Sweet Surrender

I've previously written about my astounding ability to be sort of a somewhat-above-average Jane at many things, but master of not-much. Wait -- that makes my skillz sound slightly substandard. How about 'renaissance woman'? Yeah, that has a much more chic vibe to it. Anyway, I'll start out by saying that I'll try most anything...and have. I'm not afraid to take risks and dive in when I am completely ill-prepared, and learn what I need to know along the way. The exception to this rule is that I will not attempt any activity that involves heights or the possibility of my developing motion sickness. And no haunted houses or scary movies. There -- anything else, I'm in. I've started and ran my own business, learning what I needed to know as I went. When I fell in love with beading, I decided to create and teach classes on how to bead. Once, I had an idea for a newspaper column, pitched it, and thus became a regular columnist (with no formal writing experience).

When I don't know how to do something, I figure out how to do it. I don't always excel at everything I try, but I've never been afraid to try and possibly fail -- quite the opposite. Here's the interesting part: I jump in head-first with high expectations that I will absolutely exceed in whatever I try. That sounds great, right? Well, if I attempted new things, set an intention for success, and just released all expectations, I'd be fine. Instead, I undoubtedly expect myself to be perfect right away and don't allow myself any ramp-up time to gradually get better at the undertaking. This is why I'm a tough new employee. I want to know everything immediately. I always wished there were a chip of information that could be implanted in my brain when I started a new job -- or for anything, really. I would be elated if there were a brain download for learning Spanish, painting, math aptitude, or knitting.

I learned to sew in college and only recently picked it up again. Some of my friends can sew really well and I feel like many things I do have flaws and take me ten times longer than they should to create. I know that I'll get better with time, but I feel so impatient and want my work to look fantastic... pronto! So, with the training wheels still on my sewing machine, I agreed to share a table with a friend at several craft fairs this fall. OK...enter my psyche:

Me --
Somewhat of a beginner in the realm of sewing
High expectations that I should produce Martha Stewartesque quality work from the word 'go'
Signed on for multiple craft fairs, when (due to my skill level) I truly needed more prep time
Thinking "I can easily do all of this in this amount of time!"
Adding new products at the last minute
Scheduling 283979123 other things in the meantime

Based on what you've read so far, can you imagine why I've been out of my head the past month? Today I decided to let everything go -- it is what it is. I officially surrender. What is already created for this weekend's craft show is what will arrive there on Saturday morning. And next year I will begin preparations much earlier so there's not so much rush-time in the fall. And over the next year, my skills will improve and I'll be happier with my output. I've decided to look at this whole craft fair experience as a wake-up call that I can give myself a break and not be perfect right away...or at all, even. I love that I enthusiastically embrace each endeavor and I never want to lose that part of me; however, surrendering to 'what is' and giving myself permission to be a beginner is the key. Oh, and not over-scheduling myself is important too. A renaissance woman is a beautiful thing -- a freaked-out woman with 15 lists is not.

What I Know Today

I'm feeling just a smidgen overwhelmed today so I thought it would be a good time to sit down and list the things on which I am pondering.

* Cats make the best lap warmers -- there's a Phoebe nestled in the criss-cross of my legs right now. Cosmo wanted some mama-lap time, but I didn't feel like hauling out the tarp to lay across my legs. Yeah...he's still a drooly-puss...bless his moist little kitty heart.

* I don't remember a recent time when I felt as tired as I do today. With a craft fair approaching this weekend, I don't have the luxury of going back to bed, even on my day off. Thus, with the Costco-sized mug of coffee in my hands, I shall tackle the day, one stitch at a time. I slept nearly 11 hours last night and could crash again right this second. Maybe my family drugged me so they could enjoy a leisurely evening minus the soothing hum (not) of the sewing machine.

* I just noticed that I've logged 93 entries since I set sail into the open waters of the deep blue Blogspot. I'd originally planned on posting a minimum of two blogs a week, which means I'd end the year with...wait...math-in-head-skills initiated...104. Is that right? Anyway, 104-93 = ...counting-on-fingers-math-skills-initiated...seriously.shut up. 11! There you go -- I have 11 entries to post in order to meet my goal -- ten, if you count this one, which, of course, I do. I am determined to make this goal even if it means that I post an entry with only a picture of Cosmo trying to get it on with my stuffed bear. Don't even think I won't post it and don't question for a millisecond that aforementioned photo does not exist.

* Here are the things that are not getting done because of my love affair with the sewing machine:

1. The coffee maker needs some serious cleaning. After all, it is the caffeine-rich placenta that is keeping me alive these days. That was kind of gross, right?

2. I have absolutely no ideas what is in my fridge right now. The containers filled with outdated, unidentifiable items are simply an annoyance to my reaching the Zip-lock bags of leftover pizza.

3. There's still some laundry that needs to be folded and put away. I either need to do it, decide that wrinkles are my new look, or psychically will the cats to take care of this task. At this point, the last option is the most feasible.

4. I need the oil changed in my van. I wish there were a service that came out to my house and did this for me. Hey -- the cats are small and nimble...and they are always trying to get into the garage...

I probably could be doing any one of these four items right now, but see... I have to get going on these blog entries if I want to meet my goal. And I have only so many smutty cat/stuffed bear photos to post...

Held Hostage by Evil Sinus Elves and a Remote Control

For nearly a week, I've spent quite a bit of time home from work. None of the reasons why I've been home involve anything lady-of-leisurely -- either my kids were hog-tied by the swine flu or my sinuses were inhabited by evil squatter-elves, who were apparently working overtime building mucous reinforcements (I know...gross...get over it). Whatever the case, it's been an odd week with an abundance of at-home time and, over the last few days, I've come to realize it's not the best idea for me to experience too much free time within the confines of my house. So now I give you...



Top Five Reasons I Should be at Work

5. Facebook friends tired of seeing 2748723 of my posts on their News Feed

4. Frequent justification that 16 small meals a day makes sense

3. Have you ever seen a TV show called Street Court?

2. Have watched enough episodes of Family Feud to experience all three hosts
Side note: I was not aware that J. Peterman of Seinfeld fame had risen to the ranks of Richard Dawson (minus the kissy-pants)

1. My cable bill does not get paid by my awesome sofa-cushion-warming skills. How can I see what happens at the Rule-Change Ceremony on Wife Swap if my cable bill doesn't get paid....

I guess I better get back to work...and program the Tivo.

Daydream Believer

I've always been a major daydreamer. Seriously. I'm embarrassed to admit that I regularly -- though not intentionally -- miss entire sections of conversations. Then I'm faced with the ever-so-awkward-pretend-like-I-know-what-you-were-talking-about-so-now-I'm-using-general-phrases-like "wow," "really?," and "how cool!." The whole time I'm hoping the lucid half of the conversation will somehow reveal a glimpse of what they just said. And I'm praying that it wasn't something that would have rendered my "how cool!" phrase ridiculous. You know, like her recent cauliflower ear diagnosis or her husband's affair with the Schwan's delivery guy.

Practicing presence is something on which I'm always working, but somehow, my wandering thoughts enjoy highjacking and racing away with the moment at hand. What am I thinking about when aforementioned highjacking occurs? Anything and everything. Sometimes I make mental lists or plan a dinner menu. Other times I wonder what the person I'm talking to was like in high school -- I try to picture what they looked like and imagine them at pep rallies or enjoying their first kiss after the Snow Ball. Many times I concoct outlandish scenes -- much like JD does on the show, Scrubs. I imagine everything from saving the show as the unsung-hero-understudy in a Broadway play to picturing my cats working at Burger King (they would look outstandingly cute in polyester pants).

Although I know this little daydreaming habit of mine sometimes gets in the way of enjoying the present moment, I sort of savor the little bits of escape into my own flights of fantastical fancy. And I no longer judge my cats, who sometimes sit and stare at a blank wall a la the guy at the end of The Blair Witch Project. For all I know, they could be thinking about serving up Whoppers and chocolate shakes.

Coming Apart at the Seams (or My Life the Past Few Weeks)

Now that the seams are all sewn-up on the first craft fair of the season, I have pause to ponder the goings-on in my life the past few weeks while I was hunched over the sewing machine. I'm not one to spend a lot of time overly back-stitching fabric that's already been sewn, but I do think it's good for me to review old patterns, pick up a thread of knowledge from past mistakes, and trim away some of the tension that's been needling me. Even if you don't have a notion about sewing lingo, read on -- I promise to stop with the sew-speak...seriously...this is no fabrication.

* For the past week, I have been waking up (with the aid of my new BFF, Juan Valdez) at 4:30am to sew a bit before work. My cats, who are normally fed at 6:30, think that because Mama is up early, that food must also be up early. Three whining cats circling the sewing machine operated by an under-caffeinated woman is a bad idea. They are lucky I didn't throw in a last minute display of kitty-fur leg warmers. You know I'm just kidding...right? Or am I???? ;)

* In addition to the pre-work sewing session, I've actively participated in a little happy-hour sewing when I get home from work (although if any kicky beverages were to be enjoyed, they were served-up after operating sharp, mechanical needles -- safety first, people). Thank goodness for mothers and husbands who take care of dinnerly arrangements or our family would have eaten cereal and Bugles every night. Seriously.

* I believe I have earned my black belt in listmaking. Over the past few weeks, I have successfully juggled six-eight lists at the same time. I'm thinking of running away and joining the circus -- and not just because I am an excellent list-juggler. I'm also pretty side-show strange in general. Just sayin'.

* I've neglected my toes. The polish is so chipped, the nails now look like a series of Rorschach inkblot tests.

* At the craft fair yesterday, I discovered my demographic appears to be teenage girls and women with multiple piercings. Both of aforementioned groups were eclipsed by the sweatsuit-clad, crochet dishtowel-purchasing crowd that overtook the place. I haven't decided if I should consider my shortage in sales a compliment to the hipness of my products or if I should just sew some calico bird feeder cozies for the next round of shows.

Well, at least today I can relax and enjoy a sewing-free day. What will I do? Maybe paint my toenails, play with the cats, enjoy my family, and make a couple of new lists. I'm ironing out few other ideas....nothing pressing. Gotta bolt!

Right-Brain/Left Brain: A Recipe for Sanity

I've always been a pretty clear cut right-brainer -- no question. A math-a-phobe from an early age, I've fancifully flitted between interests like acting, writing, beading, and sewing. The single trait that might generate some gossip about my being a closet-leftie is my love of lists. At any given time, I have at least two or three seperate lists filed away in my planner. Ooops....did I just out myself again by admitting to having a planner? Sometimes I may seem a few flakes short of a box of Wheaties, but I actually do a pretty decent job of herding the feral thoughts racing around in my brain and lining them up real pretty-like on a piece of paper (preferably Hello Kitty notepad paper). Maybe because I know that if I don't get those ideas and to-dos out of my noggin and documented somewhere, I would never get anything done. For example, this morning I started my day by creating three lists: a Sunday list, a gotta-get-done-this-week list, and a big-picture list that contains items I don't have to do right away, but are simmering on the back burner. At some point, the simmering will need to be cranked up to a full boil and I'll bring the item to the front burner.

My brain is like the Mission Control of the family -- I suppose most moms play this role. What would happen if I abandoned my lists? Would the kids go to school with dirty clothes and no lunch, denied field-trip participation due to unsigned permission slips? Would the cats grow gaunt and sluggish from lack of food in the pantry? Would the cable company pay a visit to collect the digital box and (perish the thought) the Tivo? I'd like to think my magical Mission Control mom powers are just that important, but I realize that nothing completely crucial would occur if I tossed out my lists. But I like to think that my commitment to classification and calendarocity (do you like the new word I just created? That's the right-brain talking) keeps me and my family on track. When life feels somewhat in order, I can allow my creative side to lace up her roller skates and groove alongside left-brain for a nice, cooperative, disco-ball-illuminated-all-skate.

Right-brain, left brain... I think it's all about knowing your strengths and shortcomings and then finding the perfect recipe to create a tasty fusion that works for you. It's about knowing when to move the pan from the back burner to the front, when to crank up the heat and when to cover the pot. And like lists, writing down recipes is important; however, you have to leave some room for spontaneous, creative spice. And Hello Kitty.

Falling into a New Year -- or Yet Another Reason Angie is a Little Odd

Autumn has always been my favorite time of the year. I know most people consider January first to be the beginning of a new year, a clean slate of sorts, but fall is that time for me. I think it's because the new school year always brought that promise of possibility with it... the fresh loose leaf paper, the shiny new kitten-covered Trapper Keeper, the un-chewed #2 pencils. That first day of school was brimming with opportunities for meeting new friends, scoring a teacher that might explain math in a way that I could finally understand, and meeting that perfect boyfriend. Looking back, I met every important boyfriendy-type person in the fall. Interesting. Anyway, since autumn seems New-Yearish for me, break open the champagne, toss some confetti, and lay a big ol smooch on me -- here are my resolutions!

1. Relax and enjoy life a little more than I already do
2. Continue to get my health in order so I can better participate in #1
3. Create a hairball-catching sack that Saffy can wear around her neck
4. Spend more one-on-one time with my kids
5. Read every day
6. Spend more time with friends
7. Remember to hide my teddy bear when I make up my bed so I don't walk in on Cosmo mid-bear-violation as often
8. Talk to my sister more regularly
9. Go on more outings with my mom
10. Teach Phoebe to play Scrabble -- the only reason I haven't done this yet is because that cat is smarter than I am and I'm skeered.

There! Some of you may think that resolutions in September are a little odd, but I think every day -- no, every moment -- presents itself with opportunity for creating something new. Plus, I've never been what you'd call "typical," why start now?

My Thimble Overfloweth

My blog has been enjoying a bit of a late summer vacation. Between the garage sale, the trip to Texas, the addition of hours at work, getting the kids ready to head back to school, and the general stuff of life, the bloggity blog has been napping in the back seat. That's ok -- I've actually been considering retooling it, adding some spice and flair. I recently saw Julie and Julia and loved the whole idea of Julie Powell working her way through the Julia Child cookbook and blogging about it. I'm not interested in that activity in particular, but I love the idea of setting a goal and the accountability and joy of sharing it with others. I thought about perhaps trying something new every day and then documenting my experiences here. I've recently come to realize that my health is on an upward swing so there's a big part of me that feels as if I have a semi-clean slate in many areas of my life. The activities and goals I once imagined I couldn't do because I wouldn't have the stamina, suddenly feel reachable. This realization inspires me to actually try some of these things. The list isn't as dramatic as what I'd call a bucket list....more like a thimble list, although I guess I've never heard of anyone "kicking the thimble." Oh well, at this point in my life, why should I start making sense now? Maybe I take a more scenic route that I've never driven, even though it takes a half-hour longer than my usual one. Perhaps I learn how to sew a nice button-hole. Maybe I read a book that is outside of my typical genre. I don't know. At this point I'm just taking the stir fry of thoughts out of my big old wok-head and serving them up here. I just know that I want to blog more regularly about things that are exciting and important to me, no matter how small they may seem. And I want to celebrate my life more often than I already do. There. Now pass the soy sauce.

Garage Sale: Crazy Pants are 1/2 Off!!

The garage sale scene is an anomaly, a magnet for penny pinchers who want to negotiate pennies over a chipped deviled egg plate. It's a grassroots, capitalist enterprise erected on an oil-stained garage floor. Really... a garage sale is a strange and wonderful event. We just pulled the squeaky metal door down on our two-day knickknack haggle and, despite initial gloomy weather, the results were quite lucrative. My favorite part of a garage sale is the people-watching and I was far from disappointed. Here are some of the high points:

* A family(?) arrived in a rusted pickup trip. Sounds pretty typical for a rural-type community, right? But wait, there's more! This was a very special sort of pick-up... one that caused me to nearly snap my neck in a cartoon-style double take. You see, there were two rows of seats and the back row had no roof -- they were riding convertible-style. It appeared as though the roof over the back row of seats was sloppily hacked off and the family(?) that stepped out of the coverti-truck looked like extras from the set of Deliverance. As the sloppy jalopy chugged down the road, I couldn't help but hum the Beverly Hillbillies theme song.

* Sometimes in a small community, the locals assume you share their values and beliefs. Yesterday, one of our customers decided to unload her opinion over a very recent controversial issue and spoke as if we must agree with her. We did not. In fact, when she finally stumbled off of her narrow-minded soapbox, John might have socked her (if his jaw wasn't still firmly planted on the driveway).

* A dog wandered onto the scene and decided to stick around for a few hours. The dogs in our neighborhood tend to run unsupervised and fill their bellies on the all-you-can-eat garbage-bag-destruction buffet, but I didn't recognize this one. We eventually called the number that was on his tag and alerted his owner to the dog's whereabouts. Did the owner sound relieved that we'd located his beloved family pet? Nope. There was no gratitude, no urgency in his voice indicating he was on his way, nothing. Later on he arrived -- still ungrateful and apathetic -- and collected his dog. Sometimes I don't understand people.

* A member of a landscaping team that was working down the street stopped by and inquired about a stuffed parrot that was perched on a table. This was no ordinary stuffed parrot... you can teach this feathered fellow to speak. Landscape guy asked if he could teach the bird to say dirty words. We assured him that this was a possibility. He was so excited at this prospect and, after some shrewd negotiation, purchased the bird for a song.

Yes, a garage sale is fertile ground for growing all the crazy you'd ever want in one place. There's something to be said for getting to know your neighbors...and something greater to be said for locking the doors.

Tackleboxes and Stickers and Sawhorses (oh my!)

So next weekend we are hoisting the giant metal door, dragging out the blue plastic tackle box that doubles for a cash register, lining the driveway with borrowed folding tables, and launching the weekend-long Bailey Boutique...otherwise known as a garage sale. We usually accumulate enough excess knick-knackery to justify a second-hand sidewalk shop every couple of years. If you've ever embarked on such an enterprise, you'll agree that it's a good deal of work. I think that sometime in the years in-between sales, I forget this tiny detail. Let me remind you that one week from today, I will be sitting in my garage, bartering with a frugal neighbor over the price of set of mismatched beer glasses. OK -- now ask me if I am even a quarter ready for this sale? Am I even sure where these beer glasses currently reside? Nope. I'm maybe 1/8th ready and that's just because John has placed his old camping/fishing gear on some shelves. Here are some of my current garage sale concerns.

* We don't have enough tables and may need to use sawhorses and an old door again. I didn't tell you this would be a classy sale, did I?

* Do I have enough stickers? Why did I spend ten minutes in the office supply aisle in Target trying to choose the "perfect" sticker? Colored or white, square or round, pre-marked or blank? Do garage sale patrons make purcasing choices based on sticker quality? Hmmm...

* How much cash will I need? Note to self: remember several years ago when you marked items odd amounts ($9.95!! But wait, there's more!) and you had no coins in the change box... In my case, the less math the better.

* Am I a callous friend because I am asking anyone who wants to add items to sell at my boutique to stay and work for a time or offer up a cut of their sales? As previously metioned, garage sales are hard work and mama needs some backup!

* Should I play music and if so, what kind? Songs about shopping might put people in the buying mood... maybe "Lost in the Supermarket" by The Clash. To avoid sticky fingers in the tackle/cash box I should probably avoid playing, "Take the Money and Run" by Steve Miller.

Lastly, I should probably actually do some sorting and pricing instead of writing about it. Hitch up the sawhorses!

Ganache Panache with a Side of Ylang Ylang

I love words, which is most likely one of the reasons why I enjoy writing. One can make a statement that sounds rather bland and straightforward, but -- with a little bit of pepper from the word grinder -- the same point can be communicated with far more panache. And call me a big weirdo, but if I like the sound of a word, I will often repeat it three or four times, just to feel its velvety splendor roll around in my mouth like vintage wine and then gracefully trickle off my tongue. Here are some of the words that tickle my fancy.


ganache
melancholy
debauchery
smarmy
truffle
ylang ylang
opaque
spelunking
conundrum
pathological
loquacious
salacious
persnickety
chimichanga
voluptuous

Now I shall use all of these savory words in a story.

Matilda was a a conundrum of a woman. She was a known persnickity eater who ate nothing but chimichangas at each meal. Her salacious friend, Trixy, who lived a lifestyle dripping with both debauchery and melancholy, could no longer bear witness to Matilda's pathological diet. In an effort to rescue Matilda from her chimichanga-chosen diet, Trixy stormed into Taco Bell, reeking of ylang ylang, pushed past the smarmy manager, and yanked Matilda out of the corner booth. Not a loquacious woman, Trixy simply shoved a truffle into Matilda's protesting mouth. Although Matilda initially attempted to expel the ganache-filled nugget, she soon softened and submitted to its sensual seduction. Trixy then led Matilda out of the restaurant, into the foggy night that was only slightly illuminated by opaque moonlight. Trixy apologized for the drastic measures necessary to release Matilda from the clutches of the chimichanga and Matilda apologized for making Trixy miss her annual spelunking trip. THE END

Sayonara!!

...now that's a good word too!

DCTADEDI = ADDICTED

Many of you know that I am somewhat of a word game junkie. Many of my friends are consistently more skilled than I am in the art of laying down the lexicon, but I hold my own in most rounds. Word Twist is a game that is one of my Facebook favorites. Each player is given the same six or seven letters and then they are challenged to see how many anagrams they can derive from the given letters. Anagramming means to rearrange existing letters to create new words. In Word Twist, this is a timed competition -- each player typically has 1-3 minutes (depending on what was chosen at game set-up) to locate as many 3-6/7 letter words as possible. I know several people who don't enjoy timed games, but I love them. They raise my blood pressure 20 points, but I am officially hooked. Some days my brain is so completely Word-Twisted that I see anagrams everywhere.... Target = get, tar, gear, tag.... you get the picture. And then sometimes when I play hungry, I see only what I want to see...even if it isn't a word. The Word Twist gods don't appreciate my affection for delicious foods.


NATWCBN = WNT BACN
LTOCOCH = CHOCOLT
OWCNEEF = CFEENOW
DBLGRCD = GRLCBRD
STTTTRO = TTRTOTS
ZAPQZBB = BBQPZZA

Yes, my fondess of food and weakness for word games have finally gotten hitched, albeit an illegal marriage in the state of Word Twist. But really...who's to judge true love, even if it is a little unconventional? Hungry or not, legal or illegal, I suppose I'll still log on and play these games with my fellow twisted sisters til I'm an anagramma. And that's the final word.

Digging the Fruit on the Bottom

I'm a perpetual optimist. Sure, I consider my penchant for cynical sarcasm part of my charm and I can rock a cranky mood with the best of them...sometimes even better (just ask John). But in the end, I most always look for the silver lining, the open window following the closed door, fruit at the bottom of the yogurt, (insert favorite hackneyed idiom here).

So keeping in practice with my peppery Pollyanna propensity, here's today's fruit on the bottom:

* John and I have recently made some lifestyle changes (no, we're not embracing polygamy or doing anything "racy"... get your minds out of the commode) and I feel healthier, more energetic and have lost five of the 10 pounds of my goal!

* This has been this best summer weather ever... it's hardly made it out of the 80's. Gorgeous weather and even more gorgeous electric bill.

* I had a great week at work -- created an ultra-organized inventory system and the beginnings of a smashing newsletter. Cha-cha-cha!!

* My sewing skills are improving and I seem to be moving through projects more quickly. I hope this becomes a pattern (hee hee...).

* John and I enjoyed the BEST cups of coffee this week at The Bike Shop in downtown Minneapolis. I'm serious...when the first sip washed over my tongue, the clouds parted and I swear I heard the Hallelujah Chorus.

* I visited a litter of six-day old kittens last week -- most didn't even have their eyes open. When I held the little tuxedo baby, I nearly melted into the cement of the basement floor. Wow -- I'd forgotten about how teensy their little mews are and the wonderful wee sweetness of their itty bitty faces and toes. Weeeeeee!!!!

* We are celebrating John's and his mother's birthdays today so I get to spend time with my fantastic family. I am truly blessed with a family that is beyond compare and I know I don't tell them nearly enough how much I truly appreciate and love them.

Yeah, there's not much to complain about...

Preoccupied with Obsessed

Lock checkers, stuff hoarders, face pickers, death thinkers -- this is just a small spattering of the individuals who are consumed with obsessions that haunt most of their waking hours and contaminate their quality of life. In no manner do I intend to make light of these very real psychological illnesses; in fact, I am fully fascinated by them. Every week I tune into A&E's reality show, Obsessed. Filmed and edited in the same style as their one-hour-to-clean-n-sober show, Intervention, each Obsessed episode focuses on two individuals with obsessive disorders and then follows them through treatment. I love watching these individuals' progression from furious fixation to having at least one foot firmly planted on the road to Compos Mentis. Usually, these preoccupations are initially triggered by a significant traumatic event...a death, a divorce, abuse. It seems to be a loss which is replaced by the obsession. Sometimes these individuals demonstrated bits of this behavior, but then the trauma escalated it to a new, more dangerous level. These people's lives are so consumed by fears and rituals, that they've faced divorce, had their children taken away, and virtually shut most people out of their lives.

When I watch this show, I sometimes question my own proclivity toward semi-OCD behavior. And then I overthink... Do I have a problem if I feel compelled to check my alarm clock settings four or five times or have to hear certain songs when I'm at particular points on my bike ride? Is it odd that I can't forget to say, "I love you," when I end a phone call with John or the kids because I'm afraid if I don't and something happens to them or me, I wouldn't have just told them I love them? Or worse, my not saying it will trigger something... like I have secret powers? I believe the difference with my quirks is that I don't lose sleep by checking the alarm clock for hours and then worry half the night if it will truly sound at the prescribed time. If my bike ride playlist doesn't work out just perfectly, I sometimes stop and fix it -- but sometimes I don't and I don't obsess over it. If I forget to tell my family I love them, I initially feel odd, but immediately get over it. So, I don't think I need therapy, but I sometimes wonder if, under the perfect conditions, I could slip off that slippery slope. Although I do love an intriguing show about people and their odd conditions, what I enjoy most about this particular show is watching their journey toward recovery. By the end of the hour, they have seen significant improvement and are on their way to healthy living. I feel such empathy for each person and their struggle to live just one carefree day, surrounded by loved ones. I cry at least once during every episode and applaud each individual for seeking help and wanting a better life. And if I ever slip into lifestyle of cat hoarder, I'm definitely calling A&E.

You Say Dilly-Dally Like It's a Bad Thing...

I've stared at a blank Blogspot "New Post" screen for two hours. I'd be lying if I said that I haven't done anything but stare at the screen. As an expert procrastinator, I've had many years to hone my skills in the fine art of dilly-dally. But wait... I'd rather define my lack of focus and intense dawdling as "multi-tasking." You see, although I postpone one endeavor, I am very busy and productive in other activities. Even as I suspended my blog-writing (under the guise of needing to really think about what I planned to write), I enthusiastically participated in the following:

* Created a status line on Facebook that would keep me busy in the act of replying to comments
* Played my turns in the 7348723 active Facebook word games
* Watched kids on TV attempt to answer trivia questions whilst riding a roller coaster
* Made a piece of toast and an egg
* Discussed with my mother about the prospect of Phoebe stowing away to work with me in my purse
* Talked with John about his bad night's sleep

Two hours later, I was still staring at the same empty screen. So in the spirit of shameless stalling, I give you this heaping bowl of shilly-shally stew. Be careful not to burn your tongue on the lazy.

Thankapotamus in the House!

I realize the phrase, "count your blessings," lies somewhere on the border of Clicheville and Hackneyed-town; however, I've always been a believer in focusing my energy on what's right instead of what's wrong in my life. Not that I consistently adhere to my prescribed philosophy, but I know in my heart that bliss cannot dwell in dismal domain. When I'm at my best, I sit in silence for a few minutes in the morning and gratefully consider all the good that subsists in my sphere. Beginning the day with a happy heart just works for me, whose natural state has always been clutching the Yield sign at the cross-streets of Anxiety Avenue and Worried Way. Here's a glimpse behind today's gratitude curtain.

* As I type this, I hear a loon's distinct call coming from the lake at the end of my street. This is a sound I rarely heard before I moved into this house. It's beautiful.

* My kids are so clever and are blessed with quick wit. We laugh so much together in my house and I'm both grateful and worried that their humor is just as strange as mine...

* Yes, there are people with better health than me and there are also people with far more health issues. I can still work, hang with my friends, ride my bike, enjoy creative projects that I love, and do a very tiny bit of housework.

* I know everyone says this, but I have the best friends in the history of friendship. We laugh until our guts and cheeks ache and support each other through bad days with good chocolate. I know that right this second, I could pick up the phone and reach at least a dozen women who would be here - emotionally, if not physically - immediately and wouldn't leave until I kicked them out.

* My mother has always told me I can do anything I want to do in this life and she still does. Never underestimate the power of a parent who believes in you...even if they are secretly gritting their teeth at the prospect of you moving to Minnesota to be with a man they've never even met.

* My husband wins the award for patience and picking up the pieces on-the-fly. Just last week my health zigged when it should have zagged and he swooped in like an understudy on opening night and took over all of my responsibilities for the day. And he never complains...ever.

* And lastly, I am thankful for those furry creatures that call me Mom. No, the kids don't need haircuts...I'm speaking of Saffy, Cosmo, and Phoebe, my pussycat posse. Their antics have nearly sent me Crazytown on more than a few occasions, but every day I can count on their fuzzy faces to send me into fits of laughter and then melt me into a puddle of "awww....look at her sleeping..." Plus, if not for the cats, what would I write about half the time?

So yes, I am a pretty grateful girlie. Life is good and gets better every day. For today, I'll just wait at the corner of Sparkle Street for my bus transfer to Bizarro Boulevard. Maybe we can sit together.

North vs South: Weathering the Seasons

It's a beautiful Sunday morning in Minnesota...not too warm or too chilly, with just a hint of crispy goodness in the air. Having lived in Georgia, Florida, and now Minnesota, I've had the, um, unique opportunity to experience extreme weather of all varieties. Here are some of my observations.




* My naturally wavy (read:frizzy) hair prefers the mostly drier temperatures in Minnesota. Here, I receive compliments on my lovely locks. In Florida, I get mistaken for Gabe Kaplan...

* I'd be a big fat liar if I said that the month of January in Minnesota is tropical, or even fit for human habitation on some days. If you've never felt frigid air assault your face to the tune of a -30 degree windchill, you... well, let's just say you're probably pretty fortunate. There's something uniquely cold about weather like that. When you breathe, the inside of your nose literally freezes and your lungs ache when the icy air invades them. Granted, the entire winter is not that glacial. There's nothing like waking up to a sunny, 30 degree day with fresh snow on the ground. It's gorgeous and the untouched blankets of white shimmer like tiny diamonds. Truly, the scene is breath-taking.

* As much as I am a baby about the extreme cold, I also am not a fan of sweating. During drastic temps in the north or the south, I avoid the outdoors. And make offerings to the gods of heating and air conditioning.

* I miss the year-round flowers and greenery in the south. Here, there is a season. You cannot plant anything before the end of May and it all dies in October. Then comes the snow...

* With regard to snow, I've observed two specific breeds of people: people who are winter sports enthusiasts and can't wait to haul out the snowmobile or hit the slopes and then there are those that complain incessantly about the Minnesota winters. The latter group never fails to confuse me. I know it's somewhat fashionable to fuss about the frigid temps and frozen precipitation, but then please tell me....why do you live here? You've lived here all your life and are surprised that it can snow 10 inches at a time? Please....

* I do not miss the oppressive summer heat. In Minnesota, we do endure some pretty warm days...some days our temps are warmer than that of Florida or Georgia, reaching in the upper 90's and even 100 on occasion. And because of all the lakes, the air can also get pretty humid. Welcome Back, Kotter!

* There's an incredible amount of clothing to keep track of when you live in the north. This can be a nightmare if you have children who are constantly losing a glove, leaving snow pants at school and, grow out of snow boots halfway through the winter. I miss living in a place where you only need a jacket and an occasional hat and knit gloves in the winter.

I suppose that no matter where you live, there will be something weather-related to complain about and then there will be days where it feels amazing to be alive. In my heart, I will always be a southern girl and no matter how many Minnesota winters I endure, I'll always be an import. I'll never ice fish and the prospect of riding a snowmobile makes by bottom hurt. But I wouldn't trade the picture-perfect autumns, the silent beauty of the first snow fall, or the 80 degree summer days. And when the air is thick and soupy with humidity, I'll flip on the air conditioning, throw on a hat, watch Welcome Back Kotter reruns, and eat a big bowl of grits-n-shrimp.

Cleaning Under Kids' Beds (or Land of the Lost)

The kids are officially on summer vacation. What better way to kick off the footloose and fancy free furlough than detonating... um, cleaning... their bedrooms. And the opening act of this purge party is the always entertaining "pull the bed out and behold the hidden, dust-kissed treasures that you've forgotten about, but can't bear to part with." Forget King Tut's tomb or the anticipation of cracking Al Capone's vault. Geraldo certainly wouldn't be disappointed in the treasure trove of Pokemon cards, odd Lego pieces, capless markers, dirty socks, and half-read books. Even the cats can't help but feel compelled to join the fun, walking among the new-found prizes, hoping to snatch up a rogue catnip mouse or super ball. For the kids, it's nearly like Christmas.

"I forgot about this Wolverine action figure!"

"That's what happened to that puzzle piece!"

"There's my math homework!"

This under-bed-clean-sweep undoubtedly takes hours because the child must spend satisfactory time pondering and playing with each newly discovered toy. It's expected that when we take the occasional progress-peek into the room, we will never catch the child in the act of cleaning. My favorite oft-used term from my son is "I was just gonna." But after many laborious hours (on the part of the parent, that is) of progress peeks and gentle (and not so gentle) nudges to drop toys into the "donate" bag, the darkened den is devoid of dusty knicknacks. Suddenly, games all have their pieces again, Pikachu joins his friends, and Spiderman is reunited with his head. Now, as for my plans to go through my closets? I was just gonna.

Bootleg Bonbons

We always smuggle our own candy into the movie theatre. It seems ridiculous to pay $25.00 for a box of Junior Mints that I could purchase at the gas station for $1.50. Better yet, why not scrounge tasty treats from home. Yesterday we went to the movies and brought plastic zip-bags full of unmatched candy pieces found residing in the back corners of various cabinets. We always hope to find "good" candy to bring. This time we hit the jackpot with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Mounds minis. Sometimes all that can be collected from the pantry are some hardened generic Now-n-Laters leftover from Halloween. The last thing you want to do is cause an episode in the middle of Night at the Museum 2 by losing a crown to a faded brown, grape Now-n-After. It's hilarious how I attempt my best stealth when carefully pulling the contraband from the oversized bag I specifically chose for the candy-smuggling maneuver. I wait until the lights have darkened, nonchalantly look around, and slowly pull out the plastic bag. Then, giving the kids a index finger to the mouth and a silent "shhhhh!," I begin to pass the bag down the row (below seat-level, of course). I wonder what would happen if a movie theatre employee caught us with the bootleg bonbons? In my mind, I may as well have been pulling a Mason jar of homemade moonshine out of my bag. Would he point a flashlight in my face, making an example of me in front of the other movie goers? As he pulled me down the aisle, handcuffed, my head hanging in shame, he'd wag a finger and bark through sneering lips, "Let this be a lesson to all of you!" Would I have to sit in stockades in the lobby, between the Ms. Pac Man game and the change machine? Would my photo forever hang by the box office, reminding employees that an illegal candy pirate, such as myself, should not - under any circumstance - be sold a ticket? Maybe I'm making this situation into more than it really would be, but I'm not taking any chances. Perhaps I should up my stealth-game. Hey! Maybe I should swallow Skittle-filled balloons next time.

Mind Smoothie with a Boost of Random

My life feels full lately -- in a good way -- but full nonetheless. Today is one of those days where I sit and ponder for an extended period of time about what I'd like to expel upon my blog page... and frankly, what part of my extra-chunky thoughts readers would care about wading though today. So, remaining true to my sometimes smorgasbord-style of cognitive meandering, here's a sip of my daily mind smoothie.

* Bananagrams is my new fixation. Have you played it yet? One word: Don't. You'll wake up the next morning in word-game rehab with dark circles under your eyes, shouting "peel! peel! peel!" Save yourself now. You surely don't want that Bananagram-hungry monkey on your back.

* Last night I dreamt that I woke up and saw two huge rats in my bed. One calico-colored one was biting my finger ever so lightly, but I couldn't shake him off my hand. I remember feeling a little alarmed, but more concerned with calling the Orkin man. Is this a sign that I need to exterminate the metaphorical vermin from my life? Shake my anxieties? Release my repressed feelings about my past? Oh yeah, I forgot to buy cheese yesterday. Rats!

* I've been very busy with sewing projects. I created some bags, pillow covers, a curtain valance and am considering some window panels in the living room and chair cushions for the dining room. A friend and I were joking about making velvet jumpsuits for the cats. Wouldn't that be a stitch? He he....

* Project Grow My Hair Out is in full swing. It is actually looking fairly fetching, even in the awkward stages. It's been so short for so many years that I've forgotten how naturally curly it is. Right now it resembles a look that is somewhere in between Annie Potts in Designing Women and Detective Dave Starsky of Starsky and Hutch (circa 1975).

The End