Cat-like Cravings

My beloved pet Parker is a true guru on many aspects of life. He has an inate ability to properly prioritize, and I've learned (or am trying) many a lesson through observing my cat. For example, he teaches me:

• One can never get too much sleep. Naps rock!
• Gaze upon people with love. You'll be quite happy with the results.
• When life throws you a hairball, cough it up immediately, wherever you stand. It's easier to dump it now, than deal with it on the flip side after it's processed through all your systems.
• We tend towards grouchy if left alone for too long.
• If your privates need adjusting, it's best to do so after company has left.
• With long hair, the bath drain will need regular attention.
• A little spit/tongue action can put many a stray thing back into place.
• Why make things more complicated than they need to be?

As to this last point, I offer a video recorded via blackberry. I would also now like to take my Indian food to bed with me and call it a day.

Dreams From Nightmares

July 6th was the seven year anniversary of my Papa's death. I remember vividly learning of his passing. It was the holiday weekend; I was sleeping in. My folks called fairly early in the morning for a day off, and I'm not one to answer an early a.m. ringing phone (or any number I don't recognize for that matter). But a series of calls is our family signal for PICK UP, so I did.

The news wasn't extraordinarily shocking. He'd been ill, and in and out of the hospital several times over his last years. It was the finality of it. The fact that the last time I'd seen him (Mother's Day, 2002) was the last time I would ever see him. I remember him telling my boyfriend of the time that I was his pride and joy, his bright blue eyes sparkling while he said this with earnest.

Growing up, I used to have nightmares about various family members dying. Unfortuantely graphic and violent haunts of shot-gun wounds or stabbings. Thankfully, none of these came to pass. It freaked me out though. I used to have an underlying concern that something awful would happen to the ones I love. Awful things have happened: my mother's near death car accident and painful recovery with halo, my cousin's physical/emotional trauma with alcohol. Thankfully, the Lord saw fit to keep both around and bring both back to health. Again thankfully at 33, I am in a rare and elite class of Gen Xers that still has three of her four grandparents living and fairly active.

All of my grandparents have enriched my life immensely. My paternal grandmother taught me to read music and play piano. My grandfather used to cook me burgers on the grill every time I'd visit them, because he knew these were my favorite. He was also my Sunday School teacher growing up, and would buy the whole class full sized candy bars each month to celebrate birthdays, even if no one in class had a birthday that month.

My maternal granny and late papa used to travel all the time, and ran a campground in Vermont during the summers. Some summers, I would get to visit them for a week, and Papa would let me ride his motorcycle (like a vespa) around the campsite on my own. I wasn't even a teenager at the time. Granny would let me collect coke cans left behind by campers, and turn them for the nickel deposit. I got to keep the money. These kinds of memories are so special. I know how blessed I am to have had these experiences, and be loved by these wonderful family members.

A few nights ago, I had a dream that my whole family was together celebrating someone's birthday. From behind a swarm of people gathered by food, I caught a glimpse of my Papa sitting on the couch. In my dream, my breathing stopped. He's been gone 7 years, yet there he was smiling at me with those piercing, blue eyes. As I ran to him to ask how he was here, I was stopped by a stranger who explained that the man was not Papa. It was his twin brother. (My Papa did not have a twin.) But I went up to this Papa look-alike, and sat at his knee and breathed in his scent, and just was. Content for the moment to be as close as possible to a man I miss so much. In the dream, it didn't feel the same, but it was close.

I woke up sad, knowing that I didn't really see Papa, and that I can not see him. Knowing that it's been seven years without his humor and exhuberance. Missing him hurts, but not remembering him would hurt more. I'm thankful that I still dream of him and think of him regularly. It's a testament to how important he is to me, and the depth of his influence.

I love you, Big Boss. I keep trying to be your pride and joy. Vermont is still my favorite state. The husband and I talk of getting a small cabin in Vermont to spend our retirement summers. I think you'd get a big charge out of that, and remind me of all the best places to get pancakes.

Word Clouds

In trying to find tools to assist with linking up ideas: mind maps, word clouds, etc., I found a website that will generate a word cloud from the text of a blog. Taking out the monstrous number of times I used the words girl and guide in my last entry, this is the result of my blog's current word cloudage.

It's an interesting, angular insight into my head, even though that's what I thought this blog itself was providing. It's the bullet point version. Very millenium-esque processing. I may re-wordle myself (that sounds a tad risque!) in the future to see how the clouding changes. Fun tool, though.

A Girl's Guide to zzzzzz......

I have the zygot of an idea for a book. Before this idea can morph into even fetus stages, the librarian in me must do some research. Using myself as the first sample for what grabs attention on the bookstore [non-fiction] shelf, I admittedly gravitate towards sassy, savvy titles. For example, I'm more apt to flip through the pages of Thanking The Monkey: Rethinking the Way We Treat Animals, versus The Welfare of Animals: The Silent Majority. This is due strictly to the fun, catchy title even though both books deal with animal welfare and rights, and both books were recently published in 2008.

My zygot has the female reader in mind as its probable main demographic, 20-40 somethings, but could expand past that if I did it right. So, I was at a bookstore looking through the Health and Ftness, Self-Improvement, Christian Inspiration and Language sections. There are a massive amount of publications with Girl's Guide, or some variation on the theme, in the title. I mean a truly incredible amount. At what point does the public find diminishing returns on the novelity or inspiration of a Girl's Guide? A key term search of "Girl's Guide" on Amazon suggests over 17,000 titles; that's books only.

You can find anything from:

• A Girl's Guide to Modern European Philosophy
• The Girl's Guide to Being a Boss (Without Being a Bitch)
• The Girl's Guide to AD/HD (Don't Lose This Book)
• A Girl's Guide to Decoration
• A Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing (this is fiction, nevertheless)
• The Girl's Guide to Surfing

And those are just an inkling of what's an out there. If you tire of plain jane girl's guides, you have your pick of specialty girl's guides:

• The Fabulous Girl's Guide to Life
• The Lazy Girl's Guide to Success
• The Newly Non-Drinking Girl's Guide to Pregnancy
• The Fat Girl's Guide to Life
• The Bad Girl's Guide to Getting What You Want
• The Yarn Girl's Guide to Simple Knits
• A Modern Girl's Guide to Etiquette

This list could go on as well. There is a guide out there if I'm nice, Catholic, smart, single, geeky or countless other adjectives.

Here's two things that bother me about girl's guides. First, many of these books are geared for WOMEN. There is an entire girl's guide series published by American Girl Library (associated with the American Girl doll) to help our youngest ladies ease into a variety of situations. The recommend age ranges are appropriately 4-8 or 9-12. IMHO, these books are correctly titled. The rest of us might prefer a Woman's Guide or Ladies' Guide to the area of expertise proffered. Or, if those sound too matronly, then a MS. Guide to Giving Your Book A Proper Title.

Next, it's played out. After 10 minutes of browsing Amazon's Girl's Guide selection, I really wasn't interested in any of them any more. There seemed nothing new under the sun. These books did not feel savvy, sassy or sure to assist; just pithy. Until I saw this title:

For the less snarky version of likely helpful tween pub, please click here.

Still stewing in my muses

From Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love are some quotes I find by themselves worth the book.

From Italy:
*The beauty of doing nothing is the goal of all your work, the final accomplishment for which you are most highly congratulated.

*I'm exhausted by the cumulative consequences of a lifetime of nasty choices and chaotic passions.

*And the question now for me is, What are my choices to be? What do I believe I deserve in this life? Where can I accept sacrifice, and where can I not?

*We are the mayors of this town's ass.

*Everthing sad leaked through me and left damp traces behind.

*In a world of disorder and disaster and fraud, sometimes only beauty can be trusted. Only artistic excellence is incorruptible...To devote yourself to the creation and enjoyment of beauty, then, can be a serious business. (The pastor preached this past Sunday on Echoes: the Desire of Beauty...how the Lord put beauty on the earth and the desire for it in our hearts. When we see beauty and yearn to be with and a part of it, we are experiencing the echo of God's voice in us. I very much like that idea.)

*You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight.

From India:
*Yoga is about self-mastery and the dedicated effort to haul yourself away from your endless brooding over the past and your nonstop worrying about the future, so that you can seek instead, a place of eternal presence from which you may regard yourself and your surroundings with poise.

*Remember, everything you do, you do for God. And everything God does, He does for you.

*Nothing pisses off a control freak more than life not goin' her way.

*I have searched frantically for contentment for so many years in so many ways, and all these acquisitions and accomplishments - they run you down in the end. Life, if you keep chasing it so hard, will drive you to death.

*Look for God...Look for God like a man with his head on fire looks for water.

*Flexibility is just as essential for divinity as is discipline.

From Indonesia:
*[from a Sufi poem] God long ago drew a circle in the sand exactly around the spot where you are standing right now. I was never not coming here. This was never not going to happen.

*Fear - who cares?

Now, how to go about applying all this? Especially being the mayor of the ass part of town...deep ponderings required.

A month ago, we attended Sunday school with my parents. The leader commenced with a question "What is wisdom? Define it" I said wisdom is knowledge applied. Well then, what is knowledge? I believe that knowledge is information understood. It's a freakin' 3 step process to wisdom, and with the onslaught of information in today's tech age, we're spending so much time just WEEDING info, that we've got less time to carefully consider the important data, understand it and then work towards application. We may be the least wise age of all time, and supurphluous information could be a leading cause. Sometimes more is just more. But I think the above quotes are all worth consideration, understanding and application; the trifecta for wisdom.

I'll Be Your Freakazoid.

Have you ever had one of those days where the to-do list is a mile long, yet all seems to be conspiring against you completing anything of import? Today was one of those days. Between presentations, follow-up, finding parking in this congested city and dealing with seedy underbellies, I found time to call the piano tune-up guy.

Last week I'd scheduled for this gent to come to our home this Friday, as we both have off for the holiday. We'd planned for him to fix the piano from a break due to doofus movers two moves ago, as well as tune it and help us move it to a different room. In prep for his arrival, we were measuring furniture. Could we could actually fit our stuff in their envisioned locations? Hmmph. Stuff ain't fittin' right. Our new, smaller home is lovely and cozy. There's only room for select items strategically placed. Until we know how to perfectly orchestrate futons, lounges and pianos, no move can occur.

So, I called him today to postpone Friday's appointment. I was in full work mode at the time. I left details about who I was, why we were delaying, my call back details, and then I ended the message like this: "Best Regards, Wendy" and hung up.

I ended a call the same way I normally sign off of EMAILS! What am I coming to? When I finally do meet this piano dude, he's probably going to give me the curious once over thinking who is this formal hoo-haa, and why is she so robotic?

Dissecting the Pixies, maybe.

It's been almost two weeks since my last blog entry. I haven't really felt the pull to project. Still don't actually; but I thought that musing on any subject in particular might get the mental juices flowing. I'm going to attempt to explain my take on a Pixies song. This is not to say I'm an expert on the subject of the Pixies. While they are a personal favorite, they are also a very unobvious group of writers. My elicitation is merely an admirer's take. I'm sure there are several other, more potent, on point offerings to claim elsewhere.

Finally, this is MUCH more difficult than I thought it would be. You hear a song. Its lyrics resonate with you. Trying to explain your resonance to any public is an entirely different, more arduous process than simply hopping about and nodding in strong agreement to some internal tuning fork that says YES! This is the right pitch. I've LIVED this! Nevertheless, here we go.

My favorite Pixies song is (small surprise here) "Dig for Fire". La la love it. I'm not going to dissect its perfection here though; save to say that there is a certain pregnant pause in that song that makes me jump up and down with energy. Ha HAH! Sometimes it’s what's NOT said that fills the room.
This entry is about another of the Pixies better known songs "Where is My Mind". This song they actually play at concerts (much to my dismay, I've never attended any Pixies concert where they played Dig for Fire. Perhaps I should add "Hear Dig for Fire LIVE" to my bucket list). Select lyrics are in bold. My musings are in parens/italics.

Stop (This is an excellent way to start something. Remind yourself that for every beginning, there is another something's end. Stop...stop wallowing in the mire. Stop focusing on the past. Stop comparing yourself to others. Stop wishing the dishes would be done forever. Stop losing the precious moment in any dissatisfaction. Stop disbelief. Stopping all this is a great way to start many other, more positive things.)
With your feet on the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah (Immediately I think of headstand pose in yoga. I tried this for the first time in about 2 decades this past Friday. I was upright and upside down but wobbly and uncertain; also very concerned any lack of proper form was going to cause a permanent spinal injury. What happened to the carefree days of high school gymnastics where I was upside down in back flips, back handsprings and on the balance beam no less!?? Well, I did fracture my back in the midst of all that upsidedownness and perhaps my body remembers the pain and fear. But I think a good way of looking at headstand pose or any other area of discomfort/newness is to TRY THE TRICK AND SPIN IT. Spin it your way, see what happens. We regret most the stuff we do not do. I did the headstand. I didn't hurt myself, although I'll admit that having the pins and needles feeling on the crown of my head is odd.)

Your head will collapse if there's nothing in it (Here, I think the head collapsing is your false sense of self giving way to something better. Any fake facade we present to others will never be better than our true self. If you try something new, maybe you succeed; maybe you don't. There are lessons to be learned from each result. Your exterior 'head' collapses when you recognize there is nothing of substance if you aren’t just who you are. And from the crumbles and dust of a former mask, you can see any illusion was for naught. There was "nothing in it". There is no reason to put up a false front, for we're all the same at our innermost: children of God. )
And you'll ask yourself

Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind? (So now we're left asking ourselves, if I'm not the person I once portrayed myself to be, or even who I once thought I was...who am I? Where is my mind?) Way out in the water, see it swimming (I'm still chasing, seeking, searching. But I've got a glimpse of who/what/where I am and thankfully, I’m active and alive.)

I was swimming in the Caribbean (I’m testing the waters of a beautiful place where the real me resides.)
Animals were hiding behind the rock (Even though you can’t see all the awesomeness, and yes event potential danger around you, being mindful in the moment you can still enjoy and take in all there is in the now.)
Except for little fish
When they told me east is west trying to talk to me, coy koi (There’s always something going on, big or small, each with a message. We have to listen hard sometimes to hear it. Drop preconceived notions. Love the coy koi homophone. Be receptive to learning where least expected.)
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Way out in the water, see it swimming (I’ll always be seeking, finding, seeking higher. There’s always more further out until the end.)


Ummm... yeah. It's something like that or else I need to tell the Pixies to puff, puff, give because I'm just way off. Like I said, this is my take on an awesome tune. It's meaningful to me for the above reasons. Maybe it really is just a ditty about a late night snorkel fest in the Bahamas, and they were out of their gourd hallucinating fish talking and body parts disengaging. Either way, I like it. But I'm going to stick to my guns explanation-wise, because the off the wall Pixies have always been a personal journey through music and lyrics. That's a combo worth expounding.

Sage Words from Schneider

Playing car games is almost mandatory for a road trip. I didn't do much of this growing up as I always had my nose in a book. I had no interest in games, the sights or other time passers. I was blissfully ignorant of all these, content to plow through the 8-10 library books I'd checked out just for the road trip occasion.

My adult life has opened my eyes to a wealth of fun car games. Two of my favorites are "Name A Band" and "Sing A Song" (No, these aren't the real game names, but I don't know the real names. I'll just describe and hope you'll overlook my lack of creativity on naming conventions.)

"Name A Band" is played by the first person simply naming any band. Player 2 has to name a band whose first letter starts with the last letter of Player 1's band. For example:

Player 1: Run DMC

Player 2: Crash Test Dummies

Next Player: Santana (singer/songwriters and solo musicians count as bands)

Next Player: Abba

When a band's name both starts and ends with the same letter, this reverses the order of who goes next. In this case, the player who said Santana would then be up again. This new order would continue until another band with the same start and ending letter was called.

Bands starting with "The" are not classified as "T" letter bands. The first letter of the next word is what counts. So "The Cure" is a "C" band. "The The" Still counts as "T" band. It gets tricky remembering "S" bands because so many band names are plural; like Pixies!!

Another favorite game is to sing tv show theme songs, hence the "Sing a Song" name. This is hilarious. First you have to think of a tv show and then try to remember the words. Not only am I brought back to my childhood via music, but I'm also made aware of how many places I do not remember lyrics. Which leads to the making up of words to fit the tune and general laughter can ensue. It can also be frustrating, as I pride myself in knowing the lyrics to a massive amount of songs both tv themes and otherwise.

This blog entry was inspired by the tune to One Day at a Time running through my head. I got to thinking about the opening lines "This is life, the one you get, go on and have a ball." I like that reminder. It's so true. This is it! We better make the best of this go, cause we don't get a do-over. So as I hit here this Tuesday night wishing I was eating Ethopian with the husband on our regular 2-entrees-and-a-bottle-of wine-for-$25.00 special ,instead of sitting in a hotel room catching up on email and rallying my troops to go mix and mingle at a work conference event, I'm reminding myself and you to not take for granted our moments. Enjoy the now. Enjoy each other. Be grateful. Even if that entails being grateful for stuff you wish you didn't have to do.

Another example: I wish I didn't have to spend my night working, yet I'm grateful to have a job I enjoy overall and that this evening's work also involves free desserts.

Back to tv theme-land. While One Day at a Time was making me bob my head, I realized I didn't know the words past the second line. I looked them up, and they're all good. Here they are for us both to take to heart.

This is it. This is it.

This is life, the one you get

So go and have a ball.

This is it. This is it.

Straight ahead and rest assured

You can’t be sure at all.

So while you’re here enjoy the view

Keep on doing what you do

So hold on tight we'll muddle through

One day at a time, One day at a time.

So up on your feet. Up on your feet.

Somewhere there’s music playing.

Don’t you worry none

We’ll just take it like it comes.

One day at a time, one day at a time.

i only know TWO things!

A quote from my awe-inspring friend k-luv... "That girl only knows two things: Jack and Shit!" I love you, Kristin. You are a riot.

That is exactly how I feel about html coding. I only know those two things! Truly - I had to take a class that 'covered' this in library school, and I SHOULD know much more than I do. But as 20-somethings working full time while getting a masters may be prone to do, I *might* have relied more on the handouts for those few classes than actually absorbing the information.

Now that I'm a blogger (technically, no matter how pishposhy this blog may be...it does exists, so I qualify), I'm much more interested in html codes. For example, dear readers may have recognized changes in the look of this blog. Well, it took me much longer than it should have to make them. There are infinite number of pre-fabbed blogger templates out there for Joe Q and his public to cut and paste, and I used one of those as a starting point for my last template look. But I made changes to images, etc on my own, behind the scenes with those pesky codes.

Later, I noticed that on different monitors, the blog didn't have a standard look. Some images might be overlapping and stuff was all strewn about like a 5 year old had thrown their ideas and whatnot onto the screen just hoping it would stick. All my digging for fire may be messy and burn-causing, but it doesn't have to look like it. So, I'm trying another route. Too bad my tendencies towards OCD kick in and every color has to be just right, every placement just so. Dear readers, this template is no where near 'just' in its present stage. So I ask patience as I cull the mines of the coding looking for the color number for gray, so I can change it to prettier hues, align text in a way I think looks good and try not to throw my laptop across the room in the process.

My good friends Jack and Shit are quite handy with the html. Unfortunately, I'm more in the mood to consult my other good friends Jack and Daniel(s) after the bouts of frustration I've had template-wise. The lesson here could be that the means for sharing any learnings (i.e. the blog) may become the learning mechanism itself. That's a little tidbit from J.D...

I really really really wanna zigazig ha?

First, let's get one thing straight. I am not a fan of the Spice Girls. But if you listened to any radio at all in the mid/late 90's, then you already knew what this entry title referenced: the ubiquitous strains of the Spice Girls "Wannabe" song. Over and over they ask their friends to "Tell me what I want, what I really really want." Clearly, they were clueless as to what they wanted, or they wouldn't be chanting to the legions both Brit and Stateside to fill them in on their innermost desires.

The tune admittedly has a sticky factor. Whether I want it or not (not), if I hear it, I'm tapping out or humming "Wannabe" for hours in my head. Even when I don't hear it, if I even get to thinking about what I really really want - I'm going to be bobbing my head later on to zigazig ha.

Like tonight for example, I was reading the tweets of one of my favorite bloggers Kimberly Wilson. This gal has got it together: author, yoga studio owner and teacher, fashion designer, philanthropist. She's earned my respect. This particular tweet was simply a quote from another author I happen to heart Elizabeth Gilbert, "Everyday when you wake up, ask yourself what do I really really really want?" Cue Scary Spice ripping through my brainwaves.

Lately, I've been trying to determine what I really really want in a variety of facets. There's the Ablazey Daisy Do list which was a start on focusing my lens towards the important (to me). That's going to be a work in progress though throughout the 3ish year period, b/c I can already tell that my passions are lying in places not fully explored by the list. Edits forthcoming. One thing in particular I've been pondering is ways to deepen my yoga practice. I'm seriously considering a teacher training, not necessarily to teach although that could happen, but more immediately to gain a better understanding of the poses purely for me. Indulgent.

While yoga is not a religon, when I'm practicing it is a means for stilling my thoughts and accessing the Spirit prayerfully. I love setting an intention at the beginning of a class; often my intention is simply to have patience with myself. Why don't I have more of this for self or others? Recently, I dedicated my day's efforts to my grandpa whose struggling with kidney issues; another time to my mom for surviving her halo. This mental honoring heightens my awareness of their situations, and I find I pray for them more throughout the day because I made a practice dedication. The whole experience, while different than the religous traditions to which I subscribe, enhances my day to day conversations with God. I don't get that from Bodypump or the elliptical machine.

Now - what in tarnation does 'zigazig ha' mean? Those Spice Girls are emphatic about it. This little catch phrase also reminded me of seeing STOMP this weekend in NYC. Amazing show btw. After each number, the crowd would roar. I found myself regularly yelling out "WHOO HOO"! Towards the end, I was getting a bit giddy with awe. I noticed I'd been yelling "WHOO HOO" literally dozens of times. I leaned over to the husband and asked, "Why do folks always yell out WHOO HOO? Why not something else like HA HAAAA!"

So for the remainder of the show, we were both screaming "HA HAAA!" in response to a crazy cool rhythm played on rain barrels, brooms and garbage pail lids. Maybe zigazig ha is just Spice terminology for "I want some enthusiastic living!" This is by far the most I've ever pondered the questionable depths of the Spice Girls. It's time to press onward. Maybe lock down the yoga teacher training with a decision of some sort. Meanwhile, here are some pics of the NYC weekend jaunt: dining at a South African restaurant, caressing the card catalog at the Library Hotel (it's not real, I asked), enjoying falafel and late night at Smalls Jazz Club (sooooo worth the grueling bus ride!) Zigazig HA HAAAAA indeed.

The Story of Stuff

Right this second, I'm supposed to be sitting in a sunny meadow, heavily chilled beverage in hand with the sounds of solid bluegrass filling my ears and soul. I am however sitting in my home office, doing loads of laundry and blogging. Not that this is bad, it's just a deviation from the plan. The plan being to attend DelFest, camp and frolic.

We started out the holiday weekend with great weather and filled coolers (veggie burgers, champagne and fresh cherries - THAT's camping!). We set up tent and gazebo in a barren, dry field at the Allegany County Fairgrounds and got a dozen hours of bluegrass and one night's good sleep under our belts. At 4:30ish on Day 2 of the festival, the skies opened up with the feverish pace of a hail storm, 4 inches of rain in a half hour and wind gusts so strong the side of the tent was lifted off the ground WITH US IN IT!

The entire festival came to halt as fields of tents ripped from their spikes and eventually landed into the mud. Ambulances came on site to check for injuries after the lightening strikes and felled trees. The husband and I were soaked through from inside the tent from rain pelting sideways and water seeping up from underneath. It was a certainly a scary experience. Thankfully, to my knowledge as of this writing, no one was seriously injured.

We did get home earlier than anticipated. While the festival went on, there was no place for us to sleep or stay out of any future sun. The metal of our gazebo posts was whipped into pieces, and we marched through the calf-deep mud on our exit to put pieces in the trash....which leads me to the second part of this entry.

Knowing we're going to need a new gazebo, I started looking for sales. Got to thinking about the thousands of campers who were also going to need new tents, folding chairs and other equipment molested by the storm. What about all the old equipment heading to the landfill? What of all the funds spent to acquire new, hopefully inexpensive stuff? So I did what us librarians do so well - I started researching consumption and its effect on our environment. It ain't a pretty picture (neither is the campsite pic posted above), but it's one we all need to be familiar with so we can change it!

I'd like to share one finding with you. It's a cute and informative 20 minute video about our stuff and the unconsidered impacts of our cheap acquisitions. I'm also encouraging all readers to incorporate some/all of the "another way" tips into your overall consumption mindset. As for me, I'm going to scour craigslist for a used gazebo, despite the sales I saw at Sports Authority. It's a small, but immediate start. Here's to more mindful and less overall consuming!

Feline Fiascos

*sigh* I hate to say it, but it's true. The past few days I've felt more like MalaiseyDaisy than my Blogger alterego's AblazeyDaisy. Armed with amazing weather, a wonderful weekend in Florida with family and friends, an upcoming holiday weekend...of what have I to feel 'cresttrodden'? (That would be another result of a recent word mash.)

Not having anything substantive to rest my woes upon, I choose to fault the atmosphere. I've been huffing too many toxic fumes. This Monday, walking into our home after a long weekend away, the husband and I were greeted with the unmistakable stench of cat piss. Our boys apparently had had their fill of us being gone and expressed themselves accordingly. No matter that we have cat sitters come in each day to feed them, scoop poop and offer playful love. Our cats will not allow any cat sitter to pet them or offer up affection. They hide underneath beds and wait anxiously for us to return.

So for four days, they went without pets, scratches or fluffs. The only problem is that we don't know exactly where they did this piss business. The smell is potent, but any evidence had already dried. To try and track down where I should focus our destinkification efforts, I was down on all fours sniffing every inch of carpet, pillow, sofa and hardwood on our first floor. While thick in the air, neither of us could pinpoint the peepoint.

We laid down Arm & Hammer carpet fresh and vacuumed same twice. The windows on both house ends have been opened for cross breeze effect. And yet the odor remains. Ironically, a friend in NY emailed me today for advice about his new cat. This cat has been peeing all over the house whenever he's not around. We've not had this problem with our boys since they were kittens over eight years ago.

The worst I've ever experienced cat malcontent was right after I moved to the DC area in 2000. Both cats had endured a two day drive in the Jeep and being indoor cats, they weren't used to all the chaos. One of the first mornings in my new digs, I was welcomed to the day by a cat peeing on me while asleep in bed. My brand new quilt, sheets and me were all covered in angst inspired urination. I responded by wetting a towel and wringing it out on top of the ill-doer cat. He wasn't happy about my reaction, but no golden shower repeats occurred.

Unfortunately, we weren't around to see which was the offending cat. I'm betting if we'd been home, nothing would have happened. My advice to my NYer frieind was to do what we're doing: wash stuff, air out and hope for the best. That's probably good advice for a lot of life issues.

Meanwhile, how could you stay too mad at these guys? So much cat to love. Such big bladders to ap'pee'se.

A Frommage Homage

What do you call a low-key, yet celebratory outing? It's a "Happy Congratulations" event of course. The husband has finished his last Masters level class! A sure call for high cheese intake, multiple wine pours and al fresco enjoyment.

I love Virginia, and this odd chill of spring. Soon, it will be too hot to trot, and I'll be too pooped to pop outside. So, I was revelling in this evening's loverly outdoor air. We ordered a three cheese plate at the dairymazing Cheestique. Per a waiter error (the Dante and the Comte cheese order sounded a lot alike and he brought the wrong one), we got a fourth cheese for free! HAPPY CONGRATULATIONS to me!!

Oh yes, a Happy Congratulations to you too, husband for three years of hard educational labor. In your homage, I offer you frommage.

(and a Florida vacation this weekend).

What do you and your S.O. do for a mild, mid-week Happy Congratulations?

Coffee Creamer Crackhead

There is a ghost in our house; more specifically our refridgerator. He's followed us all the way from Florida. I'd be really pissed at him right now, and I often am. But as I type, it's early evening and I'm not in need of the crack he pushes. Confession: I am a user. Daily, often several times a day. It's a habit I have no desire to break. I'm addicted to flavored coffee creamers.

Back to the ghost. I'm convinced this cheeky bumhat bastard is also a creamer junky. Only he's got a preference for a certain brand name: International Delight. Only International Delight (ID) delacacies will do for this high end ghost druggie. For whenever we stock ID in our fridge, he gleefully glides into the container, takes his drops and then slides away all doped up. The entering leaves no trace; the exiting is clearly the work of a ghost on a HFCS high.

The creamer sticks all over the place, trails out the back end of the packaging and leaves a sticky, sugary residue across the bottom of the jug. This happens even after you wipe up all the creamer from the outside of the jug. These pics were taken one morning after I'd just sponged off the entire jar!

I mean, if it's not a ghost partial to ID creamer, what else could it be? It couldn't possibly be a pure packaging defect. This problem has been around for at least three years.

I know this b/c I never used to drink the sweet smack until I was married, and we're coming up on our three year anniversary. I remember shortly after moving into our first house, everything was clean and freshly put away. I went to add ID to my morning coffee and popped back the container top. Creamer blew up in my face, flying all over the cabinets and onto my clothes. As it was pre-coffee in the a.m., I was BIT-TER, but I chalked it up to my morningtime mannerisms (translated: klutzy) and started cleaning up the mess. Later, ready for cup #2, I went to the fridge for the ID. Pools of creamer were surrounding the bottle, and it was stuck to the fridge shelf by its own product.

No matter that I'd earlier sponged off both jar and shelf. When the husband went to get creamer the next day, he too was greeted with a sticky shelf and a puff of wet product in the face. The next grocery run, we decided to purchase Coffeemate creamer. I doubt it was because of any genius level calculations that put ID creamer and poor packaging (I mean creamer ghost addicts) together. We probably just liked some new seasonal flavor like Pumpkin Spice. But Coffeemate does not attact ghosts, and Coffeemate does not leave your kitchen or your clothes worse for its wear.

Why am I blogging about creamers and ghosts now, three years later? Because I recently had a coupon for ID creamers, so I opted to NOT get our favorite Coffeemate flavors (currently Sweet Italian Creme and Tiramisu). Rather, I saved one buck on two ID standbys (Irish Creme and Vanilla). So I've had a fresh reminder of the ghost phenomenon. It MUST be a ghost situation. Surely no company would continue to produce the same crappy packaging for over three years.

In the wake of a recent creamer-to-face fiasco, I angrily dashed off an email to ID explaining the issue with their package. I left out the ghost part assuming they'd be unable to assist with any exorcisms in our home. I also explained that I would NEVER again, not even with a coupon, buy their product; not b/c of the quality but b/c I was tired of having to do new loads of laundry and wipe down countertops every time I wished to have my morning joe.

They responded the next day with a generic email of sorryness and indicated they had a TEAM of people addressing the problem. A TEAM? For THREE YEARS? What kind of mental engineering giants work at the ID company? A later email came today and I'll quote it here:

"Thank you for your recent e-mail to International Delight®. We appreciate your interest in our products. We are aware that there is an issue with the lid leaking, and the package has been redesigned. The new design should be available by the summer of 2009. I have gathered some information from you and forwarded it to my marketing and research team, just to let them know that consumers are still experiencing this. We aplogize for the inconvience this has caused you.Thanks again for contacting the Consumer Affairs Department.Sincerely, Tietia McDonaldConsumer Response RepresentativeRef: N901688 "

Well, Hallelujah! This summer I can finally rest easy that our fridge ghosts may be gone. Of course, I doubt I'll have to wait until summer, b/c I'm not looking to purchase any more ID creamers in the future. I've had 50 too many early morning messes to bother with a summer of '09 reunion.

Good-bye slum fridge ghost. You'll have to get your sugar fix elsewhere or check into rehab. It's Coffeemate in the morning for me from here out.

The Flow Woes through which I Grow

We're Day 3 into DC Yoga Week. I've managed (to my pleasant surprise) to attend a yoga class at a new-to-me studio each day thus far. I'm feeling great; loving all the breath work and stretching. I will blog about my fav classes and details of each studio in an upcoming entry(ies). Tonight, however, I'm dedicating this post to an extremely important yoga tip I learned mid-session.

This tip is applicable to men and women alike, to all styles of yoga, no matter the time of day or location you choose to practice.

The background: DC is a metropolitan area. Many folks partake of yoga classes. As such, most studios have each student place their mat literally within inches of their neighbor. Unlike yoga offered at a gym, where often there are large classrooms for step, bodypump and yes sometimes even yoga, "crowded" at a yoga studio takes on a whole new meaning. You have to stagger where you stand on the mat, just so you don't smack the person next to you as you raise your arms on inhalation. You are definitely in tight quarters.

The warm-up: Amidst all the warriors, cobras and downdogs, there are going to be times you are nose to toe with the person in front of you, or bum to face with the person behind you. Yoga encourages an openness to both self and others. These accommodations necessitate it.

The ALL IMPORTANT TIP: Do NOT, mere hours before attending such a yoga class, consume a salad whose protein components are hard boiled egg whites and black beans! If you do, be prepared to work out certain muscles that your yoga class was not intended to address.

I'm pleased to say that I managed to complete this evening's practice without asphyxiating the ladies surrounding me. This involved severe contractions of many, often unused muscles immediately below my navel/solar plexus chakra. It is not lost on me that this chakra is also associated with fire. Oy. I'm sad to say that I did not apply the yogic principles of balance (ie. for every muscle contraction, there should be an equal extension). My overall sense of peace and calm would have probably improved. But again, I'll defer to the superceding notion of loving neighbor as self (see Mark 12:31; see also AblazeyDaisy Dos header). The comfort and safety of my fellow yogis triumphed.

Now that I'm back home, relaxing and reviewing the day's events, I'm amazed at my lack of sense. What was I thinking? Well, I guess I was thinking that due to work, I had to eat lunch at 3:30 pm. And, I was ravenous. I was seeking out a healthy, low-point meal to carry me through til the later hours of the evening. The husband had hard boiled several eggs yesterday and they were staring at me from the fridge, so it seemed an obvious go-to for some long lasting fuel. The black beans in my salad are a regular staple. The combo, unfortunately, is deadly.

Now, aren't you glad you know about this tidbit before YOUR next flow sequence??!? I'm off. I've held a certain flow sequence of my own for long enough.