeling of having not checked in a while. Usually there is nothing there. Sometimes there is, and I get it when it's only a tiny stubble. Then there are other times, like this time, when it's full length. This time, I think I broke my own record.
I'm a middle-aged woman. Have mercy, and help me out a little. Please. Thank you.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Road Rage
I drive my five children to and from 4 different schools, and a part-time job. My day is usually defined by who I drive when, and where.
Other than an occasional tailgating habit rearing its ugly head (oops!), or a once-in-a-while accidental cut-off (sorry, Sir!), I'm a model driving citizen. I've been pulled over three times in my 28 years of driving, but not once have I been given a ticket. At this point in my life, I'm finding myself compulsively following traffic laws...no need to break my own record now, especially when cities are seeing the benefit of increased revenue by upping ticket fees.
Adam goes to a year-round charter school 2 cities away, two days a week. Taking surface streets is the better way to go, since the street that his school is on is on a street that is only a half-block from our house. So I go the half-block and head west. It usually takes just under 10 minutes to get there, but on the way, something happens that is inexplicable. Curious. Baffling. Infuriating, even. We leave what is normal about 2 blocks en route, somehow, and enter into a place we call, "The Vortex." I'm going to try to explain.
The speed limit is 45 miles per hour. We have 2 lanes to travel...perfect, so that if you get behind someone slow, all you have to do is get in the other lane and pass them, right? Wrong.
We know we're not in Kansas anymore when we get behind someone going 35 in the aforementioned 45. Really?! So I merge onto the other lane with hopes of passing, only to be met by yet another motorist driving at 35 mph, a half car length ahead of the original car I was trying to pass, making my passing attempts impossible. I have to choose, at this point, which car driving 10 miles below the speed limit I want to follow.
In The Vortex, this is normal. Everyone drives slowly. Cautiously to the point of being dangerous, even. Doing things like stopping. Not at a light, not at a stop sign, not for a pedestrian or jay walker. Just stopping. No reason. Maybe to regroup? Re-think their route? Nobody knows. They just stop.
It's also the things we see when we travel The Vortex. Unusual things. Well, just take a look:
Do you see what I see? Yeah, this was back in May. The guy was "driving," on the street in front of us. Not on the side, not in a bike lane, but in the driving lane, and I had to follow him at 15 miles per hour for a while until I could pass him.
By the way, I waited to snap this picture until we were stopped at this intersection. After I picked up the lower half of my jaw. Just a normal day in The Vortex.
But while I'm on the subject of frustrations while driving, I'm going to take this opportunity to address something that drives me absolutely nutty, no matter where I am. Turn signals. They're a handy tool when used properly. We engage the turn signal before we decide we want to turn...not just as we're turning. Turning it on while we're turning is pointless. It's a communication tool to let our fellow drivers know of our intent to turn. Intent. Before we turn. Like, when I'm in a shopping center waiting to pull out onto the street, and I'm waiting for you to drive by. And then, just as you get to the entrance, you turn in. Your turn signal light starts flashing as you turn in. You saw me sitting there waiting for you so that I could pull out! If you engaged your turn signal sooner, I would have known I wasn't in danger of you smacking the side of my car, and I would have pulled out, rather than wait for you to drive past me.
This thing makes me crazy, no matter where I am...this lack of driver-communication sees itself in the Vortex too, but everywhere as well, unfortunately. One day, I'm going to take out an ad somewhere, or have my turn-signal-manifesto detailed on a bill board. Word needs to get out, right?
I'm really an otherwise very nice citizen. :)
The Vortex, however, has me by the throat. And I mentioned that Adam goes to his school two times a week, didn't I? And that his school is year round? Meaning I'm in The Vortex often? Is God testing my patience? Perhaps.
Admittedly, frustration wouldn't mount if I wasn't always late, getting Adam to school. Going 35 miles an hour in a 45 mile per hour zone isn't so bad when you have the time for it. It can be relaxing, even, I bet. Especially when we'd have such strange sights to take in. Like guys pedaling a three-wheeled bed. I might have enjoyed that one more, if I wasn't late that day.
California drivers. I suppose we're known for our impatience, aren't we. Our impatience, and our annoying habits. California stops. At least I don't pack heat, and neither has anyone in The Vortex. They're too slow. They'd never be quick enough on the draw.
Other than an occasional tailgating habit rearing its ugly head (oops!), or a once-in-a-while accidental cut-off (sorry, Sir!), I'm a model driving citizen. I've been pulled over three times in my 28 years of driving, but not once have I been given a ticket. At this point in my life, I'm finding myself compulsively following traffic laws...no need to break my own record now, especially when cities are seeing the benefit of increased revenue by upping ticket fees.
Adam goes to a year-round charter school 2 cities away, two days a week. Taking surface streets is the better way to go, since the street that his school is on is on a street that is only a half-block from our house. So I go the half-block and head west. It usually takes just under 10 minutes to get there, but on the way, something happens that is inexplicable. Curious. Baffling. Infuriating, even. We leave what is normal about 2 blocks en route, somehow, and enter into a place we call, "The Vortex." I'm going to try to explain.
The speed limit is 45 miles per hour. We have 2 lanes to travel...perfect, so that if you get behind someone slow, all you have to do is get in the other lane and pass them, right? Wrong.
We know we're not in Kansas anymore when we get behind someone going 35 in the aforementioned 45. Really?! So I merge onto the other lane with hopes of passing, only to be met by yet another motorist driving at 35 mph, a half car length ahead of the original car I was trying to pass, making my passing attempts impossible. I have to choose, at this point, which car driving 10 miles below the speed limit I want to follow.
In The Vortex, this is normal. Everyone drives slowly. Cautiously to the point of being dangerous, even. Doing things like stopping. Not at a light, not at a stop sign, not for a pedestrian or jay walker. Just stopping. No reason. Maybe to regroup? Re-think their route? Nobody knows. They just stop.
It's also the things we see when we travel The Vortex. Unusual things. Well, just take a look:
By the way, I waited to snap this picture until we were stopped at this intersection. After I picked up the lower half of my jaw. Just a normal day in The Vortex.
But while I'm on the subject of frustrations while driving, I'm going to take this opportunity to address something that drives me absolutely nutty, no matter where I am. Turn signals. They're a handy tool when used properly. We engage the turn signal before we decide we want to turn...not just as we're turning. Turning it on while we're turning is pointless. It's a communication tool to let our fellow drivers know of our intent to turn. Intent. Before we turn. Like, when I'm in a shopping center waiting to pull out onto the street, and I'm waiting for you to drive by. And then, just as you get to the entrance, you turn in. Your turn signal light starts flashing as you turn in. You saw me sitting there waiting for you so that I could pull out! If you engaged your turn signal sooner, I would have known I wasn't in danger of you smacking the side of my car, and I would have pulled out, rather than wait for you to drive past me.
This thing makes me crazy, no matter where I am...this lack of driver-communication sees itself in the Vortex too, but everywhere as well, unfortunately. One day, I'm going to take out an ad somewhere, or have my turn-signal-manifesto detailed on a bill board. Word needs to get out, right?
I'm really an otherwise very nice citizen. :)
The Vortex, however, has me by the throat. And I mentioned that Adam goes to his school two times a week, didn't I? And that his school is year round? Meaning I'm in The Vortex often? Is God testing my patience? Perhaps.
Admittedly, frustration wouldn't mount if I wasn't always late, getting Adam to school. Going 35 miles an hour in a 45 mile per hour zone isn't so bad when you have the time for it. It can be relaxing, even, I bet. Especially when we'd have such strange sights to take in. Like guys pedaling a three-wheeled bed. I might have enjoyed that one more, if I wasn't late that day.
California drivers. I suppose we're known for our impatience, aren't we. Our impatience, and our annoying habits. California stops. At least I don't pack heat, and neither has anyone in The Vortex. They're too slow. They'd never be quick enough on the draw.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Owning My Lack of Photographic Skill
Photography isn't my thing.
We were on a Whale Watching vessel in the waters off Maui, during the migrating season of the Humpback Whales. Never mind the fact that our Maui Hostess' house sits on the Pacific Ocean with a daily backyard view of whales. Once we were on that boat, we knew we would be in for a treat--up close and personal visuals of those magnificent creatures.
A mama and her baby were really close, swimming around right in front of us. We were up on the rows of seats above the boat floor, with a perfect, unobstructed view. They were playing and then they dived. With cameras in hand pointing right to them, we were ready when they breached. Full-on beauty, rising above the waters with force and grace that takes your breath away. Click. Snap. The entire boat erupted in cheers, as we were given the Pacific Life Insurance whale-shot everyone hopes for when they go to Maui. Happy we were treated to the spectacle, I enthusiastically looked down to my viewer to re-live the moment in captured photographic history, when...oh...no, no, no, no!!! I had a perfect shot...of the heads of the people standing down on the boat floor.
Today was Abi's 7th grade awards ceremony. She was awarded for academic excellence, and excellent citizenship. Images of the lists of students' names were projected on the big screen, and try as I might, I snapped just after the list with Abi's name would fade and the next list would appear. It's a gift.
I have an appreciation for photography, just like I have an appreciation for great art, but can't create it, and I have an appreciation for music, but can't play it. My sisters are AMAZING photographers, and I always enjoy seeing what they capture at any event we share in. In fact, I depend on them to be the there, with their cameras pointed.
It's good to know what we can do, and then do it. It's also good to know what we can't do, and then stop sweating it. Laugh! Enjoy all that we can from life, or the given situation, and find ways to soak it in and let it last. It's yet another aspect of life's enjoyment, and it helps us to remember that our world consists of so many variations of talent...and that it isn't limited to only the things we can muster up ourselves.
I do have a nice shot of Abi taken after she received her certificates and medal. You'll see I'm in it...yes, my sister Misti took it!!
We were on a Whale Watching vessel in the waters off Maui, during the migrating season of the Humpback Whales. Never mind the fact that our Maui Hostess' house sits on the Pacific Ocean with a daily backyard view of whales. Once we were on that boat, we knew we would be in for a treat--up close and personal visuals of those magnificent creatures.
A mama and her baby were really close, swimming around right in front of us. We were up on the rows of seats above the boat floor, with a perfect, unobstructed view. They were playing and then they dived. With cameras in hand pointing right to them, we were ready when they breached. Full-on beauty, rising above the waters with force and grace that takes your breath away. Click. Snap. The entire boat erupted in cheers, as we were given the Pacific Life Insurance whale-shot everyone hopes for when they go to Maui. Happy we were treated to the spectacle, I enthusiastically looked down to my viewer to re-live the moment in captured photographic history, when...oh...no, no, no, no!!! I had a perfect shot...of the heads of the people standing down on the boat floor.
Today was Abi's 7th grade awards ceremony. She was awarded for academic excellence, and excellent citizenship. Images of the lists of students' names were projected on the big screen, and try as I might, I snapped just after the list with Abi's name would fade and the next list would appear. It's a gift.
I have an appreciation for photography, just like I have an appreciation for great art, but can't create it, and I have an appreciation for music, but can't play it. My sisters are AMAZING photographers, and I always enjoy seeing what they capture at any event we share in. In fact, I depend on them to be the there, with their cameras pointed.
It's good to know what we can do, and then do it. It's also good to know what we can't do, and then stop sweating it. Laugh! Enjoy all that we can from life, or the given situation, and find ways to soak it in and let it last. It's yet another aspect of life's enjoyment, and it helps us to remember that our world consists of so many variations of talent...and that it isn't limited to only the things we can muster up ourselves.
I do have a nice shot of Abi taken after she received her certificates and medal. You'll see I'm in it...yes, my sister Misti took it!!
Monday, June 6, 2011
Congressman Weiner/Pampered Chef/Vortex Birthday Party/Memory Loss
Oh my GOSH!!! Where do I start! We've all heard of Writer's Block, but what about Writer's Flood?? Where a rash of random topics flood the brain, fighting for equal playing time with my finger tips as I type?
Let me just cough some up in no particular order:
Really? So Congressman Weiner wasn't telling the truth last week when he vehemently denied sending the picture of his bulging underwear? Called it. I saw an episode or two of the Tim Roth television show "Lie to Me." It was something in his eyes. Maybe the bead of sweat forming above his brow. What a creep.
Today I pushed past a couple months of fear and cold feet, and I participated in an in-home boutique where I was one of many vendors selling my wears. Pampered Chef is an awesome way to make extra money, but before today, I had been afraid to commit to a show, only to have to cancel due to Lee having a seizure. It was great getting back on the saddle again, and I had a lot of fun sharing the versatility of the Pampered Chef products as I made a decadent chocolate/peanut butter cake, and homemade pico de gallo. Yummy stuff, all well received. And I made some contacts that will hopefully result in some shows down the road. Wanna book a catalog show??
Lee was invited to a birthday party over the weekend, where we all left wanting to take the birthday boy along with us. It is hard to see how some families treat children. We can't always save the kids being raised in crisis. We can offer ourselves, but we can't guarantee that the adults in the home will allow it. So we pray. And we still try and try to do what we can.
Memory. I almost forgot to share a thought on memory. It has come to my attention that the Big Bad Stress Wolf has huffed and puffed and blown my memory away, even in my current life. I've long ago accepted that during the most stressful days of my life as a single mother, my memory was a casualty in it all, and there are entire events and episodes that, were it not for my journaling, I would have no recollection of. Some things have been preserved in the kids' memories. But mine was affected terribly, and there has been much blocked from consciousness.
But even lately, I have seen evidence of my memory being anything but sharp. That said, please tell me when I am telling you something I have already told you again and again, and please forgive me if I don't remember something I needed to know. Just tell me again, and make sure I plug the info into my phone! And if you stayed with me one time when you were in town, and I have zero memory of either that or the fact that you met Hugo and Danielle, please forgive me!!! (Hypothetically speaking, of course...)
What else?? I know there was more. I can't remember. (Totally not trying to make a joke, but I admit it's kind of ironic, isn't it?!) :)
It will be a week of awards ceremonies, class parties, yearbook signing, and LOUD, LOUD countings down to the last day of school on Friday!!! I'm thinking I'll have much to share this week. Hopefully, it'll be one topic at a time, each day. Maybe I'll one day revisit some of the topics from today and share more fully. If I don't forget. OK...I've over-used the joke.
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