Freedom Acres

Rainy Daze

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 14:21:00 +0000

This morning before I woke up I was having a dream that I was on the phone with someone who was offering me a job. Except that I didn't know what the job was! I was playing a sort of subtle 20-questions with the person on the other end, trying to act as though I knew about this job while at the same time trying to find out what it was.

I felt surprise when I found out what it was (except that that part didn't come through in the damn dream!) and when I asked if I had to move or where the office was located, I was told I could work from home, which I experienced with great relief.

And then it started pouring like crazy and I woke up to the sound sort of feeling as though I was drowning. And I was frustrated because it felt as though I WAS GOING TO GET MORE DETAILS on this great new job I had, except that I woke up.

Then I found a link to this book in my email What Should I Do with My Life?: The True Story of People Who Answered the Ultimate Question, by Po Bronson and looked it up and found it is available on Kindle, so I am going to download it and read it because it is super rainy and it is clearly meant to be that I read.

Just following the signs of the universe here. One step at a time. Or is that one book at a time?

TWO HOURS LATER:

I just took a shower and before I climbed in I had the whole dream going through my head. And my next thought was "what is the point of thinking about it, it is just a thought," and then I climbed into the hot water of the shower and it hit me. (Well, the water yes, but another thought that actually caused me to laugh out loud.)

I thought: I know the reason I can't seem to "discover" what it is I want to do for a job.

The answer?

I DON'T WANT A JOB!!!!

It is so obvious that it's painful. I certainly have the power to manifest a job if I **WANT** one, but my consciousness is screaming NO NO NO in the background far more louder than my "true desire" to make money is, which really doesn't come from a pure thought, it comes from guilt because I have a core value system instilled in me that I have to be independent. To be independent you must make money in order to support yourself. But I manage to skirt around this issue by "reminding" myself that I worked and worked and also raised three kids and did the vast majority of the cooking, cleaning, etc. and so therefore I am OWED the ... the what? The privilege not to work?

When I decided that I wanted to do something in the restaurant business, when I truly believed that I would enjoy doing that, within literally moments an opportunity presented itself. It didn't pan out because it wasn't logical -- all part of the way things work, and I knew that was so because I only felt relief.

These are all my thoughts -- right down to feeling as though I NEED to get a job; or have that feeling as though it would be the right thing to do. All mine. Mine mine mine. No one is forcing me to do anything; no one asks me anything other than how was my day, in truth. So I have to remove these feelings and thoughts -- free them from their captivity.

How do you know when you are on the right track? Because you literally want to sing.

The hills are alive ... with the sound of music .... my heart wants to beat like a brook as it trips and falls over stones in its way ... la la la

Power of Retraction!

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 15:29:00 +0000

Right now I am in the midst of a bit of a dilemma -- centered around the Laws of Attraction. While I practice this theory to a certain degree all the time; I often forget about the powers I have at my fingertips. Why? I don't know.

One of the things I've never swayed from perceiving the same way on a consistent basis is in regards to money. A long, long time ago I came up with this idea that if I had $20 in my pocket, then I had money. I left $20 in my pocket (or pocketbook) all the time and if I happened to use it, I would replace it. This changed when debit cards came along, because if you have a debit card in your wallet (and an account with funds in it to back it up) then you always have money, right?

So, since I always had at least $20, I was never broke. I never used that term, it wasn't in my vocabulary. I have always believed I have enough money because if you spend more at a certain time, then you just don't spend for a bit. I am also not a born shopper and would rather be in the woods than the mall -- so that of course helps too! But my entire perception of money has always been it's not something to get all that concerned about. I don't know why. I have never wanted to be a millionaire, I never wanted to work in order to make a lot of money. I have had a lot of opportunities in which I could have used my skills in order to make money, but that never was a big enough carrot for me. The bottom line is, I don't care about money. No one ever believes me when I say this, or they will say that I have obviously never NOT had money because otherwise I wouldn't say it. Which is true. I always had at least $20. Always.

I believe that I can do anything I want and that money will never be an obstacle that stands in my way to prevent me from doing it. I believe this strongly, and therefore, it is.

So this is where it gets tricky. Somewhere along the line I developed this belief system (basically out of nowhere) and I have never had any negative thoughts in regards to money. (Right now I don't personally make any, and it took me a long time to feel okay about that, but that is a separate issue -- not necessarily about money itself -- but more about power and control.) And the key word here is ... control.

I've never controlled my feelings about money, I just accepted them. Why not? It worked ... there was always enough, I've always done everything I wanted, I don't spend countless hours worrying about how I am going to pay for this or pay for that because I believe that it will work out. And it does. That doesn't mean that there isn't someone else that worries ... but that isn't my problem! I worked for years and years and maintained the same belief system. You worry because you want to, not to create money for me.

But that is about the ONLY thing that I didn't try to control. Or don't try to control. I wouldn't say I am a control freak, but I'm not really good at following the leader. I far prefer to be the leader, the person in charge, the one who says go. And one of the principles of the law of attraction is that you have to surrender. And man, I don't like that idea one iota!

And yet ... I surrendered to the idea that money was always going to be there for me. So why can't I apply that to all aspects of my life? And maybe I do, to some degree, because I have a hard time coming up with things to manifest! A new car? Well, I have two. A big house? Hmmm, got that. Perfect children? Check. As far as things go, I have all I need or want and really have no desire to attract more. What has become a "situation" for me though, is a career. A job. A purpose.

And I'm not surrendering to it, I am trying to control it. I am coming up with all sorts of business ideas and opportunities and getting all busy and all and then thinking, well, I don't know, is that what I REALLY want to do? I could drive myself crazy, with all of my blessings cursing me (I have a huge creative streak, I love to cook, I am passionate about health and wellness, I love travel and encouraging and ...) well. The point is, there are so many different directions I could take. It's not like it's clear-cut and I want to be a fireman. Well, it is, I absolutely DO NOT want to be a fireman. But you get what I mean.

So, I know that I need to surrender to the universe. I know this intellectually. So, I drag out my many books on the subject in an attempt to begin the process once again. And then things happen, as they do when you are open, and what do I do? I fight it! I try to control it! And I am even aware of this, and yet, I get even more stubborn and dig my heels in even deeper, or try to reach the same destination by taking a circuitous route.

Let me explain.

I decide that I must begin to channel the universe in a higher frequency than I have been doing. In essence, I have been lazy, just phoning in. So, as I said, I read, I repeat, I go inward and I feel the buzz. It's all good.

Then a person who I met with in Arizona last spring starts emailing (not just to me, but to a list) that he is coming out with a new program on the Law of Attraction. Do I take this as a sign? Oh no. I start to pick it apart ... I become suspicious of the tactics -- I see "how to sell something online 101" in practice and I won't have anything to do with it!

The emails continue. My suspicion grows.

The last email is a video basically asking WHAT could possibly be standing in the way of my not purchasing this program, and to take some time and ask myself that question and see what happens. I do this. On my drive to pick up Charlie last night I saw this person's car about 10 times. The last time I actually laughed out loud. The universe was kicking me in the butt, and I was still like, yeah, well.

WHAT THE HELL? What is wrong with me? So rather than purchasing this program, I purchase another book on the laws of attraction. And there is a website that I am instructed to go to. So I think, okay, perhaps this is the path that I was supposed to take all along. But then, that doesn't make any sense, because in truth I am not surrendering, I am controlling. So that is my own mind making excuses and telling me that I have made the right choice, when in fact I know I am just doing the usual standing in my own way. And even better, I KNOW this, and yet, I let it continue?

So, I began this blog with the intention of having an answer at the end of it! And? I'm going to go buy the program.

Yes. I went inside and feel that that is the right choice.

Or am I controlling my thoughts?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

Bloggers Block

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 18:53:00 +0000

It is very infrequently that I don't have something to say or something percolating in my mind that I want to blog about. But I don't. I got nothing!

So ... since my other option right now is to clean the kitchen, I think I'll start typing and see if anything bubbles up.

We could, actually, have a 24-hour discussion on cleaning the kitchen because it seems that it is never really clean. The moment I walk away, things run from other parts of the house and jump on the counter, food containers mysteriously appear and condiments like to jump out of the fridge and remain topless with dirty knives nearby.

There are times I think I will lose my mind over that part of the house, I swear. But I don't want to discuss an unsolveable problem -- there's really no point. But let me tell you one way NOT to start out your day.

To dog throw-up.

I was biding my minutes before I REALLY had to get up this morning, when I heard a dog hacking in the hallway. Charlie was right there and I asked him to get the dog out. He said, "in a minute." A dog will not just hold their hacking/barfola-ing for a minute. I cringed and winced as I heard the dog yack again ... oh, the sounds. Then I went and put her outside, and then returned to clean it up. Sucked. Just what I wanted to deal with. Like the cat poop I had to clean out of the pantry yesterday.

Is there any particular reason to have pets? I am thinking not. Today I took two of the dogs (two out of three ain't bad) on a walk. For some reason they were not in the mood to listen. Instead of totally immersing myself in my surroundings and enjoying the blue sky and moderate temperatures, I was constantly yelling, "Lucy, Lucy ... come." Or, "Luna, Luna ... come." Lucy tears through the woods like it is her job -- and you can hear her crashing around -- but it is hunting season and it's really not smart to have no idea where your dog is. And I don't like it when they are so ... so fresh! They need to listen. First they barf on the floor and then no listening?

Wow, I really got nothing! So incredibly boring! I am truly only writing this blog because MY SISTER said I was getting lax. So tell me, do you like reading drivel or would you prefer that I keep my boring blogs to myself?

Ho hum.

I am now drumming my fingertips on the keys. I am not sure this has ever actually happened to me. I have .... BLOGGERS BLOCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Well, at least I have a title. Better than "blog about nothing and a dog barfing," don't you think?

Hum ho.

I tried to stay up to see the meteor showers last night. The sky was just FULL of stars. Before I climbed into bed I stood at the slider door and stared. Nothing moved. Twinkle twinkle little star, an occasional plane, but that was it. I then climbed into bed and stared out the window, but I was staring at the Big Dipper, and kept thinking that one of those stars wouldn't go. That would be bad. Bye bye big dipper. Then I kept waking up and staring out the window. At one point my eyes were so blurry I could have seen just about anything, but I don't think I did. And did you know that around 4:30 the stars are kind of low? Like they are touching the ground? Or maybe I was dreaming it, who knows.

I had an idea for a book today. And then had an argument in my head that I can't start ANOTHER book until I finish the three that I already have going. Maybe that's why I can't write -- my creativity is boycotting the fact that I won't let it go unleashed. That's like saying my creativity has free will -- or it's like saying I have it caged. Which is it? Exactly.

I'm going to go clean the kitchen. At this point it seems like more fun.

Teenagers

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 04:41:00 +0000

All week Charlie has been at school late because of the play. All week it has been late nights and discussions on how to fairly share the really crappy late night drives. (Between Maddie and I, Peter goes to bed and believes that this exonerates him from the task.)

So tonight not only did he have the play, but then he wanted to go to the dance afterwards. So Peter and I figure out what we can do to keep us out late and yet somewhere in the vicinity of his school? Let's put it this way, I was THRILLED to discover that Applebee's stays open until midnight.

So first we drive really far away to go see a movie. Which was Men Who Stare at Goats, and well, with a title like that, what could we really expect? It was moderately amusing if not just downright bizarre! I can spend hours looking at George Clooney, but he seems a tad anorexic.

Anyway ... then we drive from Manchester to Tilton and land at Applebee's -- with plenty of time to spare. We watch a bunch of seemingly teenagers at the bar acting, well, I guess acting young, no biggie. Not really that amusing to watch though, and one girl sat on her cell phone the entire time talking. Why go out? Then they left (you know it's bad when you are outsitting the young 'uns) and in comes another crowd ... but I was most captivated by the young couple sitting directly across from us. She was absolutely beautiful. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her, though I tried, because one doesn't want to just stare at someone. She had curly red hair and beautiful creamy skin (no seriously, I wasn't totally staring at her the ENTIRE time!) and the guy was pretty cute too, but no real match for her, in my opinion. They both ordered these huge beers -- but they weren't there for the beer. They were there to bide their time before they ended up in bed together. Ahhhh, Saturday night.

So how did I end up sitting in a bar on a Saturday night just wanting to be in bed ... ASLEEP? Ahhhh, the passage of time. Oh, don't get me wrong. I can always rally. But at Applebee's? No. I don't think so. So, at last it is five of 11 and we can go!!! Yahoooo.

And we pick up Charlie, he climbs into the car, and won't really speak to us. Okay. I know the kid is totally wiped out. But seriously?

We fricking plan our entire evening around him -- and it's just assumed that we will pick him up, no matter what. We asked him a few questions and he gave us a few short answers. But the kicker was when we got home and he sort of stomped up stairs with the most pained expression on his face. I felt like saying, if you're so damned miserable being at school, then do us all a favor and call us a little earlier, okay, so we don't have to sit around for hours watching people foreplay at a bar.

Geesh.

Even though I know he is tired and that he will be far more forthcoming in the morning, and so on and so forth, it still disgusts me that he doesn't take two seconds and just thank us for picking him up at 11:00 on a rainy Saturday night when I'd rather just be at home, sitting around a fire sipping a cocktail.

I am just saying. A little appreciation perhaps. Just a smidge. Just a dollop.

Or even a smile.

Collecting rocks and blogs

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 22:05:00 +0000

I have about a dozen blogs that I follow on a regular basis and it has seemed that about half of them have sort of slowed down in terms of how much they are updating them. I too, fall into patterns where I don't have much to say, and so I don't, so it's not that big of a deal, but I have found that when I go to a blog a few times and there is nothing to read, that I will click on links of their favorite blogs.

Well.

I really don't need any new ones to follow, but sometimes it is like reading a novel when you discover a new blog and start right from the beginning, and read to the present. I become as absorbed as one can, really, and I am always struck by how much talent there is out there, and also, how amazing this whole blogging thing is.

One man started a blog to keep his family updated on the pregnancy of his wife. matt, liz and madeline . Not much of a name, but to the point! He picked up a following and when his wife went into labor, he received requests to let his blog fans know the outcome.

His wife, who was young and healthy, delivered their first child, a baby girl named Maddie. She ended up having a C-section, and after she had been in recovery and at last moved to a room, she wanted to go see her baby. When she stood up, her last words were "I feel a little light headed." And she crashed to the floor, dead, from a blood clot that traveled to her brain.

The blogging community, which was updated by a friend, drew together and sent out as much support as they could for this widowed and single father. And they even started to collect money, which eventually Matt funneled into an organization named after his late wife, which supports parents who are left alone in similar circumstances.

There is no doubt, as you read through this blog, that a huge part of his recovery is due to the fact that he vents his frustrations -- not only to people that are now his friends, but to total strangers. It really is a fascinating thing. Right now he is in India, where he spent the first part of his relationship with his wife, writing a book about the events of the past 19 months. He takes photos of his little girl standing in the same places that her mother did just a few years ago. It is strangely haunting and yet poignant. I get it -- I get it because I know how therapeutic writing can be; and he is also creating a wonderful "history" for his daughter to look back on as she grows up -- without her mother -- and she will understand how truly her father loved her.

So instead of writing in my own blog, I have been exploring others. Blogs are kind of like rocks on a beach -- there are as many as the eye can see, but there are only a few that catch your eye. And after you pick it up and examine it a bit, you either throw it back down or haul it back to live with you. I guess you could say, I am a bit of a blog collector!

Is it just me?

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 18:42:00 +0000

This morning I ran up to the grocery and liquor store as I am having people over for dinner tonight and I wanted to get it done.

Well, I apparently had the same idea as the rest of the world -- place was packed. I was fairly patient as I kept getting blocked in aisles or someone would leave their cart in the middle of an aisle and then go someplace else. By the time I got to the checkout area, it was three people deep. Okay, whatever. I don't think people realize that Thanksgiving is a few weeks away, because that is how it felt! Crazy.

I put my groceries in the car and then walked to the liquor store. I didn't drive over because it is a nice day and I figured I could use the walk. Except that I'd forgotten that not only did I need a bottle of vodka, two bottles of wine and contreau -- but also two bottle of marsala wine for dinner! Shoot! So I ended up schlepping a huge box (and a heavy one at that) across the parking lot, waiting patiently for cars to pull out and so on. At last I made it to my car and rested the box on the side to find my keys in my pocket, and somehow I hurt my finger. I don't recall how, unlocking the door, opening the door, whatever. It hurt.

Put the stupid box into the car and climbed in. I started to back out and there was a woman pushing her cart behind me. I waited and realized she was still there. I looked closer and realized that she was texting on her phone! She was stopped directly behind me and I was obviously pulling out, and she was too busy fricking texting!

I said, out loud, are you kidding me? And of course assumed, as I inched my car out, that she would move. Oh, but I was wrong. She was NOT going to move for any car, oh no, she was BUSY. Fine. My car is bigger than you are, I backed up right against her. She gave me this WITHERING look, but not until she'd finished her stupid text and flipped her phone shut! Then, instead of moving, she put the phone back into her pocket and did something with her pocketbook.

I should have hit her. Just for kicks. And the thing is, I don't think she even felt as though she'd done anything rude! I think she was so into her texting world that it didn't even occur to her that SHE was in the path of a vehicle and since she wasn't anywhere near her car, had no real reason and/or right to stop there! Oh, but she did! She was busy!

As I finally managed to back out and drive away, as I passed her pushing her cart to her car, I wondered if it would make any sense to put my window down and inform her that texting in traffic was kind of, well, umm, fricking MORONIC if she was risking her life doing it! And I thought, nah, she had already put the rudeness card in my court, she truly believed that I was being pushy. When in truth I was just done with being around people who think the whole world evolves around them.

When HELLO, it evolves around ME!

This is it ...

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 13:38:00 +0000

Let me state first of all that I've never been a HUGE Michael Jackson fan. I loved many of his songs, and was amazed at his dancing talent. But for the most part, he didn't really rock my world to any great extent.

As the years went by, it became quite clear that this person was, well, a little more than ODD. I never paid a whole lot of attention, but things like "he bought the Hunchback of Notre Dame's bones," and he now owns the entire Beatle' catalog," would permeate my consciousness (that wasn't hunchback, it was something else. Can't recall exactly whose bones he had and it's not important enough to me to look it up.) Anyway, then I realized his physical appearance was changing ... A LOT. And then he was on an Oprah show and he said that he'd had NO plastic surgery and the reason that his skin had changed color so dramatically was because he had some type of disease. Ummm. No. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He became a true oddity to me and one not worth much of my attention at all. Then I saw him I think on a Barbara Walter's special, or maybe another Oprah or one of those VHS shows, who knows, but something about him completely touched me. I realized that he was a product of what happens to someone when their world is completely wrong. He was, in essence, an abused child.

Now, how did I end up at that conclusion? He was a very young child when he was catapulted to stardom. He had more talent in his little pinky than any of his siblings, and his family capitalized on that ... if only to keep the older brothers working! There was footage of this little boy trying to get into a car and being completely MOBBED by screaming fans (which I so don't get, what are you going to do when you get to a person you adore, tear him apart?) And things seemed to click into place ... the fact that he lived on a ranch called Neverland, which created the perfect environment that a child would want to be in; or the fact that he hung out with children. I don't think he did anything pedophile-like to these kids, I think the problem was that he was emotionally stuck at about 10-years-old and that was all he could relate to. And think about it -- all adults would have treated him differently because of who he was. So he never had anyone treating him in a proper manner. I am sure he was always so confused. But children, children don't know how to act other than who they are (at least for a little while!) So he could be himself around them without being judged.

So here he was, alone in his castle, unable to leave without creating some kind of mob scene. It's really beyond sad. And when you are 10, you are not really ready to have sex or a relationship, so that kind of left him in a place of limbo -- because a part of him wanted to be "normal," except that he had no concept of normal.

So the people he bonded with were people who had experienced the same wacky and surreal childhoods -- people like Elizabeth Taylor and Brooke Shields and Lisa Marie Presley. I can just see him and Lisa Marie sitting around and talking, of course having the mutually exclusive "badge" of being different because of extraordinary circumstances, and just howling at how funny it would be to get married.

So this more or less 10-year-old is then accused of molesting children and I am sure that really took him from the edge of the precipice to a free fall into nowhere for a good long time. I don't think he ever recovered, and in truth, would any child?

I saw a different Michael Jackson in the film "This is It." It certainly didn't convince me that he was a full-fledged adult, but I sure did see someone who knew his stuff. You can say a lot of things about Michael, but you can't say he wasn't amazing at his craft. Amazing isn't a strong enough adjective ... in truth, there really are no words. (But don't you worry, I'll struggle along!)

First off, I never would have gone to see his concert. After seeing what it would have been like, I have no doubt I would have absolutely ADORED it. In fact, it made me very sad that the costumes that were custom-made for him that were "beyond anything that had been designed before," will never be worn by him. He had a real flair for the dramatic when it came to his wardrobe -- a true understatement!

The film is pieced together parts of his rehearsals and the filming of the various movies that would have been shown on the backdrop. He is involved in every aspect and the people in charge kind of treat him a bit like a God. I found that part a little distressing, I must admit, and that also reinforced my earlier feeling that no one ever treated him "properly." The director of the show and the producer of the movie, Kenny Ortega, sort of fawns on him ... "what do you want Michael, what can we do for you Michael, I love you Michael," to which Michael responds in a very weak voice, "I love you too."

Except that Michael doesn't really know what love is, I don't think. But man, does he know how to put on a show! His meticulous attention to detail is almost painful. You can see every cell of his being twinging when he tries to convey to the piano player what key he wants the song to be in, or how long he wants a note to be held. But he does get it across, and every single one of his band members and dancers knows they are in the presence of greatness and performs willingly. And the talent he surrounds himself with is just plain awesome. And he doesn't have that need to be the only person shining on stage, he very often wanders behind them or off to the side.

This Michael Jackson is someone you would want to know, because he is doing something that he knows. He is strong and confident and man could that guy move. But when he was doing a duet with a female vocalist, a love song, it wasn't believable. When he drew the woman to him, there was nothing there. I truly believe he was asexual. Even his signature move of grabbing his crotch and doing the grind ... has no sexual undertone to it AT ALL. Zip.

So here was this 50-year-old man moving around the stage like a teenager, rocking and rolling and creating a masterpiece. There has been speculation that he was anorexic, that he was doing massive amounts of drugs; that he had this or that.

There is no doubt that Michael Jackson was riddled with emotional and physical problems. I believe he is in a better place and I hope that this time around he stays under the radar and keeps his talents to himself. They ruined him for this life. How sad is that?

The power of cravings

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 13:30:00 +0000

This morning on my way home from dropping Charlie off at school, I had the most powerful and incredible NEED for coffee. All I could think about was a hot cup in my hand, sipping it ... I could imagine the aroma and the flavor. I drove into Dunkin' Donuts. I mean, wouldn't you?

The coffee itself was far too hot to drink, so instead of putting the craving to rest, I examined it. You see, I don't drink coffee -- at least not on a regular basis. I like coffee and for years on my way to work I would drive through and pick up my big cup of Dunkin' Donuts hazelnut with milk and one sweet and low. (Yes, that is what I ordered today!) I don't know whether it's because I drive by a Dunkin' Donuts every morning, or because I am in the car every morning at a "commuting" hour, but it seems as though it is unleashing some dormant need for coffee!

I have felt it before, but not this strong. I don't want to be a slave to my coffee addiction as I was before. After I stopped working and no longer made the regular commute past the addiction affliction coffee stop, it became a hassle to actually remember to drink it so that I wouldn't get a headache. So if I didn't remember to drink my coffee before noon, I was screwed, because if I drank it after that, I wouldn't sleep. It was ridiculous, so I went through a detox, it was horrible and I swore I'd never go near the stuff again.

And I didn't, for many years. But now I am, like many addicts, quite sure I can "handle it." This past summer while we were at the Vineyard, I had a cup of coffee nearly every morning for two weeks. I was aware that this could be a problem, so I would deliberately not have it some days just to make sure I could "get by." But everyone else was drinking it (I know, I know, terrible reason) but it's such a social thing, and I really like it! I figured what the heck, I was on vacation after all!

As soon as we returned home, I knocked off the coffee completely. And it was fine, no big deal. But not only do I like the taste of coffee, I like the IDEA of it. I like the idea of having something that "gets you going," that signifies a ritual that implies you don't really have to be yourself until you have consumed at least half a cup. When people say, "I can't deal with this, I haven't had my coffee yet," I think, "YEAH! I want that too."

Why?

You got me. Seriously, even re-reading that above paragraph I find it puzzling that I would actually WANT something that, well that makes me seem weak. I "can't" shouldn't really be in any of our vocabularies, and certainly not first thing in the morning!

Every morning I have a smoothie -- it revs me up and tastes delicious and it's all I need for hours. Sometimes it is fruit-based and other times it is green (with veggies). But I don't NEED it, but it makes for a wonderful and healthy breakfast. Coffee doesn't really fit that bill, though it does fill me up. I have now only had a cup of coffee this morning (large, hazelnut, with milk and sweet and low,) and I am stuffed. But what have I ingested that is going to do my body good? I can't imagine drinking a smoothie on top of it, so in truth, the coffee is a detriment to me.

(Talking myself off the coffee wagon here!)

What is most interesting about this whole thing is how the craving grew and grew until I had to listen to it. So, does my body actually NEED caffeine right now? Is that what it's all about? Another thing I am wondering is that I have this cream that contains caffeine in it, because it is made from a coffee bean. It smells absolutely AMAZING, and I put it on before I go to bed. So, could this be going into my system and I am waking up craving more of what I am smelling all night?

Well, that could be it! See, if I hadn't started this whole thing about craving caffeine I never would have thought of that. I am going to ditch the cream for a few nights and see if the cravings go away. Before I find myself between that fine line of NEED versus WANT!

White moon rises over sunset

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 22:09:00 +0000

First I started complaining because it was getting dark before 5:00. Then I happened to turn the car towards home and gasped at the sight of the full moon.

It was amazing.

I decided to take a long way home so that I could drive into the moon with the mountain behind it. As I started down the hill I gasped again and poked Charlie.

Look at that sunset! Wow. I nearly drove off the road gaping (and gasping) between the picture of the moon and the portrait of the sunset, obviously on different sides, it was like being in heaven.

I arrived home and went to take pictures.

But my battery died.

And I didn't even care -- so there!

Rise and fall of Fall 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 17:09:00 +0000

I think one of the hardest things to capture is the perfect fall day. I mean, some are no-brainers -- there are some days when the sky is the right blue and the leaves have peaked and you just happen to have a camera. But those days are pretty few and far between. Believe me.

I carry my camera around with me religiously and I am always looking for that perfect picture. This year it didn't seem to come. When the foliage was at its best, the sun never came out. And when it did, perfection wasn't speaking to me.

I did spend a day in Portsmouth when the sky was just right, but by then the foliage had progressed to mostly yellows. Oh well, it was beautiful and I took a bunch.

Following is the rise and "fall" of fall 2009!

OHMYGOD I have been playing with these pictures all day, I swear. To heck with it, I am just posting this. I used to go to flickr and drag the photos into the blog, but they have downgraded my account because I don't pay and now I can only drag the photos in a SMALL size. So I then downloaded the photos via blogger but they all came in as one and if I try to delete one, it deletes them all.

Nightmare, I tell you. Anyway, I was going to comment on the pictures, but I can't. Or at least near them. The first and last photo (I wanted it to be last, not first and for some reason it is now in twice and if I try to get rid of it ALL the photos go) was going to be a tag line such as ... and this is how it ends ... and I sometimes feel like this sunflower -- beaten down and discouraged that summer and fall are both over and it's all gray and dismal from here on in. I haven't chopped these down (the sunflowers in the garden) yet, because they really are so forlorn and yet ... so strong. Those stems are amazing. They could weather a winter if they wanted to. Except for the part where they're well, you know, dead!!!!!

Later, tomorrow, soon, yep, I'll get to it.

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 16:16:00 +0000

I promise.

I don't know what is going on, but I am like a giant magnet walking about with things pinging towards me and clinging for all their life. And I think, oh, good idea, I can do that, oh, I'll do that too ... and I am getting buried!

My desk is ridiculous. Everything is at that stage where it has gone so far it is overwhelming. So I've been putting off cleaning my desk since ... ummm, August? Ditto with the pile of clothes in my room that represents the between seasons limbo -- there are still shorts and t-shirts, because I am a diehard optimist and I am STILL holding out for that Indian Summer. Anytime please. I need to get rid of that pile to make room for ski pants, fleece and sweaters.

My pantry crossed over from being disorganized to detrimental to cooking about a month ago, but again, that is a P R O J E C T and I am not ready to deal. Yesterday I stood there for ten minutes searching for cumin. I used to have all of my spices alphabetically organized on a shelf. But that shelf now has about 10 spices on it. Where did all the spices go? No, seriously, where did they go? I haven't used them all up! They are in hiding.

Or on a shelf where I can't spot them. Same with all of my superfoods. I smartened up a few weeks ago and combined my daily supplements in the cupboard above my blender so I wouldn't have to go search for them every morning. But the umpteen boxes of tea that I took out of that cupboard are now in a basket on the pantry floor. Seriously. WHAT IS MY PROBLEM?

Also, while searching for maple syrup in the jungle of a pantry, I discovered other superfoods I should be incorporating into our diets as well -- especially those with lots of Vitamin C. Oh, and where did all the maple syrup go? I had TONS of it. I was lucky to find the one small bottle. Did someone steal it? No, seriously.

And then there is my office. It's out of control. I mentioned my desk, or the big hulking thing that holds my computer and countless other items like an opened Larabar, old batteries, a Fast & Furious DVD that I don't want but was sent anyway by Columbia House and apparently want to get mad about daily, four books, a pile of empty CD cases, a jar of coconut oil, a bottle of coconut handcream (I do use that constantly) an empty plastic baggy, a water glass, a stapler, two calenders, a notebook with notes scribbled in it for a future blog, and then underneath all that -- who knows.

Then on the ottoman to my right are four stacks of books and magazines, a container of string that I believe HALLIE put there that she was making bracelets with and now a lampshade. Then an empty chair, only because someone sat in it last night and put the lampshade on the ottoman! Then on the floor, in what I am now referring to as my bag store, are all the bags I use. My hiking backpack, my backpack I take to the beach or dock (hmmmm, time to put that away?) and then two sort of handbags that I switch between where I throw in my camera, a snack, water bottle and shopping bags, etc. when I head out for the day. My pocketbook is on the table next to it, which also contains three books, a bra (yes, I was looking for it, now that you mention it) and the camera case. Which begs the question, where is the camera? Undoubtedly in one of the bags in the bag store. I just counted, there are 7 bags.

Am I slob? Well, it would seem so, but not really. It just accumulates, and then, well, what the hell am I going to do with them all? Two of them are those big canvas ones that I take to soccer games, with a blanket and other warm clothes because you never know what it's going to be like. And two sizes because sometimes I go to the games alone, and other times Charlie and Peter go. I could bring them back to the basement, where I got them, but there are still a bunch of soccer games left. Is it worth climbing the stairs each time? I think not.

As for the umpteen backpacks, they really have no home. I used to hide them around the side of my desk in the corner, but that is now home to a stack of pictures that I need to deal with (later) and a big bowl full of rocks.

I love rocks.

I hate all this stuff, as much as I love it. If I rid myself of the detritus of my office; I would undoubtedly purchase it all within weeks. I love bags, I adore books and magazines and truly, the lampshade needs to go because I bought a new one, but do I throw it out? I don't know. I tried to convince the kids to use it as a halloween costume ... but no. Charlie jumps out of bed this morning, with about 10 minutes before we need to leave, and asks me to help him with a great ghost costume.

I think not. But I mentioned the lampshade ... no go. And no go goes the lampshade.

::::::::::::::sigh:::::::::::::::::::::::

I suppose I should get out of the messy office and go into the messy kitchen and clean that up. That is pretty much where my loyalty lies as far as my cleaning budget. I clean that (%#)*$()@&%)@(*$#P* kitchen twice a day. Once in the morning to clean up whatever mess was left from the night before, and then after I cook. The second time I don't mind, because I am cleaning up after myself. But cleaning up after others -- others who can certainly clean up after themselves, just sucks. And really, the only solution I've found to that problem is to just leave! The ONLY time I don't have to deal with the kitchen is if I am not here. And somehow they manage to figure it out. But if I am here, the best they can do is throw a dish or two into the dishwasher. Crumbs on the counter, pans on the stove, etc. are all invisible to their untrained eye.

How did this turn into a bitching session? Because I hate to clean when I don't want to clean. So I'll get to it later. Tomorrow. Soon. Yep, I'll get to it.

Taxi!

NH Electric Coop is not zapping my funny bone right now

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 15:19:00 +0000

So, for the past month-plus we've had a power line laying across the front lawn, from the pole to the house, so we can get power. The reason for this is because they have to dig a hole, lay in a conduit and then run the power line through that. Clearly it is not something they are anxious to deal with, so they have just left us with a live wire across our yard.

Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

Charlie is home this morning because he doesn't have school and I was taking pure advantage of this and laying in bed with the sun beating down on me and just chilling. Charlie was outside driving around in his go-cart and the dogs started barking. I figured it was because of Charlie, so I kept yelling at them to stop. But they didn't. So I got up and looked out the window and saw the power truck parked out by the pole on the road. Oh, so are they going to deal with that today? Nice of them to let me know.

I heard them knocking on the door, and what did I do? I went directly to the shower. The way I saw it, if I was losing power, I was going to be clean! I knew they were knocking to let me know, and I knew they were knocking because they knew I was inside because I am sure they heard me yelling at the dogs.

And you know what? I don't care.

Charlie came up and said that he had talked to them and when they found out I was showering, they said they would come back in half an hour. Yes, they do need to turn off the power, and they also want to know if they can take up boards on the front porch (to make it easier for them to get the line to the house.) Charlie called Peter who said no, they would have to dig a hole.

Now, at first I thought this was a tad unreasonable. But it's been over a half-an-hour and I've had nothing but time to think. Charlie said they are going to ask me and Peter said that I need to tell them no. Okay. And here is how it is going to go, as I have been rehearsing it in my mind over and over to be sure to get it right.

"Gentlemen! So nice to see you, it's been a while. I understand that you want to pull up some boards on the porch to make your job easier, and you know, I think that makes a lot of sense. But here's the thing. You left us believing that the power issue we've been experiencing since last summer was our problem, and therefore we endured the daily power surges. So while it might seem unreasonable that you have to get dirty and get under that porch to get the job done, I am going to keep reminding myself that I had to pay $450 to get my dryer fixed, a dryer that was undoubtedly ruined by a power surge -- now now, I understand I can't prove that it was done by this, but I think we all know that is the case.

In addition, for three weeks I had no dryer, and had to haul heavy baskets of wet clothes to the laundromat to dry them. Oh, and we also had to endure countless nights of being awakened when the power went off to the sounds of the fire alarms beeping.

I suppose I could go on, like remember the day there were six of you standing around in my yard for seven hours trying to fix the problem that you knew existed and then you left us with the old line hooked up just so "you" could prove that it truly was the problem? And of course, once again we had to listen to the fire alarms beep at 2:00 in the morning.

This, gentlemen, is what you call karma. Or, a tit for a tat. I have no sympathy for you, and if you like, I will get you a shovel. But unless you intend to hire a carpenter to rip up and then replace the boards on the porch, your only option is to dig a hole. And climb in it. It might not bring back all the sleep I lost, or the money I spent on broken appliances or how many times I had to re-connect my computer to the Internet because the power went off over and over and over and over. But it will be fun to watch. Any further questions or are you ready to fix this problem once and for all?"

What do you think? Too long? And even funnier, they have now been gone for an hour, and Charlie and I are getting ready to leave. Maybe I'll just print this out and tape it to the pole.

With love.

Raw World here we come ... again!

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 16:04:00 +0000

I am absolutely CrAVINg raw foods -- it's so weird! Normally this time of year I want to make casseroles and soups and other comfort foods to combat the cold weather and inevitable approach into winter.

But I just want it raw. This morning, before a rather fast five-plus mile walk around the lake, I didn't have time to make a smoothie, but fortunately I had made a raw pudding last night. I had several spoonfuls of that and was READY TO GO! The pudding is a new recipe for me; I have a tried and true raw chocolate mousse that I love, with an avocado base, but this one is sprouted almonds, honey, chia seeds, one banana and cacoa and cocoa powders. I thought how does that make a pudding? I had to try it. Well, it is crazy filling and very satisfying. And also seems to be acting as a catalyst to get me back into the kitchen and preparing raw foods.

I pulled up a recipe of "Almost Nutless Alfredo Sauce" and the picture literally had me drooling. You?

I have made a version of this before, and it is truly delicious. Especially if you pop it into the dehydrator before eating. But this one calls for irish moss, which I bought when I was in Arizona last spring and haven't found a use for it. So that clinches it -- I also need to soak buckwheats so that I can make some raw bagels. I have a stack of recipes here I want to try out and I just retrieved my stack of raw cookbooks.

I am not sure why the raw urge has been dormant for so long, but it's time to return in that crazy, over the top passionate way I tend to do things! The other day in the woods while a friend and I were leaning against trees enjoying our lunches, she asked me if the tuna I had wrapped up in a cabbage leaf was the raw version I make. And I said no, it wasn't -- but I then began to dream about it -- it is LEAP years better than real tuna -- the flavor is to die for and the consistency is better because it is made from Jicama, not, well, fish! I think that planted the seed, and then my mother said that she had finished the cacao macaroons I had brought her a while back; and that she used them when she needed extra energy. I too, do the same thing, and had popped a few before the hike with the real tuna lunch. It just stays with you for so long -- and gives you so much energy and such a feeling of vitality.

Why not embrace it?

Exactly.

I've made this once and it didn't come out perfectly. I am thinking I need to try, try again. Does that not look to DIE FOR?

Off to uncook.

Goodbye Public School memories ... forever

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 15:55:00 +0000

Just finished up with Charlie's conferences and I am sooooooooo looking forward to a few days without having to drive! Yahoo.

It was a pleasure to meet with his teachers as they all had positive things to say (you hear that public school? Yes, they had POSITIVE things to say about Charlie Schiess! Put that in your pipe and smoke it why don't you!) And while you're at it, run your fingers through the flame and ...

But I digress.

The one repetitive commentary we heard time and again was "he is an extremely bright young man." Why, yes he is! I knew that! I did! But we still have a lot more work to do to remove the programming he received the past two years where it was instilled in him that he was not worthy of the air in the room to breathe.

If you do nothing for your children but remove them from the public school system, you will have done more than you can imagine! It seems harsh and it would seem that I might just be a little over the top, but I truly believe that I have a pretty good grasp on the detrimental effects of a culture steeped in negativity -- a focus on what has been done wrong versus cultivating strong work ethics within the minds of children -- and I had three guinea pigs that I offered up to the great experiment that is our failed public school systems.

Three different learners -- all who suffered. Of course there are schools where there are good teachers. But even a good teacher will eventually get beaten down by the stupidity, negativity and overall general apathy that they deal with on a daily basis. Who wouldn't?

The last time I met with teachers on behalf of Charlie, they sat at a conference table and told me how horrible my son was. Only two of them had some positive feedback; but one was the art teacher and the other the home economics teacher -- both classes where it was more hands-on. Did the other teachers realize that perhaps Charlie's learning style might not fit into their cookie-cutter approach? Well, they didn't care! They didn't have time to care. They dealt with the situation at face-value and boy, did they let us know how horrible the kid was.

So now, thousands upon thousands (upon thousands) of dollars later; I met with all of Charlie's teachers and they all had positive things to say. ALL of them. Here is a pure case of "you get what you pay for!" And how! Despite his rotten middle school experience and a seemingly all-school attempt to thwart him from getting into a school -- he did and he is thriving!

Open minds and hearts -- that's really all it takes. Then the rest just follows.

So now I have to let it all go. Forever. The past is the past and while it would be fun to bash those people into the ground (and truly, it would, I won't lie) I can take repeated deep breaths and know that my gut is always right.

Always.

Since everything happens for a reason, I keep trying to figure out exactly what the lesson has been in all of this. I didn't need to learn that the public school system was broken ... maybe it was just about having faith in myself and Charlie. Or keeping that in perspective: That while others might believe the opinion of others, there is never any reason that that opinion should become fact. Ever.

And to trust the sequence of events -- not try to control it. Charlie ended up at the school that he was supposed to, even if it didn't feel like it at the time. Both the ski coach and the theatre director want him next term; the former because he is anxious to have an Eastern skier on his team and the latter because he is thrilled to have someone with such a beautiful singing voice on his cast.

These are good "problems" to have, and while it is going to be very challenging for Charlie to take on both while at the same time upping his academic contributions to meet his potential, I have no doubt of his capability.

How exciting it is to be tapping into his endless source of talents and skills instead of constantly showcasing his shortcomings.

Life is, indeed, very good.

Happy Birthday Charlie! May your 14th year be the beginning of a very successful academic career.

Mind blown across the planet

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 22:21:00 +0000

OHMYGOD.

Like a stupid head I joined the Columbia DVD club a hundred years ago. Actually, I joined it three years ago when we bought a new blu-ray DVD player and there were very few places to rent them at the time.

So, like a super stupid head, I joined thinking I'd go in; get my freebies; buy my commitment's worth and get out, quick and dirty.

Yeah. Because I am super duper stupid head, I am stuck in this hell of a nightmare of a company that has it figured out beyond my wildest dreams.

The only way to cancel is to send a letter. But how do you prove that you sent a letter? Because, you see, they say they never get them. (I guess my next step is a certified letter; but come on, does it have to be this hard?)

So, despite my letters begging them to cancel, I am still a full-fledged member of the Columbia House DVD Club. Kill me now.

Last summer I missed the four-day window they give you to respond to their "director's selection" and therefore received the damn thing in the mail. For the minor cost of $25 I received a DVD that I not only didn't want, but could absolutely NOT do anything about. According to the directions (heaven forbid you ever try to speak to a human being, not going to happen) all you have to do if you don't want a selection, is to write "REFUSED" on it, and put it back in your mailbox. Then, they will accept it, but they won't refund your money. You see, there are NO REFUNDS!!!

Brilliant, huh?

So one of my more important jobs in life is making sure that I respond to the "Director's Selection" in a timely manner so I won't get any &()_#()@&%()#_$*()#P DVD's that I don't want in the mail. Makes my blood boil.

This particular method has been working just fine, when all of a sudden they have figured out how to get around me. They have rendered the "No Thanks, I do not want this selection or any other *()$#_*%()#_*$()#* of your goddamn *(%)_*#($)_*)#($ movies at this time" useless. Now, when I hit that link, it sends me to another box where I am supposed to sign in. Then, when I do so, it takes me directly to supposedly my account page, where it tells me that I don't owe anything. There is no way to navigate around this -- it always takes me back to the sign-in page. Bottom line? It won't let me say no.

So I decided to try to call them. This sends you to voice mail hell, and then they came up with a devious idea: Tell the person, after they have given their account number, to tell you what the 7-digit "directors selection number" is, which is located in the upper right hand corner of your card.

You see, I don't get a card. Oh, they know this. They have it all figured out. It is mind-boggling INSANE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everything I do with the club is done online. They can "bill me" online, they can tell me, online, that they are sending me a selection that I don't want online, but I can't cancel online, tell them I don't want it online and since I don't get anything in the mail, I can't cancel in any other way.

Would this drive anyone else bonkers? Is it just me? Am I losing it? Am I typing like a mad woman about a diabolical company for no good reason?

Perhaps. ::::::deep breaths:::::::::

I just tried again. And here's the deal: They sent me on the 22nd a notice that I would receive my selection if I did not respond by the 25th. Their office isn't open after 6:00 p.m. and they do not take calls during weekends. AMAZING?

Is this not illegal????

I will have to do nothing tomorrow but prioritize making this call. And then who knows what will happen? There is no guarantee that I will get any help. I have received no response to my umpteen emails to their "customer service center." HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Better Business Bureau?

Cancel my credit card?

Hire a lawyer????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.

Feeling gaseous

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:06:00 +0000

For the past few weeks, the price of gas has been significantly cheaper in the town of Tilton, which is about half an hour away from my baseline view of gas prices. The gas station about two miles from my house was at one point 15 cents more than the gas cost in Tilton. How weird is that? I also noticed that the majority of gas stations in and around Tilton were all within about five cents of each other, whereas the gas stations in my own immediate area were on the penny (and much higher.)

So, I wondered, do they price gas according to the socio-economic landscape of a community? That was my best guess for a few weeks, as I continued to monitor it and saw very little change in the great price divide.

Then I started to notice the divide grow smaller. Hmmm, I wondered, why is this? The price difference was so vast that I was filling up our fleet of cars exclusively in the "cheap" zone. Then one day I wasn't going to make it to Tilton on the amount of gas left in the car by dear daughter Maddie, so I had to buy it ::::gasp:::: at the pricey pump. Except that it really wasn't that much of a difference. Maybe five cents. Hmmmm. Hmmmmmm.

This morning the price of gas flipped! It was $2.47 in Tilton, and my local pump was offering it up for $2.43. Now seriously, what the hell? How exactly IS gas priced? Two weeks ago it was $2.26 in Tilton and $2.57 locally. Talk about fickle.

First off, the price of gas is rising because consumer demand has fallen. Isn't that the opposite of how it is supposed to work? Is the whole supply/demand foundation of economics not applied to the price of gasoline? It would seem not. According to "most energy experts," (which in my opinion falls into the same category as "9 out of 10 dentists") they see no fundamental reason for rising prices and doubt that prices will spike to the record $4.11 that they did last summer. (Which last summer? I don't remember prices being that high in the closest summer I can recall of a few months ago?????) Hey, they are the experts ... (further investigation reveals that the experts are referring to 2008 gas prices. Further investigation BEYOND the article I was reading, I must add, snarkily.)

Now we are going to get all newsy:

The U.S. consumes about 20 million barrels of oil products per day, half of which is used for motor gasoline. So, 10 million barrels roll out (I couldn't resist) into the world purely for the use of getting us from here to there. Each barrel of oil contains 42 gallons which yields 19 to 20 gallons of gasoline. (??????) Good heavens. How much do I want to know? Well, let us continue with this branch of discussion. So that means that there is something like 178 million gallons of gasoline consumed daily. Not hard to imagine if you've ever sat in traffic in California or Chicago with cars as far as the eye can see four to five lanes deep.

Typically in the summer there is more demand for gas because people go on vacation. This makes sense, and the price of gas goes up. Again, mean, but it makes sense! But ... prices do not ALWAYS go up in the summer. Prices beyond the summer can continue to rise due to certain circumstances, such as Hurricane Katrina, which pushed prices up to $3.07 a gallon in September, 2005.

Prices rose to the record high of $4.00 in the summer of 2008, which encouraged people to drive less, which in turn drove down demand, and subsequently, prices. (So the supply/demand theory was in play in the summer of 2008.) But then ... things changed.

Prices increase when the world crude oil market tightens and lowers inventories, which is what is happening now. And to understand that, we need to know where the money goes. Are you ready?

When you pump $30 (if you are lucky, all you non-SUV drivers) into your tank, that money is broken up and goes to many places. (So stop thinking the gas station owner is getting rich!) There is a supply chain and several groups who are responsible for setting prices. The media (blast them again!) can lead you to believe that it is the price of crude oil that sets pump costs, but it's not that simple. Here is an approximation of where each dollar you spend on gas goes:

Taxes: 11 cents

Distribution and Marketing: 6 cents

Refining: 10 cents

Crude oil Suppliers: 73 cents.

And of course the gas station, though that is sort of all over the map (which explains the fluctuations in prices that you see from town to town.) And while it feels natural to blame the gas station owner's, they typically only add on a few cents per gallon, and while there is no set standard for them in terms of what they can charge, many states have mark-up laws which prohibit stations from charging more than a certain percentage over invoice from the wholesaler. These laws are designed to protect small privately owned stations from being driven out of business by large chains that can afford to cut prices at select locations.

Other reasons for cost fluctuations include distance from refineries; world events; war; weather and prices also vary between states because of different tax impositions. And a new reason emerged in 2007 when Washington legislated to incorporate more ethanol into transportation fuels.

And let's not forget OPEC -- the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Companies, which is a consortium of 13 countries: Algeria; Angola; Ecuador; Indonesia; Iran; Iraq; Kuwait; Libya; Nigeria; Qatar; Saudi Arabia; the United Arab Emirates and Venezuela. Together they are responsible for 40 percent of the world's oil production and hold the majority of the world's oil reserves. When OPEC wants to raise the price of crude oil, it simply reduces production, which then causes gasoline prices to jump because of the short supply (but then again because of the threat of possible future reductions). When oil production dips, gas companies get nervous. So the mere threat of oil reductions can raise gas prices.

Beyond OPEC there are several other countries that contribute to the world's crude oil supplies, including the U.S., Mexico, Canada, Equatorial Guinea, Russia and China. OPEC tracks the oil production of these nations and then adjusts it own production to maintain its desired barrel price.

Is this getting boring? LOL.

What it comes down to is that there are NUMEROUS forces that affect the price of gas at the pump, but this week there is no strange weather and no new war, so I guess we have to train our gaze at OPEC. Prices were perhaps getting too low?

But it's still more complicated than that. The U.S. is the third largest producer of crude oil, and yet we are still heavily dependent upon foreign oil. And then there's that oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. To drill or not to drill, that is yet another question.

So while I don't feel I've answered my own question of why the price of gas is all over the map; in a way I understand that it's not a question easily answered. It might make more sense to just accept it. Like the two-year-old question of "Mommy, why is the sky blue?"

To which you respond, "it just is."

Not lost in transition

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 18:11:00 +0000

Whenever a season changes there is always a transition to make. It is no longer possible to wear shorts hiking into the woods because it is cold. But my brain has trouble accepting this; and I hike in shorts a few times with goose bump legs before I then go too far the other way and wear a fleece pair of long pants. Then I am hot and I have to try to remember, what exactly is it that I wear to hike in the fall?

Why is it so hard? Why don't I have a pile of clothes marked Summer Fall Winter Spring? Yeah, why not? Because then that would mean acceptance, and I never accept the change of seasons with any grace. I am a pit bull with bad manners who is watching a band of thieves charge across the yard. I growl and bare my fangs and the hair across my body stands up and I have an evil glint in my eye.

And then I get over it, discover that it's this particular pair of mid-weight pants I wear coupled with the fleece jacket and gloves, and I move on. So to speak. But it takes a few weeks, if not longer!

And once I let myself get over it, I am usually delighted to remember that it is now vest wearing weather and I ditch the flip-flops and pull out my clogs -- those that have a few inches on them so that I am now a new, taller person out there in the world. As I begin to dig deeper in my closet, I unearth other items of clothing I have completely forgotten I own. If I was a glass half full type of person (and I am, I just like to write grouchy!) I would view each change of seasons as a way to re-experience my wardrobe; and of course fill in the gaps where a pair of jeans has more holes in them than is fashionable (which in this day and age is quite negligible, because it's hard to find jeans on the rack without holes!) or a favorite shirt has to be replaced by a new one because well, you can only pull off the "oops, not sure how this shirt got on my back," look only so often.

So with the temperature transitions and the "what to wear," transitions, also come the lifestyle changes. With the end of summer comes a new schedule; no more sleeping late or lounging at the dock. Now we have to be somewhere at certain times, and well, that is really a drag and takes some getting used to! It takes a few weeks to adjust to new schedules and get a feel for them, and reclaim old experiences like being alone in the house for extended periods of time!

Today, Hallie left for Chicago. She has been here, off and on, since August, with more on than off the past few weeks. I have enjoyed having her here; and have spent much of the day wondering where she is. Usually in the morning she comes down the stairs in search of the smoothie I have left for her in the kitchen. Then she goes into the living room, snuggles up under a blanket, and sits in there for hours with her laptop and books. She has been studying for a big test she is taking next weekend, so I've tried to give her the space for that. But she hiked with me a number of times, was always willing to do whatever I suggested, and so was, in truth, a built in play date for me!

And now, she is gone. She has been gone for a long time; she never returned home to live after her freshman year of college. And when she returned this summer, we had to transition into having a full-time third child in the midst. When I considered things like dinner; I had to think of five people, instead of four. And of course, there was the car issue. Four drivers, three cars. Never a very solvable math problem! And so, just like the seasons, we now have to readjust to a new family dynamic of four, not five. We now have enough cars, but we also now have an empty bedroom. (Which you left very clean Hallie, thank you!)

I have felt very rushed and hurried the past few months. I haven't felt tucked under a blanket of equilibrium -- a sense of floating and staring up at the sky and shutting out the whole wide world. I haven't felt as though I have had enough sleep, or enough time to read, or to do anything I like to do, really. Part of that is external, and most of it is internal. There is a rush inside of me to get things done (in fact, I keep glancing at the clock wondering when I have to pick up Charlie, due to the fact that this time last year I would have been on call as middle school ends just now. Funny how our internal clocks are tuned into the old as well!) But the new situation means I have no idea when Charlie will be picked up, there is no consistency. The new fall schedule is no schedule of pattern!

Oooookay!

I also can't get adjusted to the cold. It will come, I know this, but the transition of being in a house with all the doors and windows open and spending as much time outdoors as possible, to being inside a heated dwelling with no fresh air is tough. I love to be outdoors. And I love to curl up by the fire and read, and you can't do that in the dead of summer! So it's all good.

And I am sure in a day or two I will stop feeling as though the house is empty, but will instead embrace the fact that the lack of stagnation in life is what keeps us living.

Women changing the world

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 12:55:00 +0000

I was doing a marathon catch-up of my recorded shows (nothing worse than being told you are running out of space and your next show to be recorded won't fit!) and on Oprah the topic was about women in those "bad places," who had risen above.

Really risen.

One story was about a woman named Terarai in Liberia who as a young girl wanted to go to school. That is all she wanted, and every day she did her brother's homework because her desire to learn was so strong. Eventually the school teacher realized that she was an avid learner and convinced her parents to let her attend class. But then, at the age of 11, she was married. This is how it is done. Women have no time or place to get educated; they have their roles as caregivers and baby makers.

When she was 18 and already had three kids; a woman from Heiffer International came to visit her village and collected the women in a circle and spoke to them. She told them that they should record their dreams on paper. This was the first time that Terarai had even contemplated the thought that you COULD have dreams. Considering that her life was one of being told what to do and her own inclinations and wants were never factored in; I suppose that makes sense. She was also beaten by her husband. Daily.

She wrote down her dreams on a piece of paper and buried them under a rock in a meadow. And then she got busy trying to make those dreams come true. She wanted to go to college; she wanted to receive her Masters and she wanted her PhD. She achieved the first two and this year she will realize the last. It is an inspiring story beyond words, really. A woman who has come sooooooo far. Makes me feel so insignificant. So pampered and damn lucky.

The stories continued and I was completely hit with the knowledge that we CAN help. Through microloans, these women are able to often create jobs that eventually end up supporting their families. The premise is fairly simple: For the most part, the men of these families can't work for whatever reason and so they beat their wives and let their children starve because they are helpless. Let's see -- they are given all the opportunity as children due to their penis status. And these women are told from the get-go they are NOTHING. But it has been found that when a woman in a country like the Congo is provided with a small bit of money and opportunity, she can spin it into gold.

These are rape victims, burnt and beaten and whom have lost children to tragic circumstances. And yet ... and yet ... they prevail. They are such a testament to the human spirit. They all made me feel so inspired.

Then they showed a shot of the women who sit in long, long lines hoping to get a sponsor. Because without one, they are still in the same position they always were. A sponsor is someone like you and me who spends $27 a month and basically buys a life for a woman in the Congo and other countries. A woman who has never had any opportunity before.

The Sponsorship Program links women in the US with women in Afghanistan, Bosnia and Herzegovina, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Iraq, Kosovo, Nigeria, Rwanda and Sudan, who have survived war and conflict. Individual sponsorships are a direct, personal, hands-on way for women in the US and elsewhere to help marginalized women in post-conflict countries. The sponsor provides $27 in monthly financial support that provides direct financial aid, training and other services to women participants. In addition, the sponsor and the woman exchange letters. For a woman who may have lost everything or who feels isolated from the world, letters of support and encouragement help renew her hope for a better future.

There is a woman who lives locally who created a program called the WomensTrust, and she provides microlending to a village in Ghana. I just spent some time researching that -- trying to decide where help is most needed. My gut tells me that I need to begin with sponsoring a woman in the Congo. Women for Women International on The Oprah Winfrey Show.

For a little over $300 a year I can change the lives of so many people. (One woman is able to provide for her family and then send her children to school and so on.) One act can completely alter the path for many.

For the cost of a couple pairs of shoes;

or three dinners out;

or a plane ticket.

I'm in.

Can anyone get a little NEWS around here?

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 03:15:00 +0000

When we arrived at the airport this afternoon, nearly an hour later than we were supposed to due to "aircraft delays," I texted my daughters to let them know they could find us in the baggage area.

Little did I know how silly that was. They were still in Concord, roughly half an hour away. How could that be? At first they thought they were stuck in traffic caused by the holiday and the fact that the fall foliage is in high bloom; they even commented that since we were so ridiculous as to travel on a holiday weekend, we had to deal with the consequences of such poor planning.

Then after they got off the highway and took a back route on the assumption that the high volume of traffic was jammed up at the toll booth, upon getting back on the highway they found themselves once again in the midst of a parking lot. It took them inching along a bit longer to discover that where the highway split (and the way they wanted to go as well as probably MOST of the people stuck on the highway) was closed. There were several cop cars blocking and one of those signs saying the highway was closed. Because they didn't go by it, they had no idea that the road was closed due to an accident (though they guessed.)

Close to an hour after we had landed and close to two since they had embarked on their 45 minute drive; they finally arrived to pick us up. There was another person waiting for a ride too; he had just run the Chicago marathon and he was waiting curbside, with his metal hanging proudly from his neck; for his parents to pick him up. When his parents drove in, they said they had been in traffic for three hours.

I also had noticed that there were cars absolutely FLYING by me to get to the other end of the terminal (departures).

So, we headed home and once we got on the highway, we noticed that there was a small stream of traffic flowing on the other side. Since they hadn't actually been on that highway, they had no idea where the jam began; but we came across it fairly soon. A tractor trailer truck was laying across the road and there was another car all smashed up sitting on a wrecker. They were letting people go through one lane, but only those who were entering the highway from a higher point than where it was closed after the toll booth.

Then we watched in awe as we drove five, ten, fifteen, twenty, close to thirty miles with nearly stopped traffic on the other side. I've never seen anything like it. The highway that we would have exited on to to head home was also backed up; the kids said that it had started a few miles back before they even merged onto the most grievously affected stretch. When we went by the rest area, I've never seen anything like it. And that is really saying something considering I commuted on that stretch for many, many years and had seen quite a bit!

There was a non-moving line of cars exiting the rest area and there was not a parking place to be found within the parking lot; and there were people parking on the side of the road before the entrance and walking in. It looked like Woodstock, I swear. It was really something.

I say this, because this is New Hampshire and we don't live and breathe traffic like many parts of the country (and cities) do. It's really a rarity to get caught in traffic of any substance, and to see something like this was truly seeing something.

I waited up until 11:00 so I could see the news. I had seen the local news station van at the crash scene, and assumed they would fill in the blanks.

I was so wrong. I was so disgusted that I had to write about it myself; just to send out into the ether a somewhat comprehensible and fact-driven account of what had taken place. An event that affected hundreds, if not thousands (I truly have never seen that many cars backed up on a highway in my life) of people today who deserve a little recognition for their pain.

For crying out loud, is that so hard?

Channel 9 reported that there was an accident. It was so non-newsworthy that they lumped it in with two other crashes that had taken place in the state over the weekend. They called it a deadly weekend on the road. It seems that the driver of a Suburban crossed over the median and ran head-on into a tractor trailer truck. End of that story; we then were launched into a tale of how federal requirements state that if there is less than a ten foot median between the highways, there needs to be some kind of barrier.

They then reported that exactly one year ago there was a fatal crash in that very spot, when a car had crossed over the median and crashed into a mini van, killing a mother and child. That is awful, but I was most curious as to how long that traffic had held up like that. When had the lanes opened and released the dam of cars that had been trapped?

They then flashed to some Dept. of Transportation bigwig who said that there have been a number of crashes there, true, but it was a straight piece of road and didn't really indicate a need for a barrier. But it is only nine feet wide, *(which is not true, it is more like 20 feet) and well ... federal regulations and all ... whatever. My question is, what about the NEWS STORY?

Did these moronic reporters not drive around and see what was taking place? Did they not go to the rest area and interview people; ask them how long they had been stuck in traffic? Did they miss their flight? Because if we couldn't get picked up, there sure as hell had to be people who missed their planes. Is that NOT a story? Because forgive me, but if a snowflake hits the air, they rush to this very same rest area and ask people how big, bad and scary the driving is.

As a former reporter, I was salivating at the thought of hearing people's stories. Not that they missed their flight or they were gravely inconvenienced; but you can't jam up that many people without there being SOMETHING to talk about! Were there any babies born in cars during that time? Did those people who pulled off the highway to wait for it to open have to wait one, two, three, four, maybe even five hours for it to re-open? How come there was absolutely NO INFORMATION for those on the highways. They have those black flashing signs, I assume that something like a "minor inconvenience" such as a major highway being closed for multiple hours on a holiday weekend would be a good enough reason to put the thing to decent use!

I don't want to hear why people no longer get their news the traditional way anymore; that newspapers and and newscasts are losing their following. Why? Because they suck, that's why! I was being lazy; I didn't feel like being on my computer (where I could have found the news in a heartbeat) I wanted to lay on my couch and be informed. And I was sorely disappointed.

Why did no one tell this stupid reporter that this story had more than one angle? Why is this person a reporter at all?

Who.

What.

Where.

When.

Why.

I got bupkus I tell ya. BUPKUS!

This I found on the internet (ahhh, the lovely world of news on demand!)

The person driving the vehicle marked the Blazer Transportation Group never braked and was driving about 100 miles an hour- I was driving next to the tractor trailer truck that was hit. My 2 daughters, a friend and I narrowly missed being hit. We were hit with debris from the car and trailer.

We witnessed the SUV cross the median slip at top speed and cross infront off our car and smash directly into the truck. The SUV burst into smoke and flames for a minute and spun across the highway as the tractor trailer ended up on its side.

We pulled over once we got out of the way and what we saw was horrible. This could have been far worse. There was quite a bit of traffice. Thank god for 3 lanes that allowed drivers in the surrounding area like myself to manouver.

We never saw the driver of the van but - who ever it was seemed to be directly aiming at the traffic in a manner almost as if wanting to make a direct hit at high speed.

This scene is haunting and if anyone else witnessed this please add your comments!

We are praying for the family of the individual that died and the tractor trailer driver.

The tractor trailer driver tried very hard to avoid the collision. Thank
God he is ok!!!
- anonymous, Dover,MA

not only was the highway backed up but route 3 thru hooksett and allenstown into pembroke was backed up as well and also route 3A we went to the store which is 5 mins from my home and it took all most 45 mins just to get there and back

Oct. 12, 2009 7:44pm EDT | from nepatriot485

Bone tired

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 23:04:00 +0000

Tonight I get the meaning of "bone tired."

I have been on a bit of a hiking/walking spree. Last week I hiked nearly every day and I am not talking short ones. Sunday morning I woke up bright and early and went on a five-plus walk around a lake.

Monday I went with a friend on a jaunt where we parked a car in one spot and then drove to another and walked back to the first car. That I thought was the big one for the week.

I was wrong. Another friend was dying to get into the woods and I was hesitant because yesterday I felt a little, well, crippled, but I said I'd do a short one.

Short? Three hours and at least 8 miles, possibly nine miles later, I hobbled out of the woods and screamed NO MORE!

Well no, not really. I just said that I wasn't hiking tomorrow!

And I sit here and can feel my bones feel ... tired. It's not a bad feeling, and overall I feel pretty good. There's not much to complain about when you spend the better part of your day on a trail with colored leaves and blue sky and dogs running about and finally, FINALLY a destination made ... a pond in the middle of nowhere! Yes!

I feel a sense of urgency to be out in the woods as much as possible because the inevitable is right there ... so close you can smell it. What is it? The end of the beauty of fall. The leaves will all fall leaving bare and stark trees standing there naked and foolish and the path will soon be covered in ice and snow. And when I say you can smell it, I truly mean it. You can smell the leaves decomposing. It's not a bad smell, just one of those lingering reminders that nothing lasts.

Especially not a season in N.H.

I am leaving for Chicago on Thursday and am a bit panicked at the thought of returning on Monday to fall erased! Hopefully the leaves will stick around for another week at least so I can let my bones perk up for another marathon series of hike 'til you drop!

Moments

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 02:47:00 +0000

Walking on a trail and gazing up to see the blue sky peeking through the red, yellow and orange leaves. Takes your breath away.

Going up hill on a trail and feeling many muscles in your body groaning. Panting a bit, not out of breath but definitely exerting. Looking up and seeing a clearing ahead. The top. No more climbing. Yes!

Climbing into bed and feeling like you have died and gone to heaven. Snuggling underneath the blankets and reaching a foot out and touching the warmth of someone else's. Knowing that if you wanted to, you could get the fire going if you pushed a little harder. And going to sleep with that knowledge deep in your heart.

Seeing the sun sandwiched between clouds, and a crazy rain shower come out of nowhere. And wondering is it possible to document such an event ... or is it all about just watching it happen? Having that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you might miss a rainbow (like as in photographing it) or you might miss a rainbow if you go look for the camera. Touch decisions. The ability to stop in your tracks and just watch makes you realize you might have learned a thing or two over the years. And then, as the rain stops and the sun throws out blazes of rays and it takes your breath away, you think ... I should have ...

Should have what?

Sometimes I walk into my living room and I am struck by the colors. Not just the guest appearances of the trees outside the windows; but the way the dark brown couch looks so inviting or the vase full of acorns is so quirky or that the light cast by the light on the trunk in the corner is ... just right. Sometimes the light in all the rooms of my house overwhelm me. It is as though every molecule of furniture and dust fits. It is all the way it is supposed to be. Even after I rearrange the furniture. All part of the plan.

We sat at the dining room table tonight; our traditional farewell dinner to Peter's parents. First the boat is taken out, then his parents leave. Truly, summer is over. We had chicken pot pie, a dish I haven't made in months and months, and Hallie made apple turnovers. I realized that all of my children were there. What a gift that is that we have this time as a complete family, despite the fact that Hallie has been gone for so long.

I do listen.

I do understand.

I do get that our life is all the moments and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months strung together. I do get that it is better to savor the moment then look forward to the end of the week -- for whatever reason. I get it, I embrace it and every now and then it hits me that I am truly living in the moment.

And I thank myself for that ability. Because I know how hard it is.

And tomorrow morning Charlie is going to have an apple turnover for breakfast.

Amen.

Ripples, ripples everywhere!

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 12:56:00 +0000

"Become simple and live simply, not only within yourself, but also in your everyday dealings. Don't make ripples all around you, don't try to be interesting, keep your distance, be honest, fight the desire to be thought fascinating by the outside world."

This is an excerpt from An Interrupted Life by Etty Hillesum, and it is one of those passages that needs to be read and re-read before it suddenly becomes clear that most of us probably do make ripples, try to be interesting and of course want to be thought fascinating by the outside world.

And why do I read such books? Why do I absorb (or attempt to anyway) these profound statements? Well, it's simple. I do it to undo the person I become when I am undone by others.

For example:

This morning Charlie had a hard time waking up and he was grumpy. He claimed that he had showered the night before, but it sure didn't look like it. And if not, he had been pretty badly in need of a shower yesterday; so what did that mean if he hadn't? He was super dirty? I became irritated. When I came downstairs, with only minutes to spare before we had to get into the car, he clearly hadn't made any attempts at breakfast. Now let me be clear. I have gone out of my way to be the super breakfast mom: I will make anything; I have even tried to duplicate the sausage, egg and cheese sandwiches that he likes to get at the corner store.

But he tells me everything I make is bad. Jerk.

I asked him, in my irritated-knowing that he hadn't really taken a shower but had lied to me tone-what had he had for breakfast?

He said a banana. I looked at the banana tree. There were still three bananas hanging from it. The same three I planned to freeze and had checked upon the day before to see if I needed more bananas at the store, which I had purchased and were still sitting on the counter in their plastic wrap. Liar. He hadn't eaten a banana. I called him on it. Yes I did, he said. Where's the peel? I asked.

Fine. He admits he didn't eat a banana. As he is trying to search his brain for another lie, I tell him he HAS to eat something. I am beyond irritated now. I am sick of this dance. The lies, the avoidance, the same old CRAP of a morning with a teenager. As his mother it feels as though it is my job to strap him down and jam food into his mouth. Why?

Because he is a jerk when he hasn't eaten. The moment food floods through his bloodstream he perks up and becomes another person. Food is his insulin, if you will, and for whatever reason he fights it. Claims he isn't hungry. DRIVES ME INSANE.

I quickly buttered a corn muffin THAT HE MADE last night and threw it into the microwave to heat it up. In the car, with both of us seething at the other, I told him to eat it. He said no. I said that made no sense. Last night he ate five, this morning none? Because you only eat corn muffins with soup, he replied.

Halfway down the hill I was consumed with fury. I hit the brakes and turned to him: I'm not taking you to school; this is a PARTNERSHIP where you do your part and I do mine. I drive you two hours a day, and I will BE DAMNED if you don't reciprocate by eating some food in the morning so you can be human.

He managed to fiddle around with the muffin to make it appear as though he was eating it, only to appease me. (Because when I got home and picked up the "napkin" to throw away, the muffin minus a small bite was gone. AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH.)

I made huge efforts to be nice, despite the fact I didn't feel nice at all. I was mad. I counted to 100 before I asked him (nicely) to check the mirror so that he could see that perhaps he'd missed something when he washed his face. He ignored me. I commented that it was a beautiful day and I was sorry that I had forgotten my camera because the steaming field with the grazing cows, the colored trees behind that and the full moon in the blue sky was beyond beautiful.

He said nothing.

I went over it in my head a dozen times that my mood affects his mood and then I kept returning to the fact that every once in a while it's just too much work NOT to be in a bad mood, and why can't I have that luxury from time to time? Which would start the pattern of being mad all over again! Ridiculous.

So after I dropped him off and told him to have a wonderful day, I drove home and tried to only enjoy the beauty of my surroundings. It truly is beautiful, but so sad that I have to try so hard sometimes! Which is why I pick up books that say things like:

I will take a passage such as this and just ingest it slowly. I will take deep breaths and try to restore the peace within.

I hate Mondays.

I mean, Mondays are wonderful, a perfect time to launch back into the schedule of life. How wonderful.

Bye Bye Summer

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 21:43:00 +0000

I absolutely HATE and despise taking the boat out. We always run into the same dilemma every year. I want to keep it in and Peter wants to take it out because he believes that we won't use it. The way I look at it, just because we haven't been out on it since Labor Day doesn't mean that we won't in the near future. I mean, there is a possibility that we will have an opportunity, when all the planets align and someone doesn't have a game and it actually doesn't rain or snow to go out on it. But I can't argue that since we will be gone next weekend, that the likelihood that we will use it before the snow does fly isn't that great. Damn. In addition, the lake is very low and it was hard to get it off the lift.

Here Maddie and Peter wait as Charlie takes the cover off. I am struck by how it is an absolutely FABULOUS and gorgeous day, and there is no one around. It is as warm as a cool summer day and beyond beautiful.

But as you can see, there are no people in the chairs -- and the reason there are so many is because over the summer there was never a place to sit! Ahh, the end of summer. Sucks.

As I waited for them to uncover the boat and then subsequently get it off the lift and take it to the public dock so we could all board, I managed to catch a few sweet shots of this person tooling about in his woody. The rocks visible in the picture are normally underwater.

Everyone has put their stuff away for the winter, but there are still a handful of boats in the marina. We New Hampshireites really need to be optimists: We have to believe that summer will continue even when we know better. Otherwise we would start screaming and never stop.

Of course, there are days like today that stop you in your tracks because of their sheer beauty. The color! Not just the trees, but the color of the lake and the sky and the clouds. Magnificent. This is a final shot of the year leaving the cottage.

Charlie is "El Capitan," (according to him!) and it is now tradition that he takes the boat out. Maddie doesn't usually come along, but it was such a nice day she decided to bring her camera along and snap some pictures. No one is really sure why she is wearing a winter jacket; totally not necessary.

This cloud kept capturing my eye. I took dozens.

Then we started camera-offs!

Then the cloud transformed into this. Does anyone else see a playful white dog rearing up on his hind feet?

Here is an unintended (ahem, intended and obviously professional) technique I used in this self-portrait. Love how my earring and my face are like brush strokes. The photo was taken for the sole purpose of showing my enjoyment of being on the lake on a beautiful sunny day.

Here is Steven Tyler of Aerosmith's house. Not very attractive, but "back in the day," this was a seriously modern house. Today it just looks ugly (I think). But I don't think he uses it very often. This is the first time in years that he was spotted around town on many occasions, recovering from his fall off the stage.

We had to hang out in the harbor for quite some time waiting for other people to pull their boats out. It's on a first-come basis, and there were two other people ahead of us. I took shots to amuse myself.

I love the wooden boats, they are so spectacular looking. I tried to get a good shot of them with the bush in the background, but the woman in the back (if you look closely) kept staring at me. Hey, it's not against the law to take a picture of someone!

At last it is our turn, and Peter backs the trailer into the lake. I am sad, not wanting our boat ride, or summer, to end.

Maddie lost the fun factor while we were waiting and took a little snooze.

And that is that. Boat out. Summer over.

Bye Bye.

Acorns, toadies and bears ... oh my!

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 02:04:00 +0000

Well. Today was a primo fall New Hampshire day. As much as I like to get all Scroogey and Ba Humbug about the damn FACT (yes, that is F A C T) that we live in nine months of winter here and a sprinkling of summer book-ended with a bit of spring and a smattering of fall ... when it is truly a fall day, it can make your heart sing.

Like today. I woke up to a sky beyond words. Well, I do have the words. As I stared out my sliding glass door from my wonderful bed (comfortable and bringing me back to life with consecutive nights of pure sleep) I saw a fog above the tree line meet a patch of blue sky, topped off with a beautiful layer of pink frosting. I was beside myself. Gorgeous.

As I watched, the fog lifted slowly and the tips of colored trees began to come into focus. Honestly, I fought the urge to go back to sleep because I knew that what I was witnessing was truly sensational.

I was in awe. And I knew this day of fall perfection meant I needed to get into the woods. But it was cold out. Brrrrrr.

I made a target time of 10:00 a.m. as the best time to hit the trail and began work on my book. Then my sister called and said she wanted to hike. I said come on down, I'll wait. And what a great decision that was, because when she got here, it was unbelievable. Warm and sunny. Beautiful. Magnificent.

We hit the trail, lunch in our packs, and it was great. We walked in a little over an hour and decided to stop to have lunch at this wooden bridge that spanned a babbling brook. I had my two black labs and my sister had her neurotic golden retriever Ruby. All was well as we chomped on our peanutbutter sandwiches, when suddenly Ruby started barking. And then my two started barking. We were seriously deep in the woods on a trail where I'd never seen other people. I didn't think anyone was coming up the trail. But Ruby was insistent, and my sister decided there must be a bear in the woods.

So she asked me: What would you do if there was a bear in the woods.

My response?

Well, since I would faint, the question is, what would YOU do if there was a bear in the woods and your sister was fainted dead away?

She said we needed to stop enjoying ourselves by the babbling brook and move on. (Away from the bear I suppose.) Which we did. We found a pair of adjoining rocks and sat down to digest our lunch. There were no bears to be seen in the immediate vicinity, though Ruby seemed to be going after something. At first I thought it was her toenails, what exactly WAS she doing?

Suddenly Tomasen screams "No, NO, LEAVE IT, RUBY STOP, LEAVE IT, STOP," and additional words and screaming I forgot to commit to memory because I was horrified and sure that there was a S N A K E involved in this horror show and I screamed "What is it? What is it? What is it?" over and over while she kept screaming, and finally I heard the word.

Toad.

Toad?

Ick. Ruby was eating a toad. I somehow had left my perch on my rock and had jumped several feet away from the whole scenario, and Tomasen was screaming that the toad was now demented and unable to move and ... would I LOOK AT IT?

No.

What type of dog eats a toad and why?

My dogs have their own forms of freakazoid-ism. Luna shakes and quivers because she hates to stop and only wants to hike and hike and hike and hike ... until she dies.

Lucy, on the other hand, only wants to retrieve. Anything. A stick. A rock, an imaginary anything. But please, just throw it so I can retrieve it because my genetic code insists upon it and if you don't I might EXPLODE.

Hiking with dogs and their inherent personalities is so ... relaxing. N O T!

So after the all the bear and toad hype, we turned around and I said that once we got back to the wide trail, I wanted to collect acorns. You know. Because yesterday my friend Liz collected acorns on the trail (another trail) and I was sure this was better acorn-fetching ground.

It was so wonderful. We went off-trail and searched for them, and between the two of us collected a large zip-lock baggies worth. I would never have done this, but Liz made me think it would be fun. And it was. I enjoyed every second of it.

Then Tomasen started to find pieces of birch bark that she envisioned to be wonderful, and as we trekked down the trail we created quite an impressive piece of art, adding colored leaves, greenery and even ferns to the intended centerpiece. I also jammed all the birch tree sticks she found into her backpack, which kept cracking me up because she looked like an indian wearing a headdress on her back or something. Hard to explain.

It was a wonderful way to spend an afternoon; not only hiking in the woods, but reveling in what the woods has to offer.

And while my backpack was overloaded with acorns, it did not carry a camera. I won't make that mistake again. Today was a day to record.

Next time.

Acorns, toadies and bears ... oh my!

Woods and forts forever

noreply@blogger.com (Lisa) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 21:08:00 +0000

I love the woods. Yes, this time of year they are particularly mesmerizing -- with the colors of the changing leaves creating a massive canvas in the sky of vivid color and the ground dotted with the fallen ones. But no matter what season, I love the woods.

When I was a kid I spent hours in the woods. I would build forts everywhere. I had house forts and drinking cocoa forts and veterinarian forts. I came across spaces and instantly saw living rooms and bedrooms and examining rooms (for the many varieties of logs and rocks that I operated on in my veterinarian practice.) When Hallie and I were hiking the other day we came across a mossy space and she commented on it. I realized that as a kid I would have thrown myself upon it (a king-sized bed!) and upon my back I would have stared up at the sky and believed that my bed of moss was the best place in the world to be. Because it was.

My adult self saw things like wet and potential bugs (and heaven forbid a snake!) and sticks that would be uncomfortable. Everywhere I looked, I didn't see what was wonderful, I saw what was wrong.

Why?

Today I hiked with a friend in the woods and I was completely aware of the peacefulness of the surroundings. It felt like the only place in the world I wanted to be at that time. It felt like the best place in the world to be. Because it was.

We found a rock to sit upon and ate our peanutbutter sandwiches and it was better than a 4-course meal in a restaurant. Finished off with oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that Hallie had baked the other day. As I looked around while we walked, I kept thinking what my younger self would have thought. When we came across a cellar hole, I thought WOW! What a house that would make. There was a piece of scrap metal further up the trail, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would have dragged that back to the cellar hole and it would have been transformed into a wonderful counter.

I can still see the find of the century, in one of my fort homes of my childhood, of the old mailbox I found. A perfect refrigerator!

Some of that ability to make the best of my surroundings certainly followed me into adulthood. My first house was absolutely horrible. I look back on it now and can't imagine I lived as I did. But to me, it was fine. We used to live just in the bedroom, really, because it was cold and unwelcoming downstairs. We both worked and we would go out to eat, then come home and run upstairs and jump into bed and watch TV. I think those times in an early marriage (or relationship) are always so amazing because in your heart you know that you will go from that place to more. And when you get to more, you look back on that as not so bad.

We're all wacked!!!

Every morning in the winter we had to unfreeze the pipes with a hair dryer in order to take a shower. Peter had a sweater he left hanging on a hook that he would put on to climb underneath the house (before there was a cellar) and he would go at the pipes with a blow torch and I was inside blowing on the pipes in the wall with the hair dryer. Whatever, it was just what we did. We couldn't keep the house any warmer because we did it by woodstove, and we weren't really there enough hours to ever get it warm enough. Eventually we put in a foundation and a full cellar. Then we put in a heating system! And so it went, one improvement after another until we had a decent (and truly liveable!) home.

When this house was being remodeled, there came a time deep into summer and several months with my in-laws in a small cottage that it became absolutely and without a doubt MANDATORY that I return to my own space. I loved that time; of living in one room (the kids lived in the mudroom in bunkbeds!) and our hot water came from a small propane tank and since I didn't have a kitchen, I cooked on a grill. It was like camping, more or less, and it was of course not ideal. But I can live in a house that isn't perfect without a second thought.

I look at pictures of Charlie's birthday party after we moved back, and it cracks me up. There I was, holding a full-blown party in a house under construction, with wires coming out of the walls and ... who cares, right? I remember the first Thanksgiving after we moved here; there really was no kitchen to speak of, just a small space. No oven. I had a large convection/microwave oven that had to live on top of the refrigerator because there was no counter space. That is what I cooked the turkey in. Why wouldn't I have my entire family over for Thanksgiving just because I didn't really have a kitchen? I can still see that old bird rubbing up against the window of the oven as it turned on the carousel. Hilarious.

I just rearranged the living room. That is my thing. I have two large couches, three chairs, two ottomans and a big area rug with a few end tables. I can't tell you how many times I have reconfigured those items in this room. I swear, I came up with a new one. Or maybe I am delusional and it just feels that it is arranged the best way it can be.

Because it is.