Mead

Mead: A wine-like alcoholic beverage made of fermented honey and water rather than grape juice. (something sweet that fermented)
I knew a boy, yes hes was cute, and yes he liked me. I think maybe he was my first love. And it was a delicious secret! Maybe that should have been the first indication. But I was blissfully unaware, enjoying having such a tantalizing bit of information all to myself! Like wearing pretty, matching underwear, I felt so special, and no one else knew why. We had fun together and he made me feel like a million dollars, we danced, we shared icecream, argued, teased and played games. Little did I know, there were more games going on then I knew. In fact, it was quite a big game, and there were a few playing. or rather, a few being played with. There was Lisa, (names have been changed to protect the innocent, and the damned) Carry, and more I'm sure. It's really no wonder "we" had wanted to keep it to ourselves for a while. You know what happens when someone makes you fell like a million dollars and all of a sudden it was lies? You feel very cheap somehow. What a blow, how humiliating! But what still confuses me is how, how in my head, did he manage to be the yard stick for years to come? I should have beat him with a yard stick, instead he was that by which others were measured. My heart would still flutter when I saw him , when he took the time to talk to me, or even just look at me. He was smarter, funnier, cuter, braver, more carefree, was I trying to find the same person who would instead have me and love me? Eventually, somehow, I came to my senses, his faults were not my faults! How ridiculous! My insecurities were simply a reflection of his own, and he had not given me my confidence, so how dare I let him take it away. I saw him not very long ago. He sure wasn't what I remembered. Instead was this small, shaggy, wise ass, who seemed more crazy and unstable than brave and carefree. Strange. Oh, and incidently, I happened to look darn good that day!

Why do old couples look like each other?

Have you ever noticed that most, not all, but most old coupes that have been together since the depression, tend to look alike? I am not being derogatory at all, it's cute! I have a theory of course. These two people have lived as close to a matching life style as is probably possible, eating the same things, exposed to the same things, doing roughly the same activities, for their entire lives. So, with the exception of inherited health concerns, they would be at risk for all the same issues. During their shared life time they would probably have nearly identical dietary habits and they would live in the same place, so consume the same water and air contaminants. They would have most likely gotten sick with the same viruses, have similar exposure to sun, cold and humidity. All of these things alter ones appearance on their own, but over a life time, these would and do develop into health issues, often minor and undetected. Skin, features and abilities are enhanced or inhibited by various things directly connected to environmental factors. It would only stand to reason that these two people have a very good chance of developing similar looks over time

Who am I

Now, should this be an honest snap shot of who I really am? Or should this be an over analyzed, identity crisis typed out in all it's glory? I could say I am an artist, or a horse person, I could say I am religious, an author, a traveler, or a welder, or pastry chef. But does that really tell you anything about me? I can say that I paint abstract art while listening to punk rock, and like drive to classical piano bu weld in silence. I ride horse in skater shoes and a hoodie. I have seldom chanced to be out of the country, and wish I could travel a lot, even though flying makes me ill. Now that tells you a little bit more about me. But at the same time, it tells you nothing, except that I am a walking contradiction.

I do not want to be known as 'An Artist' or 'A Horse Person'. I simply do not fit in any box, and I am pretty sure I would hate it if I did. For instance, would you like a list of things I have done in a dress and heels? Run, pound a fence post, push a stuck car, and shoot a gun.

I put down an animal when it needed to be done, and then balled my eyes out. I am a little girl when there is a spider on the ceiling, or anything to do with mucus.
If I knew why I did any of these thing, then that would be the really telling part about who I am. 

Do I refuse to fit into a box because somewhere deep inside I feel that I am not good enough at anything to fit properly into any box? Do I bounce to the tune of my own bird song because I am not sure I could keep rhythm with anyone else’s music, or because I don't like anybody else’s music?

There could be an entirely different angle too. Am I atypical to get attention? Then again it could be to keep people on their toes, so they never really get to know me. This would make sense given my ingrained abandonment issues. But that is a topic for an entirely different blogging day.

I wrote a kid's book, now what?

I work at a bank. There are many children that I have become familiar with over the years that come into the bank regularly. Now when it was my turn to host a day for our customers, the theme was Back to School and Books Rule, so among other things, I decided to write a kids book that I could hand out to them. I thought about all the things I could base a children's book on, and that got overwhelming fast. So I narrowed the field to banking related things, which worked well, as it was a book they would receive from their bank. There are many subject within that field as well, but thinking of a fairly young audience, I wrote a little story about a boy who learns to save. He uses a piggy bank, so I wasn't blatantly hocking our banking products, but encouraging kids to think about the benefits of saving... like being able to buy the extra cool toy you found at the store without having to beg mom. One of the gentlemen I work with has a wonderful wife who is a teacher, and she agreed to edit the story for me, since I may be creative, but my grammar, well, sucks. I also did a dozen drawn illustrations for the book, some of which I painted as well. These, with the help of a co-worker, were scanned, re sized and formatted. All of this did not go smoothly. I was running out of time, and ended up hand cutting and taping printed copies of the art, to pre-printed pages, and copying. It looked pretty good actually! From there, I hand cut and stapled all of the copies, the night before we were to hand them out to children at the bank. And don't get me wrong, my co-workers would have happily helped, except that I was being particular about certain things, and there was only one big paper guillotine, and only one heavy duty stapler. So I was on my own, but it got done. In the morning, I gave everyone their own copy of the little book, I was excited to see what they thought, excited to see what the children who came in thought. I was just excited. Well, it rained, all day, a big heavy downpour, so next to no children came into the bank. But, it was busy enough, that no one had time to read the book themselves. They were enthusiastic that I had taken the time to do everything, but I got almost no feed back from them either. Poo! But I am thrilled with the results, I think the book is adorable, and I love the story. I would like to send it to a publisher, but I really have no idea where to start. Someone told me to go to a self publisher and then market it myself, but that ends up costing a few grand right off the get-go. But a good publishing company gets thousands of stories sent every year, so they usually only take very few new writers, sticking mostly with established authors. Where does that leave me??

I'm Baaack

Did you miss me?
If I had followers...they are probably gone now.
Two years, that is quite the break, but so much has gone on I have oodles to talk about. Not as though there was a shortage of topics before...but of time, energy and desire.
However I have recently been told I should pick up the 'pen' again. Therefore I am back.
I won't promise daily or even weekly posts, but I will try and get on here to blast any interested readers with misadventure, random theories and borderline offensive topics!

Needlepoint

I walked into a needle point store with a few mom-friends. (roughly my age who have children) They had been talking about how relaxing it is to do needlepoint, and what wonderful gifts it makes. I am a crafty person, so I though this might be kinda cool. Though I was already thinking about taking up quilting, long enough to make one for my parents and in-laws, I really wasn't sure I needed to add another activity to my set of unfinished activities. The matronly old lady was very happy to have this relatively young group in the store. We wandering though the array of brightly colored threads, vast and varied patterns, and intricate pieces on the wall, with six to eight hundred dollar price tags. I was told that a two and a half by two piece had taken one of the moms six years to complete. SIX YEARS?! There were sickly sweet patterns for puppys and kittys, duck, dolphins and horses, each taking thousands of little, criss-crossed stitches, and over half of a DECADE to produce. The lady asked who had been there before. Of the four of us two had been, and the other one was very interested in starting. The lady was pleased, and she asked me if I waanted to start as well. "No!" was my swift reply. "Well, that was very definite," the lady chuckled, "Why not?" "Cause it takes six freaking years to finish one, and it only looks that good if you do it right! And you can only sell six years worth of work, and a million poked finger tips, for 700$" is what I did not say. "I'm busy already, I sure don't need another hobby." I smile politely at the woman who I now considered to be a lunatic. If not before she started needlepoint, certainly at some point since. And while I wanted to run out screaming, with my hands flailing above my head, I politely helped the other moms sift through pages of patterns, to select the source of their eventual insanity. When we left the store I directed my friends to an art store, where I selected four square canvases, a tube of black acrylic paint, and a tube of white acrylic paint. And when I went home, I sat down with my small variety of brushes, and in four short hours I created a beautiful scene of wild horses, running through the snow. Four hours. Four canvases. Done.

Memory like an 85yr old

Why, at 27 do I have the memory of a senior? I forget everything!
How often have you left your purse or wallet in restaurant? I used to do it ALL the time. If my friends didn't constantly remind me, I still would!
Have you ever left an expensive piece of sports equipment, that you were just using, leaning against a building, as you head for home? I have, a snowboard in fact, propped against the chalet, while I get all undressed and hop in the car! Why, why, why?
I am late, always. At least I am consistent right? But, why am I late? Because cell phones, keys and such, don't answer when you call their name. In fact, I suspect that they hide! I will find them, sometimes together, usually not, on some random surface in the house. On top of the dryer, on the dresser in the spare room, beside the bathroom sink, in the tack room outside, on the deck railing. Why? I don't know!
If it included an area code it usually takes three tries for me to dial a phone number that someone was saying to me, because I always forget. There would be no point in announcing my licence plate number if my headlights were on. I don't remember what my plate number is, not even a clue!
Some would assume I am just a flake, that nothing matters enough to me. Entirely untrue. I am a very devoted friend, and I hate it when I forget simple stuff. Have I tried to improve it? Of course I have, with minimal results. Whats stupid though, it that I remember stupid things! I remember the color of peoples eyes, and their shoes, my first memory is from before I was even three. I'll remember that so-and-so hates dogs, long after they don't hate dogs anymore, but I won't remember that they changed their mind! I can't remember anyone's phone numbers, thank goodness for in- phone contact lists, but I still remember the first phone number we had when I was little.

Cooking outside the Box

Shortly after discovering that I had a gluten allergy, I was at home, wondering what on earth I was going to eat. There is of food in the house. Pasta, bread, crackers, some veggies, soup, but I desperatly need to do some shopping. The problem being, most stuff is made with, or thickened with wheat flour. So I look carefully, an egg, rice crackers, but nothing else to put on them, and it hardly qualifies as a meal. All the soups are noodle somethings, or creamed. Since I'm newly allergic, I have nothing as far as gluten free breads, flours or the like in my pantry. Ugh, think outside the box. I have salad, AGAIN, so what can I put with the salad to add some variety. There are no chicken breasts hiding in the back of the freezer. Sigh. I went for a quick walk, because maybe the wild puff balls were ready. And sure enough, they are! Beautiful fat pearls in the grass! I walk, poking them as I go, spongy ones got to stay and spore out. But the ones that were firm, and broke the ground with a solid snap, those are my delicious little nuggets of happiness. When I get back inside with a good helping of mushrooms, I have to decide just what to do with them. Egg, rice crackers, oil, sea salt, mmmm. The rice crackers are crushed, and the sliced mushrooms coated with egg and the cracker crumbs. Once the oil is hot, I fry the little discs in olive oil until they are golden and crispy. With a dash of pepper and sea salt, they grace the plate next to my salad of field greens. Fantastic!

Paintballs are Not Good Dog Food

The other day, I am sitting on my couch, reading a book, when my husband walks in. We are chatting about something or other when he starts peering oddly at something over my shoulder. I turn around slowely to see orange spatter across my wall. Odd, to say the least. We investigate further, and find a handful of orange paintballs that have fallen behind our antique trunk/corner coffee table. Right about then I notice both of our, normally energetic and cuddly, dogs slinking off down the hallway. Now, our dogs have a minor obssesion with balls, so a ball, thats squishy, AND squirts if you bite it, I understand the draw. Today, when I got home, my dogs were peeking out of the curtains, very happy to see me, waging their little tails. That would be cute, except that my dogs are not supposed to be peeking out of the living room window. They are supposed to be secure in the kitchen, behind a baby gate. (yes, they are that small, yes, they still qualify as dogs) Add to my dismay, I already knew that there was going to be a mess to clean up, since, well... paintballs are not quality dog food. (no, I do not have a paintball gun, so then why do I have paintballs? I do not know!) When I got in the house, a mess is an understatement. There are many puddles, ranging in orange shades from apricot to tangarine across my kitchen, and one particularily large one that started on the couch, and ended on the area rug, at least it was a pale shade. I tip toe through the kitchen assessing the damage, and getting the mop bucket, only to discover that using the back of my couch and a viewing window between the kitchen and living room, they have been on my counter. And accompanying the orange rainbow on the floor, is a broken glass, that had been full of water. Now, now I can't mop the floor because of the glass, I can't vaccum the glass because of the puddles, I can't even pick up all the glass, and manage to avoid all the puddles. The dogs, mean time, smartly dissappeared into the deep grasses of the back yard within moments of my opening the door. To my amazement, the orange did not stain the floor, or the leather of the couch, and much to my relief, it seems that they at least got it all over with in one foul shot. But had you come to visit me that day... I would have happily given you two very cute Daschunds, at no charge what so ever. Who knew that paintballs taste good enough to eat, they smell awful, but that may have been the combination of... contents that I was smelling. I doubt I will ever go paintballing again.

Multitasking in the bathtub

How many people multitask in the bath? And I don't mean shaving while leaving our conditioner in for two minutes. Lots of people read, there are even handy little book rack that you can hook on the edges of the tub, so that you don't get the pages wet. And lots have the music on. Some of us talk on the phone, just don't drop it, trust me.
How about watch TV? Why not? I know a lady that tilted the TV in her bedroom, so that she can watch TV in bed, and when the en suite door is open, watch from the tub! Genius right, glass of wine, good movie and a warm bath!
I have tape over my web cam, because I go online when I'm lounging in the bath. Do I need to have tape over the web cam? I don't really know, but I feel better that way. Plus, I can blog, update Facebook, check out movie reviews, write an e-mail to grandma, and research which jewelry kiln I want to buy, all from the comfort of a pleasant smelling, bubbly bath!
Some people sleep in the bath. Two problems though... you go to sleep warm, wake up in cold bath water. Yuck! Also, it is very disturbing to know that someone is in the bath, but they won't answer you when you ask them how long they will be. Even more disturbing, when you stick your head in the door, and they still don't answer you. Then you look and realize, that it looks like they are fully submerged! So you rush in, panicking and pull their head out of the water, only for them to gasp fearfully, as they are wrenched from peaceful slumber, to look into someone's terrified face, then you quickly realizes that they are OK. And naked. And you are there, soaking wet, having burst in upon them, naked, in the bathtub. Awkward, very awkward I tell you.
I do not sleep in the bathtub.
What else could one accomplish while in the bath? Paint, draw? I don't think that would go very well. I'm imagining water warped pages and possible tinted bath water? Anything to do with photographs would be a bad idea, they don't generally get along with water. Have you ever tried writing? Wouldn't the angles be all wrong? I don't think it would be comfortable. Food prep? Bahahaha! Just joking!

We are All Pyromaniacs at Heart

Why is it that we are mesmerized by the flicker of flame? The current answer would be something about evolution, bah! Lets just dismiss that, because after however million years it is supposed to have been since we evolved, I am sure we would have lost our 'instictual response' to flame as a life giver. After all, if your mind follows that avenue, we lost the 'instinctual response' to flame as a danger, unlike most animals existing now, who flee from fire.
Sure, fire terrifies us a little, our heart gets going when a bit of flame gets away on us. But at the same time, we are entirely taken with the fluid movement. We can contain fire, to an extent in specific pits, boxes, etc, but the fact is that we cannot catch and entirely tame it. Kind of like a rainbow! Who isn't absolutly moved to see a brilliant, full bow, of glowing color. Maybe thats the key, that we have no way of traping it, saving it. There are thousands of photos taken of fire, and rainbows, ooo oo! and northern lights, none of which do justice. But we continue to try, and we are amazed everytime. Is the illusiveness the pull?
Fire though, fire seems more so. We sit infront of, even a little gas fire place, or a space filled with candles, and our eyes are drawn to the dance of the flames, night after night. Every fire is different, yes, but not so different that we can find something new to admire everytime.
Is it because we know that when unleashed, is distructive, and deadly? Is it a tiny thrill of having something so dangerous, as a veritable pet in our home, like a lion on a chain? Does it charge our ego?
Or are we pulled to the constant light and warmth. As long as we feed, protect, and nurture it, it will respond like a lover, and fill our lives with as much light and warmth that we can handle. We can come home to an empty house, no one waiting with the lights on, but when we light a fire, and bask in its glow, we feel... almost loved. Is that the draw? Substitute affection of sorts?
What, what is it that engages us so?

Mulled Whine

I worked with a group of women in a non-traditional environment once . I thought that other women who wanted to work there would be a lot like me, that it would be fun. What a joke! I have never seen so many back biting, sneaky, catty, self absorbed, competitive women in my life. I was shocked, it reminded me of high school. "Oh no, Susan sits here," I was told by Laura, though the lunch room was not assigned seating, and Susan didn't actually work there yet, but once she did... oh it was exciting! Lunch time was like being in the change room with cheerleaders. "Really? Oh my god, well," Laura pauses to smile scandalously at the married manager, then leans forward to whisper in Susan's ear. The juicy tidbit was rewarded with an awed gasp, "You know, everyone of those children has a different father, and she wonders where her daughter gets it from!" Susan reported to the entire table. And later, Susan clucks her tongue with disgust to hear that pretty young Tanya admitted to flashing her husband out the front window when he left for work. Laura then proceeds to tell us all about her daughter's job in electronics sales, informing us with a giggle that if she was having trouble making a sale, she just had to show a little more cleavage and viola! It really made me wonder, as I sat, day after day, trying not to choke on my cheese sandwich, where did it start. Did teenage girls mimic their mother's attitude in highschool to feel mature? Or did mother's start acting like their teenage daughters to feel young again?

Alternate Dimensions

There are all sorts of movies, books, and theories regarding alternate dimensions. Sometimes they are scary stories about creepy things that slip through an entryway to another reality. Or intriguing ideas of a parallel universe that branches with every different decisions we make.

This other place is supposed to develop and run along side of our own. Is that possible? Does it exist?

Could the very beings of this world move among us unseen? Are they unaware of us? Do they speculate about our lives, the things that we do? Or, do they move around us, well aware of our behaviour, observing our antics?

Evolutionist would dispute whether that was a scientific possiblity. People with religious beliefs would probably say no, that such a place was not created.

I cannot address the ideas of an evolutionist, which I am not, but, what about spirit creatures?

By definition, albeit loosly defined, if you believe in angels, or demons, do they not dwell in a parallel dimension? Not an alternate reality, as if another version of us. But it is a realm in which they live, that we cannot see, yet exists. Though we are mostly unaware of their presence, the persons in this realm can walk next to us, through us, around us. In which case, as the spirit world would have been here first, we are the alernate dimension.

*Insert twighlight zone music* DEEDLE deedle DEEDLE deedle

What do you think?

Graphology

Graphology is fasinating. Most are very sceptical. Scientific research has found no clear correlation between handwriting behavior and basic personality patterns, so scepticism is understandable. Though there hasn't been very much support or funding to conduct extensive research in the area.
Accuracy depends much on the ability of the person making the analysis, and the honesty of the person being analyzed. People don't like to admit to traits that they don't like about themselves, and so will insist that some things are incorrect.
However, any time that I have taken the time to do an in depth handwriting analysis, the subjects have been relatively impressed with the results. And I am not at all experienced at this.
It has stirred up questions though.
Is it related to hand reflexology? (Another area that invites much scepticism) As we shift the writing utensil in our hand, it could press on many different finger points, and palm points. Some such points may be tender, due to various health issues, chronic and otherwise. Chronic issues in particular are linked to our mental and emotional well being, which directly effects our behaviour and personality traits. (and also effect our physical traits, but that is a post for another time, if I remember some other time) So, could the things noticed in graphology indicate health concerns as well? Certain ways of writing indicate an emotional person, perhaps this is because the person has a hormonal imbalance, that creates a tender button that they avoid with the pen? Are some person more sexual or spiritual because they hold the pen in such a way that stimulates these areas? And it is said that we can work on areas of our personality that we are unhappy with by changing the writing habit that is indictive of this characteristic. Could this be that a) we are are directing the pressure differently against our palm and fingers, thus no longer contacting specific reflexology points, and/or b) everytime we conciously change how we write a letter we are thinking about the fact we wish to improve some certain area of our behaviour, thus prompting the change?
HmMmm, so many questions!

What is happening to communication

The other day I saw a lady walking her two daughters to school, one was young, and the other was a young teen. I smiled, it was nice to see, a great chance for Mom to talk and bond with her daughters, and good opportunity for them to voice any concerns. The young girl was between Mom and Big Sis, she looks up at one, then the other, then looks down at her feet, walking along. Then I realized, both Mom, and Sis, have their ear buds in.

Last week I had breakfast with my mom. I noticed the people around the restaurant enjoying their food, and their company, sort of. Cell phones ringing, buzzing, beeping. One table had two gentlemen, who were each on their cell phones through the arrival of a lady, and for a good ten minutes following. Then they all sat visiting and eating, but in a short bit, all three of them are trying to have productive conversations... over the phone.

I drive school bus now and again. Among all of the kids that are loud, laughing, goofing off, is a growing number of kids with their nose, not in a book, but in their PSP or some such device. "I'm in chat room two" they tell each other across the aisle. While the bus driver in me appreciates the ensuing silence, I am alarmed.

What are we coming to? What are we doing to ourselves, and our society?
Why is having a tune in our ear more important than being in tune with our children?
Why is the person who calls during breakfast more important then those who join us for breakfast?
Why are we more comfortable trying to voice our emotions into texts, than hearing emotion in our friend's voice?
How far will we degress? Will text hugs and kisses replace actually reaching out to someone? Will phone or cyber sex be as prevelant as actually touching someone, is it already? LOL instead of belly laughs, tears and kness slapping with real people? :D :) :P :O :( :'( because we don't know anyone well enough to tell them how we feel?

I Don't Brush my Hair

About 15 months ago, I broke my brush. It was a junk brush, and I knew I had a good brush at home. You know, one of those ouch-less ones with a contoured handle to fit your palm. Anyway, I didn't want to buy another when I knew I had this other one, and I am not super keen on using other people's brushes. Combs maybe, but brush, no. So after years of brushing my long strands into ruler-straight submission, I was without my weapon, the Dictator, I was helpless against the mischief my hair could accomplish.
In an attempt to keep it, managable, I finger combed through it and threw it in a loose braid before bed.
To my surprise, the three days before I could get home to the protection of my brush, my hair turned into this beautiful thing, full of character and body. I got more compliments the days I had no brush, than ever before. My hair had previously hung limp down my back, it was hair that had to be convinced, coerced, and glued in place to hold a curl. Now it possessed bounce and shape I had never imagined possible.
So, now, rather than trying to reconquer my tresses, I mostly let it be. Spot brushing it, you know, like spot washing a floor? If there is an extra tangled area, I brush it out, otherwise I finger out the little knots and such. Sometimes a full brushing cannot be avoided, any event involving a great deal of wind, like snowboarding, riding, convertables, boating, usually requires the wind knots to be carefully combed out. If I don't tie my hair before swimming, it will probably need to be brushed out. No brushing is not a hard and fast rule, rather more like a guideline. And the longer it has been free from the brushes dictation, the more frequently my hair needs to be reminded that it's freedom depends on appropriate behaviour. But thats ok, it beats having lifeless locks. And my hair still goes for months at a time without a complete brush out, and sometimes weeks without the need of a spot brush.
My mother calls my hair a 'mane', har-de-har. And my grandma after seeing my new, barely tamed, couffure, laughed when she learned my scheme. Some ask if it is sanitary, (While frequency of washing is an entirely different subject, I still wash my hair! Jeeze) others ask if it is healthy for my scalp. (I just pay more attention to my scalp when washing) And yes, I still have bad hair days, thats what hats and hairbands are for.
But if it's terribly important, those are the days I pull out the Dictator, to revel briefly in the memory if it's supremacy.

Simple Minds

Simple things entertain simple minds, or so it is said.
I don't think I agree. Well, I do agree that simply things do indeed entertain simple minds, what I disagree with is that this statement infers. That simple things entertain ONLY simple minds. I am not saying that I am particularly deep of thought, I just want to discuss the merit of allowing simple things to not just please, but entertain you.
We could easily discuss at length the definition of 'simple', before ever getting into this topic. But for the purpose of the point, lets say that 'simple' things, are things that would entertain a reasonably intelligent, observant 10yr old.
Finding a frog. Watching sheep in a field playing and leaping over one another. Falling stars. A cuddly pet. Figuring out some new little device. Shadow puppets. Tossing a stick for a dog. A day that the air sparkles with frost. These sound so silly in a way don't they? Lets consider.

Finding a frog. Frogs are cool. Even if you think they are yucky, you have to notice how neat they really are. Frogs have all different kinds of pupils, some round, some slits, heart shaped and triangles. Adult frogs absorb oxygen through their skin, along with water (they don't drink). And most frog can change their color to blend with surroundings, so it is super cool to actually find one! It encourages appreciation for nature, and to be more aware of your surroundings.

Watching sheep in a field playing and leaping over one another. Seeing such docile creatures, learning to play and relax despite that they are easy prey, and a coyote is probably eyeing them, smacking his lips... shouldn't we learn to be that way? Not afraid to play and have fun regardless of our problems.

Falling stars. Eventually someone tells us that it is not a falling star, but a meteor, so our knowledge is expanded, and the sight is no less unique. A brief, beautiful streak of light, that you must either have looked at the right time, or have waited patiently, is a gift. Rare enough that you can feel special for having seen it. A reward for those who wait.

A cuddly pet. "I'm so very happy to see you, I don't care if you think you are the worst person in the world, you are the best to me!" recepetion. Everyone needs to feel that unconditional love.

Figuring out a new device. Like a puzzle, this gives a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, albeit small. But you fell smart, and capable, oh, and up to date!

Shadow puppets. Enjoying a masterful shadow puppet shows appreciation for creativity. Being able to master said puppet shows personal creativity, as well as a willingness to please and entertain guests. It encourages much needed playfulness.

Tossing a stick for a dog. A repetitive, non-strenuous activity lowers blood pressure. And doig something so simple, that imparts such joy, for the critter teaches us how good it feels to make someone/thing else happy.

A day that sparkles with frost. Yes it's COLD, but the air around you is sparkling! The conditions have to be just so, that moisture is feezing so quick it glimmers around you. It is so achingly beautiful, so uncommon and so easily dismissed. Look on the bright side, silver lining, glass half full. There is always a positive, just look for it!

Is it still so silly?

Fairy Tales

When I was young, in my heart of hearts, I knew I wanted to grow up and be pretty, and find a nice guy and be married. My problem was, I didn't think I was ever going to be pretty, so I grew up far from your typical girl in most ways. I climbed trees and carried around a jack knife. My dad taught me how to shoot guns and swing an ax, catch, kill and gut fish. I swung hard and kicked harder. I must have figured that if I wasn't going to be pretty, my life was going to be harder, and so I better learn how to manage. Which I did.
But, I still wanted the fairy tale. I wanted the perfect first kiss, and the Disney-style first true love, and a happily ever after ending.
Being a rough and tumble girl, some these things happened a little bit late for me, since most boys probably figured they would probably get punched if they tried to kiss me. To be fair, most of them were right.
At any rate, life has taught me many thing regarding my fairy tale.
There is no such thing as a perfect first kiss. Yes, yes, it may make your heart flutter, but it is awkward, and messy. Then you have to figure out how you behave with each other afterward, ugh.
And please, correct me if I'm wrong, but Disney is a little unrealistic in the love department. After the initial knight in shining armor feeling, even if you are thoroughly swept off your feet, reality is... different. And while Princess may have loved being put on a pretty pedestal, it is way better to see eye to eye with someone.
As for the happily ever after? Well, thats a matter of opinion I suppose. At least, trials in real life don't usually involve battling a witches or overcoming evil spells. But most of us don't get to ride into the golden sunset on the back of a white steed. Fortunately I prefer palominos.
Life, is not a fairy tale. Fairy tales don't hurt, they don't disappoint, don't make you cry. But, the best parts about life, are way, way better then the best parts of a fairy tale.

Microwaves

What is it about trying to use someone elses microwave? I can drive a different car, assemble shelves out of a box, train a dog, figure out how to hook the game box, to the amplifyer, to the DVD, to the TV, I can change car batteries, and door knobs, and refinish a dresser.
But a microwave? Unless it's exactly like our microwave, which it never is, it's like a mystical box, trained only to function at the touch of it's master.
If I can even manage to get it open, what?! Sometimes the handle is hidden, or there is no handle but some fancy ass button to push! Once I have entrusted my beloved dish into the gapping mouth of this bias device, I poke tentatively at a few buttons, it beeps in response. I raise an eyebrow, and push cancel... again. Power level, quick defrost, (why wouldn't there only be quick defrost, forgo the alternative 'slow defrost') time cook, then there are pictures, of what? Is that a potatoe? Popcorn and pizza even!? Wait, two pictures, with dots beside it!
Beyond comprehension, hardly worth trying to figure out. Instead, I look sheepishly over at the smirking householder, pleading with my eyes that they rescue my cold meal. They input the magic combination, and the microwave whirs away obediently.
BUT, THEY ARE NOT SUPRISED! Not because I can't figure it out, but because microwaves in another house are nearly impossible for most of us!

What's your gripe?

There are a huge variety of grapes that become wine. The grape is the source, the beginning, the essence of each wine.
Some lighter, darker, fruitier, delicate, spicy, sour, wild.
Then there are varietals, that is, the product of more than one.What makes the difference between a reserve, a bottle of plonk and vinegar?
The secret is in the ingredients, and the process.And not to be forgotten, supply and demand. Quality in short supply is more valued than quality in abundance, and far more valuable then quantity over quality.

Huh, interesting.

There are a huge variety of gripes that become whine. The source, the beginning, the essence of the whine. Some lighter, darker....