Generally speaking, I don't care much for history. I took American History while I was in High School. It was taught by Suad Stratton. She was 4 ft nuthin' and from Pakistan. She made all of her "S's" look like kitty cats by adding ears and whiskers. She used to say things like "forward your papers to the back" and "even if your neighbor is bleeding in the neck during a test don't talk to him." I'm serious here. Suffice it to say I didn't embrace history.
Now movie history I can get into. I own the hardcover coffee table book about Gone with the Wind. I've read at least 100 times. I can tell you in great detail how Scarlett O'Hara was cast, but if you want any real world information about Pearl Harbor, the Constitution or Paul Revere, I can't help you. I am one of those poor pathetic American souls walking around who can't name all the members of the cabinet. But I can't tell who won the most Academy Awards. It was Walt Disney.
So it's fair to say I'm not big into the old and dead. Well...kind of. I've recently become somewhat of a trunk 'ho. My decline to 'ho-dom began with, of all things, Craigslist. If you're not familiar with Craigslist. It rules. It's like Ebay but cheaper. It's basically an online version of the local classified ads but without posting fees. I started dabbling in Craiglist trying to pawn off some unused trash and treasure on unsuspecting Madisonians. I'm all about purging. Through my posts I stumbled across a cedar chest. I've always wanted one but the current day cedar chests are these horrible chests that are glorified country style with swirls and spindles. That's not me. I'm more euro-contemporary and eclectic.
My Grandma had a a cedar chest that my sister took possesion of when she died. A lovely 1940's Lane waterfall art deco cedarchest. I got my Grandmothers really cool star shaped Christmas tree stand that need to be stripped sanded and repainted. It's been 17+ years since her death and it still needs to be stripped, sanded and repainted. Ho hum.
In any case - here on Craigslist in front of God and everyone was my Grandmothers cedar chest. Ok, not her cedar chest since that one is actually in San Francisco with my sister, but an exact replica. Pristine condition. Even BETTER then my Grandmas.
$425.00 later. It's mine. How happy am I? I am hooked. Hooked on craigslist. If I can find a cedar chest I can certainly find an old trunk. I've always wanted one of those too. BINGO! I find this old trunk for, uh $40. And it's rough. Real rough. It needs work. Real work. The kind of work that my fantasy of summer and fall spent in the garage lovingly restoring a really cool trunk promptly evaporated into the hard cold reality that I have bitten off more then I can chew with my $40 find. And so I do what any good girl does...
I Google. Trunk restoration. And a bunch of sites pop up. So I start sniffing around until I find EagleTrunks.com. And while I am deciding how I want my $40 trunk fixed up I buy one of Gary's trunks. Because, you know, I want a sure thing and if my $40 trunk turns out to be crap at least I'll have the totally cool 1870's wooden trunk with the original lock and key and the original REAL WOOD HANDLES! Wood handles. Honestly. I bought this trunk because of the handles. And then I buy another one for my son. I have a real problem here. I'm a trunk junkie. I am checking this guys website every couple of days. I'm figuring a trunk in each room. How cool would that be? My husband's head is spinning. And I've scared the nice guy at Eagletrunks with my babbling emails. Truly frightenend him. Crazy trunk 'ho on the loose. Menace to society. Lock up the kids. EEEEK!
I'm sure at this point, if you've hung in there this far, you are wondering where the alien space craft is that took the real "me" and left this trunk loving' ho. It smacks of history. Me doesn't like history.
Maybe because I'm on the precipice of turning 40 (can't stop it might as well embrace it - yeah, ok, I'm grasping here), but I admit there is a certain romance about an old trunk. What is the story behind my wooden trunk. What stories and treasures were kept inside?
My $40, soon to be $400 trunk (once I have it restored) has the original pink satin lining with a little tray and secret compartment. I imagine it was a ladies trunk. Maybe a young lady stored her love letters, poems, diary or dried up corsage in that secret compartment. I admit I patted down the interior lining just in case those old love letters were still there (I told you I watch ALOT of movies - but it would have been a great story if there was something there!) So it could be my, ahem, advancing maturity. A mid-life crisis disguised as a need for trunks. Or maybe it's something geeky and philisophical like the reality of my mortality that has turned a reasonably normal well-adjusted woman into a crazed trunk junkie. I think I just like trunks. They are just plain cool.
Onto my shameless plug for eagletrunks. This is of my own volition. If I like something I tell everybody and their brother...kind of like the pashmina website. I have 4 of those. :) He restores beautiful trunks. The owner has a good sense of humor and writing style. He was in the Navy and I have always had a weakness for military folks and the guy left his corporte job to do something creative. I am jealous of that. I am trying to do that with my little tye-dye gig but the sad reality is I need the healthcare. Frankly when it comes right down to it sucks to be the family benefit breadwinner.
So I'm going to wrap this all up now (you thought it would never get here). The nifty part of this trunk phase is that I am now part of the history of this really beautiful trunk with the wooden handles. And my soon-to-be-restored-as-soon-as-I-package-it-and-mail-it will contain my saved treasures. And then it's back to craigslist to see what other bit of history I can unearth.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
And just like that...
There are moments as a parent that on the surface read as small as insignificant but in reality are bigger then I had ever imagined. These are not the traditional “milestones” of first tooth, first word or first day of school. I expected those. I was prepared for them. I waited for them and celebrated their occurrence with pomp and circumstance.
It’s the small subtle indicators that signal independence and growing up. Those are the curveballs that grab my attention by painfully smacking me upside the head.
My son started middle school 3 day ago. He’s spent a whole 28 hours of class time as a middle schooler. My labor lasted longer. What could possibly have transpired in those 28 hours that was so different from his 5th grade experiences? Oh the expectations are greater. He’s learning how to “take notes” and play different band instruments. He will now receive letter grades instead of elementary school number assessments. Okay. I knew that was coming. I am fine with all that.
We were heaped on the bed in my bedroom chatting about the day, discussing his new teachers and all the new stuff that’s been occurring. And then he says he’s tired and it’s time for bed and then it happens….
“I can tuck myself in.”
Ugh.
Rip my heart out and stomp on it.
And just like that his need from mom or dad to straighten covers and flip off the light has ended.
I am blindsided.
I didn’t see that coming.
I have a goose egg on my head from the curveball.
Did I actually think he would want us to tuck him in forever? Frankly I don’t know how to answer that.
In the blink of an eye we went from the center of his universe to still part of the universe but now he is defining his own parameters. I am not ready for it. Not by a long shot.
It’s the small subtle indicators that signal independence and growing up. Those are the curveballs that grab my attention by painfully smacking me upside the head.
My son started middle school 3 day ago. He’s spent a whole 28 hours of class time as a middle schooler. My labor lasted longer. What could possibly have transpired in those 28 hours that was so different from his 5th grade experiences? Oh the expectations are greater. He’s learning how to “take notes” and play different band instruments. He will now receive letter grades instead of elementary school number assessments. Okay. I knew that was coming. I am fine with all that.
We were heaped on the bed in my bedroom chatting about the day, discussing his new teachers and all the new stuff that’s been occurring. And then he says he’s tired and it’s time for bed and then it happens….
“I can tuck myself in.”
Ugh.
Rip my heart out and stomp on it.
And just like that his need from mom or dad to straighten covers and flip off the light has ended.
I am blindsided.
I didn’t see that coming.
I have a goose egg on my head from the curveball.
Did I actually think he would want us to tuck him in forever? Frankly I don’t know how to answer that.
In the blink of an eye we went from the center of his universe to still part of the universe but now he is defining his own parameters. I am not ready for it. Not by a long shot.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Random Bits of Nothingness Volume 2
I have writers block.
Let me rephrase. I have writers block for anything lengthy and cohesive. If you’re looking for disjointed garbled bits of content then I’m your gal.
Garbled Bit #1
The source of my block can be directly attributed to the stress I am feeling over my RENG 151 Research Paper writing course. 4 credits and $1252 dollars closer to that elusive bachelors degree. The angst of trying to select a topic, narrow it sufficiently, research it, write it, edit it and then pull together a cited works page AND an annotated bibliography in 7 weeks is staggering. Then toss in some random literary analysis of a Henry James novella (BO-ring) and I’m frankly surprised I can burble out any sentences at all.
Henry James. That’s a snooze fest. Literary analysis? Cripes! Frankly I think Henry James just wrote a story (a BO-ring story). End of discussion. Right? WRONG! All these over-puffed literary wanna-bes spent hours picking apart every word only to conclude the Governess didn’t really see ghosts but she is self-projecting her wanton latent sexually repressed self. Okay. Whatever. I’m not exactly sure how that conclusion was made. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.
Garbled Bit #2
Because my luck isn’t bad enough I am prone to regular reoccurring leg cramps during what should be peaceful slumber. Instead I have peaceful slumber punctuated by blistering pain of phenomenal proportions. I have had both labor pains and a kidney stone which both hurt like a bugger. A Charlie horse is tantamount to torture. Knee dropping, writhing, teeth clenching pain. Not discomfort. Pain. Owie. My calf is still sore.
Garbled Bit #3
Bonzai is still sporting a lampshade. But his nether-regions are healing nicely and we should only have one more week of lampshade fashion. Hurray for all.
Garbled Bit #4
I’ve finally, finally, finally gotten to a point where I can feed all three cats the same diet. This seems like it would be a no brainer. The rest of the world feeds their cats Purina Cat Chow. My cats on the other hand, as evidence by mention of vet bills in previous blogs, all required a special diet (read expensive). This of course led to feeding woes (yup – that’s already part of another blog). Now it’s one diet for all. This of course does nothing to eliminate their perception that what’s in the other dish is better then what's in their dish. Cue cake walk music. Musical feeding dishes. It still cracks me up.
Garbled Bit #5
Attaching a picture of Boomer. He’s a naughty counter jumper. Bad kitty. But he does know how to relax and is especially fond of splaying out spread-eagled underneath the ceiling fan. He likes to air out his naughty bits. Either that or he's dreaming he's part of a bank heist. Reach for the sky.
Garbled Bit #6
The painter is finally coming. Yay. Of course I am not ready despite knowing about this paint job for 3 full months. I have managed to procrastinate removing the stuff off the capped closet and wiping up what I am sure is at least an inch of dust. So guess who had to race home this afternoon to take care of it. I am frankly giddy at the prospect of a freshly painted house. That’s completely lame. I’ve turned into one of those weird psycho people that gets excited about new bathroom towels, a front loading washing machine and new paint. “L” is for loser.
And so far I've retrieved 6 glitter kitty pom pom toys...2 from under the sofa and 4 from under the chair. We haven't even moved the fridge and stove yet. I'm sure it will be the motherlode...
Garbled Bit #7 (Last one I promise)
I applied for my first real craft show in Madison. Terrifying! What if I don’t get accepted? Worse yet…what if I do? Then I need to scramble about booth displays and fatten up my inventory. Upon casual glance around my office it looks like tye dye threw up so it appears I have inventory-a-plenty but I’m having big grandiose ideas of new items. Dresses and union suits and rompers, oh my. Then what if I make all this new stuff and sell nothing? Then I’ll have a gazillion tye dye rompers. What the heck do I do with that? What if I sell out. URGH! I could make myself crazy with this.
Time to wrap up this cohesive bit of nothingness and get cracking on that research paper. And Henry James awaits. Lucky me.
Let me rephrase. I have writers block for anything lengthy and cohesive. If you’re looking for disjointed garbled bits of content then I’m your gal.
Garbled Bit #1
The source of my block can be directly attributed to the stress I am feeling over my RENG 151 Research Paper writing course. 4 credits and $1252 dollars closer to that elusive bachelors degree. The angst of trying to select a topic, narrow it sufficiently, research it, write it, edit it and then pull together a cited works page AND an annotated bibliography in 7 weeks is staggering. Then toss in some random literary analysis of a Henry James novella (BO-ring) and I’m frankly surprised I can burble out any sentences at all.
Henry James. That’s a snooze fest. Literary analysis? Cripes! Frankly I think Henry James just wrote a story (a BO-ring story). End of discussion. Right? WRONG! All these over-puffed literary wanna-bes spent hours picking apart every word only to conclude the Governess didn’t really see ghosts but she is self-projecting her wanton latent sexually repressed self. Okay. Whatever. I’m not exactly sure how that conclusion was made. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.
Garbled Bit #2
Because my luck isn’t bad enough I am prone to regular reoccurring leg cramps during what should be peaceful slumber. Instead I have peaceful slumber punctuated by blistering pain of phenomenal proportions. I have had both labor pains and a kidney stone which both hurt like a bugger. A Charlie horse is tantamount to torture. Knee dropping, writhing, teeth clenching pain. Not discomfort. Pain. Owie. My calf is still sore.
Garbled Bit #3
Bonzai is still sporting a lampshade. But his nether-regions are healing nicely and we should only have one more week of lampshade fashion. Hurray for all.
Garbled Bit #4
I’ve finally, finally, finally gotten to a point where I can feed all three cats the same diet. This seems like it would be a no brainer. The rest of the world feeds their cats Purina Cat Chow. My cats on the other hand, as evidence by mention of vet bills in previous blogs, all required a special diet (read expensive). This of course led to feeding woes (yup – that’s already part of another blog). Now it’s one diet for all. This of course does nothing to eliminate their perception that what’s in the other dish is better then what's in their dish. Cue cake walk music. Musical feeding dishes. It still cracks me up.
Garbled Bit #5
Attaching a picture of Boomer. He’s a naughty counter jumper. Bad kitty. But he does know how to relax and is especially fond of splaying out spread-eagled underneath the ceiling fan. He likes to air out his naughty bits. Either that or he's dreaming he's part of a bank heist. Reach for the sky.
Garbled Bit #6
The painter is finally coming. Yay. Of course I am not ready despite knowing about this paint job for 3 full months. I have managed to procrastinate removing the stuff off the capped closet and wiping up what I am sure is at least an inch of dust. So guess who had to race home this afternoon to take care of it. I am frankly giddy at the prospect of a freshly painted house. That’s completely lame. I’ve turned into one of those weird psycho people that gets excited about new bathroom towels, a front loading washing machine and new paint. “L” is for loser.
And so far I've retrieved 6 glitter kitty pom pom toys...2 from under the sofa and 4 from under the chair. We haven't even moved the fridge and stove yet. I'm sure it will be the motherlode...
Garbled Bit #7 (Last one I promise)
I applied for my first real craft show in Madison. Terrifying! What if I don’t get accepted? Worse yet…what if I do? Then I need to scramble about booth displays and fatten up my inventory. Upon casual glance around my office it looks like tye dye threw up so it appears I have inventory-a-plenty but I’m having big grandiose ideas of new items. Dresses and union suits and rompers, oh my. Then what if I make all this new stuff and sell nothing? Then I’ll have a gazillion tye dye rompers. What the heck do I do with that? What if I sell out. URGH! I could make myself crazy with this.
Time to wrap up this cohesive bit of nothingness and get cracking on that research paper. And Henry James awaits. Lucky me.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Solitude and the E Collar
You might be wondering how these things go together. Think of like a one of those movies like “Magnolia” or a Robert Altman film that is told is fits and starts but all comes together in the end. Or so I hope.
I am a big fan of solitude. I need my down time. Alone time. Me time. Whatever label you want to put on it is fine with me. It smacks of selfishness but it’s ultimately a good thing or else I’d be stark raving mad.
The family – dear spouse and son have headed north this labor day to the family farm. His family not mine. I’m a glorified city girl. A reality that after 17+ years of marriage still has his family reeling.
I needed some solitude. Specifically some additional purge time. The house is being painted next week and there is much to be done with removing things from the walls and moving the refrigerator to see what lurks underneath. I’m guessing there is at least enough cat hair to knit another cat and a minimum of 30 of those sparkly pom-pom kitty balls. We buy them by the gross. Ok – gross exaggeration (pardon my punny-ness). We should buy them by the gross. I buy them by the handful and then *poof* - they disappear to god knows where. Some big magical mystical place with lone socks, Tupperware lids and fuzzy glitter kitty toys.
Of course my family has been gone all day and I haven’t done one thing to prepare for painting. Naturally. I have spent plenty of time messing around with my website and managed to dye a few new shirts. But nothing even remotely related to painting preparation.
I am a big fan of solitude. I need my down time. Alone time. Me time. Whatever label you want to put on it is fine with me. It smacks of selfishness but it’s ultimately a good thing or else I’d be stark raving mad.
The family – dear spouse and son have headed north this labor day to the family farm. His family not mine. I’m a glorified city girl. A reality that after 17+ years of marriage still has his family reeling.
I needed some solitude. Specifically some additional purge time. The house is being painted next week and there is much to be done with removing things from the walls and moving the refrigerator to see what lurks underneath. I’m guessing there is at least enough cat hair to knit another cat and a minimum of 30 of those sparkly pom-pom kitty balls. We buy them by the gross. Ok – gross exaggeration (pardon my punny-ness). We should buy them by the gross. I buy them by the handful and then *poof* - they disappear to god knows where. Some big magical mystical place with lone socks, Tupperware lids and fuzzy glitter kitty toys.
Of course my family has been gone all day and I haven’t done one thing to prepare for painting. Naturally. I have spent plenty of time messing around with my website and managed to dye a few new shirts. But nothing even remotely related to painting preparation.
The other event that precluded my participation north to the farm was Bonzai, my cat. My sweet little 18 month kitty cat that has had the misfortune of having three surgeries in 2 months.
If you listen hard you can hear the sound of sirens going off at Citibank Mastercard (whoop whoop whoop).
I could go through a big long drawn out explanation of said surgery but lets just say it’s in a delicate area and as a result my kitty is begrudgingly sporting an e-collar. Let’s face it – it’s a clear plastic lampshade with a strip of Velcro to prevent inappropriate licking of said delicate area while healing. I think it cost $20. He looks like a martian. As a result of the e-collar and administering of kitty narcotics for pain management it was prudent for me to stay back home and keep care of my investment, uh, I mean pet. You’ll be happy to know he is comfortably high, the surgical site is healing well but I had to add a strip of duct tape to the collar because he has a nasty habit of trying to pull it off. Can you blame him? If I had a plastic lampshade on my head I would pull it off too.
Ok – now the part where I pull it all together. So the misfortune of my large vet bills and cat sporting an e-collar played into my need for solitude, which I have enjoyed until about 8am tomorrow when I need to get down to brass tacks and prep for the painter. No really I do.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Guilty Pleasures
I am dedicating this blog to guilty pleasures. I am in a guilty pleasure frame of mind. As soon as I am done with this blog I am driving right to Culvers to get a Turtle Sundae with extra pecans. It’s been a helluva week. It started off with three solid days of corporate schmooze. The wine and dine. The smiling and nodding. The rich use of corporate buzzwords like “adjacencies, table stakes, strategies, go-forward basis and holistically.”
For example:
“Offering XYZ feature is tablestakes. We need to look at the adjacencies that our product can branch into from a holistic perspective on a go-forward basis and then define our strategy.”
I wish I was kidding. I am not.
Onto Guilty Pleasures. These are my Top 10 in no particular order. I have way more then 10 guilty pleasures. I have about 100 but in order to preserve space and some shards of my integrity I have limited it to 10…
Soft pretzels and the fake cheese (I love the fake cheese)
The movie Center Stage (horrible acting but I have to watch it EVERY time it’s on….it’s being TiVo’d as I write this so I can watch it later with my turtle sundae)
Fried cheese curds, mini donuts, cotton candy at from The Middleton Good Neighborfest (which is THIS WEEKEND!) Yippee
Black boots. I have like 12 pairs. Or is that considered an obsession?
KFC – extra tasty krispy with coleslaw and mashed potatoes. Yum.
Reading the Personal in the Isthmus Paper (Example: I saw you in the produce aisle. You, cute, jeans, red sweater. Me, leather jacket, blue scarf. We smiled. Want to pick out melons together?)
Antique Trunks. I am a bit of a trunk ‘ho. I can’t help it. Is it wrong to have one in every room? My new favorite site is www.eagletrunks.com
Venti Ice Caramel Macchiato. I love the big globs of caramel that sink to the bottom and get sucked up through the straw.
Flannel pajamas. I have a few pairs that are upwards of a dozen years but I can’t part with them.
PB&J on white squish bread.
And you?
Off to Culvers. I didn’t add that one to the list. I figured it was obvious You know. Tablestakes.
Friday, August 17, 2007
The Grass is Greener
I have three cats. I know. I know. Three?!? What am I thinking? Honestly, I often wonder that myself. Wonderment aside, I still have three cats. Buster is my cantankerous senior citizen. A 17 year old garden variety black and white domestic shorthair who was free to a good home Bonzai and Boomer are my 18 month teen-age Birmans. They were not free to a good home as evidenced by the balance in my checkbook. You pay a lot for bright blue eyes and sure thing personalities.
First a digression. For reasons which are still unclear we decided to name all our cats “B” names. It’s hard to find good “B” names and even harder to not call them by the wrong names. At any one time I’m still calling out “Bonkers” who sadly crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year. If you’re not a pet person the term “Rainbow Bridge” will be lost in translation. It’s a poem about pets that have passed on. Non-pet people will think its sentimental tripe. I am a die hard pet person and it makes me cry every time I read it.
Because my life isn’t complicated enough (insert sarcasm here) my cats have different diets. This has led to “meal feeding” instead of “keeping food out all the times to make my life easier feeding”. So three times a day we have this little routine where the kitty dishes are pulled out of the cupboard, cans opened, dry kibble mixed with wet food to make a delightful taste sensation all while being serenaded by an endless chorus of meows. Not soft gentile pleasant meows. More like "hurry the hell up and feed me" meows. We’re very vocal in our house. We know what we want and when we want it.
The dishes go down. Each kitty is spaced apart so they have some private dining time and the eating begins. It’s all very serious business. Head down, don’t talk to me …I’m eating.
And then IT invariably happens.
The realization that what “he” has must be better then what “I” have! This is bona fide grass is greener syndrome albeit kitty style.
Under normal circumstance the overseer of the feeding chaos, which 99% of the time is me, wouldn’t bat an eyelash over Boomer eating Busters food or Buster eating Bonzai’s food. But if you’ve ever had the pure joy of a vet bill that has a “comma” in the final total – you quickly embrace the importance of diet to manage a health problem.
Redirecting a determined cat is an exercise in futility. There is no redirection. They are the animal version of a toddler. Redirection works for about 4 seconds.
Kitty dynamics’ is quite humorous. Food antics aside there is an abundance of muscling, posturing and the occasional smack with a paw upside the head to secure the best spot. The best sunny spot in the house. The best back of the couch spot to catch the breeze from the ceiling fan. The best kitty condo spot for bird watching. And after all is said is done – after the best spot is procured…the victor is content for approximately 12 minutes. And it begins again. Eyeing up the next best spot that they don’t currently occupy.
At this point you’re probably thinking I’m going to draw some cheese-ball analogy between the similarities of feline coveting behavior and human coveting behavior. But it would be really cheese-ball in a gag me with kitty paw kind of way. I’m not interested in the “moral of the story is blogging” – at least not today. Honestly – I just think it’s so darn funny how they posture and position themselves for a slightly different version of kibble or 5 additional inches of sun space.
And well it is Friday and I promised lighter blogging fare and you don’t get much lighter and fluffier then cat antics. So Meow. It’s feeding time. Let the posturing begin.
First a digression. For reasons which are still unclear we decided to name all our cats “B” names. It’s hard to find good “B” names and even harder to not call them by the wrong names. At any one time I’m still calling out “Bonkers” who sadly crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year. If you’re not a pet person the term “Rainbow Bridge” will be lost in translation. It’s a poem about pets that have passed on. Non-pet people will think its sentimental tripe. I am a die hard pet person and it makes me cry every time I read it.
Because my life isn’t complicated enough (insert sarcasm here) my cats have different diets. This has led to “meal feeding” instead of “keeping food out all the times to make my life easier feeding”. So three times a day we have this little routine where the kitty dishes are pulled out of the cupboard, cans opened, dry kibble mixed with wet food to make a delightful taste sensation all while being serenaded by an endless chorus of meows. Not soft gentile pleasant meows. More like "hurry the hell up and feed me" meows. We’re very vocal in our house. We know what we want and when we want it.
The dishes go down. Each kitty is spaced apart so they have some private dining time and the eating begins. It’s all very serious business. Head down, don’t talk to me …I’m eating.
And then IT invariably happens.
The realization that what “he” has must be better then what “I” have! This is bona fide grass is greener syndrome albeit kitty style.
Under normal circumstance the overseer of the feeding chaos, which 99% of the time is me, wouldn’t bat an eyelash over Boomer eating Busters food or Buster eating Bonzai’s food. But if you’ve ever had the pure joy of a vet bill that has a “comma” in the final total – you quickly embrace the importance of diet to manage a health problem.
Redirecting a determined cat is an exercise in futility. There is no redirection. They are the animal version of a toddler. Redirection works for about 4 seconds.
Kitty dynamics’ is quite humorous. Food antics aside there is an abundance of muscling, posturing and the occasional smack with a paw upside the head to secure the best spot. The best sunny spot in the house. The best back of the couch spot to catch the breeze from the ceiling fan. The best kitty condo spot for bird watching. And after all is said is done – after the best spot is procured…the victor is content for approximately 12 minutes. And it begins again. Eyeing up the next best spot that they don’t currently occupy.
At this point you’re probably thinking I’m going to draw some cheese-ball analogy between the similarities of feline coveting behavior and human coveting behavior. But it would be really cheese-ball in a gag me with kitty paw kind of way. I’m not interested in the “moral of the story is blogging” – at least not today. Honestly – I just think it’s so darn funny how they posture and position themselves for a slightly different version of kibble or 5 additional inches of sun space.
And well it is Friday and I promised lighter blogging fare and you don’t get much lighter and fluffier then cat antics. So Meow. It’s feeding time. Let the posturing begin.
Monday, August 13, 2007
You pay peanuts....you get monkeys
This is one of my mothers time treasured clichés. Of the 39+ years I’ve been walking the planet, I hear this one the most. There are many others. We’ve all heard them or variations of the “mom cliché-fest bits of random advice.” These little mantras are burned in my brain.
Do you want your face to freeze like that?
Actually, yes I do.
Ok, I really don’t because then it would prove that she was right about the whole face freezing thing and that would be just too much to take.
However, to be fair to mom, I have to say as a start-up entrepreneurial wanna be – the old adage “You pay peanuts, you get monkeys” rings true.
Let’s be clear hear. I am all about the sale. The good deal. The bargain. The excellent find. Nothing makes me happier then scoring some awesome purse, shoes, pants, dress, sweater, t-shirt and getting THE DEAL! I love that. That said. I never, ever, ever, buy something JUST BECAUSE (and I know I’m shouting here) it’s on sale. Well – I’ll never say never because I’m sure when I was younger and much more stupider (yeah, yeah I know bad English) at least in terms of clothes I would have snatched up the $15.99 pair of lime green pumps and “found something to wear with it later.” And then they sat in my closet. Untouched. Unloved. Unworn…until I finally cut my losses and donated them to Goodwill.
I live and die by that book “What not to wear.” Do you have this book? If not – run out to the bookstore (or surf to Amazon.com) and buy it today. Now. Right this minute. It’s the British version so it’s full of haughty humor and really really good fashion stuff. Like how to dress your flaws…and trust me. After children, a handful of abdominal surgeries and an obsession for Oreos there are flaws in need of dressing. It’s the book version of the TV show. I love this book. But I digress.
Back to peanuts and monkeys….
Ok – warning – some shameless self-promotion going on now.
I do this little tye-dye thing, right? And I list myself on etsy which is basically an ebay for homemade arts and crafts. I am constantly amazed that the number, the mass volume of artists, crafters, hobbyists (whatever you want to call us) that put everything on sale. Handmade stuff. Stuff created by sheer inspiration, time, talent, the sweat of their brow and then they discount it 50%? Why? A beautiful handmade bracelet, blanket, hat is not some mass produced trinket at Target (I do love Target by the way). It’s handmade. One of a kind. It’s special. Cue warm and fuzzy Hallmark music.
Another warning….Hopping on soapbox.
Are we afraid our own talents are not worth a fair price? I think my wares are worth a fair price. And by fair I mean enough to cover my costs and a little of my time. Not all of my time because geez-oh-petes time is so valuable how do you assign a dollar amount to that? But fair. Maybe I’ll fail at my tye-dye adventure because I won’t do the “Blowout 50% off sale” but I shouldn’t have to. I am guardedly optimistic in a glass-half-full-rose-colored-glasses kinda way that my work will speak for itself. That I’m nice to deal with. That I am good to my customer and I make quality items. I hope I’m right.
So what does this have to do with peanuts and monkeys? Well nothing, now that I think about it. The whole peanuts monkeys bit has to do with quality. Guess I mixed up my mom cliché slice of life metaphors. But if you pay nothing you get junk. So I guess this adage doesn’t apply unless you’re planning on buying the $4 pre-fab tye-dye at Wal-Mart and then it will bleed and fade and of course mine are better. Cripes. I’m really spiraling outta control on this one.
If you’ve read this far....thanks for hanging in there with me. Hopping off soapbox.
Do you want your face to freeze like that?
Actually, yes I do.
Ok, I really don’t because then it would prove that she was right about the whole face freezing thing and that would be just too much to take.
However, to be fair to mom, I have to say as a start-up entrepreneurial wanna be – the old adage “You pay peanuts, you get monkeys” rings true.
Let’s be clear hear. I am all about the sale. The good deal. The bargain. The excellent find. Nothing makes me happier then scoring some awesome purse, shoes, pants, dress, sweater, t-shirt and getting THE DEAL! I love that. That said. I never, ever, ever, buy something JUST BECAUSE (and I know I’m shouting here) it’s on sale. Well – I’ll never say never because I’m sure when I was younger and much more stupider (yeah, yeah I know bad English) at least in terms of clothes I would have snatched up the $15.99 pair of lime green pumps and “found something to wear with it later.” And then they sat in my closet. Untouched. Unloved. Unworn…until I finally cut my losses and donated them to Goodwill.
I live and die by that book “What not to wear.” Do you have this book? If not – run out to the bookstore (or surf to Amazon.com) and buy it today. Now. Right this minute. It’s the British version so it’s full of haughty humor and really really good fashion stuff. Like how to dress your flaws…and trust me. After children, a handful of abdominal surgeries and an obsession for Oreos there are flaws in need of dressing. It’s the book version of the TV show. I love this book. But I digress.
Back to peanuts and monkeys….
Ok – warning – some shameless self-promotion going on now.
I do this little tye-dye thing, right? And I list myself on etsy which is basically an ebay for homemade arts and crafts. I am constantly amazed that the number, the mass volume of artists, crafters, hobbyists (whatever you want to call us) that put everything on sale. Handmade stuff. Stuff created by sheer inspiration, time, talent, the sweat of their brow and then they discount it 50%? Why? A beautiful handmade bracelet, blanket, hat is not some mass produced trinket at Target (I do love Target by the way). It’s handmade. One of a kind. It’s special. Cue warm and fuzzy Hallmark music.
Another warning….Hopping on soapbox.
Are we afraid our own talents are not worth a fair price? I think my wares are worth a fair price. And by fair I mean enough to cover my costs and a little of my time. Not all of my time because geez-oh-petes time is so valuable how do you assign a dollar amount to that? But fair. Maybe I’ll fail at my tye-dye adventure because I won’t do the “Blowout 50% off sale” but I shouldn’t have to. I am guardedly optimistic in a glass-half-full-rose-colored-glasses kinda way that my work will speak for itself. That I’m nice to deal with. That I am good to my customer and I make quality items. I hope I’m right.
So what does this have to do with peanuts and monkeys? Well nothing, now that I think about it. The whole peanuts monkeys bit has to do with quality. Guess I mixed up my mom cliché slice of life metaphors. But if you pay nothing you get junk. So I guess this adage doesn’t apply unless you’re planning on buying the $4 pre-fab tye-dye at Wal-Mart and then it will bleed and fade and of course mine are better. Cripes. I’m really spiraling outta control on this one.
If you’ve read this far....thanks for hanging in there with me. Hopping off soapbox.
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