New way to waste collossal amount of time!

I love my factory-installed GPS system so much she needs a name. I have the Garmin and she has always been "Garmina." But this one has no obvious name and I really can't address "someone" who is so helpful and enjoyable as "that thing," or "the GPS system." It's wrong.

With a car full of people listening to her melodic voice announcing that there would be traffic ahead (as we sat in traffic) we tried to pinpoint WHO she sounded like. Glinda? There were others, but I didn't like them. None of them seemed right.

Then over Christmas someone came up with the name "Trixie," and I thought we had it. "Come on Tricks, tell us where to go." But no. I listened to her today and she's just not a Trixie. She sounds more dignified. And yet ... you can't name your GPS system Queen Elizabeth either ... or can you?

No. I'm the queen, and I'm not abdicating my throne for the ... woman in the car.

So, I decided to do what I do best: look it up online. I typed in "do you name your GPS," and came across several threads where people had indeed, named them! The most common was Sally, and I will admit that crossed my mind. But a long time ago during a Colorado ski trip, a bunch of us started using "Sally" as a way to describe a weenie. As in, "You're such a sally," and well, it won't work in this case. There was Lola, LuLu, Gertrude, Judy (lots of Judy's) and apparently Lola is from some Robin Williams movie where the RV he was driving was named Lola. The three I have written down are Gertie, Millie and Fiona.

What do you think?

Or, Journey?

Penny?

I have just spent scads of time looking up potential names. I've gone through Greek Goddesses, Saints, Celtic Goddesses ... Nehalennia is the goddess of guardianship and offers protection to travelers ... and Jizo (jee=-ZOH) is the Japanese diety guardian of women, children and travellers.

OH I don't know. Jizo is a male thing, I don't want that. And it's not a male voice. I think I am liking Journey. JorNEY.

Carry on my wayward friend ...

Hmmmm.

Flying now means no peeing

Now all the guy in the black has to do is sneak up and smash the guy in the back of the head with his shoe. Oh, that's right, the shoe has been scanned and is not considered to be a lethal weapon. Hmmmmm.

Oh geesh. Now due to this stupid guy (potential terrorist or just plain nut case) not only do we have to take off our shoes when flying on an airplane, we also can't leave our seats an hour before the flight lands or have anything on our laps.

Will this solve anything?

No, of course not. But it will make it look as though something is being done. Though the truth of the matter is that little is done to thwart terrorists; all the pleasure is forwarded on to passengers, who have to pay the price by pretending that not going to the bathroom an hour before the plane lands will actually result in the saving of lives.

It might end up in wet seats, and how lovely a thought is that? Or irate passengers with Montezuma's Revenge running for the tiny little closet to relieve themselves before they shit their pants. In other words, if you want to blow yourself up, it is highly unlikely that the airlines will ever come up with the solution. What does seem to be the largest solution of all is other passengers.

In this situation, a male passenger sitting several seats away dove onto the guy. Let's face it. We were a different flying bunch prior to 9/11. We didn't look at every passenger as a potential terrorist nor finger our belts and keep in mind that if anything looked sketchy we can rip them off and start whipping the mini-knife toting religious nut jobs. I don't think a plane full of people will ever again sit quietly and wait to crash into a building. Knowing that their lives are at stake, I think the sheer number of passengers versus nut jobs is always going to be a factor in any future attempts. The same thing happened with the shoe bomber -- he was instantly jumped on by fellow passengers.

All planes these days are full. If you have some guy sweating through most of the flight and mumbling sweet Allah's, then it is your moral responsibility to keep an eye on this person. If they come out and attempt to light themselves on fire, then knock them out!

Why didn't this guy light himself on fire in the rest room is my question? Because he really didn't have the capability to do anything major, perhaps? But the sole act of going through the motions and starting himself on fire would put the airlines on high alert and then pass on the obnoxious "safety procedures" onto passengers?

That is what I think. I mean, what was the point of returning to his seat and alerting other passengers to his actions? He could have quietly and with no intrusion done so in the lavatory and no one would have been any the wiser, right? You telling me that the same party who put together the grand scheme that resulted in 9/11 came up with this as their next great act? I don't think so.

And I am so thankful that I have no imminent plans to fly in the future, because I swear to gawd, if I had to take a pee and was told I had to remain in my seat, I might just possibly lose my cool. I put up with the stupidity of taking off my flip flops so that all the things I could have hidden in the 1/4 inch of material can be detected in the X-Ray machine; )but on the other hand I always put through large containers of hand cream, shampoo, ice packs, water, etc. just to prove that I can and that it is a flawed system and it just makes me feel better about the shoes!) And I've watched as the security measures have been relaxed and I guess someone decided that wasn't right and so they did this?

I don't know. All of this just has too many holes in it to be construed as a major terrorist attack. And we no longer have any media source that is actually capable of getting the real story. I have run through dozens of outlets and the story is all over the place -- from lethal explosives to powder that is used in hair products and tucked into camera batteries. And then those stories are followed by commentary that makes me actually understand why some people hate people so much for their beliefs. The whining that this is because of Obama is sooooo stupid. No, when Bush was president NOTHING happened. Nope. Not a thing. Oh, but I did discover the name of the book that Bush was reading on that fateful 9/11 morning. Something about a goat. Good fricking lord.

That is my opinion and I am sticking to it.

Sometimes you just knead

I remember the first time I made bread. I was a kid, junior-high-aged. We had gone to visit this family who lived in the middle of nowhere in an old farmhouse. I didn't think it was so terrible that they had an outhouse; I found everything about their lifestyle wonderful. The woman made her own bread, and she was in the kitchen, wearing one of those wooly thrift shop sweaters and she cut us all slices. And I remember that it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.

With this imprint, I decided that I too, wanted to be like that. Except, I didn't want to live in the middle of nowhere with no money or facilities (I don't even know if they had electricity) or even wear those sweaters because I found them scratchy and confining. So all that was really left was ... the bread.

My mother always let me do whatever I wanted in the kitchen. If I said I wanted to make something, she was all for it. She didn't care if I made huge messes or even ruined pans. With that kind of freedom, believe me, I made my share of messes and ruined a number of pans! So, I pulled out the yellow cookbook (not sure whether it was Betty Crocker or not, no, that one was red) and looked for a bread recipe. Sounded easy enough. I followed the recipe like a religion, and because I didn't know what rising was, I didn't really know what to look for. My first loaf of bread was really dangerous. It was so hard you could have killed someone with it.

I tried a different recipe. You see, when something doesn't come out right, then I become obsessed. And I was obsessed with making the perfect loaf of bread. Each subsequent loaf was a teeny bit more edible than the original "brick," and we would all sit around and spread massive amounts of butter on the loaf out of the oven because if we waited, it would grow hard as a rock! It wasn't good -- but it was hot and chewy and fresh.

Fast forward a number of years and I was in my own house and my baby was there and this domesticity took me over and I remember that woman in her house in the middle of nowhere. The bread! It was time to make the bread again. I was fully into making my own baby food and the idea of making all of our food was so sexy. So ... I decided to figure out what I'd been doing wrong all along. I had grown to realize that my recipes came out better if I didn't actually follow the recipe. So why not try that with the bread recipes? I had become an intuitive cook over time, and so I decided to become one with the dough.

I can feel it as though it was right now. Standing in front of my butcher block counter, a big blob of dough before me, Hallie hanging off the counter in her little seat (it attached to the counter) eating something and amusing herself with crayons and paper. The dough was everywhere. I'd used exactly the amount of flour the recipe had called for (and said "up to,") so I couldn't use more. Could I?

I started pouring flour onto the counter and kneading the dough. More flour, more flour, more flour. I kneaded (the recipe had said it would be done in five minutes) but I could tell the dough wasn't ready. I could feel this thing take me over, this feeling that I had been here before. I knew how to make bread. Deep within my DNA was the formula for bread making. I kneaded and kneaded until sweat broke out on my brow. It felt amazing. It felt ... so right. And then, the dough changed. It went from this sticky mass to the most beautiful, light and satiny being. It felt alive. It was the most incredible experience.

I put the flour in an oiled bowl, covered it with a tea towel and waited for it to rise. But our house was cold. The dough sort of rised, and it was surely the best loaf of bread I'd ever made. But I knew it could be better.

I experimented more and more, learned how to use the stove to create a warm environment for the rising dough and when I'd reached the point of light, fluffy loafs, I had to stop. Because I couldn't stop eating it! It was delicious. But it didn't last very long (it would get hard) and it suddenly seemed like a lot of work for a product we didn't really need.

But every time I make something that requires me to knead -- I am always drawn into this zone. It makes me wonder if I was a pioneer woman in another life. It feels so incredibly natural and right. As though I've done it a million times before. I know exactly when the dough is right (and believe me, it is NEVER anywhere near what the directions have explained!)

Today I am making an onion tart. I think it may literally have been years since I last kneaded dough. I had forgotten how amazing it is -- how it makes me feel.

Is it possible that I was born to knead?

Amazing Dance

There is something so magical about watching people use their bodies to create this type of motion called dance. I am mesmerized by it -- and there is a new level of dancing that I believe began with Michael Jackson and the moonwalk -- which has been taken so far beyond that. The way they throw themselves into the air, or pump themselves up on on hand or create that robotic motion -- it's just beautiful.

And I love to see young people taking their bodies to this level. It takes such passion and determination and it's amazing to watch. I have been very much drawn to this feeling as of late. I love to dance and when I really get going I will turn the music up super loud and I will leap and pirouette about the house as though I actually AM a good dancer. I will pretend I am a ballerina and I will spin and demi plea-A and I will bow to the audience and of course, I am amazing.

It is such an incredible feeling -- even with only an audience of dogs who don't understand why I keep bumping into them. Dancing and singing create joy -- they really do. Sometimes I will forget to crank on the old iPod and belt out songs at the top of my lungs until I am spent. And only after I have done so do I chide myself for waiting so long to do something that makes me feel so good. It's a great stress reliever. Nothing like heading up to Charlie's room and turning on the karaoke player and pretending I am the bomb. I close my eyes and become one with the microphone in my hand. The world is my stage.

Today I was driving in a blizzard (number two of the season, we're really kicking it off!) and I had Taylor Swift going at a high decibel. Peter kept looking at me, and I realized it was because normally I sing more or less under my breath when he is in the car, but I was driving and trying to keep my mind off slippery roads, so I launched into the best diversion I could! At one point I said, "you can always drive," but he chose to pretend I wasn't bothering him instead. Whatever works!

Look below Cookie Cutter Post!

I started one yesterday and then saved it, and finished it today, and it ended up posting below the Cookie Cutter one -- so if you are checking quickly to see if there is anything new, you won't think so. But there is! Just look beyond the cookies.

Always beyond the cookies.

Cookie Cutter Post

It all started, as many stories do, with a mitten.

My friend Liz and I were grocery shopping at the pricey Co-op in Hanover when we came across the cutest decorated Christmas cookies. They looked beautiful and we were both especially drawn to the one of the mitten. It was a light blue color and had a little decorating going on, but not much. The cookies were like $6.95 a piece, and well. Who is going to pay that?

BUT! How hard would it be to make them ourselves?

All in a day's work.

Hence began the adventure. First we had to find the mitten cookie cutter. Where does one go for cookie cutters? We found nothing in the big box stores but scored in a small kitchen store in downtown Hanover. There was a mitten -- but not a big one. Hmmmm. But we each picked up a handful of other shapes and sizes (they were a buck each, we couldn't resist!) We also inquired of the saleslady if they had any decorating gels. She said no, but we should check out King Arthur Flour in Norwich. Oh cool! I've always meant to go there, but never have.

Not the perfect blue mitten I envisioned. NOT EVEN CLOSE!

So over the bridge to Norwich we went, and entered the world of UH OH. When two people who love to cook walk into such a store, all bets are off. I refused to get a basket because I know myself. I said we should just get the gels and leave. But I was gone at the first shelf ... full of all sorts of cool things to make bread. I decided I would make rye bread, and looked at the ingredients I would need. By the time I reached $20, I started putting things back. I don't need to make rye bread that badly, seriously, the store-bought stuff is just fine!

Then we saw the cookie cutters. OH NO! They were beautiful. Why does it matter? I have no idea, but there it was, the copper plated mitten. I scanned around for a price and on the wall it said that cookie cutters were $4.95. Being me, I quickly figured that I'd purchased four cutters at the other store for a buck each, which was ridiculously cheap, so if I picked up the mitten and the moose for an additional $10, that was about $15 for six cutters. Not the end of the world, right? (Now remember, this was to avoid shelling out the exorbitant price of $6.95 for a store-bought cookie!)

I admit I went back to the front for a basket, and proceeded to fill it with various and sundry items, including a boxed mix for vanilla sugar cookies. (I am telling you, I should not be allowed to go into such stores. I need a bib for all the salivating.) There were these cool boxes that you could bake in that were attractive, perfect for those baked gifts. There was a pina colada scone mix I had to have after sampling it. Yummy. I don't know what else I got. Crazy.

Every batch of traditional Christmas cookies always includes a moose, a camel and a high heel shoe, right? That red mitten makes me wince.

So baking day was yesterday. I mixed up the contents of my box and put the dough into the fridge where it needed to chill for at least an hour. I then did a few errands and arrived at Liz's with my little dough discs around 2:00. We began to roll them out. She had made a batch the day before, because while I was out driving around in a blizzard, she was safely tucked inside behind closed doors baking. I examined her results and was impressed. But she didn't have the big mitten -- I did -- so our big goal had yet to be met. That of course being re-creating the mitten cookie we so coveted.

It's one of those things -- you see the high heel cookie cutter and you think PERFECT! You see the high heel shoe and you think .... WHAT was I thinking???

With Christmas music playing in the background, we cut out our cookies. It was fun and in no time we both had the cookies ready to frost. While Liz mixed up a batch of frosting matter, I played around with the color gels. My red looked considerably like blood. I couldn't get the blue to match the blue that darned mitten that started this all was, but whatever. First we put a base coat on all of the cookies. It takes a ridiculous amount of time, and I was NOT happy to get a phone call from Charlie at 4:00 asking to be picked up. But I was making cookies! So, I took a nearly two-hour break to get him, pick up pizza, drop pizza off at home and then return to Liz's to finish the project we'd begun oh so many hours earlier!

Black frosting should never be introduced to any cookie baking project. Ever.

For some unbeknownst reason I had envisioned a mitten with a white base with black piping. Liz made the black frosting and was immediately repulsed! She also made a lot of it, so we found ourselves putting black frosting where black frosting shouldn't have gone! Then she got a little crazy and mixed up orange. And all the blobs of orange didn't look good with any color. But we were a little deranged at this point (and we'd had a few glasses of wine). Then she mixed up some brown so I could paint my camels -- I said that if it looked like chocolate, it shouldn't be too gross! HAHAHA. They look fine, but it is still a sugar cookie drenched in confectionery sugar icing! Ick.

Not even close, this blue mitten is proof that you can't always do it yourself!

When all was said and done, I was just depressed. I am a decent cook but I am no baker. I mean, I can bake, but I can't decorate! There, that's the problem. I believe that I am a creative person, and therefore able to recreate anything I see. This isn't really the case. My cookies looked as though kindergarteners had done them in ten minutes. As opposed to something we'd spent fricking HOURS on!

And there weren't even THAT many. Oh, we will never begrudge the person who made that cookie the measly $6.95 they charged for it. What a bargain! And the karma in all of this is that the mitten cookie cutter had cost ... $6.95. I hadn't noticed the teeny tiny writing on the back of the package.

When making Christmas cookies, it is wise to stick with traditional shapes and colors. These I dare say, aren't even hideous!

Between the cookie cutter purchases, the gels, the kit that Liz bought so that we would have decorating tips and bags, the decorations for the cookies, the mixes, and the little spatula Liz insisted would be perfect for the cookies, I am sure we easily spent $50 if not more. All to save $6.95.

Panic fades into oblivion

So today appears to be the day I panic and feel as though I don't have "enough" for everyone for Christmas. I do, however, feel as though I have been spending, spending, spending. Though on what, I am not sure! There are not piles of presents to be opened ...

So that was yesterday morning. And then I was sidetracked by the cookie cutter post and let this one head into the drafts folder. And now I will explain how much things can change in a day!

I felt as though despite the fact I'd been shopping a number of times and had packages arriving on a near daily basis, it wasn't enough. Why is this?

Then Peter called and said he was going to a (certain) store and I thought, that is odd, because I had the same store up online and had two items in my shopping cart, but had hesitated to push the button because I wondered if I could find these items somewhat cheaper at the actual store. So when he said he was going, I told him to look for those items and let me know. He called and said he had found them, and had also found the thermometer thing I was looking for for my father, should he get it? Well hell yeah! When he arrived home he had the exact same items that I had in the shopping cart in his bag (I had never described them to him) and he said it wasn't much of a choice, they were the only two there so he got them. And they were almost half the price of what I was going to pay. FOR THE SAME EXACT THING! So that is why I didn't push the button -- I KNEW!

In the meanwhile I had wrapped another present for both kids (after I realized I had them) and then after I wrapped what Peter had bought, I felt as though they were now on the other side of too little! And the best part of it all was that I just let it all sit and didn't freak out or rush to the mall or whatever. So now, with the exception of a few items (stocking stuffers, that damn stocking is so hard to fill when you don't want to put a ton of candy in it) I am done and feel good about everything! Phew! Such a far cry from how I felt yesterday morning, when it seemed that for all of my efforts I hadn't achieved anywhere near what I wanted to.

The other really nice thing was having Peter do some of the shopping and the moment it arrived I wrapped it up and it was DONE! Very cool. He of course did the same exact thing I do when I leave the house -- purchased a number of items for himself! I had to laugh. I said that it was good for him to realize that I didn't have an actual shopping problem, I just had a problem of being in a store and finding something perfect and not taking it home with me! But since he obviously had the same experience, it is so very clearly NOT JUST ME!

Now as long as I don't find him making cookies it's all good! Last night we sat by the fire and sipped champagne and toasted to another successful year while the kids were at a hockey game. We called it our mini-staycation!

Cheers!

One foot and counting

Now that is what I am talking about! A true blizzard, a fabulous way to jumpstart winter. While it was quite enjoyable hiking around in near 60 degree weather for the last part of November into early December, it felt a bit like cheating.

Now we have about a foot -- and it's still snowing up a storm. Of course the fact that nearly every school in the state cancelled didn't stop us from driving our kids to their schools -- which never get cancelled. Maddie's school is right down the road, no big deal, but Charlie's is normally a 1/2 hour one way and today it was double that. If I wasn't stuck behind a plow, I was plowing the road myself! Yikes.

The moment Charlie got home he shoveled the walk per my request then jumped on the snowmobile. It's pretty wild that in one day we have enough snow for that! We were just plowed and there are five-foot snow banks! Love it.

So we got a new car a few days ago and I am still in that getting used to it stage. I still don't know where everything is and there are still bells and whistles I haven't discovered yet. It is a newer version of the Sequoia we turned in, so some things are the same, but not many! And it feels SO MUCH BIGGER. Yesterday while I was driving around, instead of flying into a parking space, I went in with much more hesitation. We put the old and the new car side by side and it is NOT bigger, but they did some pretty fancy configuring because I am telling you, it's an illusion! So in my mind it feels bigger and I am not yet confident of its size and abilities.

So. Now I get to take it out into blizzard conditions! Well, yippee for me! The old Sequoia was really amazing in the snow; and is one of the key reasons we decided to get another one. This is actually our third. We have had just about every enormous SUV out there -- the Suburban, the Expedition (toyed with getting the Navigator more than once, but that felt insanely large and over priced) and the Sequoia, which is truly the most comfortable car (large-sized SUV) on the market in my opinion. And I am picky! So when I would test drive a car, I would then climb back into the old Sequoia and it felt better than the brand new one I'd just been in. That tells you something. That was, until I tried the new Sequoia! Gosh, I hate spelling that. I had at last found the car that beat the Sequoia in comfort. Except, it was a Sequoia and I'd sworn I wouldn't get another one. (I swore that when we got the second one too!) Why? Because it's so damn big and I do not have a call for such a beast on a daily basis.

But ... let me tell you, I have done some crazy assed driving in snow (like driving to New York City in a blizzard last year) and the Sequoia is AMAZING. This morning I was very apprehensive because I didn't feel as though I was one hundred percent there in terms of my comfort zone in driving the car. So, we drove around (instead of plunging head first down the mountain) and while the roads absolutely did suck, the car went through no problem. I started to feel a little better about it, but again, I still didn't know how touchy it was in terms of braking or even what it felt like when it slid. After I dropped Maddie off, the ride back was fairly benign because I was behind a long line of cars going too slow. Can't get in too much trouble in that case. Then I pulled into my road and prepared to gun it ... it's a STEEP hill and it hadn't been plowed. I was ready to rock and roll. Except that there was a truck coming down. DAMN! I had to hit the brakes. The car went into a slide (controlled by more beeping and flashing lights than I'd ever seen) and stopped in plenty of time. The truck rolled by and I gulped as I glanced up the hill. Could I make it without a running start? I didn't even know how much speed I'd get in this NEW car ... but I figured, might as well find out.

No guts no glory, I hit the gas and off we went. I was waiting for ... well, in no time at all I realized this car wasn't being challenged at all. We were flying up that hill like butter! I yahooed a few times and slammed into the snowbank at the end of my driveway, then realized, since the driveway wasn't staked, that I had no idea where it was! I drove it over the lawn and into the garage! Success!

Then I had to go pick up Charlie. And I told myself I had to go DOWN the hill. I had to. I had told myself last year during that blizzard ride to NYC that NOTHING should ever scare me again in terms of winter driving because I'd driven through it all that time ... and it was all nothing compared to that.

Well, this wasn't nothing. It was snowing so hard they couldn't keep the roads plowed, and as I passed from town to town I would hit various degrees of plowed roads, right up to probably hadn't been touched in a good hour. At one point I was the first car in a long line of cars and I couldn't IMAGINE how they could be going so fast. I was having a hell of a time going through it ... I was definitely getting thrown all over the place as it was so deep. And when a car came toward me I would have to go off into unchartered territory and that totally sucked. But I realized that I was literally making a path for them -- they were just following my tracks!

When I arrived at Charlie's school, which also happens to be on a hill, I chose the wrong side and discovered that it hadn't been plowed. In fact, a guy who was shoveling his sidewalk looked at me like I was nuts for even trying. But I wasn't scared. My confidence in my car was growing by leaps and bounds.

By the time we drove home, the roads had all been plowed fairly recently and it was no big deal at all. Though the kids could not believe I drove through the snowbank at the end of the driveway! They were both screaming YOU'LL NEVER MAKE IT, and I said, oh yes I will.

And that is that story. Now I am off to make meatloaf and I intend to sit by the fire later and string cranberries and popcorn. Because ... it 'tis the season.

The wellness of PMS ????

There's nothing like a day when you are hopped up on PMS hormones to get a few things (or a dozen) done!

The morning started out with an actual sleep-in, where I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed and tried to decide if I was going to tackle the pantry or mud room today. These are both PROJECTS and need the right frame of mind and the perfect day. Since it was pouring, it seemed like that day had come.

I drove Charlie to school in a mad pouring rain storm and about halfway home there wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was sunny. It was like a post-rainstorm wonderland out there. The dark, wet roads reflected the blue sky and it was beyond surreal. Like driving your car in a lake. I couldn't keep my mouth shut I was that much in awe. There were raindrops clinging to trees with the sun streaming through them creating mini rainbows by the thousands. And me without a camera. Well who knew? It's been rather dull and gray out there up until this morning's Disneyland. It was wild!

Then I realized it was actually hot out! I actually considered taking the roof off the Jeep, not only to say I did so on December 3rd, but because it was actually not that unreasonable. It was obvious that there was NO WAY I could do anything indoors, so instead I decided to go on a nice long walk -- and the dogs were so hot they actually went swimming. Bizarre I tell ya.

Once home I got down to some serious cleaning, the old down on your hands and knees scrubbing type cleaning. Every spot in the rug got zapped and attacked. Every dead fly carcass was sucked up and I even took apart the vacuum cleaner because it was running in a peckish manner. In the meanwhile I had laundry going non-stop and I wrapped a bunch of presents. Then when Peter walked through the door I insisted we go pick out a Christmas tree.

I mean, typically we wait until it is frigid cold and the poor tree needs to thaw out for a few days. Why not go out on a balmy 65-degree afternoon and get one? Especially when the pickings are less slim! So we found a lovely 10-footer, threw it into the back of the truck, and I assumed it would hang out for a week or so before we put it up, but when he suggested what the heck, let's put it up now, I ran in and rearranged the living room and then helped him carry it in. Wow! A true first. We never get it up before the week before Christmas.

I am not saying it is decorated. I have cranberry and popcorn strings to make (and it appears that once again I will be doing it alone as Hallie is my only willing assistant!) It's a big tree. It's gonna take a while!

Then I went through all of my ski stuff and repacked it because we are headed up to Maine for a ski weekend. Not sure what the conditions will be like, since it hasn't really been very wintry yet, but I am looking forward to hitting the slopes. Again, very early this year, I don't usually get out until after Christmas. I guess we are ending this year with a bunch of unusuals!

The thing about this hopped up PMS jig is that when it is up I get hit with the opposite: Total and complete lethargy and the inability to determine how I will make it through the day! Ahhh, well, not that bad, but man, talk about making hay when the sun shines or whatever the saying is! I get it! I embrace it. I am one with my cycle. In fact, in my gleaming house that smells like evergreen, I look forward to dropping on the couch and enjoying it all!

Did I mention I got a bunch of presents wrapped today? I am so unlike myself. I like this self. Hello, would you like to stay for a bit longer?!!!!

Satellite Radio

My latest addiction is listening to really bad radio shows -- only because they are, well, really bad!

In the morning I listen to Mary Occhino who is a psychic and you can call her up and ask her one question. She has this crazy Italian New York accent and half the time I am rolling my eyes. And yet. Every morning Charlie and I turn it to her station immediately! What Mary really wants to do is talk about herself. It often intrigues me that people who tell you to follow the power of the universe and the law of attraction and who have psychic abilities would actually CHOOSE to work 18 hours a day, have no romantic love relationship and are actually concerned about whether or not their new business is going to fail.

Seriously? A caller will call her up and say that they are starting a new business and they want to know if it is going to be successful. ABSOOOOOOOLUTELYYYY she will say. And then go on to say just how successful. Another caller will call up to find out if the relationship they are currently in is going to result in marriage. I am seeing it! she will cry.

And so, I ask, why is she working 18 hours a day and worried about her business failing? Does she not believe? Does she not see it in the cards for herself? Do people who make these phone calls not think about these things? (Obviously I do!)

I am not saying that I don't believe in psychic abilities. I am just saying I find it a little odd that she hasn't manifested herself into some mansion where she can sit poolside and do her radio show with the cabana boy massaging her feet and ... well ... I want my psychic advisor to have it all figured out for themselves first I guess!

Then there is the Rosie O'Donnell show. Really Rosie or something like that. And she bitches that she has to follow the really bad accented woman Mary O-something, which makes me laugh, because let's face it, Rosie is no shrinking violet and is very much more successful than Mary O on a bad day (even though she fights the system and therefore can't work for a major network) but hell, that is what satellite radio is for! And yet, it's kind of mean to pick on someone who is on the same channel as you are! Anyway. Rosie's show isn't all that exciting, her topics are somewhat random and her guests are like her friends who have nothing else better to do. Today there was like five minutes of my life wasted while she and two other people discussed the man (in the room with her) being bored by the topic she was discussing. I mean seriously???

Oooooh, such bad radio. Then there are the Broadminded Broads (I think) and they go off on some tear about something and just go on and on and on. They were absolutely BESIDE THEMSELVES that Donny Osmond won the Dancing with the Stars show and well. They couldn't stop putting the poor windbag down. (They called him that, not me. I mean, he's a little bit rock 'n roll. A part of my childhood.)

And then Barbara Walters has some talkfest with her producer from The View, Bill Gedde. And she sort of kind of flirts with him, which is wrong on many, many levels, and it doesn't work, but she does interview celebrities. Woo hoo! I am never excited when she is on.

And then .... oh and then. There is that BITCH Dr. Laura Schlessinger. OHMYGOD. What is wrong with people? Why would they call her? She is so haughty and prissy and full of shit. Her sarcasm is so mean spirited and yet. And yet! She has a whole bunch of followers who think what she has to say has some merit. I mean, she is the poster child for someone you DO NOT WANT TO BE! Ever! EVER EVER! Why listen to her advice? It's like going to a junkie and asking them for a score and having them belittle you for being SO GODDAMN STUPID for even thinking you are worth the dirt you are standing on, much less worth THE SCORE SHE IS GOING TO DANGLE IN FRONT OF YOU THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Oh my. Really. She doesn't bother me at all.

No, really.

So, I am thinking. I should have a radio show. I can be a psychic and a broadminded broad and I can CERTAINLY hand out advice on anything from should I forgive my rapist step-dad and give him a loan to should I give away my sister's special-needs coke baby because my sister is in jail and my mother has no legs. Seriously. I can. How hard can that be if I introduce just a modicum of COMPASSION and RESPECT and CIVILITY to my answers?

Why oh why do I do this to myself?

Sirius Radio 102.

DO NOT go there!

A Beautiful Basement

I think I'm going to paint it white, he said. What do you think?

WHAT DO I THINK?

This is the wall. As you can see, a fresh coat of white paint would undoubtedly transform the appearance of the basement.

For the past three days Peter has been down in the basement making a lot of noise. It is very noisy when you demolish walls and then put up a new one. The basement is where he tunes skis during the winter. The rest of the year he rarely goes down there. But right now, in his head, it is his palace. And therefore needs to be beautified. Let me paint you a picture of the basement. It isn't finished, though at one time it sort of was. When we bought this house, one half of it was what you would consider finished. It had a bedroom with its own bathroom and fire place and the other room had a bar in it. Clearly the owners before us really loved their basement. Hallie slept in the bedroom and we turned the bar area into a playroom. On the other side was the washing machine and dryer and the usual basement appearance, icky concrete floor and walls. (The "finished" side wasn't that much better, with cheap paneling walls and the teeny tiny windows, but it had carpet on the floor.) Every time I walked down there to do laundry, I swore I would eliminate this floor from my life.

This is where Hallie's room used to be, the old fireplace is to the left.

Then came the floods. It seemed crazy, considering we live on a mountain, that we had floods in our basement, but we did, and more than once. When we changed the carpet there was a drain in the floor on the bar side, and we did what anyone would do, we cemented it up, leveled the floor and put in fresh new wall to wall. The first flood came pouring in and it was bright and sunny out. I was down there pulling up the carpet to try to save it and the water just kept coming ... through the wall. It was insane. I even found a big heavy metal pick thing and tried to break up the cement where the little drain was. I mean, why would you put a drain in a floor ... UNLESS OF COURSE YOU NEEDED ONE? When we were clearly having some supernatural occurrence where water just came flooding in for no apparent reason.

If you look closely you can see the patch where I attempted to smash through the concrete in search of the drain we had covered up! And this

floor is now in the "ski tuning room." which is shown below.

But of course, there was a reason. There was a problem with the well, which happened to be right outside the foundation wall and it was building up with water and then leaking into the basement. What a mess.

The insurance company paid for the repairs and new carpet and we were back in business.

Until the next flood.

Now, the chances of a well pushing massive amounts of water into a basement aren't very likely, but the next cause of the second flood was even more unlikely.

We had had a party. A big party. And the toilet apparently was abused (despite the fact we had rented those outhouse things). One day I innocently went down cellar to do laundry when I heard a noise. I went into Hallie's bedroom and there was water all over the floor and it was just pouring out of the bathroom. OH MY GOD. Not again! The water was pouring out of the toilet. Okay, I turned the valve on the bottom of the toilet and the water STILL kept pouring out. It was dirty water, now that I realized it, with bits of toilet paper floating in it. WHAT WAS GOING ON? I started pulling up the carpet and draping it over stools and throwing towels on the floor to stanch the flow, and more or less freaking out. Turns out that this time it was the sewer pipe backing up ... the other part of the basement was getting hit too. It was so gross. I really don't want to think about it any more.

So. We were at a crossroads. And as Peter and I stood there with shitty dripping carpet, I said that the universe had spoken. Clearly the fact that we had experienced TWO major floods in our basement was an indication that we were not supposed to be using it for actual living purposes. That event was actually the catalyst to beginning the major renovation (and addition of a third story) to our house with the intent to eliminate the basement altogether as an essential space.

The laundry room was installed on the third floor and we even switched the location of the cellar stairs -- with the new access requiring going through a bedroom as opposed to front and central in the main body of the house. For me, the basement was a distant memory ... a storage place for things you don't really need. Oh, and a place for Peter to hang out in! He even has a TV down there.

And because we had determined that it was being reformed into a true basement, the new furnace was installed in the bedroom part, with the fireplace being used as a flue. The bathroom was turned into Peter's paint room (where he rinsed paint brushes and stored such accessories) and the former bar/playroom was turned into the ski tuning room (with the skis actually on the old bar.)

So ... for the past I don't know, ten years, the basement (which of course never flooded again) has remained dry and non-essential (at least to me!) But Peter decided that he could gain some more space if he removed the shower from the bathroom. You can visualize how big a stall shower is, and that is exactly how much space he gained. He tore down the wall, removed the shower, and then pushed back the wall the few feet and put it back. Same wood. And he is thrilled beyond belief at what he has gained. I went down this morning and if I hadn't been privvy to all of the noise, I would have never guessed that anything had changed.

So, he says, I think I am going to paint this wall white.

I looked around. To the left of the potential white wall (which is some cheap paneling) is the cement block with two holes in it, kind of hacked up holes that provide access to underneath the kitchen, which does have a foundation, but really only a crawl space. (Which was added during the renovation). It is very attractive, and Peter uses the holes to store wood, so a lot of wood is sticking out of the holes. The floor is littered with paint cans and such, and is now a mixture of cement, tile (from where the bathroom part was) and bits of pieces of linoleum which was underneath the carpet, which is long gone. Some parts of the concrete wall are painted white, some are green. And yet, he believes that if he paints this tiny piece of wall, it will beautify the basement.

The mosaic of different floor treatments and if you look to the left where the foot of the desk is, you can see the drain hole for the now removed shower. The space gained is indicated by the amount of green tile that is showing. BONANZA!

And it's not as though he is a man who must complete every project he begins. In fact, to the contrary! He is a BIG project man -- who finds the finer details of finish work and polish inconsequential and pesky little items that he will surely get to later. So what is up with the desire to paint the one wall?

I don't know. I spent the past few days doing frivolous things like watch movies and read books and he created a few more feet in his beloved basement.

The one thing we have in common is that we both believed that the other wasted their time!

(I should state that since he was down there while I was taking pictures, he is quite certain that I am going to post them on the Internet and make fun of him. But no, that is not what I am doing, I am just cataloging an event in time ... a true example of life with Peter!)

How do you spell LAZY?

So. Yesterday. Raining. Pouring. Cold. Windy.

Woke up. Heard pouring rain. Closed eyes and went back to sleep.

Came to again. Same thing. Closed eyes and went back to sleep.

Hunger pangs. HUNGER pangs the day after Thanksgiving? Clearly I stretched my stomach. Oh wait. Its almost noon.

Go downstairs, eat, hang out on computer for a bit, eventually gravitate toward couch and watch a movie.

And then another movie.

And then another movie.

And then another movie.

And then another movie.

Went to bed (I was clearly exhausted) at about 1:00 a.m.

The best part? I already had my jammies on so I only had to brush my teeth before I climbed into bed!

Now. This morning? Kitchen a total disaster because Charlie was in charge of dinner. And there is NO WAY I can get back on that couch because my back is killing me, which is my first inclination because it is unbelievably windy, cold and nasty outside.

Though I just might, because there is no way I am going outside on purpose.

Movie time?

The scent of samadhi

So I thought I'd come up with this great plan of purchasing christmas gifts for people that were made by women (free trade) in third world countries who, with the profits of their sales could support their families. It feels right -- the whole idea resonates with me.

Then I purchased a bar of soap from a woman who lives in Vermont, but I didn't pay for the price of the soap. Instead I chose to become a "friend" of this woman, who has an idea of a way to change the way the world does business. In essence, I paid a lot for this bar of soap so that she would be able to continue with her business in the hopes of keeping her prices down and developing new products. http://www.truebodyproducts.com/

It just felt right. I didn't buy stock in her company, I didn't even really buy soap. I bought into the idea. From the company's mission statement:

We believe that generating wealth means producing healthy and useful products, creating good quality jobs, protecting the planet, and contributing to our community, as well as making money. By this example, we hope to change the way the world does business.

And then there is the scent of Samadhi. Oh my. I was sent a sample of this stuff from one of my purchases and was instantly drawn to it. Hallie and I both liked it, so we kept it in the car. When you climbed in, you were instantly breathing deeply to try to inhale the most amazing smell. I didn't really know what it was, but then I came across a blurb on it that said it was the best deodorant around. I have been searching for the right natural deodorant for ages. And just when I think I have found one (a lot of them cause rashes for me) I will catch a whiff under my arm and scream NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I stink! How did that happen? Good heavens. Oh no. I mean, not horribly, but you know that smell. And granted, after I've been out hiking or walking. But still.

So I decided to try this stuff. Oh wow. WOW WOW WOW. It makes you feel good just wearing it, but I think that is partly because it causes you to breathe deeply -- which also energizes you. Scent of Samadhi get yourself a free sample. And now when I burrow my nose into my armpits (which is far more than normal because I can NOT get enough of this smell!) I am just awash in smiles. This is good stuff.

The idea of wearing items and scents that are supposed to surround me in goodness, optimism, health and nature is so appealing to me that it reminds me of the J. Peterman catalog. I don't even care if it is true -- just the idea is enough for me.

And now I am putting on my whiffer. I will tell you more about this once I know more myself!

Rainy Daze

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!

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

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

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

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?

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 ...

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

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

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

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!!!!!