Seasonal Words of Wisdom

Thanks to my sister, Martine, for this gem.

Women are angels...
And when someone breaks our wings...
We simply continue to fly...
On a broomstick...
We're flexible like that!

Exotic State of Mind

About a year and a half ago, when my original navel piercing eroded away and disappeared, I felt less exotic. So I had it repierced. Went through the whole healing up business again, found a pretty piece of jewelry to poke through it, was generally pleased with the result. Only to remove it this afternoon. I simply reached the point where inconvenience tipped the scale from exotic to annoyed. The darn thing just seemed to always be in the way! I had to constantly adjust it to comply with the waistband on my pants! Annoyed pretty much cancels out any air of exoticism I might have possibly been emitting anyway. Leaving me to think that exotic is a state of mind, not a sparkly bit of jewelry in the belly button. So, my body piercing stage would seem to be over. It was fun while it lasted. Until it was annoying.

Poetry, Bad SciFi, and the Naming of Cats and Boys

I have a particular fondness for all of the things in today's title. Poetry that makes me laugh or cry. The bad sci-fi of my growing up years, especially the original Star Trek and Lost in Space television series and a notable movie or three. Cats, most definitely. That brings us to boys, my favorites being the two I gave birth to. What could all of these things possibly have in common, you are likely thinking so loudly that I can hear you! Yes. I'm that good. Be patient, now, as I go about, in my endearingly illogical fashion, tying these most disparate themes together in some meaningful and entertaining way. On Friday, I found a bargain priced dvd of the 1976 movie, Logan's Run, and quickly snatched it up. Despite the many holes in the plot and some pretty cheesy acting, I like this movie for a number of reasons. Bad sci-fi, obviously. Pretty impressive visual effects for its time. And most of all, Peter Ustinov's portrayal of the Old Man, who lives alone among the ruins of a future Washington, DC, with a multiude of cats. He's a bit dotty, but most amiable, and explains to Logan and Jessica that all cats have three names. Which inspired me to bestow upon both of my sons a first, a middle, and a third name. The Old Man was quoting T.S. Eliot, from his poetry collection, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. Which, by the way, was the basis for the musical, Cats. So, there you have it. Poetry, bad sci-fi, and the naming of cats and boys. Serendipitously, today is the birthday of T.S. Eliot, who was born in 1888. A poet, who by way of a schlocky movie, inspired me to name my sons as cats are named. Everyday, fancy, and secret.

Ode to Dr Seuss

The cast is off,
My hand is sore.
I won't complain
And be a bore.
It's better
Than it was before,
The cast is off,
My hand is sore.

When the right is healed,
They'll fix the left.
No need for feeling
Sad or bereft.
Soon it will be
All lithe and deft,
When the right is healed,
They'll fix the left.

And now I must leave,
So sad to go,
But I will return,
Though my typing is slow.
I'll post again, soon,
Keep you all in the know,
But now I must leave,
So sad to go.

Neon & Velveteen

I know, this photo contains neither neon nor velveteen. I was just checking if all of you are paying attention. But this is a cool picture, and I think these lanterns actually do light up, but if they do, what's with the spotlights?

I haven't a clue what this is all about, but I like neon as well as halos. And some of my best friends are homos, so there you have it.

Bakery. Osborne Village, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. I'm sorry to say that we did not eat anything here. It smelled divine. But we were down to six bucks Canadian, out-of-the-country checks, and they didn't accept plastic.

We have now arrived at the velveteen subject of this photo essay. I had never before seen a spare seat in restroom stall. Particularly an upholstered one. But I think it's a nice idea. Flush or plush?

Trite Cliches, Etc.

There is this one thing, well, there's more than one, but at the moment this one is on my mind, that vexes me to the point of aggravation. And this is it. The summing up of a complex issue in one trite, neat little package of a statement. I'm sharing my favorite, so you can be aggravated, too!

*No one plans to fail, they just fail to plan.

However, I do enjoy it when someone, either with intention or not, mixes up a cliche when quoting. Leaving it forever stuck in a loop in my brain. Incorrectly. As well as sometimes creating a visual that is amusing. Or disturbing.

*Barking up a dead horse

*Sick up and fed

*Go fly a lake!, or conversely, Go jump in a kite!

*It's not rocket surgery, or conversely, It's not brain science!

Cast Art

Well, all I have to say is, don't take a hot pink Sharpie down to the bar with you when you have a cast. Unless you want people to decorate it. Under the influence of alcohol. I know. Pretty wild and irresponsible of me, but sometimes a girl just has to cast caution to the wind. I did attempt to get photos, but was unable to contort properly to really capture the spirit of the inpromptu drawings. I shall do my best to describe them.

1. Tigh drew the awesome smiley face and signed his name.

2. Although he didn't sign his name, Trent drew a most elaborate stick figure guy holding a bottle of tequila in one hand and wielding a rather scary battle axe in the other. He is grinning and shouting Mexico!.

3. Brenna drew a lovely peony-like flower and signed her nick name.

4. A very drunken fellow, whose name I did not understand when he uttered it, toiled laboriously over his message. It is absolutely illegible, but he seemed pleased with the finished product. He also ran off the edge and got Sharpie ink on my arm. I think it's either his name and phone number, or a deeply felt expression of his undying love for me. Or a Haiku. In Japanese.

5. The bouncer at Jim's Tap drew a four-leaf clover and wished me luck.


If anyone is interested, there is still some blank space available. Corporate sponsors are welcome.

Happy Birthday Kyle Chandler!

There he is, and isn't he lovely? Mr. Kyle Chandler, aka coach Eric Taylor of Friday Night Lights fame. Today we celebrate his natal day as well as define the boundary between adoration and stalking. Is he not perhaps the most gorgeous representation of male pulchritude that exists on this planet? Let us take a moment of silence to thank the goddess for placing him here on this Earth for our adoration and entertainment. Mmmmmmm. Talk amongst yourselves, I'm finishing the sangria.

Ch-ch-ch-Changes!

Yup, still me. I needed a new adjective. Everything else is pretty much the same. Whatever it is that you come here for, you'll still find it. PeriMenopausal no longer suited me. I think you'll agree that recalcitrant does.

re·cal·ci·trant adj. 1. Marked by stubborn resistance to and
defiance of authority or guidance.

Barbies in Threes, Please

From Charmed to Eastwick to Hocus Pocus to Macbeth, witches come in threes. With the exception of Practical Magic, where they manifest as generational pairs of sisters, one brunette, one redhead, they adhere to the traditional Celtic Triad rule. And so, with a fallish chill in the air and the Haunting Holiday a mere 47 days away, I present for your entertainment my own little trio of witches. Representing three of my favorite things. Barbie, the color pink, and Halloween. They need a little black kittycat for company, don't you think?

Note to Mr. Aussie

I feel as though you told me yes. Then no. Then maybe. Which leaves me curious and wanting more. More information. More time. More of you. The last five years of my life have been filled with mere distractions and full-blown disasters as far as men are concerned. But in recent weeks, so much has turned around. Every few days I have received clear answers on so many outstanding questions in so many varied areas of my life. And I have wondered, since I returned home, if meeting you was an answer to some significant question in my life. I remember telling you that I felt a certain sadness over people and relationships being just a little too fluid, a little too temporary, a little too here and gone. Sunday night I noticed you wearing a ring on your left index finger. That you absently fingered it and seemed preoccupied with how it didn't belong there, didn't really belong anywhere anymore. I wish I had taken a picture of you, though I don't really need one. Your smile and your eyes are etched in my memory. I don't know what details of your life remain to be resolved so you can move forward with a clear conscience and an open heart. What I do know is what I have been left with. A feeling of connection and attraction to another human being that could, just maybe, evolve into devotion and passion. And if you feel at all the same way, all you have to do is click over to my profile, and under contact, click on the email link. You're much too delectable to be either a distraction or a disaster.

Five Things I'm Relatively Proficient at as a Lefty

1. Brushing my teeth. Although I have a SoniCare toothbrush, which means all I have to do is guide it around, not an enormous accomplishment, but I'm claiming it anyway.

2. Eating. With a utensil, not my fingers.

3. Mousing. The computer variety as opposed to rodent control.

4. Pulling my hair back into a makeshift, meaning very messy, ponytail.

5. Writing! I'm committed to doing the crossword puzzle every day! It takes longer, but is remarkably legible!


These accomplishments are particularly amazing when you consider that not only am I right hand dominant, but my left hand is still rather compromised by the tendinitis. Meaning, I do hope, that I'm getting the worst over with first. No applause, really, it will just encourage me. But thanks for your support. Anyone out there proficient at grape peeling?

Re-Adorn-Ation

Yes, do feel free to invent new words. Thanks ever so much, I believe I shall! As you know, I do have a tendency to overaccessorize. An essentially harmless behavior that only complicates the day if you are planning to fly commercial. Or have surgery. Due to a process used in the OR that stops bleeding called cauterization, the patient must be completely stripped of everything metallic. Otherwise something very unpleasant, called arcing, can take place. The result of which can be some very nasty burns. Meaning that I had to divest myself of all my jewelry! This girl gets into the shower most days wearing eight pieces of jewelry. This is due, in part, to laziness. Why take them off if I'm just going to put them back on again right away. By the same token, it's a time saver, I probably gain five minutes getting ready time by leaving these pieces on. So, today will be devoted to restoring order. I have already reinstated the navel ring and the toe ring. Later I'll work on the earrings and the past, present, and future silver bracelets that normally adorn my left wrist. Then I'll feel decent once more. Properly dressed, at least. Most likely exhausted.

Call Me Lefty

That's me, pre-op. And, yes, since you asked, I have always had something of a flair for dressing. Lots of fancy hospital bling on my left hand, the surgeon's initials and little dots indicating slice here on the right hand. And at over 7 hours post-surg, I feel pretty dandy. Minimal soreness at the site of the incision that is being controlled quite nicely with ibuprofin. Already, the constant ache and burning sensation in my right palm have completely disappeared. People kept asking me my name and birth date over and over again, just to make sure some imposter wasn't trying to sneak in and get my surgery for me. I assured them that my teeth are all mine and firmly attached so they wouldn't attempt to remove them. I suspect that by the time I'm getting mildly adept at being a lefty, I'll have to relearn being a righty so they can fix my left hand. All I know is, this bandage is going to be pretty darn disgusting by the time it's removed on September 24. And my legs are going to be pretty darn hairy. This is going to be fun.

Ten Things I Learned Last Weekend

1. Osborne Village is a lovely Winnipeg neighborhood.

2. Starbucks is ubiquitous, everywhere, and nearly unavoidable.

3. I cannot simultaneously convert Canadian $'s to American $'s while converting litres to gallons. Making the purchase of petrol confusing.

4. Eat here! Eat here! Eat here! And if that wasn't clear enough, eat here!!!

5. I pine for the retro slingback pumps with the lacy vamp in that store window on Osborne. Sigh. The store was closed. Sigh.

6. You don't have to go Down Under to meet a handsome and charming Australian man. You just have to go to this Aussie themed bar. Oh, and Nolan the bartender is most attentive and personable.

7. I love valet parking.

8. Colleen and I are as opposite as can be, yet we love each others' company and are the best of friends.

9. It is definitely not excessive to eat shrimp twice in one day. It is, however, decadent and deeply satisfying. I recommend it.


10. Tequila has absolutely no effect on Colleen! I can't be sure, though, because tequila has a most delightful and profound effect on me. Maybe the blue margaritas contain more booze...

Serendipity

When I turned and saw you walking in last night, my immediate reaction was a sort of giddy happiness. Like I was fourteen again and I caught sight of that cute boy from science class just across the hall at his locker. My secondary reaction was one of annoyance for allowing myself such an unfettered visceral feeling. I got over the negative response pretty quickly and went straight back to happiness. I like how you smile with your eyes as well as your mouth. I like how you didn't flirt with me, but just eased into a comfortable and interesting interaction. I like how smart and funny you are even though there's this undercurrent of sadness and worry. And finally being happy over the fact that the restaurant we had intended to go to ended up being shuttered up with a rental agent's sign out front. A lesson in taking happiness when and where you find it. Without holding back. Because it so easily might not have shown up.

Thelma & Louise Go To Winnipeg

Last week I was pondering the prospect of the upcoming month. Involving the surgery on my hands and the period of healing that would follow. That felt a bit confining, so instead of having a panic attack, I hollered Road Trip! and called Colleen. It's so convenient when this urge hits me just prior to a long weekend. The next question was where. Where indeed. We could go east to the Twin Cities and take in the Minnesota State Fair! Fried food on a stick!! Hmmmm. No. South? To Omaha, the land of a large zoo and other delights, though I was hard pressed to name any of them, thus dispensing with the southern route. West to the Black Hills, land of too many memories too recent in my personal history. No again, despite the draw of a certain department store that contains perhaps the finest shoe department in the state. So we were left with north. Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. And as it has turned out, our only similarity to Thelma and Louise's road trip is that we also drove a blue car. We have had some wonderful food, seen some sights, experienced perfectly delightful weather and have stayed up past midnight without turning into pumpkins! Tomorrow we head for home with tired feet and photos to edit. And despite true efforts at shopping, have purchased little. I bought a clearance table hat at Hudson's Bay. Colleen wins the prize in the Lamest Purchase department, for having travelled 400 miles to buy a bottle of contact lens solution. Which, by the way, cost nearly as much as my fabulous hat. Now, if we can just get safely home without being pursued by a fleet of police cars.

Oh, My Stars and Mortarboards!

Glitter. Does it ever really go away? And how does it get, well, everywhere? How can it resist the estimable powers of my vacuum cleaner, which will remove draperies and eat area rugs if I'm not careful? This is the large scale variety of glitter, purchased for the younger son's graduation party. Which was over three months ago! What wasn't gathered up and tossed with the tablecloth was vacuumed up from the coffee table, which would account for at least 98% of the total volume scattered. I swear, it was just two little bags! Sporting the school colors of black and red, I keep finding them all over the place. At least I'm not finding little various colored 2006 party sprinkles from the elder son's graduation, I can't remember the last time I found one of those. But that doesn't mean there aren't a few lurking about. After nuclear annihilation, this stuff will be around keeping company with the cockroaches and Twinkies. I'm sure of it.