Do You?

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?

Weepy

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!!

Bliss

Feb 29, 2008 | This Life

Some things, just aren’t worth doing. Worth saying. Worth reading. Some things… some things should be set aside in preference for the playground. On this last day of February, where anything can happen and often does, I hope you found time to play.

You Can Write, But You Can’t Edit

Feb 27, 2008 | This Life

So, how was your weekend? I spent mine, as you can see, in bliss. The weather here, until today, has been really lovely. I crave sunshine. I woke up on my birthday expecting rain, but encountered sunlight. “It’s like a present from the Universe,” IZ remarked as we piled into the car for church.

And it was. It’s been a week of lovely weather. So lovely, that as the rain and the clouds and the tricky temperamental tantrums of Spring loom, I’m ok. Of course, it’s 71 in Santa Barbara today. But we’re not dwelling on that, m’kay?

However, I’ve been absent from this blog. And there is a very good reason for it, beyond the excessive sunlight. I’m whipped, people. Painfully out of shape and desperately trying to remedy my condition ASAP. Weddings, specifically my brother’s impending wedding, (THANKS FOR ALL THE ADVANCED NOTICE, MARK!) have a way of doing that to you. The thought of finding a dress, much less an appropriate dress that fits, has driven me into the arms of my arch-nemesis—where I may be driving myself into the ground. Literally.

IZ: If you keep up at this pace, your arrhythmia is going to be an issue. Sweetie, you could have a heart attack. You realize that, right?

Me: Yeah, well, then I don’t have to go to the wedding.(THANKS FOR ALL THE ADVANCED NOTICE, MARK!) And that means I don’t have to find a dress.

I’m not going to bother detailing the physical aspects of this… as it bores me and I’m in denial. Let’s just say, there are ALWAYS complications and I’m finding that mind-over-matter may not be effective when facing my limitations. Dang it.

Here’s the thing—because it appears I’m expending a great deal of words talking around the subject— I need to lose weight. . . NOW.

This wedding (THANKS FOR ALL THE ADVANCED NOTICE, MARK!) is 3 short months away and in a weird coincidence of numbers, my waist (and my hips, but sadly not my boobs) is 3″ too large to fit into anything. And while I’m prone to hyperbole, I’m not stretching truth here. Even if I don’t “look like an overweight person, ” I have a tape measure that argues this point.

I stood in front of the hallway mirror, wearing the one dress I own that might be appropriate, sucking in with all my might.

Me: You know, maybe with a girdle? Or maybe if I lost 10 lbs? But you know, even if I do, I’m still lopsided. See! (Pulling out the bust-line of my dress 3″) If I just had larger boobs I could pull this off now. As it stands, I’m thinking I’m in trouble.

IZ: It looks fine! You look great, the dress will be perfect on you by May. (You see where my child gets his optimism, right?)

Boy Wonder: Mom, you know they make inflatable bras, right? Just get one of those. You’ll be fine.

See, optimism and problem solving. They’re such men. They have NO idea what it feels like to live inside of me. Because no amount of weight loss or supportive garments is going to change the little voice that mocks me inside my head. We call that voice, Anna Rexia. She is a miserable waif who isn’t beyond cruelty, “Fatty, fatty, McFatty,” she sings to me. Seriously! My anorexic voice watches Grey’s Anatomy. And now, we’re laughing. But it’s so not funny. Not really.

So, this is where I am. On a treadmill, furiously trying to silence the discord in my brain. Which takes me away from this blog and leaves me with too many words and no energy to edit.