Yeah! Day 5 of the blogging challenge, 1/6th of the way to go before I finish the 30 challenge. We Work for Cheese has graciously given us a list of topics for the full 30 days. So grateful, since I've been tapped out for weeks and weeks and weeks. Today is all about pressure.
Well it's 11:45pm and I have 15 minutes to get this blog done. Hubby is in bed. Stephen Corbert is on the telly. And damn it, I want to eat something sweet.
I'm getting hot, because we haven't put the air conditioner in the window yet. Or maybe I'm getting hot because the menopause has gone from pause to full blown meno.
Or maybe its the glass of wine I just polished off. Yup, that must be it.
So the pressure is on to get this done in record time. So off the top of my sweating head, I'll have to write something quick. I feel the pressure to talk about pressure.
Pressure is putting the squeeze on. I used to do my best work in school when it was the eleventh hour. The deadline was looming and I would have to pull an all nighter. My best work would come at 3am when I was sure an F was going to meet me in the morning. A+ after A+ gave me the false impression that I worked best under pressure.
Continuous pressure is not a good thing. Hell! Look at the time. I've got 9 minutes left.
Anyhoo. I once took a health test on a medical website. It asked me all sorts of questions to gauge how my daily actions affected on my overall health. The conclusion? It stated, "You are VERY HARD on your body." So the pressure is on. If I don't change soon, I'll be feeling the pressure under ground.
Oh no, I'm brain dead. Can't think of anything else and I only have four minutes left. The only thing I can think of is totally inappropriate. The pressure I like is the pressure of my another human being leaning or lying near me. I sigh and feel the stress slip away.
Remember the squeeze is on and I'm going to go to bed and leave this pressure for a more pleasurable pressure, a quick squeeze.
Done. Hands thrown in the air.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
My Viewpoint on Spiders
Day 5 of the 30 day blog challenge inspired by We Work for Cheese.
Spiders are lucky. They are very lucky. My mother told me that. Never kill a spider, they bring good luck.
A creature that deals in silk must have good taste.
A creature that makes such a beautiful geometric pattern in web design has to be a mathematical genius and artist.
A creature that can get rid of other pests can't be all bad.A creature that eats its mate after sex is a heroine we can all get behind.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Literally Road Blocks
Well my 30 day blogging challenge proposed by We Work for Cheese has been thwarted on my second day. By roadblocks. Many, many roadblocks. How appropriate. What can you do? Really.
On my way to write my second blog in so many days, I was filled with anticipation to get to my computer and type my brilliant thoughts "down on paper" so to speak.
I was happily driving my mom from my sister's when up in front of me was a roadblock of fire engines and police cars. The road was closed because of an overturned truck and we were re-routed through a neighborhood full of dead ends and cul-de-sacs. What a tangled web those old urban planners did weave.
When we were close to reaching our destination, home, my mom in her sweetest asking voice, wondered if I was busy the rest of the afternoon. OH-Oh. That's means "Honey, I want you to be my slave and grant me every wish and drive me where ever I want to go. And oh yes, buy me lunch too."
Sorry, blog. Another "roadblock" was placed in my path and this was a formidable one in the shape of a four foot ten, red-haired, 82 year old hobbit woman with expert guilting skills insisting on elevensies.
I am always willing to accommodate my lovely mother and have learned the great skill of patience from her. We shuffle slowly through the five stores we shopped. Lunch was an hour long affair since she eats very slowly and carefully. We stopped at two garage sales and she picked up every item on every table and scrutinized each item carefully like a forensics expert looking for the tiniest evidence of DNA.
Finally on my way to her home, another roadblock, more fire engines and police cars that blocked the divided highway I was driving. Through the neighborhood again, but this time on one way streets. The accident earlier that day at least gave you an opportunity to turn left or right. We were all doomed to go in the same direction causing massive back-ups no matter which way I turned trying to get away from it all.
Hours later, when I finally drag my butt into my own home, my roadblock is a mental and a physical block. My head is pounding and my leg is throbbing. I can't think. can't move. Pain relief isn't coming no matter how many 200mg of whatever it is I'm taking. My leg takes hours to calm down and finally I can go to bed.
Sometimes there is no roadblock for pain.
There are always roadblocks to overcome. Roadblocks seem to appear every time you make a real commitment as though the mere mention of such commitment and resolve triggers the fates to mess with you just for fun. I was blocked thoroughly.
All I can hear in my head is a quote paraphrased from Wizard of Oz: "As coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her, And she's not only merely blocked, she's really most sincerely blocked."
On my way to write my second blog in so many days, I was filled with anticipation to get to my computer and type my brilliant thoughts "down on paper" so to speak.
I was happily driving my mom from my sister's when up in front of me was a roadblock of fire engines and police cars. The road was closed because of an overturned truck and we were re-routed through a neighborhood full of dead ends and cul-de-sacs. What a tangled web those old urban planners did weave.
When we were close to reaching our destination, home, my mom in her sweetest asking voice, wondered if I was busy the rest of the afternoon. OH-Oh. That's means "Honey, I want you to be my slave and grant me every wish and drive me where ever I want to go. And oh yes, buy me lunch too."
Sorry, blog. Another "roadblock" was placed in my path and this was a formidable one in the shape of a four foot ten, red-haired, 82 year old hobbit woman with expert guilting skills insisting on elevensies.
I am always willing to accommodate my lovely mother and have learned the great skill of patience from her. We shuffle slowly through the five stores we shopped. Lunch was an hour long affair since she eats very slowly and carefully. We stopped at two garage sales and she picked up every item on every table and scrutinized each item carefully like a forensics expert looking for the tiniest evidence of DNA.
Finally on my way to her home, another roadblock, more fire engines and police cars that blocked the divided highway I was driving. Through the neighborhood again, but this time on one way streets. The accident earlier that day at least gave you an opportunity to turn left or right. We were all doomed to go in the same direction causing massive back-ups no matter which way I turned trying to get away from it all.
Hours later, when I finally drag my butt into my own home, my roadblock is a mental and a physical block. My head is pounding and my leg is throbbing. I can't think. can't move. Pain relief isn't coming no matter how many 200mg of whatever it is I'm taking. My leg takes hours to calm down and finally I can go to bed.
Sometimes there is no roadblock for pain.
There are always roadblocks to overcome. Roadblocks seem to appear every time you make a real commitment as though the mere mention of such commitment and resolve triggers the fates to mess with you just for fun. I was blocked thoroughly.
All I can hear in my head is a quote paraphrased from Wizard of Oz: "As coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her, And she's not only merely blocked, she's really most sincerely blocked."
Friday, June 1, 2012
Life is Good with Cheese
30-day challenge, a reason to live, a reason to blog. Thanks to We Work for Cheese for the challenge and the daily assignments. If I make it, I'll be very, very, surprised. Now, day One.
Cheese - both wonderful and if you think about it a little disgusting
Cheesers - my favorite pretend swear word
Cheezy - tacky chic
Favorite cheeses - extra sharp cheddar, provolone, baby swiss, spiced havarti, mozzarella, feta, ricotta, smoked anything, parmigiana, edam, colby, muenster, gouda, cottage, tillamook, on and on.
Only one piece of cheese - no such thing.
Melted cheese - awesome. Melted cheese with a slight crusty edge - heaven on earth.
Don't really want to be a wife of a cheese maker, and a candlestick maker sounds like a bore, but a baker, I would be a wildly happy woman, a very happy fat woman. Pastries - yum.
My daddy's daily breakfast - a chunk of cheese, a chuck of bread, and espresso coffee.
One of the best talents of the earthly creature called the human being is its ability to create, transform, and reconstruct in such variety and infinite artistry is its very sustenance - food.
Blessed are the cheese makers.
Cheese - both wonderful and if you think about it a little disgusting
Cheesers - my favorite pretend swear word
Cheezy - tacky chic
Favorite cheeses - extra sharp cheddar, provolone, baby swiss, spiced havarti, mozzarella, feta, ricotta, smoked anything, parmigiana, edam, colby, muenster, gouda, cottage, tillamook, on and on.
Only one piece of cheese - no such thing.
Melted cheese - awesome. Melted cheese with a slight crusty edge - heaven on earth.
Don't really want to be a wife of a cheese maker, and a candlestick maker sounds like a bore, but a baker, I would be a wildly happy woman, a very happy fat woman. Pastries - yum.
My daddy's daily breakfast - a chunk of cheese, a chuck of bread, and espresso coffee.
One of the best talents of the earthly creature called the human being is its ability to create, transform, and reconstruct in such variety and infinite artistry is its very sustenance - food.
Blessed are the cheese makers.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
God I Love My Family
My mom, that lover of life, who gives her beloved dog away to a man who needed the companionship, and instead got herself a rooster, correction got two roosters. She coos and strokes them as though they were puppies.
My sister who is downstairs cleaning the floor under the rooster, the one that brought a big bag of baking soda and vinegar, the one who donned her own makeshift hazmat suit, complete with gloves, mask, and wading boots, and keeps saying gross over and over again and finding great humor in it too.
My sister and her young daughter that spent two whole days and nights in airports trying to get to Florida on stand-by, both exhibiting such fortitude and cheerfulness in the face of adversity when the odds were monumentally against them, and finally realizing it to be futile, came home to only try again two days later and getting through.
My brother whose car was stolen and four weeks later his new car was stolen. The one that continues to try and works harder and harder than any man I know. The one that gets slapped down but always rises like a phoenix and starts again.
My sister that can find so many paths and alternatives. The one that is a secretary, a facilitator, a coach, a therapist, a caretaker, and working mother. The one that can patch and keep her family's life together with invisible duck tape. The one that can juggle so many balls that it amazes me that she hasn't gone nuts.
No matter what life throws at them, they never take it personally. Life is what it is. No reason to get too worked up over it. They live life with grace, humor, and an inner strength that I truly admire. They taught me so many lessons on how to live my life and I love them for it.
My sister who is downstairs cleaning the floor under the rooster, the one that brought a big bag of baking soda and vinegar, the one who donned her own makeshift hazmat suit, complete with gloves, mask, and wading boots, and keeps saying gross over and over again and finding great humor in it too.
My sister and her young daughter that spent two whole days and nights in airports trying to get to Florida on stand-by, both exhibiting such fortitude and cheerfulness in the face of adversity when the odds were monumentally against them, and finally realizing it to be futile, came home to only try again two days later and getting through.
My brother whose car was stolen and four weeks later his new car was stolen. The one that continues to try and works harder and harder than any man I know. The one that gets slapped down but always rises like a phoenix and starts again.
My sister that can find so many paths and alternatives. The one that is a secretary, a facilitator, a coach, a therapist, a caretaker, and working mother. The one that can patch and keep her family's life together with invisible duck tape. The one that can juggle so many balls that it amazes me that she hasn't gone nuts.
No matter what life throws at them, they never take it personally. Life is what it is. No reason to get too worked up over it. They live life with grace, humor, and an inner strength that I truly admire. They taught me so many lessons on how to live my life and I love them for it.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Short-Timers Advice - Time Won't Wait.
Time can not be wasted at this point. It is running short.
To recognize this fact is to see all things anew.
I am surrounded by folks whose time is running short, my parents, my husband's parents. When I worked at the bank it was located near two senior citizen high rises. I met a lot people whose time was short. And they always had the same advice. And they gave it with a sense of urgency.
That's why I listened.
They will tell you the truth about time. Time should not be confused with the past or the future. Time deals strictly on a now basis. They will make you realize that time is urgent.
For some the urgency drives them crazy because they can no longer control what happens in time. They can't ignore it anymore. It becomes the elephant in the room.
Sickness and infirmity keeps them from spending time well. Time is fleeting and they don't have the strength left to capture it again. It becomes lost. And they want it back so badly. Some desperately. They want time back to show how much they appreciate it now.
For some, they look to others to give them or help them fill time. Sometimes, no one is willing to give their time. No one visits. No one is compelled. There are no hobbies or interests to create time. Time was not used wisely. Time was not honored for its potential to give and enrich. You did not take the time, so why should time or anyone else do it now.
For others, family and friends help to fill the time. Gifts of time are presented and offered with love and joy. Time was used more wisely, and is much more hospitable as it marches along. Time does not scare them as much. They resign themselves and step in line and march along with time, sometimes hand in hand.
Time is not to be wasted. That is their message.
Time should not be taken for granted. She'll bitch slap you when finally after years, you take notice of her. Time can also be very cruel. That is also part of the short-timers message.
It is an abstract idea at first - what time is exactly. Many look for a concrete example to understand it better. So people measure it. They put in on a scale. As long as the scale says lots of time, they ignore it. Time seems plentiful. There is no urgency. Time can wait.
The mistake is reading the measurement of time in this way. When time is at its most abundant is exactly when time is the most useful, the most generous, and most efficiently used. It's heavy weight signals you to use it to its fullest measure, not save it. Time is vibrant, healthy, and has great legs. Use them. Use them now.
That is their message. And the short-timers always add urgently... Please. I beg you. Don't wait. Take time now.
(Spending the weekend along the shore of Lake Michigan, a weekend I had promised to my 80 year old parents, a place they love but without the means to get there. I had to take them, and take them now. There is no time to lose. .... To report, we had a lovely time. It was time very well spent.)
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Handyman Love
What is it about a handyman husband that can fix all your stuff when it breaks down? Why do I find that so sexy?
It must be a throw back to when females chose their mates by their ability to provide, to hunt down the wooly mammoth and consistently put meat on the table.
He has skills.
A man that can fix things.
Successfully.
Be still my heart.
Replacing things are costly. When he fixes the lawn mower, the toaster, my micro tape recorder, the washer, my hot rollers, the car, the plumbing, and my sewing machine, he saves us hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. Yeah, baby!
It's such a gift when something you think is dead and gone is suddenly restored and handed back with pride and love. When he says,"Let me see what I can do about that." My heart beats a little faster.
That's damn sexy.
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