Mar 15, 2008 | Overheard, This Life
Yesterday, I had the most delightful conversation with my favorite five year old on the planet. Five is such a special age; but this little boy takes my breath away. When he was three, he drew me a picture chock full of golden yellow scribbles. I asked him what he called his picture and he said, “Luck. It’s for you.” It hangs on my refrigerator to this day.
~~~
M: So do you want me to tell you something?
Me: Sure!
M: I love birds.
Me: Really? (You can see what a witty conversationalist I am here!)
M: Yes. I love wild birds and pet birds. . .
Me: So, you love all birds, then.
M: Well, no. Not the dead ones. The dead ones make me sad.
~~~
Me: So what is your favorite bird, M?
M: Oh, I don’t think I have a favorite.
Me: I’m very fond of Ravens, myself. And I like Hummingbirds, too.
M: I just don’t see how they survive on only sugar water. It can’t be very good for them.
~~~
M: You want me to tell you something?
Me: Sure!
M: I had a bad dream. I don’t know if it was a nightmare because I’ve never had nightmare in my entire life.
Me: What’s the difference between a nightmare and a bad dream?
M: Well, my bad dream had Harry Potter and Hermione in it. But none of the teachers. And Ron was not there either. Just Harry and Hermione.
~~~
It’s good to be five. It’s even better to be asked, “So, do you want me to tell you something?”
Mar 14, 2008 | Boy Wonder, Taming Eden, This Life
Spring has left us no choice.
It’s been raining in sheets for two days. Our little spot of balmy (and I use that term loosely—loosely, like sliding half way down your backside jeans so the world can see you’re a briefs man , loosely) weather is gone. A false spring if you will. It leaves a girl little choice. She can be depressed. Or she can do something about it.
The Boy and I ran errands together yesterday and found ourselves roaming the garden department at a local chain store, where we bumped into this display:
How times have changed. Three years ago he would have launched a hard sell to bring one home. Instead, he shook his head wryly and sighed, “Gnomes? Why would anybody want a gnome?”* We laughed. We agreed that gnomes are funny, but not for our yard.
Instead we trolled (oh bad Wende!) the flower aisles. I love hanging out in the garden department at this time of year… everything is in bloom and it all suggests such potential. The display of star jasmine made me a little wistful for Sunnyside, though. However, row upon row of bright annuals makes it hard to remain gloomy for long. With names impossible to pronounce and colors impossible to resist, we took our time absorbing all the color. A visual tab of vitamin D.
Carefully we tested every color of Ranunculus the flower aisle had to offer, until we found the perfect shade for the ceramic pot we’d selected. Neither of which appear in the photo above because we were too consumed with our choices to think about the camera. “Try this yellow one. No, now try that pink one! How about white?”
Did you know that a Ranunculus is also called a Persian Buttercup? It’s more evocative, I think. At least, when you say, “I brought home a Persian Buttercup” you don’t sound like you have contracted a tropical disease! But we all know that names often belie the beauty of the thing. And a Ranunculus is truly a thing of beauty. Layer upon layer of tissue paper thin petals. . . it’s hard not to fall in love, even harder to make a choice.
Until I can recharge my camera battery, you’re going to have to take my word that we found a bit of Spring to bring home. The pot is this amazing blue, reticulated porcelain cache. And after much searching, we settled on a bright poppy colored bloom that the boy calls, “Lipstick red”. Which made me giggle, for some reason.
It continues to rain in sheets. But we don’t mind so much; we’ve got Ranunculus, after all!
UPDATE: See, Spring.
And apparently, some of you are fond of those little Garden Gnomes. . . who knew? Ok, I kinda guessed. 😀 Anyhow, I’m wishing I were more industrious, because if I could get that Gnome picture made into cards, I’d hold a contest to caption it. That Gnome with his hands on his hips just screams to say something witty, eh?
So, no offense to y’all who are lovin on the Gnomes. I’ve heard it said that love is blind. Evidently, it is.
Mar 10, 2008 | This Life
The rest of the world might be working for the weekend; but I’m working for the Carrot Cake. Just sayin’.
The caption above sums up the post below in case you don’t want to wade through my drivel. But you might want to humor me, since my server connection crashed while writing the first pass at this post and I had to write it a second time. Hey, I’m not above a pity read.
Checking in:
I’m just beginning week three of Operation Goo Goo and I’m feeling pretty good about my progress. I actually look forward to my hour each day in the gym. The minute Sophie sees me put on my shoes, she gets really excited and heads for the basement door, tail wagging her body. I spend my time listening to my favorite internet radio station (Radioio) and catching videos on YouTube during the commercial breaks.
I’m not losing much in terms of weight yet, but I’ve dropped over an inch in both my waist and hips. I’m OK with swapping out fat for muscle; because to a point, the scale lies anyhow.
Since I’m vain, I don’t post photos that will ever clue you in to how much I need to drop. But according to the medical charts (and my former Physician in Marin, whom I miss!) I am still 30 lbs overweight. Not obese, but certainly in need of shedding the pounds. For my heart, for my joints, and probably for my sanity. We won’t mention that pesky condition THE Diabetes. Of course, 30 lbs beats the 40 lbs I was at last year. Progress, not perfection, people!
I have made some adjustments to Operation Goo Goo. Seven days a week means no down time and that’s not working for me. I love me some down time. So, I’ve cut back to 6 days a week and am giving my body permission to take rest days if I need them. Working out sometimes triggers asthma attacks; not getting enough air makes me really tired by the end of the week. I spent last weekend in bed. This will abate eventually, especially once the weather warms. If it doesn’t, I’ll suck it up and get an inhaler. I’m inhaler adverse, but I’m not stupid.Honestly, I’ve been trying reach age 40 without needing one. Actually, I’ve been trying to get to 40 without needing any major medical intervention. Clearly, I’m more than inhaler adverse.
Let’s face it, though, you’re all here to see how the inhaling of chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow went. After seven work-outs I tore open my Goo Goo and managed to not stuff the whole thing into my mouth at once. Mmm Wmarshmallowsh.
I wasn’t half way through it when I started to feel funny. You see, in addition to hitting the gym, I’ve also cut out most sugar from my diet. (And everything white. WHICH SUCKS!) All that sugar at once was a mistake. My head was screaming “Warning! Warning! Don’t finish that Goo Goo.” But you know I did. Commence Operation Diabetic Coma. I sucked down a glass of milk in a vain attempt to deter the affects of the sugar with some protein. It helped but not enough to keep me from being miserable the rest of the night.
Talk about disaster. To think, that just the day before I had sat and watched IZ eat a piece of the BEST Carrot Cake in the Universe and had nary a bite. NOT. ONE. BITE. I drooled, but that’s it. I had consoled myself with the thought of chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow that was waiting for me. I had no idea that COMA was the next ingredient after Marshmallow.
So, no more Goo Goos for me. (No worries, though, the boy has discovered them and is in Southern Heaven. He’s my child, after all.) However, IZ has promised to treat me to a piece of Carrot Cake if I meet my goals this week. And he’s such a nice guy, he’s even offered to share the piece so that I’m not downing all that sugar (and calories) on my own. I see a fork fight ensuing on Friday.
I call dibs on the icing carrot.
Mar 7, 2008 | This Life
How we start the day.
The photo is a bit blurry, sorry for that. But then, I’m a bit blurry before coffee. I’m not sure what it is, since I drink decaf, but there is something about the tradition of sharing coffee with IZ that officially starts my day. Even if it is noon.
This is Friday and as usual, my fantasy life is running amok. Oh the glories I will accomplish. Tell me I’m not alone in my idealism on Friday. Surely I’m not the only one suffering delusions of grandeur on this almost, but not quite, Spring day. I’m trying desperately not to write mental “to-do” lists and just be in the moment. Who said the weekend has to be productive? Tradition, that’s who.
Tradition is loquacious like that.
So, this is the start of my weekend and I’m already on a tare, trying to do too much. I have spaces that need cleaning, boxes that need mailing, a whole pile of envelopes I’m ignoring. Spin, spin, spin! I’m a Whirlpool on agitate. Oh, speaking of laundry. . .
I promise to slow down, if you do, too. Let’s all just take it easy, m’kay? We could call it a new tradition.
Mar 6, 2008 | This Life
Lately, we’ve been dating at Safeway. I flirt with him in the produce aisle. I can’t help it, he’s really cute when he’s cost comparing produce.
The day after I put up my post on eco-friendly detergent, my mom (who reads this blog, everybody wave!) said to me, “You know what you do that is hard on the environment? You use plastic bags.”
It was one of those moments where, by the skin of my teeth, I was actually ahead of her question. But only by a few hours. “No, no, Mom. WAY ahead of you! Detergent was last year’s resolution to make the planet greener. This year it’s plastic. I want to be plastic free by the end of the year, so to accomplish this I ordered reusable bags yesterday. They should be here any moment.” Whew, that was close.
“Not that ahead of me. I made my own bags ages ago, ” she quipped back. Turns out, being the crafty sort with mad sewing skills, she cut down a plastic bag to use as a pattern and made her own.
However, I’m not that crafty. No, not really. I knew I wanted bags of nylon because canvas bags are itchy, but I’ve sewn on nylon before to no good end. That old expression “slicker than snot” has got nothing on nylon. As we’ve established, making the planet green shouldn’t be so painful. The very thought of sewing on nylon threatened my sanity; so, I did the next best thing, I found a vendor.
Meet the Baggu. I’m going to direct you to the Baggu site for all the nasty business that is plastic. But you should read it. I knew plastic was a problem; but I’ll admit, I was ignorant about how MUCH of a problem. The Baggu site is terrific, full of information plus a fun interactive ordering page. You just pull down the color menu for each bag you’re buying and it will load the color onto the bag so you can see what you’re getting! Fun, right?
Sadly, it’s not just the grocery store that inundates us with plastic. A great deal of the plastic bags we bring home are recycled bags from all my thrifting trips. But the Baggu has me covered there as well. Many of the thrift stores I visit are short on plastic bags, so they appreciate the small effort on my part. Most grocery stores will pay you to bring your own bag, so get ready to add up those pennies. See, saving the planet and saving some change. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? You all are ahead of me, right?
As you can see, IZ and I jumped on the “Bring your own Bag wagon” and after much negotiation, picked out six we could both live with using. The Baggu colors are terrific, we even found a few not too “girly”; so this amazing guy, who will actually grocery shop with me, is willing to carry them. I’m not sure I know what a “girl” color is, I just know that everything I’ve ever made has him feeling ridiculous about using. I promised years ago not to become one of those women who foist their outrageous purses onto their spouse while shopping, “Here, honey, hold this.” I think it was right after I said, “I will cherish forever” and right before I said, “I do!” That promise should probably extend to grocery bags, don’t you think? And since they don’t sport any advertising, I don’t feel weird about walking into a store. Call me silly, but I’ve always felt a wee bit sheepish hauling out a Costco bag at Safeway. Yes, that’s right, I shop at your competitor. Um. . .awkward. Anyhow, everybody’s happy. See, easy!
Needless to say, we are thrilled with our new bags. They are well made, easy to tote, and as a side benefit are a terrific deterrent to Alzheimer’s. Remembering to keep them in the car is pressing our gray matter in healthy ways. It’s probably the hardest part of using these bags. Not much of down side, when you think about it. Oh, sure, we get a few arched eyebrows from the checkers who discover that nylon is indeed slicker than snot, and using the self-checkout is tricky. But, then we were already getting silly grins for getting caught kissing on the closed caption cameras in the pharmacy aisle. At least we aim to entertain.
Which really leaves only one question. I Baggu, do you?
Mar 3, 2008 | This Life
This is me at 3. Even then, I hated my photo taken and had a thing for red shoes. Some things don’t change.
I don’t have anything for you tonight, really. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been gently tumbling random lines in my mind all day; turning the words over and over and yet, never getting any of them down on the page. It’s a lack of motivation. Or maybe it’s the laundry. We should blame the laundry, I think.
Instead, I’ve been looking at this. And it makes me weepy.
I’ve always been a crier. When I was three, having my photo taken made me weepy. At 20, finding the perfect pair of shoes on sale and discovering that every size but mine was available could induce tears. Now, it’s Liberty Prints and tuberoses and babies and cute kids and even not so cute kids singing up front at school assemblies that make me wistful. I bite back the tears, because honestly—who cries over starter people singing off-key? These little voices don’t even have to belong to me, genetically speaking, and I’m off. Fighting for composure. There is just something so beautiful about these moments.
Christmas carols, old movies, sappy poems, flowers in bloom before Spring, the sunset. The way my 11 year old pats me on the back when he hugs me. The list goes on and on and on. I’m a sucker for beauty.
Tonight (and in truth, probably every night since it came on the market!) I find myself weepy over the amazing beauty that is Pariso Verde. If you can take the time to download the brochure on PDF, I recommend it. The history of this estate is breath-taking and provides some context for all the visuals.
In all likelihood, this estate will never be on the market again during my lifetime. What takes my breath away, what has me squeezing back tears, is not the house itself (which is lovely and grand beyond imagination) but the stunning grounds that define this property. It was once part of the Val Verde Estate and the gardens were designed by Lockwood de Forest. Now, it appears that nearly 4 acres of this historical site is being sold into private ownership. It is unclear if the Austin Val Verde Foundation has failed in its attempt to open the gardens to the public. For now, it is by invitation only. I can only hope, that in sacrificing this small portion of the garden (the only one of de Forest’s works still intact) that the monies generated will mean an eventual preservation of the remaining property.*
These photos may be as close as I ever get to walking de Forest’s amazing gardens. I find myself stunned by the grandeur and the history and beauty that is Pariso Verde.
And just a bit weepy at the beauty of it all.
*I’m making a bit of leap here… as I don’t know when this property was separated from the Val Verde estate. It could be that it was sold prior to its renovation. Either way, I’m finding it hard to imagine this being “private” property. And I apologize for the link to the Austin Val Verde Foundation. Their site is slow and needs an overhaul. (Seriously, IZ, call them.) Evidently, if you have $150 bucks you can buy a raffle ticket to win a cool million—proceeds will go to the Foundation. They need to consider updating that site to attract more support for their cause. OY! Anyhow… the LATimes piece is amazing. GO READ!!
