Fruitcake Season

So what gives with fruitcake?  Is this holiday delight just meant for jokes? Really?  I laugh at the jokes.  I don’t know why I laugh, I have no idea what people are talking about. Year after year the jokes pile up.  Who is passing Grandma’s fruitcake at the white elephant gift exchange for example?  Or, who in the office is getting the ‘fruitcake’.  Supposedly they make great doorstops.  I’ve also heard they never go bad.  How can this be?

Isn’t fruitcake a lovely holiday tradition?  After all, I see scads of those little containers brightly filled with candied fruit bits stacked in every grocer. Who buys this stuff if no one likes fruitcake?  I have never had a single bite of fruitcake, probably because I’ve never baked one.  I thought of making one this year but I am moving instead.  Who has time to bake. Now that I think of it, my mother is a bake-a-holic, she has never baked fruitcakes.  This is definitely a topic of conversation at our Christmas visit.  I lay money on the table she will inform me she has baked fruitcakes.  Where have I been all these holiday seasons?

In between packing to move, moving car loads at a time, shopping and wrapping, and a part time job, I set out to buy a fruitcake.  I can’t stand not knowing what the big deal is.  A friend informed me they really enjoy fruitcake………so now I really need to check this out. 

Not  just any fruitcake will do, I will go all out and drive to the notable bakery in town.  I decided to ‘spend a little extra’ since its Christmas.  When I asked where the fruitcakes were I was given a blank stare.  Seriously.  I walked out eating a delicious ginger scone. 

I will find one of these loaf like cakes.  I am hoping I don’t like it.   

Petting Mosquitoes’ & Other Car Activities

Have you noticed how much people accomplish in their car while driving down the road?  Doing things while driving has taken “Get R’ Done” to a whole new level.  I am not sure why, but the busy lives of our nation has forced this craziness; I’m convinced.

It takes me forty five minutes to get out the door, dolled up, and ready to greet my day, work or play.  I cannot seem to fathom how women put on mascara while driving and looking in their rearview mirror, one hand on the wheel.  Lipstick – that’s different; I understand lipstick.  Any woman worth her salt can put on lipstick in her sleep. 

There is nothing like a good newspaper article over a hot cup of coffee in the morning.  Never in my life will I figure out how to read a newspaper, or a book, while driving.  Drinking coffee shouldn’t happen, but I get that. 

People eat in their car.  The car has replaced the kitchen and dining room tables for many families.  Let’s not exclude single people; they practically live off carry out.  People get in car wrecks over spilt pop and hamburgers that slip out of their buns while being shoved into the mouth of their driver.  I wonder how fattening this is.

I personally enjoy car singing. I even throw in a finger snapping, hip bouncing move when the song is really good.  I blew out one of my speakers during a recent car party.  Now I just turn up the volume a bit more to make up for it.  Have you ever caught someone singing in their car at a red light?  It is hilarious, especially if they realize you just caught them and they give you ‘that look’. I know I’ve been caught and I used to care, I don’t anymore.  I’m over 50, I consider the entertainment factor and it all makes sense.

Guests are always welcome passengers and I had an especially fun one recently.  Did you know that laughing hysterically can be a driving detriment? Laughing too hard can cause us to lose focus on the road.  I don’t know about you but back seat drivers freak me out.  I get knee jerk reactions, miss my turns and change lanes without looking, just because they said to do it.  Thirty four years ago during one of my driving days on the learner permit; I couldn’t help but notice a beautiful home and pointed it out to my mother.  What I didn’t realize, as she was yelling, I was driving right towards the house, going off the road.  I did get back on track that day, realizing we cannot steer into everything we look at.  I am so glad I figured that out.

I had a mosquito in my car recently.  Where in the world did that thing come from in November? I was trying like crazy to kill the pesky bug and it was getting away.  After about four tries, my back seat driver suggested I was petting the thing.  This struck a funny bone out of nowhere.  I was laughing hysterically.  One more lesson learned – do not pet bugs while driving, just let them be.

Well I better pull over; I need to check my email.

Rose Colored Glasses

I am pretty sure I was born wearing them.  Seems to me I’ve always looked at the world through rose colored glasses.  If you have as well, you know what I mean.  Isn’t it lovely?  Four or so years back I took them off.  Talk about rude awakening! What was I thinking?

Looking back, realized, like many others, I had a great deal of adversity throughout my childhood. I believe the rosy outlook I maintained was, in a way, a gift. I always saw things in a different light.  I saw the possibilities in everything – all my life, and unknowingly skated through the painful situations I didn’t understand, or even get they were problems at that time.  Some refer to that as the ‘white picket fence’ world.  Well perhaps it is, and I liked living in it. 

From the time I was a young girl, around the age of 4, I felt another presence in my life.  I grew to know and understand it was God.  I truly felt protected by Jesus and at a very young age somehow knew that.  Those glasses I looked through were the very thing that sustained much of my enthusiasm for life.  Though not always following this divine protection, making poor choices, and living with wreckless abandon for many years, I always knew and felt this amazing love and protection. 

I took the glasses off and faced reality.  This was not pretty.  Well, throughout this period – I have grown, matured (sort of) and grasped, through the gift of wisdom, the very things I will refer to as my ‘mess’. 

Through many teachings, along with amazing people God continues to place in my path, I’ve heard, learned, and believe, how we can make our mess, our message.  The mess is worked out for the most part, and isn’t it true, we are all a continuous work in progress. I cherish the journey and thank the Lord for his wisdom and convictions. 

Though the glasses are off, they remain in my pocket – as a reminder of how they got there in the first place.  Besides, I really do prefer living in The Light. 

Sports Season

I’ve never been much of an athlete.  Allow me to preface that by saying, I really do like sports, I am just not a participant per se’.  I’ve tried.  What I have gained from the sports arena are some very hilarious attempts.  My theory of “ya gotta look good”, doesn’t really match up with my ability, but the outfits are cool.

Take golf for example.  Years ago when I was selling advertising, I worked with a golf pro.  He had a golf club business on the side which proved to be perfect timing for my sudden urge to play.  I got an awesome deal on some sweet clubs.  Because I really love the smell of grass and driving the carts, I wanted to tee up and try this golf thing.  Not a good idea.  I was in lessons for two years and never advanced out of the beginners’ class.  Now mind you, I am not competitive by nature, I just strive to do well.  Thank God I am ok with not.   My wonderful friend Frito is quite an athlete, ie. snow and water skier, golfer, softball, snowmobiler, you name it.  She suggests we join a league.  Righhhhhhhhht!  I mean how are we suppose to improve our game if we don’t giver ‘er all we got.  We joined.  I never improved.  But we laughed, and we looked good. 

Downhill skiing – let’s not go there.  Knee boarding and water skiing; let’s just say there is something about a woman in the water, hanging on for dear life, repeatedly trying to climb onto a kneeboard that is just not pretty. I should have known better.  My people pleasing ways pushed me into it.  I wanted my brother to be proud.  I ended up tubing.  Impressive.

My first experience with softball I was around 13.  The neighborhood kids put a game together in the field and were short a player.  In their desperate attempt to fill the vacancy, I was recruited.  This day could have been the turning point, especially from the viewpoint of the neighborhood kids who thought I couldn’t play.  I was up to bat, I swung at the ball and hit a line drive into the pitchers gut.  He puked.  Though I felt proud of not striking out, I couldn’t help but feel horrible about hurting this kid.  I never played again until my mid-thirties when I joined a local bar team in an attempt to up my ‘cool’ factor. First night of practice I was expected to catch a ball coming down towards me and I ran the other way.  Hey, it looked like it was going to hit me in the head.  Besides, I didn’t like the outfit.  That ended that. Apparently I am not very cool.

I am not sure what my parents were thinking when they bought me a bowling ball.  It was a beautiful blue ball with my name engraved.  I had the shoes, the bag – the whole kit and caboodle.  Until years later when my friend Maggie found it in the apartment dumpster announcing ‘some idiot threw their bowling ball in the dumpster’.  When I asked her to show it to me, she unzipped the bag, revealing the personalized ball and the look on her face alone was worth all the years of lugging that ball around.  Years later I joined a bowling league thinking I could meet some new friends and have some fun.  The team that got stuck with me were quite disappointed. Turns out I won most improved bowler that year.  A few years later those girls called to ask if I would join their team again, stating “we know you are a really bad bowler, but you are funny”.  Oh great, just what I need, another reason to get laughed at.  Uggh.  Well I love those gals and 25 years later we’re still friends. 

I was out with a friends recently; out to have a fun time and they suggested bowling.  My first thought was ‘this cannot be happening’.  After praying that they didn’t notice the ‘fear of looking foolish’ on my face, I said ‘well, if you are in this thing for a good laugh, ok’.  I explained how I may throw gutter balls, or slide down the alley myself, or trip.  He was fine with all that.  What could it hurt.  Who doesn’t want a good laugh, including myself.  Sometimes we need to let our guard down and just roll with it.  So we did.  Turns out I am not such a bad bowler after all.   Maybe they just faked losing, allowing me to look good. 

I am thinking about taking a swing at tennis next.  I love the outfits.

Not Fit for Public

Thinking back, I have always been especially fond of ‘pajama day’.  I mean really, who doesn’t like pajama day.  I used to think it was just a polish thing that ran in my family.  Though I need to preface that by saying my Grandma wore a house dress, which is now referred to as a muumuu by my Mom.  As much as I love my pajamas, I pray I never leave home in a muumuu, or wear one for that matter.

There is no doubt in my mind I horrified my daughter in her younger years when I would just ‘run off to the store’ in my bunny slippers.  I still have those slippers.  Now frail and thread bear, I only wear them on very special occasions.  I am saving them to wear on my trip into heaven. 

Sometime around 15 years ago, when I was married, one of the neighbors called around 8 pm.  It was wintertime and dark outside.  She asked if we wanted to go out for pie and coffee at the downtown eatery.  We announced that we were in our pj’s, could we have a raincheck.  Well, she said, “oh no, we’ll change into our pajamas too and meet you in the driveway, let’s go”.  And off we went.  That may have been the best pie and coffee I ever had.  I bet that waitress still talks about us goofballs.

What happens when going public in our pajamas, we get a little braver each time, to the point of flat out indecency. It’s one thing to hang out in our pajamas all day doing chores, or lounging on the couch over a bag of popcorn.  It goes to a whole new level outside the confines of your home.

I live in an apartment building.  There are three buildings all together, one of which looks like one long building but it is actually considered two.  I clean these buildings for the owner as part of my rental agreement.  The last time I cleaned was the icing on the cake.  A potential show stopper if the police happen to drive by.

Back a few months ago my friend Frito gave me some completely amazing pajamas.  She had worn them before, but they were a little big so I am now the proud owner of these pajamas, which turn out to be my ‘outfit pajamas’. They really do look like an outfit.  The not so good part about that is how I just wear them way too often.  I developed a comfort zone with these pajamas.  Not only are they fattening when worn too often, but expensive.  I have to wash them every other day to the tune of a buck fifty per wash. They wash up beautifully by the way.

One morning, just recently, I decide to do a gung ho cleaning of the homestead.  Why bother getting dressed, all sweaty, and then take a shower, and get dressed again.  I will clean, get all icky in my pajamas, then shower and get dressed. I waited until most everyone had left for work and began my cleaning, darting in and out of each building with one supply, then the next, then the vacuum.  On and on I went, working away the hours.  I decide to do some outside work as well. I planned to wash the sign and the entrance doors, do some sweeping, etc. 

I learned a big lesson that day.  I cannot break routine.  I am a routine gal.  I went back to my apartment, switching gears to do the outside work; I grabbed my branch trimmers, corn broom, rags, bucket of soapy water, and headed outside to polish the place up.  Ooops, where are my keys?  They are in my apartment!  I was living in the moment of one of my biggest fears. I was locked outside of my apartment. In my outfit pajamas. Holding a corn broom and a branch trimmer.  A bucket of soapy water at my feet.  And to make matters worse no one was home at the apartments to call the owner to let me in.

If you think this is funny, I haven’t even mentioned my hair.  I never met a single person that has morning hair like mine.  This is not a pretty picture folks.  It was really bad when I woke up, so I tried dolling it up with a barrette – tugging and pulling it back.  Due to my lack of vanity, I just went with it.  Who cares right.  I suddenly cared, big time.  All I could picture in my mind was the Publishers Clearinghouse team showing up with my big winnings and here I stand in my pajamas, flipflops and completely insane hair, holding a broom.  Not a pretty photograph to publish in a magazine, ‘the woman from Fenton who won the big sweepstakes’. A pitiful sight to behold.

I sat in a lawn chair belonging to one of my neighbors in awe of my predicament. One and a half hours later someone from my building came home.  I was in like Flynn. 

It's Just Madness.

I cracked up laughing today as I played over in my mind a class I took earlier this year.  I was laughing so hard – it’s a good thing I was in the privacy of my apartment, in public I may have been considered ‘crazy’ or something. 

I am all about personal development and spend a great deal of time in this area, especially after quitting smoking four plus years ago.  This past spring I learned of an anger resolution class starting in my community, so I jumped on board. I was getting excited to think about the new things I was going to learn.  I didn’t necessarily think I had a problem with anger but always interested in what drives human emotion.

Day one of class was enlightening.  I was going to like this class.  Well maybe.  Mandatory hugs were announced at the end of the class, “don’t leave until you give someone a hug!” I am a hugger from way back, ask anyone who knows me.  Now I think twice before hugging.  We do not want to hug the wrong person or be inappropriate with too much hugging for pete sake. My hugging radar was ignited and I instantly became uncomfortable.  What the heck is this feeling all about? I couldn’t help wonder why I was suddenly uneasy in a situation that only a year ago I would have initiated hugging each and every person in the room and probably asked for phone numbers while I was at it.

Then it hit me, I had also taken a personal boundary class.  Talk about ah ha moments. Then I really laughed.  I didn’t want to hug one single person in that room, and felt bullied into it.  I was getting ticked off.  I mean who has a right to tell me who to hug and when? Seriously.   I snuck out as my classmates were embracing each other and I simmered in my juices all the way home. 

Within a short period of time I put logic to my thoughts and decided to just get over it. Put on my big girl panties and get my rear end back in that class next week.  So I did.  Not a good week.  I must have been on edge because something was said that got my blood boiling.  Now mind you, nothing said was directed at me, I just speculated. I am very good at speculating.  I had the speaker hog tied and crucified before hugs were ordered and I stomped off.  That was that with the anger resolution class.  By golly.

As I sat at my sewing machine this afternoon going 100 mph, thinking back on this class, it hit me right in the gut.  I bet I have an anger problem. Nah, I am just yelling it like it is – that’s what Maxine does.  I better give this some thought.

Don’t have time to think about it now, I’ll put it on the list of things to do and head out the door for my controlling emotions class.

Lookin' Good!

I really enjoy clichés. I think up a few of my own from time to time, they're fun. One of my favorites: YA GOTTA LOOK GOOD!  This one can apply to every single thing in your life.  Say your car is a ‘beater’ – no big deal, just make sure it’s clean and give it purpose by putting unique bumper stickers all over it – creating a community icon. Having a bad hair day? Golf visors work miracles – now you are trendy.  The only jeans you own are stained. No problem, iron them with a crease down the middle – now you are shabby chic.  Do you have fat arms that sway back and forth?  NO BIG DEAL, seriously.  Tan those babies up. Everything looks better tanned.  The tan lines give the wiggly underarm sway less prominence, and, you will look good in your sleeveless blouse.  My daughter once said “if you can’t tone it, tan it” and she is right.  If you live in a shack – doll it up. If you are feeling sad – smile.  If you have bad teeth, or no teeth – don’t smile.  The list goes on for miles.  If you can’t think of one, let me know, I will think for you. 

Have you noticed the growing trend in women’s undergarments?  Namely – shapewear.  This stuff is supposed to make us “look good”.  It doesn’t hide the thickness of the waistline – aka: fat, it simply smoothes out the lumps.  Unless of course you get something two sizes too small.  Once you sausage yourself into one of these contraptions, you do actually look 10 pounds thinner.  You will also need a size larger shoes, and, make sure your neck is tanned.

This past Saturday I was preparing mentally for a fun night out with Smyth.  We were going on our very own Shaggy and Scooby expedition to capture Orbs in the night with our camera.  My mantra being “ya gotta look good”, I was dwelling on what to wear.  What does one wear to an Orb shoot?  All I could think of was a one piece black cat suit. Smyth mentioned that black is slimming, and who couldn’t use that kind of allusion.  The closest thing to a cat suit I could think of is one of those wet suits that the skiers wear.  Then it hit me – SHAPEWEAR!  Okay, I did not do this thing.  I ended up wearing shorts and flip flops. Turns out I was a big fat scaredy cat that night, lurking through the cemetery with our cameras – but my hair looked good and two of our photos had Orbs. And we laughed.  I felt like a kid on an adventure.

These days I’m busier than a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest, so I best get dolled up for the day and get the ball rolling. Speaking of looking good, you should see my brothers’ grass, it’s an art form - he can't help it.

Yard Monsters & The Artsy Fartsie's

I love to people watch and there is nothing like The Ann Arbor Art Fair to get my fix.  If you appreciate art then you get double your time and money’s worth.  I call events like this a cheap thrill.  Where else can you go to see a man playing a violin in a wolf mask.  Seriously.  He was good too.  Not as good as the silver guy that didn’t move.  Well except when you put money in his tip bucket.  Now that was funny. 

To me, a true artist doesn’t sleep.  When an idea is brewing you just get restless and can’t get any shut-eye.  Whether it is a new piece you are working on, or an idea.  When I see a really clever piece, I will ask the artist “So, Artsy Fartsy, how much sleep did you lose coming up with this” Guess what, he knows what I am talking about and tells me the story. 

The real action was at the yard monster booth.  Those cuties were show stoppers.  And gut busters.  I laughed so hard, it took 12 minutes after I left their booth to get the grin off my face.  This artist creates, out of steel,  little round, smiley face like, with big saw like teeth grinning; sporting spindly arms and legs, and they are action figures in a sense.  Two of them had their arms in the air carrying off the notorious yard gnome.  Another had a pink flamingo snapping its neck in two.  I couldn’t help but burst out laughing – my twisted sense of humor was ignited.  This guy had the kind of imagination that gets people’s attention and the wallets out of their pockets.  He had every kind of little monster doing every kind of thing you can imagine, including a fancy little girl holding a tube of pink lipstick – right up my alley.  So I asked the gal running the booth, how much sleep she lost coming up with this amazing work and she replied “oh, I just take the money – my husband is the one who doesn’t sleep”.  See what I mean. 

Another guy, wearing purple, round Elton John glasses, took a spin on everyday wit, sayings, and clichés, attaching images to them.  I’ve never it seen done with such unique appeal.  For those of you who know me, know that I love quit witted commentary and found this booth very entertaining.  One that stuck with me is, two little characters – a little grinning frog and a cute little rooster looking each other in the eye.  The caption was ‘I taste like chicken’.  The quips and images were endless.

You know someone is famous when you stop at the information booth and explain, “I am looking for Xavier……….” .  I couldn’t even finish saying his name or “Nuez Photography” and she was pointing in the direction I needed to go towards his booth.  This guy is a pure artist in every way, shape and form.  Any person that can take dark, bleak, scary places and bring out their beauty has an artists’ eye.  His work amazes people.  He has dedicated his life to his art and has the best stories this side of the Mississippi. And it is paying off BIG time.  He is in galleries and homes (even movie star homes) all across the USA.  I met ‘X’ 10 years ago at the Ann Arbor Art Fair and have the distinct pleasure of calling him my friend. We’ve experienced great fun and laughs over the years and we’re not finished.  This man is what ‘following your dream’ is all about.  Check him out:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rsJuT1lJhgw

And then there is Shoe Boy.

Nuts and Berries

The full moon has been coming out all week.  Technically the moon is only FULL one night, but I say it still looks like a full ball of light in the darkened sky.  And that explains everything.  People get weird during the full moon.  My old friend George the Cop said so, people I know that work in hospitals say so, and my friends say so.  I believe them all.  I don’t know about you but I get a little flaky during a full moon.  Not until the days pass that I get the aha moment and realize, “no wonder…………it was a full-moon”

The week-long full moon has done a number on me. I've been taking 2 steps forward and 5 steps back.  I even looked in the mirror the other day and thought I had company – then I realized it was just me, only a different version of me, almost familiar but questionable.  Four and a half years ago I quit smoking which threw me into immediate menopause.  If I wasn’t in menopause, this week would definitely be ‘that time of the month for me’.

Nothing that a ‘little pill’ couldn’t help, said a loving family member.   I don’t do pills, rarely take a vitamin but under the circumstances I was willing to try anything for relief, especially if it would ease my loved ones worries.  It worked.  I was put in a mild trance and that’s all I have to say about that.  It confirmed exactly why I don’t like, nor take pills.  But it took the edge off if you want to call it 'the edge'.

Actually what capped the day perfectly was meeting up with Frito.  She is funny.  Seriously.  This gal is from a huge family, and they have more funny stories than carter has liver pills.  I've witnessed a few myself. They are pure southern folk and I have always referred to her family as The Waltons.  She and I enjoy solving the problems of the world and going to the movies.  That’s our thing.  Well, that and Tim Hortons. Somewhat spontaneous, we decide to go see the movie “Larry Crowne”.  How could you not love any movie that involves Forrest Gump and Julia Roberts.

We get our popcorn and head to our spot in the theatre.  We like the top row, end seats.  It must be a karma thing because those seats stay open just for us.  If we continue to do what we did tonight, we may get lifetime free passes, strictly for the entertainment value.

As we are getting all comfy and positioned, we enjoy the previews and comment on which movies we should go see this summer.  A super duper long preview comes on; it was so cute and captivating. Hey wait a minute, this isn’t a preview.  Our eyes must have popped out of our heads when we realized what happened.  We both really like Winnie the Pooh, but we had our hearts set on Larry.  Is our focus that lacking?  We got up and race walked to the next room.  Our seats were vacant, waiting our arrival. 

We somehow managed to keep it together, enjoyed the movie and exited into the ladies room where we proceeded to lose it. We were laughing so hard, each in our potty stall.  I hear Frito laugh then I would start again.  We laughed all the way out of the place.  We were gut busting laughing and tears rolling down our cheeks. I can only imagine what the people all around us thought.  Frito and I have been friends for 24 years, each year gets better.  If this keeps up we may have to turn it into a Road Show. 

Laughing really is the best medicine. 

To Eat or Not to Eat

I just got word about the dozens of pesticides that are found on our fresh fruits and veggies.  Funny thing is, I’ve heard this stuff before.  I guess the news of pesticides on our food is making a comeback. Just like bell bottoms and tie dyed shirts, it all comes back around.  I don’t pay much attention to the news so maybe the overuse of pesticides has been on the streets for awhile.  My friend Maggie is my personal update and keeps me in the loop of everything I need to know and then some.

This is the very thing that gets my wheels turning.  What should I eat for lunch now?  Shall I pack celery sticks bathed in pesticide, rinsed off with my city water full of chlorine and a little dollop of ranch dip or a thick greasy slice of pepperoni and cheese pizza?   Is a fat juicy hamburger better or chemically dipped strawberries with a side of yogurt?  I know, I will have a nice big salad with leaf lettuce, peppers, tomatoes and cucumbers; this way I am getting a huge variety of pesticides in one fell swoop.

Man cannot live on bread alone…….but wait, is all the wheat that is grown in fields across our beautiful land given a good dose of pesticide before it hits the mills for processing?  I think it is.  And, I just read the wrapper on my healthy 0 trans fat, high fiber, whole wheat tortilla and it lists Guar Gum as an ingredient.  What the heck is Guar Gum?  Sounds fishy to me. 

Speaking of fish, I heard them say that fish is supposed to be very healthy for us.  You can even take fish oil vitamins if you don’t eat enough fish.  Salmon is the best available fish for the omega-3 fish oils but don’t eat it too often, something about the mercury levels, especially for young children. 

How about smokers?  They are supposedly getting 400 chemicals and pesticides with each cigarette.  If my math is right, the smokers are getting a lot more pesticides than anyone else.  Oh yeah, don’t forget the second hand smokers, they are a little short changed but still getting a fair share for not paying the price of the habit.

I’ve heard over the years people are living longer due to the chemicals in processed foods.  The chemicals act as a preservative of some sort.  Could this be true?  It used to be that coffee and eggs were bad for you, now they are saying that coffee and eggs are good for you.  It can get very confusing if you are a health-nut. 

This is hilarious stuff.  Doesn’t it make perfect sense to eat the best food available that you enjoy in fair sized portions and call it good.  People get so wrapped up in research and proving things right or wrong – don’t they have something else better to do?  By the way, who are “THEY” anyhow.  I wonder if THEY are related to “I DON’T KNOW”.

Nit Picking Ankle Biters

Have you ever had one of them days?  How about weeks.  It’s been one of those days all year, right.  Let’s face it; we are not going to get through our life without a crisis or three.  The bigger your family or social circle, the more crisis you will come in contact with. The law of physics.  

I pretty much feel ok in a crisis.  Not that it sets right with me, or that I don’t place any relevance on it, I just realize one must stay calm in situations like ‘a crisis’ and manage to succeed at doing so. Well, for the most.

Let’s take a look at the daily grind. Now that’s a different tune.  Your day begins as you’re reaching to turn off the blaring alarm clock. You knock over the glass of water you brought to the bedroom during the night when you couldn’t sleep.  Ok, no biggie………..turn on the light, get some dirty laundry nearby and sop of the spill. On the way to work you get a flat tire.  You try to call a wrecker for help but you realize you left your cell phone at home.  You proceed walking down the road, praying that a freak doesn’t stop and abduct you, and thanking God for the nice summer morning. You manage to get a run in your pantyhose from who knows what.  A co-worker spots you walking down the road and stops to pick you up – YEAH!  How perfect, there is hope for a better day.  After much whoop-de-do, you get your car back. Once home from your work day, you decide to go for a run as a way to work off some of your stress.  You bend over to tie your shoe and the lace breaks.  As you grab for the new laces in the junk drawer, you cut your finger on some mysterious thing ma-bob that you can’t find.  Oh well, get a band-aid and be on your way.  Barely missing the pile of doggie-do in your front yard, a gift from the neighbors’ lab, you hit the street running with your favorite song playing on the ipod.

You now arrive home from your hour of bliss in the neighborhood, realizing, in the hustle bustle of trying to get out the house, forgot to put the key in your tennis shoe.

I am sure you get the picture here. Some of this may sound a bit farfetched but I am here to tell you, I’ve had days like this, some even crazier.  It can wear us down.  We try to find humor in the madness, chuck it off as ‘no big deal’.  And really, none of the small irritating mishaps are a big deal.  However, the daily nitpicking stuff can add up and chip away at our good nature. Seriously people, how many snags can one take on in a 24 hour period or week?  It’s just flat out exhausting.

 At what point is it ok to scream and have a fit in order to relieve the pressure of keeping up with a good outlook?

And to think you know someone............

Do you have one of those friends that make you laugh so hard that the coffee you are drinking shoots out through your nostrils and sometimes make you lose your breath or pee your pants?  I have a friend like that.  Maggie is a trip to say the least.  She is a natural. She is well into her senior years, struggles with hearing and vision, but young at heart and has more piss and vinegar than anyone I know. I met her early one morning as she knocked on my apartment door, asking if I had a phone she could use.  Turns out she needed to call a friend to pick her up for work because her car was being towed away as we stood there in the kitchen.  It was a dumb car anyways.

That was 27 years ago and let me tell you, it’s been a fun ride.  We have seen each other through thick and thin in more ways than one.  We always made ends meet and managed to live high on the hog, if only in our hearts and mind.  We would scrape our change and bottles together, coming up with enough moola to have a prime rib dinner at the VFW Hall on Saturday night.  Maggie introduced me to Sally’s Boutique, AKA: Salvation Army.  We were the best dressed chicks in town – on a dime.  To this very day we are loyal Sally’s shoppers, forever on the lookout for a steal, the perfect outfit or accessory.

Well today took the cake and will be laughed about for decades to come.  Maggie and I planned a girl day for garage sale-ing. Being the domestic goddesses that we are, can't resist a bargain, especially if it enhances our living space.  Nesting comes natural for us so when the perfect piece of furniture, picture, vase, coverlet, trinket or whatnot crosses our path, we are finding a way to get it. Period.

Being the eager beavers that we are, decided to get an early start.  The agenda was full. We had visiting to do, dozens of garage sales to scour and then we had to eat.  The plan was for me to arrive at her house at 7:30 am.  Maggie was so excited she got up at 3:15 am to make sure she was showered, dolled up and ready to go.  And, she had to make sure to get her fill of television Texas Hold ‘Em in before I showed up. 

With breakfast and visiting under our belts, we were on our way.  We are just like little kids getting the deals and finding the perfect thing to enhance our life.  It was the absolute best time ever, and then, 'the incident'.  We stop at the church sale and there lay a beautiful pile of rugs outside the church door.  I am in the market for some rugs and Maggie asked the lady how much they were.  She said it was a free-will donation.  Fair enough.  I unrolled the largest rug to take a closer look.  It was a gorgeous rug along with all the coordinates of various sizes.  A perfect find if those rugs would work, but they wouldn’t, so I told Maggie that I wasn’t going to get them.  Maggie said it was a steal of a deal and she was going to take them.  And that is exactly what she did. Together, we loaded up her little car – rugs hanging out the back.  We then go into the church to look around.  I made a purchase and we left.  We get back to her place, discussing and showing off all of our treasures from the day, I ask her how much she gave for the rugs.

She looked at me totally confused and said “what do you mean, they were a free, goodwill donation”.  She thought they were free.  Yep, you got it.  She ripped off the church.  Two woman driving down the road – in broad daylight, with stolen goods hanging out of the trunk.  We were like Bonnie and Clyde making our getaway.  I mean if you are going to steal at a garage sale, a church would be the best bet.  They probably just figured we were poor hopeless women that needed those rugs.

It doesn’t end there.  I left to go home .  Maggie, the woman of integrity that she is, hi-tailed it back to the church to tell of her side of the story.  Well those church ladies laughed themselves silly, accepted Maggie’s donation and that’s that.

Faux Dating

There’s a lot to be said about dating.  Let me start by talking about non-dating.  AKA: Faux Dating.  Faux by definition means artificial, imitation or fake.  Date means an appointment for a particular time, a social engagement or occasion arranged beforehand.  So faux dating can be interpreted as not going anywhere, doing or planning anything with someone. 

Let’s not mistake this for hanging out.  Hanging out is a blast and it is meant for friends, families, couples and groups.  But not dates.  Dates are for people getting to know each other to determine whether they could potentially become a couple. Then they could hang out.  Right? Well, on second thought, I see the best couple relationships still going on dates along with hanging out.  The dating ritual is nothing new; I have just been in the dark on the subject. And, yes, I really do like to swirl these ideas around in my head.

So, who then, is in charge of making the date?  I think it is safe to say that the man or the woman could make the plan and call, requesting the pleasure of the others’ company.  But, being the traditionalist that I (mostly) am, I think the man should do the asking.  I think a date could be anything from a walk to a picnic, movies, concerts, museums, latte’s, the beach, festivals, carnivals, Sunday drives in the country, bungee jumping (NOT), antique and garage sale shopping, star gazing --- the list is endless.  It could be budget wise or all out crazy extravagant.  That is part of the adventure.  How fun! 

This dating stuff hasn’t changed really.  It doesn’t matter if you are 15 or 68.  You meet someone, maybe you get a twinkle in your eye, and maybe you don’t. Someone calls and asks the other to do something and you go or you don’t.  You have fun or you don’t.  You go out again or you don’t.  Pretty simple stuff. Why do people complicate it?  It is definitely worth further exploration.

I bet that faux dating leads to faux marriage. 

Displaced Hormones

So what's up with chin hairs?  Seriously, if it's not one thing it's another.  We go through menopause which rids us ladies one pain in the butt only to take on our future nemesis.  I have what appears to be a large zit on my chin.  It's been growing almost four years now.  I am here to say, it is not a zit.  It is this squirrely agitated spot that I can't seem to leave alone because little whiskers keep creeping out. 

What started out as one random little surprise soon turned into a harvest of about 8. Give or take.  The secret is out of the bag here gals.  We just have to deal with it.  It's not pretty.  Just add it to the list of giving birth, bad haircuts, cellulite, sagging belly skin accompanied by stretch marks, eyebrows that won't curve right and the oh-so-famous triceps wave.  Yep.  If you don't have chin hairs yet, just brace yourself, they are on their way.

So what you need to do right away is make up your Chin Hair Survival Kit.  Get a pair of reallly good, pointy tweezers.  That's it.  That is the kit. To do it right, you will need several kits.  Keep a kit in the car. Naturally you will want a kit in the bathroom -- that's a given.  It helps to tuck one in a kitchen junk drawer, your purse and if you work outside of the home, keep a kit at work.  In the beginning you will need a mirror. The small magnifier type work best. 

I found the very best place to attack these unsightly rascals is in your car.  You have the best light, a mirror readily available and you have a kit in your car.  You just need to keep watch because you will have some on-lookers.  This requires a sense of humor ok.  So toughen up, this is no time for thin-skinned crybabies.

Do you ever think about the costs of our beauty and hygiene regimen?  Make-up, shampoos, conditioners, leave-in treatments, facials, nail polish and removers, perfume, kotex, tampons, medications, noxema, scrubs, rubs, clippers, cutters and waxers.  How about just hair stuff?  Rollers, blowers, ties, bands, clips, cuts, perms, straighteners, moisturiziers.  This doesn't even include any type of Salon excursion. And now Chin Hair Survival Kits.  Be prepared to shell out about 30 bucks for all your tweezers.  Don't scrimp and buy the cheapos or you may as well throw your cash out the window as you drive down the road.

Your goal here, once you obtain a chin hair, is to be able to drive down the road, or talk on the phone and pluck them out at the same time; without even looking.  It really helps to get to this level.  You learn the geography of your face this way.  You know the spot and you take care of business.  And by the way, do not discuss this with men, it makes their stomachs turn flip-flops.  The idea that their wife or girlfriend has a chin hair doesn't set well with them.  Just deal with it and not say a word.  It is like our 'skeleton in the closet'.  Don't ask, don't tell.

So with that said, have a nice day.

Shrinkage

If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a liar.  Crybabies are annoying too, but that would make it two things I can’t stand.  Let’s take a look at liars today.  I am one.  No lie.  But I am an inadvertent liar.  Does that make it better? 

My driver’s license states that I am 5’4” tall.   I have believed this lie my entire adult life.  I even swear by it with my mother. She always declares that she is taller than me, but I have the photographs to prove otherwise. Besides, I always thought the height lie was a guy thing.

So where does the height lie begin? I am probably wrong here, but I think when you turn 16 years old, you go to the Secretary of State with your parent and become inducted into the adult world of road rage and buying gasoline.

During your initial visit to the secretary of state I recall standing up against the wall and there is that white measurement tape thingy indicating how tall you are (like the one they have at all the 7-11 stores for criminal identification), then they take your picture and in 7-10 days you received your driver’s license.   What am I missing here?

Not that it matters, nor have I ever put that much emphasis on how tall I was.  I mean seriously, what is the diff between 5’4” and 5’ 2¾”?  The problem is the legitimacy of your legal document.  What if I got pulled over by the police and was asked to get out of my car?  Let’s say they are glancing at my license and notice my height statement.  Then during the interrogation if you will, they realize I am not 5’4” – then what?  Just sayin.

Was I ever 5’4”?  When did I shrink?  How does this happen?  I have been looking in the mirror for two days and I do not see a grandma hump on my back.  My shoulders aren’t shrugging forward.  I don’t get it.    I guess it’s true, I am living proof.  We shrink with age.  A little pre-mature in my opinion but none the less.   I have never been a stiletto girl and I don’t intend to start now. 

I am officially coming forward to say that I am not 5’4”.  I am 5’2 ¾” tall.  And that’s the truth.

Hooked on Horton's

This is not even funny.  I love my coffee but there is nothing like a Horton’s. I was just fine, going through life having my coffee with no name brand creamer every morning, sometimes I would splurge and have real half n’ half or that fancy flavored creamer.  No biggy.  Once in a while I would go all out and get a latte’ somewhere.  I wasn’t particular where, just a latte’.  Life is good.

One day last spring, Frito shows up on my porch sporting two T.H’s for a girl visit.  It was amazingly delicious.  Medium coffee with 3 creams and one sugar. I don’t even drink sugar in my coffee. She would add extra sugar in hers when she arrived here at my place. Next thing you know she was showing up on a weekly basis, bringing coffee, and more girl talk.  The fun stuff that life is all about.  Loved every minute of it.  Still do. 

Here in lies the problem.  She created a coffee monster.  I am not only addicted to Tim Horton’s coffee, I now prefer sugar in my coffee.Thank you very much. I have actually left my apartment in my pajamas early in the morning to get a Tim Horton's coffee. I mean who wants to get dressed on an early Saturday morning just to chill with a nice cup of Joe.  Just what I need, another thing to keep track of.  Points, points, points.

To take this whole coffee thing a step further, last week I went to her house for a visit and she introduced me to a decadent creamer that tastes like an Almond Joy bar.  No lie.  It really does, and boy oh boy, talk about good coffee.   

My point here is that my friend Frito has the skinny on coffee. I am seriously wondering why she doesn’t just buy a franchise location.  Imagine the heaven she would be in and I, as her friend, could probably get a job there.  Think of the benefits.

 The other point is I need to finish school and get a job real soon because $1.55 adds up quick.

The Lamp Fettish

My friend Jo has a thing for lamps.  She recently downsized, and swears that she is over the ‘lamp thing’ but I think she is in denial.  I should know – I’ve seen her attic of days gone by.  Her inventory may be low now, but the first garage sale stop is going to change her mind, again.  It’s in her blood.

There isn’t a tattered shade in her sight that doesn’t get the dream of perfect refurbishment.  I can hear her now, “it’s the shade that matches the which-ma-call-it lamp, perfectly”.  How cool is that. She knows what she’s talking about.  It’s amazing what a custom paint job can do to a lamp. 

Jo has no prejudice.  Chandeliers are good too.  Floor style, tiffany, retro, crystal, wall-mount, you name the lamp.  She loves it.  Well maybe not all lamps.  She’s more crate and barrel now.  Less is more.  But a lamp – we all have our weaknesses right.  Maybe she could channel this love and become “the lamp lady” and people from all over the country will seek her out for her latest lamp find.  Seriously.

By the way, it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.  It’s not the lamp, really.  It’s the adventure.

Hello, My Name is Coreena and I am a List-A-Holic

I have a legal pad fettish.  It became quite clear this morning as I came in from my walk around town, made my coffee and oatmeal, then sat down at the table to check email and update my facebook page. 

I went to grab some paper to create a plan for my day - map my route of errands around town. When I glanced over the pile of mussed up papers from last nights homework, I saw them.  I couldn't help but think about it.  They were sprawled out, each pad for something different in subject matter.  One is for my budget/expenses which is neatly organized by pay dates.  One is for my Practice Management class, and the other one is for writing thoughts, ideas and things I don't want to forget.  Oh, I have more. I have three to keep track of my different sewing ideas and committments.  There are legal pads in each of my class folders and I have a surplus in the sewing room next to the copy machine.  Some of them have been used a little bit but lost their purpose, so they are waiting in line.  I have 8 active legal pads.  Talk about organized.  Keep in mind, none of these legal pads have anything to do with my other little scratch pads... those are used for grocery lists, daily to-do lists, don't forget lists and so on.

I am currently using the white and yellow pads.  Pretty much standard stuff.  The last time I was at the store I was going to get the purple and pink ones but had to restrain due to my budget.  The fancier pads cost more and the ones I have will do just fine.  Besides, there is always my birthday and Christmas, Memorial Day, St. Patricks Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Valentines Day. (hint, hint)

I might be on to something.  Just sayin'

The Circle of Life

Do you ever feel like you are running around in circles but not going anywhere?  Seriously…….I think if we’re not careful it can become a lifestyle.  I don’t know about you, but I like ‘law and order’ and structure in my life.  At the end of the day I like to scratch something off my to-do list.  Even better, when I look at my list of goals every now and then and go “Whoa, I did that already” – that is so cool.

Structure and routine can be a wonderfully productive way to live but I am beginning to feel like it produces what we all know as RUTS.  Is it truly possible that living a highly productive, goal accomplishing, energizer bunny life, day in and day out can create a rut, leaving us feeling bored and lifeless?  Is it because we have the wrong things on our to-do list?  Is it time to throw in the towel on law and order? Is living a duty driven life all it’s cracked up to be? 

And then there are our relationships.  How are they fitting into the daily grind?  Do we really take all these people for granted?  Aren’t we supposed to cherish our family members and friendships and nurture those relationships, keeping in mind each persons’ love language.  How do we possibly fit all of this on the calendar?  Are we supposed to have calendars?  Do important things like ‘people’ get put off to the side because we are so busy with what needs to be done? 

Are we doing too much?  Is it possible that we are supposed to do nothing sometimes?  I actually like that idea.  I can picture myself planning to do nothing, scheduling it on my calendar. See what I mean.  What about the olden days?  Is that just Hollywood or did those families really have the right idea.  Are we too ahead of ourselves?

Spending most of the night awake, I couldn’t stop thinking about this scene I saw on television the other night.  A doctor was doing a drug study on mice.  Each mouse had it’s own cage, complete with food, water and the wheel.  It hit me.  That is exactly what I feel like.  I feel like I am running on a hamster wheel going around and around and around but never getting anywhere.  Can it be that I am in a rut,  going through the motions each day but not really being there.  Nah, can’t be.  Or can it?  It is. 

Life is funny that way.   We can be just cruising along, la T dah style and BAM, we get a flat tire.  We need to pull off the road and fix the flat, taking time to make sure all the nuts and bolts are secure before we take off again.  Access the situation.  Is our car getting too many flats?  Maybe the tires just need balancing.

Laying Down Roots

I get this itch every few years.  Time to pull up stakes and move on.  Could it be the Native American Indian in me?  I learned many years ago in elementary school the Indians would move their tee pees with the turn of each season. I plan on looking into that further.  The last time I counted I had moved 27 times.  The first 13 were not of my doing, but my Mothers'.  I went to 2 or 3 different kindergartens, I lost count on that one.  I am pretty sure that I did not include the last 4 moves in my count.  I keep meaning to actually get out a legal pad to document each address. One of the things my daughter hates is that I made her move so much.  Little did she know I was totally preparing her for the military life she now lives, moving every three years.  Perfect!  Ok, that's it, I just put it on my 'to-do' list for the fall. I will give the results as part of my year-end report. Can you imagine the Social Security office trying to keep track of people like me?  Hey, someone has to provide job security. Oh, and just ask my relatives, their address books wreak havoc with my moves, not to mention the name changes (we'll save that for another day).

I am in my apartment, of almost two years.  Which, by the way, in two more years will be a record 'stay' for me.  I should forwarn my landlord.  But I am wondering something.  I've actually moved since I moved here.  I originally took the one bedroom downstairs, then moved upstairs to the two bedroom three months later.  Does that count as a move?  I count it.  This was a fun move....my friend Frito and I just lugged the stuff up the stairs and put it away as we went along. 

Keep in mind, most every move was an upgrade in terms of space and/or home ownership.  The other moves involved men.....again, we will save that story for another day.  With the exception of one of my homes, I am a minimalist.  "Less is More" is my motto.  Well, unless you count sewing supplies, then my motto is "Bring More Stuff".  When I had my big house with tons of closets and hide-aways, I had perfectly organized vases and canning jars, a closet for just 'kids activities and games' and a closet for seasonal clothing (and too small clothing), and a tool area in the garage and a nail to hang the broom on.  I love order in my home.  Which is precisely why I got the itch to move this week. 

My apartment is becoming a garment factory overtaken by fabric dust bunnies and ironing boards and threads tangling up my vacuum cleaner.  Racks and displays everywhere, not a sanctuary in sight.  My once feng shi abode in now topsy-turvy in rick-rack, trims, ribbons, recycled blazers from Goodwill and denim.  Now don't get me wrong here,  I would love nothing more than to woller in my sewing twenty four seven.  But there comes a time when I must do homework or read a book, or lets' say,  have a cup of coffee and relax. There is nowhere to go for peace.  So I had the bright idea of renting a small storage space to get the excess out of the way and take back my livingroom.  Don't move, stay!  Just move the stuff somewhere else.  That's it!  Until I go outside and my neighbors convince me to save my money and regroup, don't rent a storage space.  Uggh!  Back upstairs I go.  I am almost done reorganizing, shoving and hiding everything I possibly can.  I hope this works.

I took my dollor store pink flamingo outside and planted it next to the tree to  'homey' up the place.  I am taking root.  I am staying. By the way, I wonder where my vacuuum is.

The Rotten Mother's Club

Calling all bad Mothers.  You know who you are.  We've met.  Our paths crossed in the checkout line remember?  We met at the library and at that business lunch.  Oh yeah, the jewelry party and again at church.  Yeah, we met.  Our kids are the ones with sideways planks up their rear ends.  Isn't it amazing how God can cross our paths, just in the knick of time when we are sulking and feeling bad for our wicked ways.  We are reminded that we are not in this thing alone........there are skads of us, in every town, all across the world.

I read in the paper the other day that if the worth of a Mother was calculated in wages, a stay at home Mom is worth $115,432 per year.  If you are the Mom who worked outside the home, your Mother pay is worth $63,472 per year.  Now this is in addition to what you earned at your job and all based on current figures at Salary.com.  I am a bit baffled actually on how the Mom that works outside the home gets almost half the Mother pay.  Hmmmmm...........don't Moms who work outside the home actually work harder at home to make up for the lost time at the job?  Oh well, doesn't matter.  What about rotten Moms'?  Do we have to take a cut in pay?  Is it retroactive?  Because I am certainly not to proud to take a cut in pay, I've been laid off for a year and a half.  Let's look at the numbers.  If a bad Mom gets half the pay of a Mom who works outside the home, that equals $31,786 per year.  If we get retro-active pay I'm looking at $888,608.  Hey, that's almost a million bucks.  Not a bad wage for being a crappy mother.  Sign me up. Oh wait...........where on earth is this money coming from?  Who is forking over the dough here?  Don't tell me; it's hypathetical.  Oh well. 

I say we start a club.  The Rotten Mothers club.  We can meet monthly to share our tidbits of days gone by, our favorite family recipes and birthday party ideas that were a smashing hit, how to use cookie cutters to remove the crust from our childs toast each morning and how to put a new twist on a jello desssert.  We can exchange tips on how to keep backpacks organized, notes signed, homework done and classroom treats managed. We can share laundry tips, time management skills, entertainment strategies, taxi service and gas saving techniques, what to do with a whiny one.    Someone needs to mentor the up-and-coming bad mothers. 

We are in this thing together ladies.  All you rotten moms out there, let's meet again.  In the meantime, we can love and celebrate our own mothers.  Aren't they wonderful!

Hey Folks It's Lemonade Season

We've all heard the saying 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade'.  I am here to tell you it's true.  Sometimes the most bitter and tart lemons make the sweetest lemonade.

Take the Sew Crazy Bag Lady for example.  A passionate hobby that started out as therapy, turned into a business  -  now on the threshold of promise, a dream that keeps getting bigger.  A blessing was born out of a tragic heap of lemons, some were even downright rotten.  In looking back one and a half years ago I clearly see the workings of this little cliche'.

And the sweetner came in the form of twenty dollar bills that would appear randomly from a friend or family member, to bags of clothes and shelves and racks and what-nots donated from their closets and basements, from friends and family finding the perfect 'scarf' or 'tie' or 'blazer' at a garage sale, to purchases, orders, hands-on - flat out sweating it out with me in my apartment, cutting, ironing, organizing, creating the perfect 'bag' and carting my wears to and fro, and oh; let me tell you this............believing in my dream - this lemonade is the sweetest.  It's all their fault.  I did not set out to make this well of lemonade - it just happened and I am blessed enough to have recognized it.

There is no doubt that life can be a bitter pill to swallow at times and I feel for those of you who have far more burdens than I could ever know. What I do know is that I am living proof that lemonade is delicious.....even if tears are falling down your cheeks as you drink of the cup.

If you 've ever been to my apartment, you may have noticed, I keep a bowl of lemons on the counter.  I squeeze the juice from one each morning, add hot water, and drink the tart concoction.  It reminds me of how sweet and precious life really is.  Come to find out, there are some health benefits too.

Make some lemonade................even if you just start by tossing a lemon on your counter.  God Bless YOU today.

When Joy Gets The Hiccups

It's a funny thing, joy.  It can sustain you, wake you, and it can even keep you in longing.  I've been blessed with joy for as long as I can remember.  Even in the not so good times it seems that I had  joy -- mostly in attitude.  And it keeps showing up all over the place, even when you least expect it.

Just this afternoon a dear friend reminded me of a children's book cover that I drew and titled a few years back. I dug out my big box of stuff that I keep shoving more stuff into, and low and behold I found it.  Just seeing it again re-birthed the excitement I had the very day I drew it up and wrote the title.   See what I mean, joy just keeps showing up.  Thank you my dear friend.

Do you have a dream?  Perhaps you, like me, have a whole bunch of dreams.  Well, let's get started.  Make your list and have at it.  No time like the present, make joy your priority.

And while you're at it, have a ton of fun.

Green Acres

Easter Sunday.....going to the folks for dinner.  That's pretty much tradition in my family.  It is an informal, relaxed, buffet style dinner and everyone just eats alot, visits and enjoys a laugh or two.  Today was extra funny.

Much of  the fun came from bantering about the current slang used by todays young people.  Let's just say one can feel old in a hurry.  Foxy, bogue and groovy just don't cut it anymore.  When your nephew has to leave the room to laugh just so he won't feel disrespectful, you know you're a dork.  Plain and simple.  I actually don't mind being a dork.  Little kids love dorks and we happen to have a bunch of little kids in the family at the present time, so that makes me popular.  LOVE IT.

The real laugh happened when one of my parents habits revealed itself.  We unveiled their stash of twist ties.  Now being 'green' and frugel is one thing, but what we found was an entire snack size ziploc bag chuck full of straightened out twist ties and those little sqaure plastic thing-ma-bobs that are also bread bag closer-uppers.  Next to the twist ties was 2 nut crackers.  You know those things that you get out every Christmas to crack the assorted nuts in the big bowl on the coffee table?  Well, they were neatly twisted together with one of the twist ties so that they were not left sprung open in the drawer.  Next find....the rubberbanded clump of drinking straws and then low and behold, at least a half dozen egg dippers from the paas egg coloring kit(s) neatly twist tied together.  Those will be saved for next years' coloring event. 

I am not going to name names here because I am holding both my parents responsible for this.  If I had to guess, my Mom is the one who came up with the brilliant idea of organizing her doo-dads and then told my Dad to do it.  Just sayin. 

Is this a retirement thing or is it just a 'getting old' thing? Maybe it is just something born out of a long Michigan winter, that's got to be it.  I bet there isn't a single retiree in Florida or Arizona who organize their twist ties.

Making fun of life definately makes life fun.  Callling all dorks......what can you add to the story?

Who would you be?

Even though I've run twice this year in the beautiful falling snow and went to The Freedom Striders twice so far this season -- mentally beating myself up that I need to get motivated and get out there for pete sake, somehow I feel like this morning was my maiden voyage to the streets.........thus launching my 2011 season to fall in love with nature again, smelling the morning dew, hearing the birds wake up, waving at the cars driving by waving at me and listening to my ipod as I run as much as I can then walking it out...then repeat.  It was a perfect day to launch.

I love being outside.  It just smells good.  Being outside running gives me time to think, away from my heavy project load that I put on myself. Even with music blairing from the ipod I have a sense of calm and time to sort it all out.  I reflected this morning as I trotted along, how much I enjoyed running, and growing, and stretching myself last year as I persevered toward my goal of running the Crim. 

This year my goal is to love running even more and NOT to have a goal for once in my life.  I just want to do it because I love to do it, because it feels good and....I like how feeling good looks on me. 

So as I approached my home stretch, in deep enjoyment of my music, I wondered -- if I could be anything in the world right now, who would I be???  I just smiled ear to ear and knew -- I would be my granddaughters neighbor.

Who would you be?