The Secret Life of no one that exists on this planet is more like it

My teenagers watch this and because I like to be a good parent and monitor the stuff they watch (oh okay, fine, I admit it, I like to watch these types of shows, I mean, hello, GILMORE GIRLS, to die for) but this is no Gilmore Girls.  I am not sure what this is.  It's not horrible, but it's kind of silly.

First off, this girl gets pregnant sleeping with the drummer at band camp.   This doesn't make a whole lot of sense -- she is the "good" girl that her parents never worry about, was there drinking at band camp?  I mean, sure, the drummer is cute, but he is the world's biggest player and is so smarmy I can't imagine any "good" girl being of interest to him.  Of course she only did it once.  But why?  Just because?  Okay fine.  So now we are to believe that teenagers, good and bad, sleep with other teenagers just because.

Got it.

So she has this little secret which she tells her two best friends, who seem, well, odd.   I can't put my finger on it, but these two girls are ALWAYS together, but not really with her.  So are they her best friends?   Just something not right there, like whomever is writing this show doesn't get friend dynamics.  Because let me tell you, if two of them hung out exclusively all the time, the third one would be looking for another friend.

I am just saying.

And then, the most ridiculous thing of all is the boyfriend.  Here she is pregnant, but no big deal, she just goes to school and goes to band practice and then does her homework and then starts dating Ben.  Yep, and you know what?  He is in love with her.  He spotted her in the hall and it's all over for him.  Several episodes later he is begging her to marry him, and he tells her he loves her like he is asking her for a Skittle.

You kidding me?  I am supposed to believe that in the :::cough cough, ahem:::::: years since I was a teenager suddenly boys aren't afraid to communicate?  Really?  You sure?   They just blurt out they love you like that?  

I think I'm going to start a show of my own and call it THE SECRET LIFE OF THE AMERICAN WOMAN.  Here's how it will go.

I will have this woman meet her husband wrapped in saran wrap at the door with a cherry popped into her mouth, because isn't that what we all do???

Sure, sure it is.  Yep.   And then she will pop up from the bed and kiss her husband's feet (again, standard material here) and then skip about the house cleaning and cooking and singing and loving everyone.  And she will never, ever, ever get her period, because you know, that is her most treasured secret!

It's all bollox I say.  Boys don't want to marry you when they are 15 and if they do, they are seriously warped and I would highly instruct my teenage daughter to steer clear.  If you get pregnant, it is useless trying to ignore it, because it is a problem that only gets bigger and bigger and bigger.  This is supposed to be a "good" girl, presumably smart.  I am not seeing this.  I have met dumb girls who are smarter than this.  

But what do I know?  Only raised one teenaged girl and am actively raising another girl and a boy.

And the player boy -- the drummer -- he is probably a good composite of a screwed up high school kid.  He has been sexually abused and is in foster care, and therefore is basically screwing anyone he can because he has "issues."  I get all that, but he's just so wrong.  Too something.  

Oh, the whole show bugs me.  I would like to see a little authenticity -- because that is how the teenagers of America are viewing it.  Like it is real.  I kept saying to Maddie, NO BOY IS GOING TO TELL YOU HE LOVES YOU on the first date, and please, if he does, let me know so I can have a chat with him.

Then there is Grace.  She is the sweet, blonde, clueless, naive teenager with the blonde parents who scare me just because they talk like Barbie and Ken.  I have nothing against blondes per se, in fact, I've been one before (and for all intents and purposes and visits to the salon, still am!) But please.  THAT is the stereotype they throw in to the mix?  My theory is that there must be some Jewish man who has no children and has never been married before writing this.  Why?  Because it has nothing to do with a Jewish man with no children, etc. and therefore it would make sense that someone that has no clue is coming up with the dialog, because it is just crap.  

The boyfriend's father says to his son:  "I can tell you are in love with this girl, I can see that you love her."

Who says that to their son after his first date?   NO ONE I tell you!  NO ONE!  (You can see I am having a problem getting over this aspect of the show, but it's because every show this silly boy is professing his love to this girl, and all she says back most of the time is why are you so nice to me?)

Back to the SECRET LIFE OF THE AMERICAN WOMAN:

She has driven her children around all day, to one sporting event and commitment after another.  She still has to get groceries and make dinner, but that's okay!  She loves all of this.  In fact, when she gets a flat tire she smiles and thanks the universe for providing her with yet another challenge, because isn't that just groovy.  Even though she is a little greasy from changing the tire, she gives her husband a big kiss and thanks him for not renewing their Triple AAA membership, because you see, she loves him.

Barf.

Summer Lovin'

I brought raw food choices to a party I went to last night, and I am happy to report that they were a hit!

Since I have a long and checkered past of grossing people out with my various stages of food forays (wheat grass and vinegar water come quickly to mind), I am never sure what people will think!  But the raw sushi and the raw spaghetti with marinara sauce and "meatballs," definitely surpassed my expectations in their reception and I went home with empty dishes.  Which is a good thing.

I also noted, as 14 of us crammed ourselves around one picnic table, that the food that everyone brought (to the table if you will!) was a lot more healthy than it has been over the years.   Now that we're all in our 40's it is clear that our tastes have changed!  Even for a party!

It was a beautiful summer night on the lake and it was fun to catch up with people that I haven't seen for a while.  I was also told that "if my name shows up in your blog tomorrow I will kill you," and of course my first inclination is to name that person, but SHE knows who she is, so we'll let it go at that!

And Linda, Annie and I came up with a brilliant way to avoid eating dessert.  After Happy Birthday was sung to Jeannie, the three of us trooped off to the bathroom to check out spots on our faces.  Linda thinks she might have another skin cancer, Annie wondered if she had it as well and I wanted them both to verify that I have a brown line above my lip (Peter says it isn't there!)  After we examined faces we fell into conversation and just stood there, as only women can do, and chatted incessantly about what I can't tell you because EVERYONE knows that when women head off to the bathroom together, it's always secret.  Always.

Then we topped off the evening with a Jeep ride home, with Michele, Linda and I screaming to Mama Mia at the top of our lungs, with the stars twinkling above our heads.

I love summer.

Having the time of your life

Ahhh, Mama Mia.  Here we go again, my my ... went to see it for the second time tonight (that makes three times if you count the broadway play) *shut up Linda, it's fun to say it, even though I went to see Wicked in London, not Mama Mia!*

And it was fabulous.  I just sat there in my comfy rocking seat with a big smile on my face, my feet tapping, my whole body moving to the music.  Meryl Streep is just amazing, she really is.  And the three potential father's were nothing to sneeze at either (though Poor Pierce (Brosnan) can't sing, but that's okay.)  Really.  It doesn't matter.  The movie itself is so funny that it almost fits that when he opens his mouth he sounds like he's kidding.

It's one of those movies that makes you realize how much fun you've had in your own life.  I identify with Meryl Streep's character in terms of her being a free spirit (though she had a child at a very young age, as did I) and even though your life for a good 20 years isn't all that crazy, if you have that inside of you, it never goes away.  When she does the scene where she is bouncing on the bed and then jumps in the air and touches her toes -- it just feels so right.

I drove around a Greek island on the back of a motor bike with some Australian, I've seen sunsets there that would break your heart.  I've looked out across the sparkling ocean and thought that it wasn't possible to see anything more beautiful.  I've danced on tables, I've sat on a rooftop and watched the sun come up.  I've laughed and danced some more and I've sat in the middle of a square in Athens at a table with an umbrella and held up my legs as a sudden storm turned into a river, but I continued to eat the scrambled eggs, bacon and toast because it was the first real food I'd eaten in weeks.

Mama Mia brings back a lot of my Greece experience because I went there seeking something.  And in the end, like Meryl Streep's character, I ended up married.

But inside forever is the girl who can drive in an open Jeep with three kids and a friend and scream at the top of her lungs until she is hoarse to the soundtrack of Mama Mia -- because it is things like that that make you feel young and alive.

I would go see this movie again, I swear!  It just makes me realize how lucky I have been, to have great, close friends that I can go crazy with (there is a scene on a boat in the movie when Meryl and her two friends are running on deck, and I thought, heck, we've done that.  And that.  And that.)  

It's a reminder that life is worth celebrating, both the past and the future -- and if you can set it to a soundtrack, then even better!  Just turn up the volume, stare up in the sky at the stars and let it all out.

You are the Dancing Queen ...

Oh yeah.

Blogging takes backseat to ... life?

I am not really sure where I've been.  I've just been an overall slacker.  I just finished posting NINE photos to my self-portrait thing, my house is a mess, the lawn needs to be mowed, I have to start packing for the Vineyard, it hasn't even been nice every day, and yet, the view above is probably where you'll find me.

Peter's brother has been at the lake and his children keep popping by.  Which means, we go to the lake to visit.  Or we go to the lake because it is sunny out.  Or we go to the lake because that is what we do!

In addition, Peter has switched to a four-day work week, which has turned into Friday being the day I end up going to Concord with him to do various and sundry things.  I'm not saying it's a pattern, but the past two weeks that's what we've done.  We've hiked in the morning and then headed off to Concord for the rest of the afternoon.  And then Saturday and Sunday, well, we go to the lake!

There are quite a few things I could blog about, but I'm just not in the blogging mood!  I am doing this out of duty!  I want to go watch TV (can you imagine, choosing THAT over this?) because I can't remember the last time I did that. (Well, I haven't done this in eons either, but I don't feel the flow ...) I am unfocused and that might have to do with the fact that I haven't eaten raw the past few days.  I have been B A D.

Here's the funny thing -- I could even take a computer to the lake and blog on the dock.  But I don't even think of it.

But that's fine.  That's what summer is about.  I'm finally in the rhythm of chilling out, and with the exception of one disturbing factor, all is good.

What is it, you might ask?  

It's my hair.  Because of the Jeep, and because I of course must have the top off, my hair is always a wreck.  I mean, always.  And ... I could care less!   I am hardly a hair nut, I wash it and that's about it, but I've always enjoyed wearing my hair down.  But now it's pony tails only and most of the time with a hat on.  So picture plastered down sweaty head ... with a little wind-blown thrown in, and that's me!

The other day I went to have my hair done and it was raining, so the top was up.  I came out and thought ... my hair can stay down!  What fun!

I told you I wasn't in the mood to blog.  I know, I know, discussing hair, how low can you go?

Well, I didn't talk about the weather.

Yet.

Put the newspaper to bed

Yesterday I finally had an opportunity to sit down on the dock and get a little reading in.  I pulled the local newspaper out of my backpack and stretched out my legs and ... wait, what is that box on the front page?

What?  After 185 years the Argus Champion was throwing in the towel?  Quitting?  Losing money month after month, rising costs ... done, poof.  GONE.

It made me feel sick, it really did.  The publisher's note mentioned that the Internet was pulling away readers and I thought, really?  I love the Internet, but I love a newspaper.  I have newspaper in my blood -- is it really a dying breed?

So of course my mind begins to race and I think, well, this leaves a huge hole in this area, and maybe this is the time to step up and fill it.  And then I realized, no.  I have another plan now, another career move in the works, and this just only proves that I am truly no longer interested in investing my time and energies in a dying industry.

I don't believe that newspapers will go away altogether ... but they are caught up in this economy of correction.  For too long now newspapers have been whoring to the advertisers ... you will very rarely find anything but feel-good news stories on companies (or advertisers) that is just so much pap.  Blech.  I don't think that if it bleeds then it leads is the way either, but some hard core news would be so refreshing!  You can get that on the Internet now -- there are countless sites that are devoted to telling it like it is.  Not so much with newspapers.  Oh, there are a few columnists that have strong opinions, but everyone in the higher offices of mostly corporate-run newspapers only care about one thing:  Money.  And where does the money come from?  Advertising revenue.  So be nice to the advertisers.  And if they want to talk about how they started their company in a garage (gee, what a novel idea) instead of the fact that the CEO is a crook, then that is what you should write about.

Because otherwise they won't advertise.  Did I mention BLECH?

But the Argus Champion was a local newspaper full of local news -- nothing too major, but nonetheless interesting to those of us who live locally.  I believe that such newspapers do have a purpose and that is why I am so sad that it is fading into oblivion.

SAD is no RAW

SAD -- it's amazing how sad it really is

.

SAD, which stand for the Standard American Diet, is what is making me feel tired today.  Instead of my buzzing, busy self, I am actually tired after a long hike in the woods on a humid day.  (Which would be enough to tire anyone, but normally it doesn't when I am eating RAW!)

I have been eating raw today, but the past few have not been so good.  The past few and then some.  It's so easy to fall back into the SAD ... and it is much like a drug, once it gets in your system, your body craves more and more.   It's actually kind of scary.  Whereas if you eat raw you feel sated and full after eating, when you eat say an ice cream cone, you're running around the house tearing things apart SURE there must be something good to eat.

Last night I had Charlie make me some pop corn.  I was raw all day yesterday and had a nice organic meal of cooked food -- but there was still some bad food roaming about my body, perhaps in the form of those COOKIES MY SISTER BROUGHT up, that was teasing me, coaxing me to be BAD BAD GO FOR THE SAD.

I have not had a single potato chip since I launched into this experimental food program, and you have to know that sour cream and onion potato chips are for me what chocolate is for some people.  I love them.  Whole bags of them.  Crunch, the flavor, the salt sticking to my lips, the way one will fit perfectly into your mouth and you can bite down and your entire tongue is flooded with flavor and joy.

Last night I would have eaten a bag if there had been one around.

Where does the willpower go?  And really, it's not willpower, it just is.  I eat my raw diet and I am perfectly happy.  Give me a little piece of dark chocolate and I am good to go.  But boy oh boy, have pizza one night followed with a bagel in the morning with some of THOSE COOKIES MY SISTER BROUGHT and I think there was an ice cream last weekend and a few cocktails here and there, and well.

It's not good.  And I don't feel good.  I feel heavy and lazy and wrong.  And my heavens, I didn't even eat that bad!

I was reading in a raw blog that once you stop doing something bad (like eating sugar) for a certain period of time, when you go back to it it hits you like a ton of bricks.  What an amazing thing the body is that it can exist on a sub-par level for years and years and you think you are just fine, and yet, when you stop that food, that it just says nope, not going to happen.  We are no longer into sub-par.  We want to party!  We want the cells to scream with joy ... no more bringing us down.

Okay, okay.  I get it.  I'll try harder.  For the party.

For the joy.

Just one potato chip?

               

It's wiiiiiiiiiilting

I received my share from the farm yesterday -- which is literally picked from the garden about an hour before it is picked up.  In it were blueberries, raspberries, green beans, peas, potatoes and squash, cucumbers and a head of lettuce.

Several hours later when I went to make a salad, the cukes were on their way out.  Starting to get mushy.  And yet, a cucumber that I had purchased at a store was fine.  Which made me ask the question, how old is the store-bought cuke?  And what are they doing to it?

Every day feels like a battle against the wilt and the rot.  It is hard to juice lettuce that won't stand up!  Not to mention how nutritious is it once it is all floppy.  I went to make a caesar salad last night, and the romaine lettuce was turning into juice on its own.  The fact of the matter is, I feel like I spend each day hunting down food, so how can it go bad so quickly?  Right now I have several avocado dying, a tomato about to burst, beets that I want to eat fresh but can't seem to get to, a bit of squash that I am already sick of having to deal with and kale that is starting to go limp.

It's overwhelming and I guess the bottom line is I need the garden so I can walk out to it, pick it and stop watching it die.  But I'll never be able to grow my own avocado, so there will always be something rotting before my eyes, and I can't figure out how to stop this.  I live so far away from a decent source of decent food.  At the local Hannaford's I can hardly get 14 items or less into my cart -- because it's all disgusting.

And I wonder.  How come the organic lemons I buy at the Co-op go bad within days, while the ones I bought at Hannaford's do not?  I think they are lying.  I don't think they are organic at all.  I really don't.  And it was the farm-fresh cukes dying on the spot next to the just fine, thank you cuke from the store that made me think ... something is going on.

Because it's all about trust after all.  You have to trust that the sticker they put on produce stating that it is organic, is put on in good faith.   But then that means, in regards to a grocery store, that you are putting your faith in a corporation.  And a corporation festers on greed.  And wouldn't it be the epitomy of greed to charge someone for something and not deliver?

So unless it rots within days, it's probably been treated in some preservative along with its non-organic pals and just slapped with a sticker claiming it is organic.  Because we are, after all, just stupid consumers and we'll believe anything.

And it's impossible to tell the difference, because I tried.

It's faith, and I don't have one iota to spare for the Fockers.

190 days to go.

"Give me a chance to be your president and America will be safer, stronger and better."  -- George W. Bush, July 13, 2004

"I don't know all the facts.  I want to know all the facts.  The best place for the facts is to be done is by somebody who's spending time investigating it." -- George W. Bush, July, 2006

"It's my honor to speak to you as the leader of your country.  And the great thing about America is you don't have to listen unless you want to."  -- George W. Bush, July 10, 2001.

It is no secret that I think George W. Bush is a moron (and not just because of his moronic quotes.)  I wonder though, as he flits about the White House on his last 190 days of office, what he thinks about?  Putting the United States of America in more despair for an incoming president to fix?  Though I don't think he is smart enough to come up with such a plan.  Releasing the ban on offshore drilling -- well, I bet he even thinks he is being helpful!   I bet he does.   Because you know, those there facts, he wants to know them.  And the best place for the facts to be done is by somebody who has spent time investigating them ... and that would be all the people telling him THAT IT WON'T SOLVE THIS PROBLEM BUSHY BOY.

But he has his own facts.  There is oil out there in them thar hills, and he can get it, forget the fact that he will probably be dead by the time the pipeline exists and the oil is gushing into a new world -- my fingers are crossed -- a world ruled by someone with connected neurons in his or her brain who has uncovered the millions of alternative energy plans, ideas that have been squelched by corporate greed.  Let's remove the ban on common sense in America!

Nah, that is too simple.

"It's very interesting when you think about it, the slaves who left here to go to America, because of their steadfast and their religion and their belief in freedom, helped change America." -- George W. Bush, in Dakar, Senegal, July 8, 2003.

Yeah, Abraham Lincoln helped out there a little too, not as much as those steadfast and religious slaves though, who traveled here below a ship in chains and shackles.  Truly, am I the ONLY one that can't believe he made it through potty training, much less anything else he's achieved?  What is wrong with us?  

Quite frankly I believe that we are exactly where we are supposed to be.  The rich are richer and the middle class is soon going to leave that tenacious little niche and join the ranks of the lower class.    The gap is going to grow wider and wider -- as the rich make more money off of higher oil prices and increased costs of everything.  The end of the middle class is approaching and millions of Americans have no jobs, no way to pay their mortgages and daily living expenses.  The Bush administration, via its recurring law making that benefits business and credit corporations, has forced more Americans into poverty than since the Great Depression.

The businesses of energy (0il, gas, electricity), technology, religion, health care and pharmaceuticals are all doing VERY WELL and are reaping vast fortunes for the favored few.

A GROWING middle class is considered to be an indicator of prosperity.

"I've reminded the prime minister -- the American people, Mr. Prime Minister, over the past months that it was not always a given that the United States and America (sic) would have a close relationship." -- George W. Bush, to the Prime Minister of Japan, June 29, 2006.

"It's amazing I won.  I was running against peace, prosperity, and incumbency." -- George W. Bush,  to the Swedish Prime Minister, June, 2001.

Enough said.  

Climb every mountain ... with your girlfriends

So today was interesting.  I am finding that almost all women do not enjoy doing things like hiking with their husbands.

Now mine has decided that he wants to be a hiker too.  We have done a few short hikes and then today we did a long one.  Up hill.  I was all off -- I had eaten bad food the night before, I'd had a couple of glasses of wine and I'd been hiking every day this week.  I was tired.  And you know, a girlfriend would make accommodations for this ... she would slow down, she would listen to the reasons I was lagging ... and in the end it would be fine.

But Peter?  Well, according to him he was in far superior shape than I was and the ONLY way he can go up is to go fast and get it over with.

I see.

So today I basically hiked alone.  Also ... he feeds the dogs bones, and so they decided he was like the cool guy on the hill.  Not me, huffing and puffing behind ... nope, not the woman that takes them hiking day after day after day.  No.  They hang with the guy who has to hit the top at record time with the bones.  That I carried in my pocket because he didn't have any.  Oh, and I carried the backpack most of the way too.

Whatever.  All I know is that next week I am hitting that trail every day until I can get to the top in record time without feeling tired.

And then the whole hike filled him with all this energy ... and he was all like gung ho, let's go, and I was TIRED!  Why?  Because of course I would be tired since I have been zinging with non-tired energy for the past month.  It's all ridiculous.  Though here we are at 9:00 on a Saturday night and he is in bed snoring.  Oh, that was a loud one there.  Am I in bed snoring?

No.  'Nuff said.

We went out on the boat tonight to see the fireworks and we found ourselves right in front of the barge.  It was quite a discussion as to who was getting hit with more debris ... I still feel as though I am pulling it out of my eyes.  They were fabulous though ... and the Bonewald family joined us ... and Chris wore sunglasses in order to avoid the stuff floating in the air, so we dubbed him Stevie Wonder ... and let's face it -- he claims he saw the whole show, but I think he HEARD the whole show.

It was a beautiful summer night and it was so fun to see the lake teeming with action.  All the boats, the lights streaming from cottages ... there is something so special about summer.  It reminds me of this teeny tiny bottle of patchouli that my friend Kris brought home to me from Greece when I was in high school.  It was so small with a tiny cork smaller than the tip of my pinky.  But it was an oil, so it was very potent. 

Summer is like that.  You lift out the cork and take a sniff, and inhale deeply ... because you know that you only have a small amount, so therefore you must enjoy it.  And you treasure it because you can't wear patchouli all the time.  I can smell it now -- an olfactory memory.  

Almost drowned out by the snoring in the other room.

Happy Summer.  

And hike with girlfriends.

Really.  They care.

This is a good one.  Wonder how much they had to pay the guy to stand still long enough to get a photo with the chick too.

I am just saying.

Climb every mountain. Or not.

No, that's not me.  Not even close.  But today felt a bit like reaching a pinnacle.

I had decided last night, while laying in bed reading until the wee hours (as I promised myself) that I wouldn't hike today.

Then my friend Liz called me at 9:30 and said she had to pick her son up at 10:00 and we should hike then.  At first I thought, well no, I am laying here in bed most comfy and cozy and, well, I am relaxed.  Then I looked out the window and saw the trees swaying in the breeze, and the air flowing through the room and caressing me ... and I said Sure!  I'll do that.

So I climbed out of bed, got dressed, brushed my teeth, put up my hair, ran downstairs and filled a backpack with a raw bar and a bottle of water and prepared to run out the door when Liz called again to tell me that her son had decided that he did not need to be picked up at 10:00 and she'd be happy to hike somewhere else.

Well, I know a LOT of places to hike, so I suggested another place, said I'd pick her up, and now that we had extra time, that I would juice.

What does that mean?  When I say I will juice?

Well, it means I pull out the lettuce, kale, chard and dandelion greens from the fridge.  Then I wash them all.  Then I wash two apples, a lemon and peel a small piece of ginger.  Then I run all of the above through the juicer to create the most yummy and fantastic juice ever.  Which I drink.  

Then my friend Cheryl called to ask me if I wanted tickets to a show, and I said yes, and then she asked what I was doing.  And I told her that I was just then running out the door to hike.  And she said, really?  Now?  I said yes, now.

Then Liz called on my cell phone and asked where I was, because she really didn't have time to hike, and well, if we were going to go, we had to be on the trail like then.  So then Cheryl said she would meet me to hike.

Geesh.

I wasn't even going to hike today.  And now, well ... now it appeared to be my mission!  So I met Cheryl (late ... I gave her crap about being an hour then said hour slipped away and I ended up being 20 minutes late meeting her) and we had the most enjoyable hike.  We sat at the top and relaxed and chatted for a good hour.  I realized I needed it.  That for the past few weeks I have been so driven, so intent on one thing or another that sitting with a view of the lake before me (and three dogs panting incessantly around me) was just what I needed.  It felt good.

Ultimately I can feel this feeling of being driven ... of being pushed, and I know I need to rein myself in.  It's a by-product of all this newfound energy ... and I am well aware that I need to find a balance to it.

Today I didn't do anything specific:  I didn't pick strawberries, hull strawberries, head to a farm, shop for food, go to a movie ... and that's okay.

I read a little this morning.

I hiked for a few hours.

I made the most delicious lunch and ate it with abandon.

I shopped for a new shirt.

I met Peter and the kids at the lake and sat on the dock and had a beer.

We returned home and showered and then Peter and I went out to dinner.

I had cooked food and I must admit, at 11:41 I feel a bit tired.  But I feel good.  I think I am finding a balance between raw and cooked food.  Last night I had popcorn and it tasted divine.  Tonight I had cod and it was okay.  I won't order it again -- it's always been my favorite, but tonight it was ... not divine.  I think the key is to find divine and relish it.  If not ... let it go.

I feel upbeat and positive ... as though I can find a passage way between the two worlds.  As though a map has been spread out before me, and if you don't take the right way, that's okay, you can backtrack a bit and regain your journey.  

It's there ... I can feel it.

Climb every mountain ... or go halfway.  Either way, it's an effort.  And worth it.

Really.

A Day In The Life

Today as I was rushing around trying to do ten things at once, I stopped for a moment as I was running upstairs.  Yes, I stopped right in the middle of the staircase and I said to myself FOCUS.

Because this wasn't the first time I had run upstairs in the last hour.  I'd gone up to do laundry, and then while doing that I decided to change the sheets on my bed.  Then I remembered I was in the middle of something in the kitchen, but couldn't recall just what (since I am ALWAYS doing something in the kitchen) and I'd gone downstairs only to remember that I'd originally gone upstairs not to do the laundry or to change the sheets on my bed but to get my sandals.  Because I wanted to go to the lake and sit on the dock and read.

And the thing I was doing in the kitchen was packing a salad to take to the lake to eat whilst sitting on the dock ... READING.

It is July for heaven's sake and I haven't read a book in weeks.  Why?  Because I don't know why!  That is why.  So I decided to sit down and write out what it is I do in a day that prohibits me from doing the dock thing.

7:45 a.m.  I woke up and jumped out of bed because I wanted to hike at 8:15.  As I rushed into the bathroom and brushed my teeth I realized that my clothes were still somewhat damp in the dryer.  I put that on, then ran out naked to put the top down on the Jeep with Maddie.  Then I ate a Lara Bar because I didn't want to hike on nothing, but wanted to have some time for it to digest.  Then I filled a water bottle, ran upstairs and pulled HOT clothes out of the dryer.  Since it was humid and horrifically hot, I didn't want to put those on and needed assistance from Maddie to get the damp sport's bra into place.

Relaxing, no?

8:30 a.m. -- on the trail, the woods were cool and for the next hour and a half I thoroughly enjoyed myself as did the dogs.  My friend Grace and I even sat down on the bridge and cooled off before turning around.  We NEVER sit down during a hike normally!

10:30 a.m. -- I was back at home with a counter full of rotting strawberries.  I also had to drive to go pick up my share from the Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) farm.  So I was once again rushing.  I hulled strawberries for an hour, made my green juice, but didn't have time to clean the juicer because I had to be at the farm before noon and it was already approaching 11:30 and I had told Cheryl I would pick her up because she wanted to go with me and I had to drop the kids off at the lake.

Relaxing, no?

11:50 a.m. -- We arrived at the farm and picked up our shares -- today it was some squash, two cukes, a pint of raspberries, some green beans, peas and lettuce.  

Because it was such a nice day and because driving around in the Jeep is so much fun, we decided to explore a bit, and went right instead of left, eventually arriving back out on the main road.  This was relaxing, I must admit.  Then we dropped off Grace's share, I dropped Cheryl off, then returned home to clean the juicer.

Seriously.  And to pack a quick lunch, change into a bathing suit (do some laundry, change the sheets on my bed) and lo and behold, by three I was at the lake.

But not for long!  Because the weather did its thing where it starts to rain and thunder ... so I managed to get one chapter read before we returned home, where of course I was full of vim and vigor and ready to do something, because clearly I hadn't done much.

So Maddie and I went to see Sex And The City because I was afraid that it would be out of theaters soon.  And  ... OH!  I had popcorn.  Oh, it was so delicious ... I swear, I don't think popcorn has EVER tasted so good.  So that was my dinner.  Not raw, and certainly not nutritious, but DAMN delicious!

9:15 p.m.  Arrived home and Maddie, Charlie and I played Parcheesi.  We have a tournament going on, and right now I think Maddie is slightly ahead of me.  But it's because they are ganging up on me ... which isn't very nice.  And they will pay, believe me!  MUHAHAHAHA.

10:00 p.m.  I am sitting here now ... and once finished, I am going to take my book and find a comfy/cozy spot and read until the wee hours!

What was the point of this?  I have no idea.  It seemed meaningful at the beginning ... but not so much in the end.  I probably should have stopped in the middle and said ...

FOCUS!

The sun always shines ... on me!

Maddie and I went strawberry picking again today, and it was brutal hot in the sun.  We are at last experiencing some summer weather, and I was just drenched in sweat.

On the ride home I pointed out how beautiful the clouds were -- they were big and fluffy and full of depth, and as I stared up at them in the open Jeep, I said, hmmmm, that looks and SMELLS like a rain cloud.  And sure enough, we turn the corner and whammo, the world goes dark and the roads were sopping wet.  The cars passing us had their windshield wipers on and I just looked at Maddie and said "I think we're going to take a shower."

But not a drop fell on us.  It had passed, or it was moving ahead of us (the cars passing still had windshield wipers on) and the air was so heavenly and cool, the road was steaming, and I just started laughing.  I said to Maddie, It never rains on me in this thing!  I know it sounds crazy, but it can be raining and I will miss it.  And here's proof.

We drove into the driveway and Charlie came running out, and wanted to know why we weren't sopping wet.  I explained we'd missed it, and he said, It was just POURING out like a second ago,  and I said, Yes, I understand, but now I am here and the sun will return soon.

Now, truth be told, I was kind of looking forward to a deluge of rain on me.  I mean, it's an open-air vehicle, it must be able to take a little wet, and I was so hot it would have felt heavenly.

So how lucky were we?  We didn't get wet in the strawberry fields or on the ride home ... and now, with the sun tucked behind clouds for a bit, the house is cool enough for the next project at hand:  Dealing with 15 pounds of strawberries!  

And when I am ready to head to the lake, undoubtedly the sun will comply!

Wanna bet?

One bad apple can spoil the bunch

I know I blogged earlier about how I was going to let it all go at the lake -- that I wasn't going to let the people or circumstances get to me -- that I was just going to enjoy myself.

But unfortunately, I am only human.  And I am also finding that this whole raw thing has made me highly intolerant of a lot of things.   I have meditated over this, I have tried to understand why I am not feeling serene and floating about on a cloud of raw energy ... but instead my entire body is just boiling with incomprehension of why things are so ridiculous.

Let me explain.

Peter's sister's husband is one of those know-it-all types who has an anecdote, explanation or personal experience that keeps him as the center of conversation in ANY setting.  Hell, if you say that your tampon is giving you trouble, never fear, he will have a good ten stories that are tampon-related.  My point being is that there is no subject that he isn't an expert on.  Even when others try to talk over him (and believe me, they try) he will just keep going, the little engine that could, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.  I refer to it as verbal diarrhea-- and it's pretty nasty.

Peter just says he ignores him, and can sit there for hours without it bothering him.  And for the past 20-plus years, that is pretty much what I have done.  But when you feel good and you fill yourself up with vibrational food that makes you feel alive, every fiber of your being screams EMERGENCY EMERGENCY EMERGENCY when this toothless, lumbering, cigarette-hauling, droning fricking know-it-all is in your presence.  I can't stuff it down.  I can't eat it.  I had to keep myself away or I was going to let it all go.  It was coming out of me, and no part of me wanted anything to do with ignoring the big, fat elephant on the dock.  And while others simmered within and took it out on others (that's a whole 'nother story), I couldn't do it.  I couldn't look at him, listen to him, or even be around him.  It made my whole body feel as though nasties were crawling all over me.  I could feel my body rejecting the negative aura.

Peter then said he could use our boat.  He smashed it into the engine of another boat while trying to dock it.  Did he mention it to Peter?  No.  No big deal.  He broke one of the chairs we provided on the dock.  Did he mention it?  No, he just sat in another chair.  He drinks everyone's beer, he eats everyone's food, his negative energy permeates every fiber of his surroundings -- he is toxicity on wheels.  He is a living example of what taking drugs and smoking and drinking and wallowing in his own sad circumstances is like.  Intolerable to be around if you are someone who doesn't even like to take an aspirin in order to avoid toxicity issues.

So while he sits on the dock, his wife is at home working.  You see, she supports the family and has a big job that needs to get done.  I am sure that it is a vacation for her -- to not have him around.  So the way it is is that Peter's parents welcome him with open arms for HER!  But isn't this co-dependence, or enabling?  Just because she has a miserable life, does it mean that it has to trickle down?  Because she has chosen this as her lifestyle, do I truly need to be a part of it?  Well, then don't go, you are saying.  Hey, I am with you there.  But then Peter won't go.   So I guess I support his two-year-old behavior by going!  Oh, it's all so ridiculous.

I spent maybe less than an hour all together over the course of three days in his presence.  Believe me, I am good at avoiding him -- but it's not relaxing, and then Grampa starts yelling at Charlie because he's taking it all in, he's sucking it up, he's eating it until he can't anymore and takes it out on my son because why not?   We're tough.  You don't have to protect anyone in my family -- we live a good life.

How torqued is that?

So anyway, I'm down on the dock and I am trying to sort through all these feelings, and noting that my skin truly feels as though something is poring out of it -- intolerance as a skin condition -- and over on the public dock this older man starts yelling at this little boy.  I can hear the tone in the boy's voice that I've heard many a time before ... the kid is sorry, the kid is scared because this adult is going off on him.  I listen closer, and the older man is getting warmed up now.  He is leaning over on the dock, the child is in the water, and he is yelling at him, asking the kid if it makes him feel good, does it make him feel good to push someone smaller than him, does that make him feel good?  Does that make him feel like a big strong boy, because that's not what he is, the man starts yelling now, YOU ARE A SISSY, he screams at him, YOU HEAR ME, YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A SISSY BOY, ONLY SISSY BOYS PICK ON KIDS SMALLER THAN THEM,

And without any thought or contemplation I screamed over OKAY, ENOUGH, I THINK HE GETS IT,

And then Peter says, Lisa, stay out of it, it's none of your business,

And I say, I don't care!  I am not going to let some old man yell at some kid that he is a sissy and not do anything about it.  It's inappropriate, the kid is scared and obviously has no parents around to watch out for him.   The man stopped, as he should, because even if he was a relation to the kid, it was inappropriate (he wasn't, he was yelling at the kid because he pushed one of his grandkids), but I realized then and there I wasn't going to stand for stupid crap anymore!  Not in my own life and not in others either!  I looked at my husband and father-in-law, who sit there day after day and listen to the droning of someone they can't stand, but they do it because they are "good people," and I no longer had a question about Nazi Germany anymore.  It just all made sense.

You don't say anything because it's none of your business.  And you don't say anything because it's the right thing to do -- for your daughter or sister of whomever -- you just take it, and take it, and even though you know it is wrong, you keep taking it because that is what you do.

I know it seems insane to flash to such an extreme, but I have always wondered HOW it happened.  The holocaust, as I have mentioned in other blogs, is something that I just don't get. And now I know.  Because it is easier to say nothing.  It is easier to avoid confrontation, easier to just sit still and shut up and not get involved.  You can't help your daughter or sister because she has dug her own hole, so you just suck it all in and take some of her misery for a bit.  Maybe hide a few Jews in your attic -- but don't get too involved.

And that's not me.  There were others like me back then ... what happened to them?  Did they get shot?  Were there so few of us?  Maybe in a past life that is where I was ... and it was THAT coming out of my pores yesterday.  I don't know.  All I know is that it was real, the way I felt, and I realized that this place, this small lakeside community is just alive in negativity.  And I feel it when all the negative souls are convened.  

During the week it is fine ... enjoyable, serene.  A haven.  But it started last Saturday night when we went over for flare night, and Peter lit off a firecracker.  And within moments two people from a party on the street above were there asking who shot it off.  Peter said he did, and the one guy (negative Ned we'll call him) was a little shocked that he admitted it.  The other guy told Peter just to tell the police that he didn't know who did it.

And sure enough, a policeman showed up (obviously he was called, as Negative Ned ran to his window),  and when the cop, who had obviously been told by Neddy boy that Peter had done it, asked Peter if he had, he said nope.  Well, what was the cop to do?  He didn't catch anyone in the act, there was no evidence, and Neddy hadn't actually seen Peter do it either.  So the cop took on an attitude and started yelling, and telling Peter you needed a permit to light off fireworks and that it was a $100 fine for every one that went up.  Peter said he'd tell the guy if he saw him.  Then when he picked up a flare, the cop started yelling, "I SAID NO FIREWORKS," Peter pointed out it was a flare and that it was flare night.  And the cop was such an idiot, so I asked him if he had any idea what flare night was, which seemed odd if he was a Newbury cop, as lighting flares on the lake on the first Saturday of July had been going on for over 50 years.

Anyway, that was the start of the summer.  Then we had Uncle Blabbermouth and THEN ... the place where we keep our boat (and pay for it) had their association meeting on Saturday and came up with a whole new slew of new rules.  Like kids can't fish off the dock because once a dead fish was found on the beach and so therefore all fun was to be banned, and that if you lived on the Landing you couldn't use their parking area, and so the guy who owns our slip came up to tell us that we couldn't park there all day.  And here we thought we were the perfect renters!  We didn't use their facilities other than to walk over the dock to get to our boat.  We didn't set up camp there all day with chairs and coolers ... instead we used our own dock.  But now we were being told that since we lived on the Landing, we couldn't park there.  But you see, we DO NOT live on the Landing.

This just goes back to two women who have nothing better to do than to make up rules and somehow get the others to go along with them!   I mean, WHY DO PEOPLE FOLLOW THESE RULES?  They own their boat slips, they pay, just because there are more fogies than fun people doesn't mean they have to do it.   Take a stand.  Does NO ONE IN THIS WORLD TAKE A STAND ON ANYTHING?

In a bit of a twist on logic I have decided that the universe is providing me with a shelter from blabbermouth, and so I am going to go hang out on the dock with the bitchy women and become him and ruin their lives.  And explain to them that the only way we can park there is to use the dock.  HA.

No, no, I don't think I was Hitler.

Well ....

Heels down, chin up, elbows down, thumbs up

Charlie had his second riding lesson today and as I watched I could feel my body responding to the commands -- commands I had heard so many times in my own life as a child in countless riding lessons, it was kind of odd.

As he struggled to post, up down, up down, I could feel with every fiber of my being what that felt like ... how awkward it feels when you fight against the horse's gait ... and how natural it feels when you sync with the horse and your entire body rises when it should, falls when it should and it becomes a graceful dance, a balance in rhythm.  

As I watched him run through a series of exercises I was brought back to the many riding rings I've been in myself ... in lessons, in horse shows and camps.  As the instructor told him to get into the jumping position and ride over some "gates," which were actually just posts on the ground, I flashed back to a lesson where I was told to do the same thing, and I was in the same position and the horse thought it was an actual jump and jumped into the air.  YIKES!

I could tell horse stories until the cows come home.  (That is if they choose to do so!  I don't like to be pushy with cows, and not since the cow tipping days have I bugged a cow and they can come home when they choose).  But that is another set of memories.

Right now we are going down horse memory lane (equine memory lane?) and after the heady assaults of nostalgia, the overwhelming urge to be on a horse knowing that without a doubt my body would know what to do -- just as I responded to the instructor's commands and felt my spine stiffen because I ALWAYS had to fight the urge to slouch -- I sat in the midst of the barn on a rickety bench and instantly my cozy memories faded away and I saw nothing but WORK.

Everywhere the eye turned, there was work.  Dirty stalls, grain to be scooped, hay to be untied and broken into chunks, the floor to be swept, floor boards to be replaced, tack to be cleaned, and as a fly buzzed incessantly around my head, I thought to myself that I had invested a good chunk of my life into this world, and there was no need to go back!

Which is in itself a very freeing thought.  When Hallie took lessons about ten years ago, I had a decidedly different frame of mind.  I was working full-time then and rarely had time for much of anything, so the dream of once again having a barn full of horses was still vivid and something to strive for.  But I knew that I wouldn't be able to work as well, so it was something to think about, dream for, but not put into action until the time was right.

Hallie did not take to horses as I did (or did I not take to the scene like my mother did?) Probably the latter is more the case, but Hallie took lessons for years, but she never went much further than that.  And once she began swimming, it was all over.  And, so it seemed, was the big barn (though I had designed it in my head and where it would be and I could already see the riding ring in the lower field).

What it is nice to know now is that there will never be any regrets about not having that again.  I have so many good memories of it -- and I am thankful that I experienced them all, and I can only wonder why the universe provided me with Tuppy -- the world's most ridiculous horse!  Oh, the angst that horse put me through.  All I wanted was what everyone else HAD -- and that was the perfect horse -- you know, the one that stands there happy to be groomed, the one that stands there like a statue when you get on, the one that walks serenely, trots smoothly and canters effortlessly.  And you, the rider, get to sit there and look all smug and know-it-ally.

And then there was me.  Tuppy never stood still outside of his own stall.  He was like a bull in a china shop once out of his familiar surroundings.  It was near impossible to get him into a trailer, and then once transported to a new environ, it was madness.  I recall one horse camp where all the girls and 

their perfect horses were

 frolicking about, and then there was me ... and Tuppy the Terrible.  He nipped at the other horses, he kicked at them for good measure, he was always completely out of control ... and gasp ... when you had to switch horses everyone HATED to be on Tuppy.  It was awful.  So embarrassing to have THE BAD HORSE.  Like it was somehow my fault, like somehow **I** had done this, kept my horse from being perfect.

Even though inside I knew this wasn't true, I was still left to endure his antics.  One night the moon was full and we took the horses out bareback.  Everyone's horse was rather mellow, but not Tuppy.  He bounced and pranced and I gazed longingly at all the girls laying down on the backs of their horses, staring up at the stars.  And there was me, fighting with all my strength to keep Tuppy from bolting off into the dark night.  I was nearly in tears, and who knows where this might have gone ... if it hadn't been for Doris Fillmore.

Doris had begun the camp with a mellow horse, but her parents insisted that she use her new horse -- let's just call him Demon.  So that first morning Demon was far worse than Tuppy -- as he was big and let's just say it, the horse scared the crap out of me!  He snorted all the time, which made his nostrils flare, he bobbed his massive head so it looked like he was trying to jackhammer you into the ground, and he never stood still, not for nothing!

That first day Doris was completely saddled (hehe) with the basic business of just trying to get her horse to do anything right.  Oh, Tuppy looked like Flicker that day, and as the sun shone down upon his sparse white mane, I almost thought for a moment like I too was one of the others.  I was in the club, and as I stood (and Tuppy stood quietly, for it is a basic law of nature that if there is another animal acting worse than you, than you will act a million times better just to make that animal look even worse than the worse they are portraying!) in the pack of perfect ponies ... I saw what the others always saw me enduring -- a constant fight with a pain in the neck horse.  Oh, it was good to be on the other side, if only for that once.

Because it is another law of nature that all animals will return to their normal behavior eventually!

But the camp was saved that summer -- for every day Doris's Demon did something that made Tuppy look like a prince.  Like the morning we went down to feed the horses before feeding ourselves breakfast to find that Demon wasn't in his stall.

"OH NO!" Doris screamed as she ran to the stall.  "My horse is gone."

But no, he wasn't gone.  He had decided to leave the fairgrounds via China, and had dug a hole so deep he wasn't visible until you peered down into the stall!  What a mess, and as we all saw the work that was in front of Doris, I meandered over to Tuppy who knickered softly and brushed his velvety nose against my shoulder.  Ahhh, yes, it is good to have a horse in the mix who is worse than yours!  It can make your day!

After that, Doris and I became fast friends, bonding over the tragedy of long, sad horse tales!  Oh, we could go on all night, and often did, much to the chagrin of our perfect-pony-pals.  They had no stories, who cares if they saddled up their horse and went on the perfect trail ride.  No, we had adventure, danger, imminent death stories, and everyone listened in awe as we told them.  We would all climb into our cots and lay on our stomachs, our chins cupped in our hands, and tell the long sorry tales of horses that go backwards, that bite the judges, that take off at breakneck paces through the woods and there is no way to control them.  Our cabin became the most popular, as girls from the other one wanted to come listen to the stories!  It was all we talked about during the day ... either what Demon had done that morning, what Tuppy was doing right now, or some snippet from a story the night before.

So I found a new niche -- not as one of the others -- but because of my horse's basic badness I had become popular in a different way.

So I suppose if I ever run out of things to blog about, I can always get a horse!  

Named Demon of course!

This picture is when I was probably Charlie's

 age (13) and the horse's name is Charlie!  Because Tuppy was such a PAIN IN THE BUTT, I often had to use my instructor's horses for shows. One was Charlie, who was 30 at the time (that is ancient for a horse!) and the other was a nasty little pony named Apple Pie.  Now that I think back, I was never blessed with a perfect horse in my life!   I guess there is a lesson in that .... right?