I try to endure these moments with a bit of humor; before the hot flashes I was always cold. My extremities felt like ice cubes in mid-summer; winter was about multiple layers underneath the down coat; I should note that the average daytime high for a Montreal winter is approximately -17 degrees Celsius, give or take a few degrees. Now, I am always warm. Last winter saw less layering and more unzipping to the point where I would remove my coat just to cool my body's thermostat. Of course, the moment the hot flash passes the cold sets in again, but it feels more acute following a thermal rush.

This is the first morning in my new office. It is more spacious than I imagined, even with the five tall filing cabinets lining one of my walls (and spacious enough for me to have a padded reading chair). The lighting is not the best, thanks to the tinted windows; however, that is easily remedied with a desk lamp. I could definitely use more storage for my books and regulatory documents, but beggars cannot be choosers (plus I apparently have found myself with a prime spot in the building, so I dare not complain). However, the colors are more suitable to my personality - a deep wine and cream color (as opposed to the navy blue and passive yellow of my former space). All that is missing is some greenery and I will be set.

The greatest joy of walking into the office this morning was opening the door and realizing that my alarm code has not been activated for this space. Thus, naturally, the alarm went off. The sound was comparable to a police siren. I casually stepped out of the office, locked the door and proceeded to go back to the main floor to obtain security (did I mention all the dozens of students amassed in the foyer waiting for their class to begin in the nearby lecture hall.) My first inclining was to just drop everything and run, or just sit and endure the noise until security came to me (I rather not embarrass myself that way); but unless you go to them, you can be waiting at least 30 minutes.

To be continued... (the office phone won't stop ringing).

9. I called my Sister. For me, any prolonged conversation with a family member is cause for a few days of rehabilitative action; when I have multiple members of my family calling, I can go into rehab for weeks. There is only so much dysfunctional love one can handle in any frame of time...It is a good thing they know that  I love them dearly (at least I hope they realize that I love them dearly, otherwise what is the point of the suffering?)

8. My son pierced an ear. It was not some tragic accident with a drill bit or awl; my son simply paid 21$ Cdn to have some cheap boutique hussy shoot him in the ear with a piercing gun. The cost of 21$ is the price for one hole in one ear, plus disinfectant; I wonder if it would have been cheaper without the disinfectant? If one hole is 21$, can I assume that two holes in the head is 42$? Did my son not have enough cash on hand for the set? For that price, line them up; I have nothing else better to do so why not inflict intentional pain upon others.

7. I joined a book club recently and my first reading assignment is the book Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. I can tell by the first few pages of this book that it is going to be a very thoughtful read; it has already aided in my understanding of my own invisibility dilemma, except my story relates nothing to race (ethnicity). The parallels of this story can be applied to any academic institution, where members of the organization are judged by the number and type of acronyms that follow their names. I always had the naive thought that institutions of higher learning were progressive places; I have witnessed more repression and ignorance within the walls of academia than I have in my real world life experiences. 'Tis a pity, apparently knowledge can breed ignorance as much as it can liberate souls. Whatever happened to enlightened thinking...or thinking period?

6. With the onset of summer in my fair city (we are currently at day four of the summer season following approximately 6 months of never-ending snowfall, a brief moment of spring, a day of summer tease and then 6 more weeks of precipitation in the form of rain and thundershowers), you have to grab what sunlight you can. In a northern climate, before you know it, your vitamin D levels are depleted and the onset of seasonal affective disorder sets in; and unless you are one of the fortunate few who happen to have sexual relations on a regular basis, the climatic experiences of the region (no pun intended) can likely explain why people of the urban northern hemisphere are a bit put off and rude at most times; the rural peoples are usually too juiced for such disregard.

5. I have been contemplating the source of my childhood pain and came to the realization that what I mistook for neglect was actually my mother's way of showing me that she had trust and faith in me to do the right thing and to take care of myself. Of course, at the age of 6 years such a deep understanding of her actions and behavior would not have entered my mind; all I was concerned about was knowing that my mother was there and loved me...I wasn't ready for adult responsibility at that young age. Yet, when a mother is building a home and family all on her own - raising children, working, putting herself through school - the child does not realize the blessing that he or she is by just being cooperative and helpful. The lack of attention is not necessarily a sign of lack of love or appreciation; yet, it is important to let others know that you do care. I love you Mom, may you always rest in peace.

4. I have been experiencing symptoms that can be classified as 'menopausal'. I have endured so many hot flashes in the past few days that I can sympathize with the Sunday pot roast that my grandmother used to slow cook every weekend. And do not get me started on the mood roller coaster; I started to well up in tears while watching a Disney movie...do not inquire on why I was watching a Disney movie. I have not been this emotionally sensitive since pregnancy - and no I am not pregnant. I do believe that some form of sexual interaction is required for such an event to occur, and by that statement alone one should be cognizant enough to know that I am currently not privy to such action.

3. With all the emotional ups and downs taking place, and the hot flash fiesta occurring in my body, my only reprieve for balance is exercise - and lots of it. In between the running, the walking, the weight lifting, the hiking, the rock climbing, the cycling...have I left anything out (??) I simply have no energy left to humor the void (the void being the unknowns that read about my insanity on this webpage).

2. I have spent all this time just to get to the first point below.

1. Just as I sit here now, wondering how I even managed to account for ten points, I stare at my screen pondering what I should type. I really have no interest to babble on about presidential primaries and elections, or the economy or global events, or any other over done and inane topic just to have something to say. We all have a voice and hence we all have an opinion or thought to share; but when it comes down to the dirt, life is a very selfish enterprise...I guess my problem is, I am not entirely willing - or feel that it is unnecessary - to share my selfishness or my thoughts on the state of life and the world. Yet, bit by bit, I reveal a little about myself here and mainly for a selfish reason. 

I write not to share myself; I write to hear myself (ahhh, a contradiction to my previous statement).

The fact that I chose this medium over a private journal (although I still use a private journal) attests to my need, like millions of others, to be heard or participant to. The internet has become the place to let out our screams, our laughter, our intelligence (or lack thereof) and our frustrations - it has also become a social playground. Just visualize the energy being poured into this virtual world - the pain, the happiness, the creativity, the destruction - truth, lies and no control. A place where life can exist as it biology designed it - randomly.

I have company coming in a week, three glass gals that will be going to GlassStock with me.  GlassStock is a cool event that happens every labor day in South Beach/Newport Oregon...only 10 to 15 min away for me :)  Gotta love that!!! So I host some friends to stay with me.  I pick them up next Tuesday, I can't wait!  Angie, Misty and Carol.  Oh we are going to have fun. 

Then to round things off, at the end of the month I am going to visit my friend Suzy in NH, I can't wait to see her, we can talk, talk...talk and talk...seems like we can always find something to talk about...I can't wait to play in her studio and meet her wonderful family.  She is going to take me to Wells to see where I used to live a lifetime ago, my parents owned a resort there called Sleepytown....it's been 34 years, or there abouts since I saw it last....so many great memories, I can't wait to go check it out.   So before I know it, I will be home and Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas will be upon us...and then a brand new year.  Life is just going by to quickly lately.

We are clever people.  So clever in fact, this is what some of us do to beat the heat when torching in high summer temperatures.  C’mon, tell us ……  blog it!

Ok...I live six miles in on the Oregon Coast...we get enough cool days and it cools down at night enough that you can torch if need be.  I do work out of my garage, no fru fru studio...Gosh I wish I had one, but I don't...I work in a garage full of "other" stuff.  So it does get hot...many days it hits 95 or so...BUT...it does cool down for the most part at night...and we have enough overcast days because of the heat in the valley and the ocean air making it cooler over this way.  So I torch when its overcast, raining or cooler days :) play the rest of the time...see I told ya it was easy!

Honestly thou...summer is summer...and I like to enjoy Oregon and its best weather as much as I can.  Since business usually slows a LOT in the summer months...I am not as stressed to work in hot weather.  Now winter is another story, what about when it gets to cold??  I tell ya what I do then...I wear ugg boots, layers...and aim heat dish at my butt and it keeps me warm ;)

If I lived where it stayed hot, and hot through the night...I do believe I would have to have a nicer studio with air conditioning.  Heat in the winter...Air in the summer...for now, I work in the garage...not glamorous...but it works :)  If its a hot one, Dan and I hop on the harley and take a ride to cool down and enjoy the heat and summer day.

Cheap camera, blurred images. I must invest in a real camera.

Life appears unbalanced, at least as I perceive it; either that, or I unknowingly do everything 'against the grain'. If you were to say yes, I would likely say no; some move away from impending danger, I move toward it (mainly out of curiosity). I had a child at a young age; my friends are only beginning to start their families. My child is nearly an adult; I have an immense amount of free time on my hands but no one to play with - they are all busy raising babies. What is there left to do but travel and explore the world.

The first destination on the agenda is Japan. It was my son's suggestion. He wants to accompany me on this trip for the sole purpose of purchasing technology; I told him, any country we visit together will involve a cross country cultural and scenic experience that does not involve a daily hop from store to store. He agreed to a one day shopping bonanza.

I would not say that Japan was on the top of my list of countries to visit; it actually never occurred to me until my son mentioned it. The first destination I had in mind was either going to be Nepal or Iceland. I really cannot explain this desire to visit Iceland - of all the fascinating places on this planet, why would I choose Iceland? Geothermal springs. Dormant volcanoes. Glacial formations. Images, such as this one:

Or this one:

Along with culture, landscapes are what draw me to a country. Iceland, aside from appearing to be a relatively serene and modestly populated country, has a landscape that looks benign and wild; delicate and dangerous...a place of contrasts.

Optimism is doing little for me today; bitchiness has ruled these past two days. I want to call it PMS, but feminism has threatened to eviscerate me for attributing my "female assertiveness" to hormones. There is nothing assertive about chewing someone's head off and spitting it out for the simple mistake of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time during the female ovulatory cycle. That behavior is not assertive, it is down-right aggressive and unprofessional; I called myself a bitch and apologized (repeatedly) to the unwitting victim of my estrogen over-activity.

The mask of terror that has crept over my being in these past few days is not how I view myself most days; I am too outwardly nonchalant in personality for such aggressiveness. Ms. Hyde only makes occasional appearances; and in the absence of biological influences, she is likely to casually point out how you f***ed up and use rationale argumentation to make you feel like an ass even more.

Shit....I am a bitch.

Can I classify bitchiness as a personality disorder? It is not that I seek to intentionally be a bitch; sometimes I have no control over what might pass through my lips as I silently emasculate the dumb-ass sitting or standing before me. It is almost like a reflexive reaction; I witness stupidity or incompetence and my mind speaks the thoughts that register just to make certain that what I just saw or heard was real.

I have been told that sometimes silence is golden - and I agree; a full fledged commentary is unnecessary in most instances. A few simple and precise words are usually sufficient. I have apparently misunderstood the unsolicited guidance being offered; perhaps if I kept my thoughts to myself, others would view me in a different light. Hmmm...I have to think about that one. Seeing as I am not a paid diplomat, and I have the task of pointing out (and rather blatantly in most cases) the errors in other's activities and actions, directness has always been the preferred method. I may not be loved, but I am appreciated...sometimes. ;)

I, thankfully, have my son to tell me that I am not a cold and heartless individual. The lioness with her cub... I love my son more than anything. This is not to suggest that I praise him and have him believing that he is without fault; we are all faulty and I will admit my mistakes to him and apologize for my errors when things go awry (honesty is better than hypocrisy)...something I hope to instill in him - responsibility for our own actions - owning thyself.

I am now reminded of a short paper I wrote in my early undergrad years for a first-year philosophy course. The subject was on ancient thought - Aeschylus, Plato, Aristotle, Thucydides... Anyhow, the paper was a dialectic on a passage in Aristotle's The Politics. The passage dealt with the nature of the soul and its inherent desire for freedom. In The Politics, Aristotle was examining the nature of slavery in the context of freedom and the soul - slavery, of course, is an unnatural state. Yet, the soul can never experience true freedom until death (this is not a part of Aristotle's dialogue, as far as I can recall), since the soul is: 1. bound in a physical vessel until the death of that vessel, and 2. you are only as free as the laws and the repression of others provide (think my rights end where yours begin, with the concept of rights based on the concept of freedom). 

At the time I agreed with Aristotle - by its nature, the desire of the soul is freedom - the freedom from repression (slavery) of all kinds. However, as time has taught me, freedom is not something that is a given or fully understood. Freedom is a learning process; an ability to release not only the physical binds of life and survival, but also the metaphysical and emotional binds that repress the expression of truth (and I am not suggesting that speaking or acting on truth is freedom); truth is also a loaded word. What I mean when I speak of freedom lies in the concept of nothing; and as we currently live and exist, nothing is an impossible state to be in. As long as existence is based on need - and water and oxygen are a need - then freedom cannot truly exist; we are all bound by our limitations. And, unfortunately, one of my current limitations is bitchiness; the question is will I be any freer if I release myself from this state?

Best part...I have e-mail addies and little write up's on everyone that they could get info from or contact...so I can keep in touch.  Worse part?? actually realizing I am old enough to have a 30 year class reunion.

The person who came from the longest distance was Klaus Lange, all the way from Germany...he was our foreign exchange student back in high school...it was great to see him again and it was one of the only photo's I was in...so thought I would share, me and Klaus.

The very sound of the lawn trimmer induces thoughts of my childhood home (at least the home I occupied when I lived with my grandparents - my Mom passed when I was young and I never really knew my Father.) I would often wake up early on a week-end morning to the sound of my grandfather trimming the lawn. The droning, buzzing sound was almost hypnotic, and the aroma of the freshly cut grass could lure me from the comforts of a soft and plump bed to the wonders of the backyard.

The yard itself, although large, was nothing spectacular - my grandfather was fond of fixing things and had an impressive tool collection at his disposal; because of his hobbies and passions, our yard was frequently cluttered with an array of bicycles, car engines, outdoor equipment, a very large shed (built by my grandfather that had a wood-burning stove as it's centerpiece - I loved sitting in that shed in winter), a dog house and a boat. Every spring I would attempt to cultivate a vegetable garden in areas not affected by metal and mechanical things. My only successes were with green peas, beans, carrots, lettuce and tomatoes; these vegetables can grow (apparently) under any condition.

When I was not mucking about in the dirt eating the carrots barely out of their seeds, or playing with mechanical items that fascinated me, mountain biking was my rush. Beyond the backyard (and to the side of the house) was a drop of approximately 20-30 meters that led to rarely used trails in the midst of forested and rocky landscapes - green spaces untouched by urban development. As I think about it, my grandparent's house really was at the northeastern edge of the town not far from the TransCanada highway. In the spring and summer months, my best-friend and I would explore the area and challenge our maneuvering abilities on the terrain, or find our way up to McKenzie Falls and either swim or kayak the day away.

It seems so long ago. The very memories induced by the simple sound of a lawn trimmer have stirred up yearnings for the region. The whole area of Northern Ontario along Lake Superior, and toward Manitoba to the west and Hudson Bay to the north is a lush and diverse landscape that could fulfill nearly any adventurous desire at any time of year. Just lend me a cabin that contains a sauna, fireplace, some semblance of showering facilities, some electricity - particularly a wireless connection, and plenty of good books, equipment and food and I should be quite content...And one other thing, a sexy man who can appreciate the untamed nature of the region and who likes to cuddle would also be a nice touch. (Imagination is a fantastic element of the mind.)

This person went on to clarify their question; what was really being asked was "what is your cultural background?"

- I'm Canadian.

- Where did you originate from?

- My mother's womb.

- (Laughing) No, no...Did you live somewhere else prior to coming to Canada?

- I was born in Canada.

- Where did you parents come from?

Well...if I wanted to get technical, my maternal line can likely be linked to the earliest people to inhabit this land (apparently part of my genome is of the Haplo X group, but that is an entirely different conversation altogether; yet if I wanted to plug it, I could argue that my family was here before Canada ;). To take a more comprehensible approach...

- My mother's background is a mixture of Ojibwa, Scottish, Irish and Finn. On my father's side, African, Spanish and Scottish as well.

These questions always amuse me; but really, after years and generations of global migration, can someone please tell me what a Canadian is and what are the features of a Canadian? If "a civilized people of British and French origin" is the answer, than that does not answer my question. From my earliest days, there were no common features in Canadian society - and by this I mean that there is not a single representative group that could be deemed 'original Canadians' other than (perhaps) the aboriginal peoples - who themselves number over 200 tribal affiliations and were a migratory people as well. I grew up seeing faces of 'civilized'  Aboriginal peoples, Asians, Italians, East Europeans - Polish, Ukrainian, Russian and other Slavic groups, Scandinavians, Jewish, English, French, Greek, Caribbean... The only differences were the variations in skin tone, hair colour and cuisine. So again I ask, what makes a Canadian? Am I a "Canadian" considering that my family has resided in Canada for at least 3-4 generations? I sometimes wonder? I also wonder if Canada is so lacking in a culture that it's inhabitants must identify with their ancestral or familial origins to have an identity.

________

I have spent a significant portion of this morning cooking, partly for lack of anything better to do and mainly to fulfill the urge to cook. This morning's menu consisted of a mushroom sauce for service with a pasta dish, shepherd's pie (for my son), and a lemon tart.

The mushroom sauce received the most personal acclaim; I found that it tasted marvelous... I surprise myself sometimes. It is simply a small roast eggplant - chopped up, sun-dried tomatoes, dried porcini and cardoncelli mushrooms, fresh parsley and thinly sliced garlic. In a pan, on low heat, I sautéed in olive oil the garlic, eggplant and re-constituted tomatoes and mushrooms with the liquid (the sun-dried tomatoes - 5-7 pieces chopped - and mushrooms were placed in a bowl and barely covered with near-boiling water for a few minutes). The mixture was cooked until the mushrooms began to soften and the liquid was reduced. I then added approximately 200-250 ml of cream and simmered to thicken and blend the flavours. The cooked pasta (linguini was my choice) was tossed in the sauce and topped with chopped parsley.

My version of Shepherd's pie was a bit different than the traditional variety for lack of standard ingredients. I used a combination of lean ground beef, veal and pork, cooked with minced onion and chopped garlic. I added a bit of beef broth and seasoned tomato sauce (in this particular instance, canned pizza sauce was all I had) and some herbs-de-Provence. In my baking dish I placed the meat mixture, followed by corn niblets and topped with mashed (actually whipped) potatoes that were seasoned with a bit of olive oil, salt and pepper. I shoved it in the oven and let it bake for 30-40 minutes. It came out better than I though, and my son loved it.

Now for some tea.

Despite all the time that is at my disposal, it appears to have slipped from my grasp today. Aside from reading the day away, I had recently set up my materials to undertake some figure sketching and became side-tracked by an email I received, which led me to a website of no extraordinary interest other than being able to read up on some former high school friends. In all honesty, I can barely recall half the people I attended high school with; names sound vaguely familiar (other than the names of the friends I had) and judging by a few select images, one or two former high school mates are still attached to the 80's. Nostalgia is the only reason that such websites exist.

Where are these former high school friends now? With the exception of one friend of mine, who is currently residing in Turks and Caicos, and myself, the remainder appear to have stayed on in the town of their birth - all married with small children and living everyday lives; my life is certainly not grand, but the notion of the standard societal model of the family and adult life just seems foreign to me. Perhaps it is because my child is several centimetres taller than me and we have been a family of two for quite a number of years now.

Although I would actually like to have a mutually supportive and loving relationship with someone, singlehood also has its perks; yeah...that will last only as long as my son is living under the same roof as me. As soon as he leaves, this cosy little space we call home will suddenly feel like a cavernous tomb. The occasional week-end where I can bask in the joys of his absence are incomparable to a complete departure...however, considering that I feel that I am in a stage of transition, there is a possibility that I will be prepared for and even welcome his move into adult independence...it will certainly make travel much cheaper :)

Returning to the sketching, I am in the processes of putting together a portfolio on the human form. I have some rough sketches to display here (and may eventually post more); I am also in search of human models, any volunteers?

I'm as worn out as a cucumber in a convent.

I am just worn out (see Spade-ism #17).

At the beginning of this month, I opened my own company. Blue Media Boutique. An interactive agency that operates under a unique model. We keep the agency small, so our clients don't incur ridiculous overhead fees. And then, we source our creatives from a mass of freelance and contract workers all over the world. People I have worked with over the past 15 years. Amazing people. Really creative creatives.

So, the new company thing had me slammed up against the wall for a few weeks. And last week, one of my projects, Needled, kept me slammed up against the window of a plane, as I flew to the west coast and back for a whirlwind video/tattoo/photo/tattoo/interviews/tattoo extravaganza with Marisa DiMattia—tattoo extraordinaire.

And then, to top it off, I got injured in Bootilicious Camp. I did something crazy to my lower back, which is apparently squeezing the nerve in my buttocks. I actually went for a buttocks massage to try and alleviate the pain, but alas, it has returned. So, I am off to the doctor on Thursday to see if he has any advice. In the meantime, I have been sitting on a variety of ice packs…all different shapes and sizes…I am trying to find the best fit for my buttocks.

So much for the no excuses thing, huh?

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My husband, who's a fan of Needled (probably more a fan of mine and the work I do), recently created an imeem playlist for Needled.

I thought it was pretty darn good…so good, I'm posting it here.

Spade

I watch my child fighting sleep and think to myself, "I would give someone a million dollars to be in your shoes right now…cradled in my mother's arms with a warm bottle of milk and a soft cuddly blanket." Who wouldn't want to trade places with a baby?

Hell, I am so sleep-deprived these days, I often look at my two dogs and think the same thing. Lazy mutts. When will it be my turn to lay in the sunshine all day, waking only to get up and switch positions?

Life is funny that way. My 10-month-old takes two to three naps a day, but only exerts a small amount of energy crawling around from one toy to the next. He doesn't do much for himself these days…we feed him, change his diaper, dress him, carry him, play with him, and so on. The kid should be bouncing off the walls with all of the sleep he is getting.

An adult on the other hand (like me, for example), is waking at 6:30am, getting milk for her kid, feeding her dogs, possibly folding a load of laundry in between those two things, dragging her ass to Boot Camp, then rushing home, showering, making the bed, getting dressed, wolfing down some breakfast, possibly Swiffering the kitchen floor in between those two things, driving to work, working for seven to eight hours, racing to pick up her kid, grocery shopping, bolting home, feeding her kid, shoveling dinner down her throat, possibly emptying the dishwasher in between those two things, checking email, and finally going to bed…only to be woken at 4am by a cranky baby, a snoring husband, or a spoiled mutt.

If anyone needs a nap, it is me. I could actually use more than one nap a day. I would be so much more productive. So much happier. So much healthier. So much sexier. So much more attentive to my poor husband who usually only gets to see the "I am so tired" me in the morning and the "I am exhausted" me before we go to bed.

I think someone should invent Daycare for adults. A place where adults could gather to get work done, carry on meetings, check email, answer cell phones, play with Lincoln Logs, and so on. At certain intervals of the day, however (preferably 10:30am and 3pm), everyone would grab a blanket and take a quick little nap. Snack time would be optional, but nap time would be mandatory.

No more caffeine-hyped-up employees. Just well-rested productive citizens ready to take on the world.

A little nap goes a long way.

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Poll #2: What is it with these paper signs nailed to lamp posts, telephone poles, and trees all over the city? Advertising at its best? The terms “bandit sign,” “snipe sign,” “vertical litter,” “street spam” and “stuff on a stick” (SOS) have all been used to describe these ugly posters.

Tori's response: I am sure I pass hundreds of these a day…in one brain, out the other. A few I recall are "ROOF STAIN REMOVAL,"LOSE WEIGHT IN 30 DAYS,"WE BUY JUNK." Now, if it's something regarding a lost or found pet, I am driving off the road trying to read it. Otherwise, I'm usually not paying attention to the street spam. I will say, a local insurance agency caught my eye this past tax season with their stuff on a stick…simply because they had a person dressed in a Statue of Liberty costume carrying the stick. You have got to be kidding me. Pull it together sweetheart and get out of the costume. I'm so embarrassed for you, I'll pay you double what they're paying you to not wear that thing.

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Poll #1: Is there a right way and a wrong way to hang the toilet paper roll in the holder? Do you roll down from the top or do you pull up from underneath? And why?

Tori's response: I roll down from the top for several reasons. First off, many public holders do not allow for the correct amount of space between the holder and the roll, so, if you were to pull up from underneath, the paper would scrape against the back of the holder and the wall. Yuck. Germ-o-rama. We all know I have OCD, so this clearly doesn't cut it for me. The whole reason for wiping in the first place is to stay clean, so who wants to risk rubbing the toilet paper all over the germ-infested wall first before using it. Yuck.

Secondly, I like to fold the end of my toilet paper into a nice little triangle for my guests. Just like a fancy hotel. Don't ask me why. Only the first guest gets to see the nice little triangle before he or she tears it off and uses it. Every once in a while, you'll find me folding triangles during the middle of a party if I've spied an unruly toilet paper end on my way through the house.

Finally, I find that the pulling up from underneath maneuver oftentimes leaves a long trail of paper draping on the floor. The roll gets up so much momentum from the pulling that it just keeps on going. Of course, the person in the stall before me obviously does not need that much paper, so she attempts to tear off what she needs, leaving the rest hanging all over the place. Yuck. A germ-fest and a huge waste.

In summation, I am a "roll down from the top" kind of girl. And, because of my slight OCD tendencies, I usually have a hard time resisting the temptation to flip the roll when I'm in someone else's washroom. Toilet paper should roll, not pull. After all, that's why it's called a "roll" of toilet paper.

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George Carlin's Views on Aging…

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.

"How old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.

You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead. "How old are you?" "I'm gonna be 16!" You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16!

And then the greatest day of your life…you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!

But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.

But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!

So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.

You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You get into your 80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime

And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; "I Was JUST 92."

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. "I'm 100 and a half!"

May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG

1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight, and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay "them."
2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.
4. Enjoy the simple things.
5. Laugh often, long, and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.
8. Cherish your health. If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.
10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

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I am talking about the cheese dip you order at a dive-y Mexican restaurant. The kind that comes in a piping hot bowl with a layer of oil rolling around on top of it. The kind you sink ten thousand chips into without thinking twice about it. The kind that makes your stomach ache with pain because you've eaten a portion that could feed all of Ethiopia.

Today, I had that kind of cheese dip for lunch.

A glorious day. A glorious lunch.

Viva Mexico! Viva cheese dip!

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As you can imagine, this behavior hasn't been going over so well with my husband. There is a slight power-play going on in our house. Wilbur thinks he makes the rules; my husband thinks he's the man of the house. It's fun.

A few months ago, we finally banned the dogs to their own beds in our room. Previously, they had been "sneaking" into the bed with us. A 130-pound Bloodhound and a 75-pound mutt. Ridiculous. That's like four people in a king-sized bed. My husband and me pushed to the edges, with nary a cover to keep us warm. Two spoiled hounds dead center, with covers and pillows galore.

The other night Wilbur sauntered over to my side of the bed and gently put his head on my arm. I thought he needed to go out or something, but he just kept sitting there. Eventually, I thought something was wrong with him, so I rolled over to tell my husband I was concerned. Before I opened my mouth to utter the words, Wilbur was up on the bed. Sinister little devil.

Wilbur planted himself smack dab in between us, and my husband conjured up yet another nickname for the poor mutt. "That cock blocker," my husband exclaimed, "I was just about to put the moves on you."

"Yeah, right," I replied, "I've seen better moves at a sixth-grade dance."

And Spade came back with another great Spade-ism, "I've seen better moves at an Asian massage parlor."

Another romantic evening at the Rose household.

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Trying to give myself the feel of summer I put away the bling (dichro beads) and have been making florals, and ya know what??  They do lighten my mood and make me smile when I make them....so that is a good thing.  My customers hopefully are enjoying the new crop...it has been quite some time since I made florals.  I have also been practicing my stringer work, both giving me a different feel at the torch, they are more relaxed and slow moving beads.

Here is my latest...I am in LOVE with these...they remind me of my childhood and my mother's garden...so I called them Nostalgic Garden, they are up on eBay right now. 

and Wildflower Blue's up on my Etsy

Well anyway, are you still waiting on summer to arrive??  Or...are you done with it and ready for winter??  Ok maybe not winter..but at least spring or fall?

Now I do have to tell you that these photo's were taken with my iphone...I didn't bring my camera and it was so beautiful, I pulled out my phone and figured lets give it a shot...and they turned out pretty darn good.

Well anyway, I wanted to share our gorgeous day, we have had such crappy weather...cooler than normal and overcast, showers and just plain brrrr ick...that the gorgeous weekend is so very appreciated.

Now before I go, last night when we got home we had this visitor in our yard...he didn't even leave when Dan started up the mower...and hung around, four nights running he has come to our yard to lay in the cooler shaded area and eat our grass.   These I didn't take with the iphone but with my nikon ....but had to share them also...have a great Fathers Day tomorrow! Spoil your daddy's.

When I'm out-of-shape and feeling frumpy, however, the hate factor kicks into high gear. Today, I am not so much Bo Derek. I am more "mother of a nine-month-old, who had a C-section, nursed for seven months, and got thyroid disease somewhere in the mix."

Yesterday, I tried on bathing suits…and today I started a lettuce and water diet.

Walking into the dressing room was challenge enough—coming to terms with the fact that I was about to squeeze my pastey-white curves into a tiny piece of Lycra. The actual act of doing it about put me over the edge. I went for the one-piece, as my mid-section has more rolls than a bakery right now. I chose a pattern that "accentuated the face" (according to the tag). What the tag didn't say was that the suit would also accentuate my inner thigh area, simply because there was nothing to cover it. And, that the V-neckline would show-off my now pancake boobs (what did I think was going to happen with a 15-pound kid hanging off of my nipples for seven months?). I didn't dare look at my hind-parts. God knows what kind of accentuating was going on back there.

Clearly, the bathing suit manufacturers need to go back to the origin of the word "suit." A suit, my friends, covers the entire body!

Out of sheer necessity, I did leave the store with a bathing suit. My maternity suits are, thankfully, way too big and the Bo Derek bikini isn't quite going to cut it this year. You'll find me in the face-accentuating one-piece…and a lovely cover-up to go along with it.

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I had lunch with this friend yesterday and she shared a classic story about her ex. They've been broken up for about eight months now, due to his commitment-phobia and love of hot air balloons (I threw that one in for kicks). This is a testament to all men who refuse to grow up and live in the big-boy world.

It's about 5:15pm and my friend comes home from a tiring day at the office. Ready to kick up her feet and enjoy a lovely Chardonnay, she runs to the mailbox on her way into the house. There, on top of her Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes entry, is a folded up piece of yellow, lined writing paper. She unfolds the note and reads the following:

"For some reason, I feel the need to tell you that I've started dating someone. I am telling you this as a friend that just needs to share this information without any malicious intent or motive and I don't want to stir waters that are clearing…just thought you should hear it from me. That's it. Please let me know when you get this. Oh, and can I borrow your algebra notes tonight? (I threw that one in for kicks, too)."

I should now go into a whole diatribe about the content of the note, but the story gets even better, and the note speaks for itself.

The kicker is that just under the signature of the ex is another note in someone else's handwriting. It's just three little words with an arrow pointing to the ex's signature: "WHAT A JERK."

It only took a few minutes for my friend to deduce that her post carrier had added this little gem. Apparently, he saw the note in her mailbox and thinking she had left it for him, opened it up. His curiosity got the best of him and the rest is history. My friend confirmed this information today. Rock on Mr. Postman!

To all of you Immature Men out there, please get it together. Come in off the playground and grow up for God's sake. Handwritten notes in mailboxes only work for nine-year-olds and stalkers. And, no one cares who you are dating, as long as you're not dating two people at the same time (even that could be more forgivable than the ol' "note in the mailbox" maneuver).

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So, I was a bit surprised to find out that MUFA actually stands for monounsaturated fatty acids, otherwise known as good-for-you-fats. These are the fats that protect you from chronic disease and help you lose fat around the middle. The Anti-FUPA fats!

Oils, nuts and seeds, avocado, olives, and chocolate. Eat one serving of any of these at each meal and you'll be on your way to a flatter belly, according to "The Flat Belly Diet."

Eat too many at one sitting, though, and you'll be on your way to Boot Camp…with me. Those chocolate covered peanuts did me wrong. Apparently, the reverse effect of MUFA is MUFfin-top (rolls of flesh spilling over the waistline of your trousers).

Flat belly, my ass. I have been MUFA-ing it up for years to no avail. Guacamole with my chips, olives in my martinis, chocolate with more chocolate. Hello! What seems to be the problem?

The magical MUFA has transformed my body alright. Into what, remains the question.

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38 works for bra sizes and Bingo…but, it sort of falls into that black hole of birthdays. Older than 35, but not quite 40 yet.

So, how does one celebrate the big 3-8?

Today, I slept in a bit later than usual. I snuggled a few extra moments with my son. The perfect gift for me.

My husband surprised me with a gorgeous pair of earrings that I immediately donned. They looked great with my pajamas and messy hair.

Instead of making breakfast (something I never do anyway), we headed for IHOP. Buttermilk pancakes and old fashioned maple syrup make for the perfect birthday cake.

I napped this afternoon, then watched a cheesy romantic comedy. And now, my husband is getting ready to make me dinner.

No fruity cocktails, no little black dress and dancing all night, no "I just turned 25" extravaganza.

Instead, sippy cups and sweat pants, and a peaceful, restful day with my family.

Ah, the bliss of turning 38. This is going to be a great year.

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