He Spoke to Me

Do you have any idea how powerful it was when I read the following poem, written by Shel Silverstein as part of his book "Where the Sidewalk Ends?"

Listen to the mustn'ts, child.
Listen to the don'ts.
Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts.
Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me...
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.

I don't know how old I was, ten or twelve maybe? But to have an adult, especially such a surly looking adult, say something like that to me!

Whoa!

This past weekend, I pulled "Where the Sidewalk Ends" off my shelf and gave it a new read. It had been years. Maybe even decades.

And that poem, it still stopped me in my tracks.

I just finished a biography of Shel Silverstein called "A Boy Named Shel" that I found, of all places, at the Dollar Store.

I'm not going to lie to ya, the biography is not the greatest writing I've ever encountered. In fact, it's pretty bad, worthy of the venue in which it was purchased. That said it did give me some (hopefully true) insight into the life of the very prolific writer, cartoonist, songwriter and playwright.

I learned from this biography that Silverstein's mind was constantly in motion, constantly creating without restrictions.

I only know of a few creative people in my life that are *constantly* channeling The Muse. One of them might even be related to me.

I'm pretty creative and am usually chock full of ideas, but I also go through extended periods of time of writer's or crafter's block. Perhaps for me, these are quiet periods that are essential to my own creative process, because as frustrating is to be creatively constipated, I usually come through it stronger.

I have learned that The Muse will return if I just relax and let her go. She always comes back.

It's funny, sometimes seeing art or meeting a creative person will touch off a creative spark inside of me, thus breaking through the blockades. Through the words of his poems, Shel Silverstein did that for me this weekend. I started a new art project and I did photography and I felt the creatives begin to whisper in my ear, which always gives me such satisfaction.

I understand that Silverstein was a mentor to many of his friends. He would push them to create more, to push the bounds of their art and to be better artists.

Silverstein died in 1999, but his words remain powerful. They speak to me as loudly today as they did when I was young.

Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.

Photo From BigHeartDesign.com

Life Imitating Art

So things are going to have to change up a bit here on the ol' blog.

Ya see...I started a new job today.

After ten successful months of consulting work and being my own boss, I agreed to be owned by a corporation once again.

It's a good job and a good company and this morning, nervous and anxious I burst out the gate, excited and ready to run.

This after I spent my last five days having a blast in New Mexico with my best friend in the whole world and two other good pals. Since my girlfriends are all teachers, this was a last hurrah for them, too.

A chance for us to act like kids before it became time to act like grownups.

Among other things, we hit the town of Ruidoso, NM and painted it red.

For my non-New Mexico readers, Ruidoso is known for, in this order:

1) Horse racing
2) Skiing
3) A preponderance of Texans

This weekend, the horses were fast, skiing non-existent and the place was crawling with Texans. An almost $900,000 purse for race number nine, the Rainbow Futurity, brought them out in droves.

I didn't manage to take home any of that fast flowing cash, by the by.

After the races, some dancing got done. There might have been some "adult beverages." Lots of cussing and discussing was also accomplished.

Yesterday, worn down with that good kind of tired, I came home to get ready to go to work. I had to pull the work clothes, dust off the cobwebs and act like a professional.

As time marches on, my idyllic weekend in New Mexico will be like a distant memory.

How long before I'm running as fast as I can, falling ever more behind, quirted into submission?

This being a grownup thing is a big load of horse hockey.

Life Imitating Art and associated images by Karen Fayeth are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

Sometimes Words Just Don't Get It

This morning, I sat quietly at my desk thinking about an appropriate blog post for this warm Friday.

A post that would wrap up all that went down this week, the highs, the lows, the heat, the headaches.

I found that I just didn't have all the words to put together in a nice clean way that would properly explain it all.

So I had a bright idea. I would get my camera out and I would take a photo.

One photo that would explain it all. A visual metaphor for the week.

So I got my gear and I polished up the lens, checked battery levels, and figured I'd go outside to take the snap.

As I worked, I thought about potential shots in my head...

A wilted red rose on a drooping bush, weary in the heat?

A great macro photo of the beat up stop sign at the end of the road?

You know...something arty like that.

With camera ready, I turned and aimed the lens out my window to be sure it was working.

That's when I saw the perfect image.

The image that properly describes everything that went by this week. A week that a former coworker would refer to as "being pulled through the knothole."

Yup.

Here it is. I had to go no further than the table in front of the window to find my muse.

Yes, she's awake. No, I don't know why she's laying there like that. She held that position for quite some time.

Right before rolling over and falling off the table, then getting stuck behind it.

If that's not a metaphor, I don't know what is.

Ya Just Can't Take a Bad Picture

There are certain places in the world where, seriously, other than utter camera failure (or utter user-of-the-camera failure) you just can't take a bad photo.

Yosemite seems to be one of those places. I've not been myself, but I've seen plenty of friend's shots and damn, each was gorgeous!

The Grand Canyon is the same. Here's a link to shot that blogger friend NewMexiKen took on Friday with his iPhone. And it's beautiful!!

I know that there are plenty of similar examples.

On Saturday, I visited one of those "can't take a bad photograph" places. The Good Man and I needed to get out and enjoy the sun, so we took one of my favorite walks along the Marina Green, through Crissy Field and ending up at Fort Point, the Civil War era Army fort located right smack under the Golden Gate Bridge.

No matter how many years I live here, I still think the Golden Gate Bridge is one of the most awe inspiring man made items ever constructed. It's truly breathtaking.

And so yes, I brought my new-to-me camera along for the walk so I could learn how it works, and I snapped away.

Here's the thing...there have been millions upon millions of photographs taken of the bridge, professional and amateur alike. We've all seen it from all of its angles. It's all been done, and so it's damn near impossible to get a new and different shot.

But it doesn't matter. The bridge is stunning, and the photos taken, regardless of photographer, are always worth seeing.

So here we go, this was taken from the pier outside of the Warming Hut at Crissy Field:

It's not an especially different or unique view of the bridge...but it's still cool!

So then I try to add some artistic and photographic flair!

Ooooh! The big boat tie-off thingy in the foreground! And a fishing rod! I'm so artistic!

But what does your eye naturally want to see? The glimmering bridge in the background. With the sailboats underneath, it really makes the shot.

And then there's this one:

We've all seen that view. Doesn't matter. It's still stunning! And that clear blue sky! Whoa!

By the by, it turns out the bridge isn't only pretty up on top with the art deco towers and the graceful support cables.

The bridge is even beautiful underneath:

A man made work of art!

And even this...a terribly composed photograph, but it's still fascinating.

This is the tower on the San Francisco side. It seems to be showing some breakdown and rust. This worries me! I understand that the bridge is constantly being painted to keep it sealed and also looking good. So I'm hoping that cutbacks haven't caused a lack of care of our beautiful landmark.

Anyhow, I adore our orange bridge. Completed in 1937 it still stands proud and useful. I wish those yahoolios who are over budget and failing miserably on the rebuild of the Bay Bridge would take some lessons!

All our modern knowledge and technology still can't beat what they made 73 years ago!

XLIV

Oh fine. I did it. I watched the Super Bowl.

I'm not really a football fan. Baseball is where my heart is at.

But hey, there we were at football's big show, the best of the season, right? So why not watch.

I'd only intended to watch the commercials, and to be honest, it started out that way. I was working in the back room, ignoring the game. I'd listen for the break and trot out there to see what was doing with the commercials.

Damn it all if those Saints didn't pull me into the game. I started watching a few minutes here and there. But then Peyton and the Colts would dominate again, and I would wander to the back room.

Then there was halftime. That Who abomination. Ugh. I watched all of that. I mean, the Twitterverse was lit up with comments about the quite elderly rockers, so I paid attention. Time I won't ever get back in my life...

Disgusted, I gave up once more and went back to my little office and back to writing.

Much better back there.

But then there was that onside kick after halftime. That did it.

I was in.

That, and The Good Man suggested we get some Amici's delivered. Pizza does always make me docile and want to sit low on the couch. So I gave in.

Belly full of pizza and disinclined to move around much, I watched both game and commercials for the entire second half.

Then there was the interception heard 'round the world. I'll be damned. This was actually a really good Super Bowl. Well ok!

In the final analysis, I suppose it was worth my time to give XLIV my attention.

However, the game was way, way better than the commercials this year.

Check out hulu.com if you missed 'em. (Trust me, you didn't miss anything.)

My brief commercial round up...

1. Too slappy (What is this NCIS show and *why* do they hit each other so much?)

2. Weird and unflattering use of little people (And isn't Kiss even more aged than The Who?)

3. Too many tighty whities. Really, boys, if you aren't going to wear pants, have the good grace to wear boxer briefs. I'm asking nicely.

Or is the emasculation of men the new "in" thing?

Rude, I say.

And so there you have it. My Sunday in a nutshell.

Onward to Monday, a day that began with stumbling out of bed and stepping into a puddle of a cat barf. Yay.

But thankfully, no tighty whities in sight.

(um, no)

As Promised

A couple days ago, I alluded to a scouting trip to the Arizona Cactus Garden at Stanford University.

I am taking a photography class and Saturday morning, we had a day field trip that included the Cactus Garden, the mausoleum where Leland Stanford, his wife and child are laid, the Rodin Sculpture Garden at the Cantor Arts Center (I *love* Rodin scupltures!), and the New Guinea Sculpture Garden.

It was an unbelievable day of shooting, getting one-on-one instruction from my wonderful teacher, Marty Springer, and trading ideas and stories with fellow classmates.

For the photography buffs, we were working on both depth of field and exposure compensation all day. For some of the subjects, I took photo after photo trying to find an f-stop that suited me. Oh and the exposure compensation too! A whole new world of better photos has hit me square on!

Next weekend, we do a night shoot where we'll learn about working with light.

Anyhow, below are a couple shots. I took about 350 photos that day. Whew! I put up an online gallery of about 48 of the better shots so my mom, mom-in-law and husband could see what I was up to. You are welcome to take a look as well.

Enjoy!

(click image to view full size)

Biscuit Monster

So, now that we've gone and cancelled our cable, we live at the whims of what's available on the public airwaves.

This means that I've been watching a lot more PBS lately. There's some really fascinating stuff on there!

So I watched, with moist salivary glands, a show called "Everyday Baking."

Host John Barricelli makes some naughty baked things on that show, and the recipes seem pretty easy.

I told The Good Man that I'd watched the show and was going to try my hand at making homemade biscuits.

That grown man, in a full Cookie Monster voice, said "biscuits?"

This morning, I printed out the recipe and placed it on the counter. I will make them later today to be ready for weekend breakfasts.

Every time The Good Man walked by the counter while getting ready for work and spotted the recipe, I heard "biscuits?!?"

He opened the fridge, "hon, why is there a bunch of cut up butter in here?"

"That's for the biscuits, they said the butter needs to be cold and in small chunks."

"Biscuits!?!?"

As he kissed me goodbye for the day, he bounced on the balls of his feet and uttered one last, "biscuits!?!?"

Oh man, with such Cookie Monster passion about these biscuits, now I'm sort of scared. What if they turn out like flour-y hockey pucks?

GAH THE PRESSURE!

Then again, I bought sausage to make sausage gravy. Just about anything tastes ok covered in sausage gravy.

I'm a giver!

Yep, sorry things were so quiet around here yesterday, but The Good Man had a day off from work, so we had a nice Monday together.

And what did we do with that Monday off?

Well. We went to the San Jose Tech Museum of Innovation.

Cool, right?

They chronicle the history of the rise of technology. Especially fitting here in the Bay Area where so much technology got its start.

Oh, and they have an awesome hands on display that shows you how earthquakes work and how the ground liquefies. That display has done a lot to help me understand the phenomenon so well.

But that's not why we went...

Noooo.

We went to see Star Trek - The Exhibition.

Complete with a replica of the bridge of the Starship Enterprise.

I sat in the captain's chair.

Because *I* am a good partner to my sci-fi lovin' husband.

I even leaped through the gateway to the City at the Edge of Forever (the, uh, Guardian of Forever). Oh yes I did.

Because I knew it would make him happy.

Look, I'm not a Star Trek fan. Nor am I a hater.

Ok, fine, I'd watch a few episodes in the early days when I was hanging out with my big brother. I've seen a few of the movies and none of the more recent series (which were heavily represented at the exhibit).

But this day was not about me. It was about The Good Man. And heck, to spend time with him, I'd endure much geekier than a bunch of costumes and gadgets!

Did I ever tell you that in the early days of dating, he took me to a Bela Lugosi film festival?

And I had a great time, too. Because when The Good Man is happy, I'm happy too.

I made him go see The Crafty Chica when she was in town, so really, fair's fair.

Recycled Conversations

So the conversation goes like this:

"Hey, do we have any WD-40?"

"Yeah, I think so, why?"

"Where would it be? I want to fix the squeak in that [curse word] bathroom door."

"Oh. Yeah, it's probably in that same cabinet where we keep the toolbox."

"Ah, ok." sounds of digging around "Found it!"

sounds of more cursing, spraying, door swinging back and forth

Yeah, see, this conversation in a similar form took place on more than occasion between my mom and dad.

The ol' man was hell on squeaks, rattles, and turning off lights when you left a room.

And he was all about the WD-40.

The conversation above? Took place in my home this past weekend.

Only, it was me cursing at the bathroom door, maniacal look on my face as I eliminated the squeak.

So why again is it as you age, you become your parents?

And why again am I becoming my father?

When I start wearing Sears brand jeans and listening to Big Band music, you all have my permission to take me down, Mutual of Omaha-style.

Damn bathroom door is pretty quiet now, though.

I'm just an ol' fashioned girl

Sort of, anyway.

I mean, over the weekend, in fact, last night, I had occasion to make dinner for my husband. I admit, there is something so *deeply* satisfying to cook for my man, and even more so when he took a first bite and made a yummy noise. Gets right to the heart of me!

Ok, so here's another way I may be a bit stodgy. Ladies, listen in here... The weekend just past was Labor Day.

And we all know what that means, right?

Of course, no wearing white after Labor Day. We can wear it again come Easter.

There, I said it. I know, I know, that rule is out of date and there is such a thing as "winter white" and so on.

To me, this rule really applies to two items of clothing...pants and shoes.

A nice crisp white blouse with darker pants is fine.

But pair that with white shoes? *gasp*

My mother, who was, in her day, quite fashionable (don't scoff dear mum, I have the photos to prove it!), taught me the no white after Labor Day rule.

But then she also gave me the handy carve out that, since we lived in New Mexico and the weather stayed warmer in New Mexico than, say, eastern climates, wearing white a little bit longer was acceptable.

But no, I took the rule entirely to heart. Nope, nada, ain't gonna do it! Back in my college days living in the sorority house, I was one of *those* girls who would point and gasp in horror when one of my sisters dared to sport a pair of white heels in the month of September.

Really rude, I know.

Then again...who wears white heels? Seriously.

I seem to have zero trouble following my own rule because...I don't own a pair of white pants. Really, there are only a very select group of women in this world who should be allowed to wear white pants. The rest of us can sit out this fashion, trust me.

And I'm pretty sure I don't own any white shoes either, if you don't count athletic shoes, which I don't. (and mine aren't white anyway)

Pretty much, in my middle years, I'm less and less inclined to get uptight about this rule.

And what kicked off this whole train of thought was an article in Time discussing the origin of the rule. Turns out the history is a bit fuzzy.

Ah well.

Really, in fashion, to each their own, right?

(I'm looking at you, Lady Gaga)

Saaaaaalaute!

So, there I was today, in bumper to bumper traffic, trying to get to work.

The Bay Bridge is closed this weekend for construction, so the traffic patterns in the Bay Area have gone all wonky.

My usual peaceful, easy commute was jammed up. Fine. A fact of life in a highly populated area.

As you may or may not know, in California, it's legal for motorcycle riders to "split the lanes", meaning, they can ride in that space between two cars, side by side in their respective lanes.

It took me quite some time to get used to this, but now, especially in a traffic slowdown, I'm quite alert. As a car driver it's always best to stay the course when a motorcycle comes whipping down between lanes.

This morning, as I sat, fully stopped, I watched the usual parade of motorcycles split the lanes. A Harley rumbled by. A really sweet BMW bike glided through. A couple of those very speedy Japanese bikes that force the rider to stick his rear up (doesn't seem right to go a 100mph with your ass higher than you head, but what do I know?).

And then, in my rearview, I saw this patchwork bike come wobbling along, looking like something out of the Road Warrior films.

Apparently mismatched parts had been collected from the junk pile. The thin tires looked better suited to off road than asphalt. The fender didn't match the bumper. It made a sound like a monkey wrench caught in the spin cycle.

But the rider sat tall in the saddle. He was decked in leathers and fully in command of his vehicle, proudly guiding his bike through Bay Area traffic.

And as he passed by, I noted the New Mexico license plate bolted firmly to the back.

As he rode away, out of sight, I held hand to my heart and quietly hummed "O Fair New Mexico".

"O Fair New Mexico, we love, we love you so...."

Thank you, New Mexico, for keeping it rasquache, even here in the Bay Area.

Oh so ready for the Labor Day Weekend. Happy and safe one, ya'll!

These are a few of my favorite things

Over the weekend we had to make one of those never any fun but always essential visits to Target. You know that trip, the list includes toilet paper, laundry soap, toothpaste, etc.

You spend a hundred bucks and don't even bring home anything fun.

I was *very* adamant with myself on this trip that I would get only what was on my list, and not wander.

Oh, I can wander. At a Target? I'm a wandering, shopping fool.

But no. The Good Man and I made a list. A thoughtful, in depth list. And I promised to stick to it.

Gah! But it's Taaaaarget!

No, no. Must be austere. Financial times are tough. Tighten the ol' belt and whatnot.

So I pushed that little red shopping cart up and down the aisles. Razor blades, check. Kitty litter, check. Toilet bowl cleaner, check.

But then. Oh then...I rounded the corner, and at the end of the row, I landed promptly in the...oh sigh...school supplies aisle.

And by aisle, I mean huge display.

Oh yes, Target has the "back to school" on with gusto.

I caught my first whiff of brand new three ring binders and I was suddenly intoxicated.

I stepped into the brightly lit and vibrantly colored area, eyes wide, wandering around like a hillbilly at Times Square.

It was delicious.

They have one whole section devoted to Crayola items. I *adore* all things Crayola. Those are some damn fine people who put out the Crayola product line!

I'm not going to lie to you, I plucked a sixty-four count box of Crayons from the bin, lifted to my nose, and sniffed.

*sniiiiiiiiiif* Oh yeah, that's the stuff.

I fondled a twenty-four pack of fine line Crayola markers. I even took them from the rack, intent on purchase.

But, no. No, damnit, I must be strong.

I looked at notebooks. I do love a fresh, clean, happy notebook full of blank pages, just waiting to be sullied by my new twenty-four pack of markers!

No, no. Steady soldier!

My eyes grew hazy as I gazed at the selection of pens, Elmer's school glue, hole punches, pencil cases, protractors, and back packs.

Gad, it was heady stuff! I loved every minute of it. I basked. I wandered. I touched and sniffed and generally fell in love all over again with school supplies.

Mind you, I don't miss school. That part was never fun, but the school supplies! Oh the supplies. So great.

After leaving the store with my purchases, (I held strong and stuck to the list), I noted that two storefronts down was a Staples.

Egads, I had to walk past it!

But no, I'd had my hit. I was still riding high, so I was fine.

I walked past the Staples strong and confident, the waxy smell of Crayons still lingering in my nostrils.

Postcard Memories

I have been spending some time immersed in the Penny Postcards from New Mexico site (the link, a gift from my mom-in-law).

A lot of these cards predate me, but they also evoke lots of chest squeezing, heart wrenching homesickness.

My folks lived in Albuquerque back in the 1950's, so as a kid, I loved to look through their photo albums and see my folks so young and vibrant, and the fair city of Albuquerque so sparse yet growing. A young town with an active military base.

Seeing these postcards makes me melancholy, but in that good way.

Look at this one, the venerable old Kimo Theater. A little worse for the wear these days, but still...a beautiful building.

Seeing this postcard I have a million memories of walking down Central, past the Kimo, on my way to who knows where (stores, bars, restaurants, etc!).

Speaking of Central Ave, how about this one:

Wow. Did it every really look like that? And yet, it did. Really, only in my dreams anymore, I suppose.

And this one makes me laugh right out loud.

Entitled "Scenic Drive Through Carlsbad Caverns National Park".

Yeeeah, it might be a *bit* of a stretch to call the area around Carlsbad "scenic", but I do love the, erm..."artistic license" they took with the colors of the landscape in this postcard:

Good stuff, fun to see all the postcards. It's a contented sigh I have as I look through them all.

Oh Fair New Mexico...missing you today.

Happy Weekend, everyone!

What do you get for the girl...

...who wandered away from home, and might be a little bit lost?

This weekend my best friend arrived, and it couldn't have happened at a better time.

Lately, I've been, yes, a little bit lost. Been thrown off my center of gravity and unable to get myself back right.

The Good Man has been a champ in propping me up, rubbing my shoulders, sending me back out there for the fight.

I keep swinging. And keep getting knocked down.

Then that great gal I described last week, the one who has been in my court for twenty plus years shows up...back up troops, you might say.

And from her roller bag, she pulls out some completely unexpected presents for my belated birthday.

In the presents, she had this (pardon the iPhone photo fuzziness):

That gift was the idea of my two goddaughters (her kids).

"Open it, friend," she said, "and take a whiff."

At first I thought it was some sort of unknown-to-me spice. But I was wrong.

I opened. I inhaled.

Inside that little canning jar, hauled on a plane all the way from New Mexico, was a little sprig of creosote.

"Smells like rain," she said. She was right.

"Smells like home," I said, and had to blink really fast so I didn't dissolve into a huge puddle right there on the red couch.

Another time, another place

: Cue the wavy lines : Today we're headed down memory lane.

The year was 1988. Hmm...I believe we're talking Fall semester of school? My memory is often weak. If so, then the month would have been August, or maybe September.

It was warm, I remember that. Then again, it's always warm in Las Cruces.

I was a student at New Mexico State University. Enrolled in the College of Business.

I was also a member of a social sorority. Yes, now it can be told. Me, I was a sorority girl. Though it didn't mean what you think of when you think of that stereotype.

NMSU is a different sort of college and the group I belonged to wasn't your typical sort of sorority. But yes, it can't be denied. I'm a sorority girl. My husband never thought he'd end up with a sorority girl. I never thought I'd end up with an ROTC guy. Things change...

I had only joined the group just the semester before. It was all pretty new to me. But summer was ending and it was time to engage in "rush", that every semester ritual whereby you try to convince new people to join (new members, the lifeblood of any organization).

We had to practice for days. Learning songs, doing skits, working on conversation skills, coming up with party theme ideas. Figuring out how to be little drone salespeople, I realize now, in my later years.

So we'd line up, white Keds sparkling in the New Mexico sunshine, shorts perfectly creased, hair teased impossibly high. We were a'twitter with anticipation about meeting the new young ladies who would come to our house to learn about us, and our particular sorority.

They would gather on the front walk and we'd run out, do some awkward singing on the lawn, then select one of the girls, cut her from the herd and bring her inside.

From there, we'd engage in some banal conversation for about ten minutes. Then with the subtle cue, we'd "switch partners" and go on to the next girl, engage is similar inane conversation, and on and on. So it went.

At the end of the day, we'd compare notes and decide who we wanted to invite back the next day.

So on that fateful day back in 1988, the theme of the party was somehow something Jamaican. We'd adapted the words to Bob Marley's "One Love" to fit in things about our sorority (a travesty, if there ever was one).

For reasons I can't explain, yards and yards of camouflage netting had been hung from the ceilings in the house...to really bring in that tropical feel?

Being the well-behaved drone, I lined up, I ran outside, I sang, I selected, and dragged this poor young lady into the house.

Her name was Kathleen.

She was extraordinarily tall, dark hair, face full of charming freckles, and the brightest blue eyes in the world.

At six feet all, she had to spend the day ducked under that low hanging camo net, but was a good sport about it. She was a little shy, but we hit it off. We saw the world in a similar way, and I really thought she was cool. Her mom had been a member of the same sorority, what they call "a legacy," so she was pretty odds on to make the cut.

Ten minutes passed fast, and I moved on, reluctantly. Later, in the voting round, I gave her a big thumbs up, as did all the others.

She soon joined, became "a pledge" and I got to know her more. We became distant friends, she ran pretty thick with the girl who was my roommate. They did everything together. But we were friends and always got along.

The story goes on at some length from here. Too much to tell, really.

I'll fast forward a bit. A couple years later, some adversity hit Kathleen's life. Hard. Big. Overwhelming. In a bid to deal with a pending breakdown, she did some stuff that made sense in the mind of youth. Some crazy sh*t that seemed like a big deal at the time, but in my now grown up eyes, looks incredibly not even noteworthy.

Because of all of that, she lost a lot of friends back then. People with small minds who didn't want to understand. People who maybe weren't really friends to begin with.

But through all that, she didn't lose me.

In fact, that adversity she struggled through moved us from being pretty good friends to rock solid life-long best friends. 99.999% of the fun I've had up until I met The Good Man is directly attributable to her. Pretty much every wayback machine moment I have written about on this site, she was either there or more likely was the catalyst.

A lot has gone on in the twenty-plus years since. We both graduated, grew up, became actual adults, all against our will.

Tomorrow evening, I have the honor of driving to the airport to pick up my best good friend of now some unbelievable twenty years. She will be here for a weekend that likely will move way too fast.

Attached is a very small photo (sorry about the size, I don't have the original handy) of my best friend and me on my wedding day. I wouldn't have anyone else at my side. She's just said something that has cracked. me. up.

You don't laugh that hard with someone who you kind of feel fond about...you laugh that hard with someone who is family.

I love that girl. I can hardly wait to see her!

P.S. Not to be all selfish, but to have both my best girlfriend and The Good Man together this weekend, two people who are always in my court, it's kind of all about me, and...well, hell, it's *good* to be me!

The Power of Nothing

"Hey Karen, what are you going to do this weekend?"

"Nothing!"

True conversation held last Friday.

The last two and a half months have been nothing short of a rat race. Every weekend something was brewing.

Every. Weekend. Since May.

Most of the stuff was good. Traveling, dinner with friends and family, visiting newly born godbabies, etc.

Also, both The Good Man and I celebrated birthdays over that time span.

There was also some crap stuff, like moving out of our place for termite tenting.

Every weekend was a blur, non-stop, arriving back at work Monday more tired then when I'd left the previous Friday.

I'm a Taurus, and by nature, a bit of an at-home kind of girl. Bonding with the red couch is my sort of speed.

My Gemini love is more of a "let's GOOOOO" sort of fellow.

So for us, it is about striking a balance.

Combine my natural tendency to lay about with a couple months of mistreatment at the hands of my employers, and you have Little Johnny Karen on the verge of something not pretty.

All work and no play makes Karen a very, very cranky girl.

And so, for the past two and a half months I have been plotting and planning a weekend that included zero plans with anyone other than me, the husband and the feline.

I had targeted this past weekend for some time and was a little bit cranky in defending it. We had no less than FOUR invitations to do something this weekend. All of which, we turned down.

Sure, that may make me a bad friend, but I have my sanity to consider.

So finally, the delicious weekend of July 18th arrived, and good for my word, I did nothing.

Ok, to be fair, I did a few things. Laundry. Landlord came to make some needed repairs. Ran a few errands.

But I also took a *nap* on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh delicious mouth watering naps.

I also made dinner for me and the cutest boy on Saturday night. Took the time and made a genuine homemade dinner! Imgaine that!

You know what else? I *read* a book. My god, it's like vacation porn. I actually sat on my tush and READ A BOOK. Ay god. Makes me drool just remembering.

So as it will, Monday has returned to my life, but so far so good. I feel a bit rested, calmer, ready to take on the slings and arrows that will inevitably land my way.

Next weekend, it all begins again. Rev up the big machine and start running. Won't see another break until September...*sigh*

My new motto: Do nothing. And do it *really* well!

P.S. and all those old fashioned "you must get up early and work hard!" because you think it makes you moral-and-just type of folks. To you, I say BAH!

P.P.S. And BAH! again!

Whoa, whoa the Fourth of July...whoa!

Man. Can't believe we're already into July. Of 2009. Wow.

Been a little quiet here on the blog-o-rama since I was out and about all weekend.

Big fun. Well worth it!

Sure, I thought I could never top last year's holiday celebration, featuring the viewing of fireworks from a Cessna aeroplane.

But this year went ahead and topped it.

There were fireworks, but not like you think.

This year, The Good Man and I loaded up the car and went on a road trip.

Destination: LA

Reason? My amazing, world-class talented cousin wrote and produced a musical and chose this weekend for a family and friends weekend show.

Now, I had read an early version of the script, so I knew what to expect, but this show blew well past even my own expectations!

It was an amazing night, all around.

So there we were in West Hollywood...my cousin was wise and prescient enough to get us a limo (easy to corral a lot of family that way!).

We all got ourselves dolled up for the show and loaded up. Off we went, cruising the streets of Los Angeles.

So yeah, you know, on the Fourth, I got to emerge from a limo, in LA, on my way to this fabulous new show...

Cuz I roll like that.

Yes, I was able to keep my skirt down as I emerged. Yes, I was also wearing chones. I also roll like that.

No one needs to know that really, rather than "emerge" from the limo, my high heeled foot slipped off the step rail, thus whacking the side of my foot on the way down and causing me to actually tumble out of the limo.

But in my memory, when I retell the story, I emerged gracefully, like an elegant movie star from a bygone era.

It was just all around, an amazing weekend that went by way WAY too fast. I got to be with my cousin, one of my most favorite people in the whole world. I got to be with family, I got to see a killer show, I got to hit a couple Hollywood hot spots, and I got to have another amazing memory to make with my fabulous husband.

I can't ask for anything better than all that!

And now, here we are at Monday.

This morning, there is a line for the auto-espresso maker.

The light of day in the real world is always a bit of a let down, now in'nit?

I have a conflicted

This whole social networking thing, I've been reticent about it. Then on further examination, I acquiesced a bit.

But I have a reticent again.

As you may know, I've joined the folks who are using Twitter. Sure, yes, I tweet.

Banal stuff I tweet, I admit. But I enjoy the challenge of 140 characters. Plus it's fun to see what other's can cram into such a small space.

Often I read stuff on there makes me sigh and shake my head. Example: a local sports broadcaster takes to Twitter to describe the quality of his bowel movements. A regular man, seems to hit him daily about eleven a.m.

*sigh*

Then there's some good stuff, too. Local SanFran author Christopher Moore has the best tweets of my follow list, bar none. Example: "Steve Jobs had liver transplant. Glad he finally acknowledged the value of cut and paste."

So okay, there's fun stuff out there, it's not all bad. I rather enjoy tweeting, heck, as you know, I even recently participated in a twitter story writing contest. So I'm on board!

Only, this weekend, I might have hit a wall.

I follow Ann Curry on Twitter. She's been Tweeting pretty hard about what's going on in Iran. I personally have tried very hard to keep a distance from all that. It's horrible, and my heart goes out to the victims and their families, but I have a neurotic worry gene (thanks, Mom) and if I let myself follow what's happening, I will lose my grip.

So, yeah, I have been reading Ann's tweets, even though I'm not sure this is the best way for the news to travel, I read them to keep up to speed, a little, on the progress.

That said, on Saturday, Ann tweeted quite a bit about the escalation of the protests in Iran. Scary stuff, here's some examples:

"Credible source was eyewittness (sic) to pepper spraying of about 100 protestors #iranelection"

"Iran state tv claims explosion at tomb of revered Ayatollah Khomeini. Would incite anger against protesters. Is it true? #iranelection"

"More reports of police using tear gas and water cannons to disperse thousands #iranelection"

Yikes. I was taking all of this in, feeling that familiar fear and dread...and then moved on to read more tweets on the same page by other twitter folks that I follow.

Here's where my train derailed.

Along with scary stuff from Iran, here's what else I found on the same page:

"just getting up, still drunk I think." (from a local journalist for the SF Chronicle and a prolific author)

"Destroyed by dim sum and good friends." (from the rather successful owner of a small business)

"I'm thinking of something like this for (my second house), so perhaps I'll go to C&B and see how it looks in person. (furniture item, link redacted)." (from a blogger and editorial writer for one of Seattle's independent newspapers).

So, look, I'm not following Buffy the Wonder Ditz on Twitter, I have thoughtfully chosen which tweets I see, but still, I was startled by the juxtaposition of the uses of Twitter.

Actually, The Good Man pointed it out as he read over my shoulder. I didn't even see it. Perhaps I'm so twitterheaded it didn't look strange.

I think Twitter can be used pretty well as a marketing tool. Heck, when I tweet a link to my blog, I can count on about 10 to 15 extra eyeballs that day. So that's good, right? Blog traffic is really nice.

But is all this self-focused, self-absorbed social networking really meaningful? (asks the self-focused, self-absorbed blogger)

I don't know, something changed for me on Saturday. I like Twitter, enjoy using it, but then think...what am I *doing*?!

I don't have the answers, I'm really just talking it out here. But last week, I was kind of into Twitter and enjoying it. Now, I'm not so sure.

Anyhow...just some pondering for a Monday.

Didja ever...

Have a meal so good, you actually missed it when it was gone?

Yesterday, The Good Man and I spent the morning on house clean up. We're still going through boxes and boxes of "combined home" items, getting rid of stuff, repacking, cleaning up storage, all of that.

By lunchtime, I was sweaty, my back hurt, and I was hungry. I had a hankering for a tasty sandwich, and remembered that a local spot, Max's, has a good offering.

I'll spare you all the gory details and cut to the chase. Max's serves up a very, very nice Reuben. I mean the kind with the perfectly toasted rye bread, melty cheese everywhere, tart sauerkraut, delicious salty corned beef and thick thousand island.

Oh yeah, baby!

Served with cucumber salad on the side, TGM and I dove in with gusto. So delicious.

When the feeding frenzy was over, bellies round as we pondered the world around us, the TGM said it, "that was good....I wish I'd eaten slower...I kind of miss it now."

Truth is...today, I still kind of miss that sandwich.

Now that there is the sign of some good eats.

I'm *certain* we both worked hard enough all morning to justify the outrageous calorie consumption...right....?

Oh Dear!

I believe we have a rogue deer in my part of the world.

How, might you ask, would I know that?

Because, I am a woman of New Mexico, daughter of a hunter and champion poo identifier.

That, my friends, is a healthy, well-fed ruminant.

So normally this wouldn't bother me, but this little deposit, made Saturday evening, is located less than a foot from my home.

True, I live pretty much in the suburbs, but it's not THAT suburban. We do have some open land a couple miles away from us, but it's pretty tight housing and people where I'm at.

Here in California, we are SO anti the mountain lion, one gets spotted at a fair distance and the *freak* out happens. Quickly it's captured and relocated or killed.

See, if we hadn't killed all the mountain lions, those stick-legged animals wouldn't be leaving their leavings in my front yard!

That's the circle of life, people!

I'd be more than happy to help Bambi the Yard Visitor make his or her way onto my dinner plate, but noooo, California can't have *that*.

Bambi is cute and doesn't have sharp paws, so he gets to stick around, ruining fences, gardens and causing havoc but the feline meat eaters get ostracized.

*sigh*

(Note to my readers: oh yes I DID just post a poo photo on my blog! If the award winning Pioneer Woman can do it, well, so can I!)