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.