Woman adopts abandoned bunk bed ladder

I have been thinking of you. & of blogging. I mentally blog quite a bit, thinking of topics & bits & phrases. Most of the time, I then go happily on, doing the thing I'd thought of telling you about, or its pleasant equivalent, as the ether remains unscathed (or unrewarded, if you prefer) by my telling.

Why?

Part of it is about flow. There's a certain amount of stoppingness & startingness in firing up the computer & popping out of the here-osphere (or there-osphere) & into the blogosphere. Part of it is that I've gotten into more & more pleasure with just being & doing--meditating, drawing or painting, umm--you're way ahead of me--"Well, isn't writing a form of doing? How about drawing a little picture on your tablet pc or taking a photo of one of your journal pages? That's a form of doing."

Ooops. Trueness. Hmmm. Might have to think about this for awhile. (Yet another form of doing. Grin.)

So I don't necessarily promise to blog more often, but I might.

Here are a few of the bits that made it into the imaginary blog.

New furniture & wealth of Gigi's:

Dear Gigi,

I just unearthed your book from a pile that had eaten it & read it Tuesday night. (with extreme pleasure, btw. god, what a voice!)

[btw, should you be interested in reading Gigi Amateau's novel, it is called Claiming Georgia Tate.]

Then, on Wednesday, my friend (& executive assistant) Elizabeth & I went out for lunch. She wanted Thai food, so after eating I suggested we stop in at this furniture place going out of business in the same complex as the restaurant. Greatfinds! She bought a sofa & I bought a little storage ottoman & something (possibly a TV stand?) that will hold a billion art supplies/drawings/etc. that I can set another little art supply holder on top of. Very cool. Very inexpensive. Then the tough furniture guys loaded my things into Elizabeth's short-bed truck & we drove them to my apartment. She was all ready to help me carry them up the stairs, but I took an experimental heft of the art thingy (that's a technicalterm) & decided it was beyond my muscular capabilities at the moment. As we were contemplating the large white heavy thing, a nicely-dressed (blouse & skirt) youngish woman (older than Elizabeth, younger than me) was walking past & Elizabeth asked if she could help us carry this up the stairs. She hesitated briefly & agreed. Then she & Elizabeth, without my assistance, got it out of the truck, up a bunch of outside stairs & up the flight & a bit (with a right angle turn!) stairs into my apartment & set it down in the art studio. I helped set it down, all the while thanking them profusely. She introduced herself as Gigi! Okay, I thought, this definitely means I need to get ahold of Gigi, posthaste! The other Gigi took off & I ran after her & gave her a yellow rose & a peach & then Elizabeth & I completely revamped my apartment, in 3 hours, & I took a bath & --

Enough of my letter to Gigi. I love my new furniture. Went back & bought 2 dresser-type mirrors (originally $98 & $88) for a total of $38. (I set one of the mirrors on my drafting table so I can do self portraits.) Oh, & I also purchased a bunk bed ladder.

What? I heare you asking. (That's not a typo, I have combined hear & here to indicate that I am imagining that you are here, & I am hearing you.) A bunk bed ladder? Has she lost her mind?

But it was so cute & so lonely, with no bunk beds in sight & I couldn't just leave it there. Surely I could do something with it! & indeed I have: I leaned it up against the ends of the bookshelves that Elizabeth & I back-to-backed in the living room (which made a very nice little nook for the hunter green damask chaise lounge from Home Decorator's Collection that I assembled myself) & I let it hold books & magazines for me, so I don't lose my page. Some of you may think a piece of paper would do the job (hmm, perhaps I shall invent a special piece of paper for that, call it a hmm, yes, a bookmark--no, that would put my baby bunk bed ladder out of a job) but I disagree. (Please ignore the previous parenthetical!)

I am newly returned from another store that is going out of business, having carried back with me a little bin thingy & a twirly deal (more technicalterms) that will hold greeting cards & a couple packets of (wholesale-priced) blank greeting cards, with envelopes. Oh, & also a needlework scroll frame.

Hastily, before Cathy & others who know me well call the guys with straitjackets to haul me away (I'm pretty much allergic to even sewing on a button & the idea of cross-stitch is less appealing than cilantro) I will say that it is for silk painting! Not sure how well it will work to do a scarf in bits & pieces, as I let it dry & then roll the next section into the working space, but I am willing to give it a try. I haven't painted a single piece of silk since my class last whenever & I might be more likely to if it didn't involve taking up a giant table with a large wooden frame.

Okay, so that's the (bloated) blog for the day. Now, what you've been waiting for, the

Blog alternative:

138. Adopt a bunk bed ladder. Or at least adapt some something-or-other to a new use.

Overplanner's Anonymouse (Quick, get a trap!)

She had a nose for roses,
& a knack for good weather
inside & out.

Fortunately, the dryer wasn't working too efficiently, so I took a walk around a couple blocks & called my sons & drew the above picture & started this blog. Lucky me. (I am hoping the dryer--on another setting--gets its act together.)

I had me another massage today--goodness, can that guy find the spots that need finding. Yikes! Very therapeutic. Grin. (Back when I was in massage school, we used to call the superficial, feels-good-but-isn't-really-doing-anything sort of massage a fluff n' buff. This was not a fluff n' buff.)

I am looking forward to the day when Brett says, "Wow, you're really relaxed all over. Come back next month." In preparation for this, I have scheduled another therapeutic massage next week, am planning on some more daily stretching &--perhaps most importantly--I had the revelation that one of the the sources of my muscular rigidity was based on an old thought habit. Increasingly, I've been letting go of it, without knowing exactly what I was doing. Now I've figured it out--aha!--& I can be even more effective.

So, you want to know what"it" is, do you? Of course you do. (& if you don't, just skip down to the bottom for the Blog alternative.)

It: I have been, for as long as I can remember, one of those people who has lots of rules or programs or plans for how things do--or should--or will--work. Like planning out a conversation in advance: I'll tell her this & then that & she'll probably be like this & then, blah blah blah. That sort of thing. For someone who will set off into the wild blue of a novel based on a sentence or an image, having an outline for a future conversation is rather preposterous, but there it is, or rather, WAS.

If I am the marvelous being that I know I am, made of light & love & all that, well, that ought to be good enough to handle pretty much any situation, without advance planning. So, when I find myself doing that sort of thing, I just breathe & relax & let it go. I'm doing fairly well. Not perfect, but 40 years or so of a habit (I know I started this sometime in grade school) doesn't have to exit all spit spot spiffy. At least I've given it notice.

More to tell you, but I'd better check on the clothes.

Blog alternative:
137. Ask yourself if you overplan. Plan to do less of it. (Grin.)

Palermo Ashiatsu & other unlikely wordpairs

Self Portrait as Peace Leaf

Palermo.

How many times a day do you use (or even think of) that word?

If you are like me, not many.

However, today, here at the coffee shop, I ordered a grilled panini sandwich by the name of Palermo & then--as coolness would have it--I opened up wikipedia (the source of all (or nearly anyway) things cool, according to the gospel of (my son) Nick) & discovered

July 15: Festino of Saint Rosalia in Palermo, Italy

Well, I think it's cool! (& it's my blog so I declare it so. Nyaa, nyaa, nyaa.)

I had a massage again (from Brett Rodgers, vitalitymassage.net/ iffen you live in or around Asheville or plan to visit here) & it was amazing. My first experience with Ashiatsu (massage using the feet) but NOT my last. In fact, I realize I neglected to make my next appointment, which I shall remedy soon.

I'm going to go home & get some stuff done. Hope your day is all spiffykeenarino, even if you didn't get a truly marvelous massage.

Blog alternative:
136. Get a massage. Really. Or at least schedule one. Or at least daydream about one. (& then schedule it!)

Happy Birthing Day

somebody's pick-up with birthday balloons

The above image is because today is my ex-husband's birthday, so I will dedicate this blog post to him & wish him a happy day. I'm sure his sweetie is helping him celebrate in fine fashion. Greetings to both of you.

&, for the rest of you, who aren't having birthdays today, I wish you something even better:

Happy Birthing Day!

What are you creating in your life this moment? If it thrills & chills you, hallelujah. Keep at it. If it bores & snores you, hallelujah--you've got a clue that there's something else better wishing to be born. If it's smacking you upside the head--well, move. Grin.

The idea that boredom can be a powerful creative tool is something I just read (& now am re-reading) in a GREAT book I bought at Page After Page in Elizabeth City. Your Highest Potential: The New Psychology of Understanding and Working with Self, by Annette Colby, Ph.D. This is an omigosh! book. I read it--underlining all the way--& then I started in at the beginning again. Very useful. Thank you, dear Dr. Colby. Happy Birthing Day to you, too.

Back to the thoughts I was rustling around last post, about the way television shows get stuck in your (or at least MY) mind.

Think of it this way. You get your first house/apartment. You have no furniture, or not much, & people give you all sorts of crap--I mean wonderful things--they no longer want in their spaces. You're grateful, but after a while you decide the pink-striped puffy chair & Grandpa's old plaid recliner with the broken recliny-handle-thingy & the X & the Z & perhaps even the Y are not things you would actually choose for yourself. So you set them out on the street corner or take them to Goodwill or foist them off on--I mean gift them to--someone with more floor space than bank account. & then you furnish your home according to your own desires.

I am attempting to do that with my mind, choosing the furniture, rather than sticking with everything everyone ever gave me--with all the commercials thrown in for (yeah, right) free. I want my mind to be a place I love to hang around in, a place that feels like a well-designed (or at least a ME-designed) home. So, if anyone wants a very-slightly-used (nearly-new, really) set of Californicators, or even some old, moldy Brady Bunchers, feel free. I'm setting them out on some street corner--& trying not to imagine what they'll do to each other. Grin.

Time for me to go now. I had a really super great massage today, with lots of stretching movements & I'm going to try to capitalize on the flexibility factor by doing some stretching myself.

Blog alternative:
135. Redecorate your mind. Or at least decide if you want to. (It could be as simple as freshening up the paint, maybe adding a skylight. Or you might need to take out some walls & haul away a few truckloads of old beliefs you didn't even remember you still had.) (But you might want to read Annette Colby's book first; she's got lots of good ideas for the process.) (& tell her I sent you!)

Taoist Californi--get out of my microcosmic orbit!

So I was lying there meditating, breathing in the microcosmic orbit fashion & I found myself thinking of the situations (interestingly messy) & characters (neurotic but charming, mostly) from a cable show called Californication. In spite of the very witty writing, I am not recommending this show--& not just because of the sex & language. (Those don't bother me.) No, the reason I don't recommend it is because--well, because it's television. Episodic. Intentionally contagious. Unlike a movie, which (unless it's part of a trilogy, & the others better be in the can!) needs some sort of story line closure, TV series thrive & survive on teasing, dancing around an issue without resolving it, trotting out a new subplot or leaving a main character in a compromising or dangerous or somesuch scenario.

I know. It's my fault. I'm the one that watched the dvd of the first season of the show. I haven't had television since May of 2003. I've had combinations: cable but no (by choice) television in my first apartment, currently a flat screen & dvd player but no cable. I even like television. I had 5 favorite shows when I moved out & quit televisioning. (Crossing Jordan, CSI (the original), ER, West Wing & Enterprise (not that it's my favorite Star Trek, but it was the flavor available at the time.)) But I find television gets stuck in ones head. It's like purposefully exposing yourself to one of those songs that--quick, think of something else. Whew. Narrow escape.

So I'm for sticking with movies. (Although I did watch several episodes of World Poker Tour the Saturday night I was in Elizabeth City. Those aren't cliffhangers.) I like my mind to be at least partly capable of sustaining thoughts of my choosing--or no thoughts at all.

My 3rd post for the month! I feel like such an over-achiever. That's the big benefit of slacking off so much during the first half of the year. July 6th & I'm already halfway to my previous monthly record.

Blog alternative:
134. Pick something you never--or rarely--do & set a new record. Rearranging the silverware drawer for example. (I just switched the spoons with the forks. Probably mess me all up. Or it could really activate my corpus callosum.)

Declaration of Co -- I mean INdependence

Little flag. Nick's toes.

Happy 5th of July.

Today is the real holiday, the day after all the fireworks, when the kid who has just moved out takes a deep breath & realizes that mom & dad (or mama country) are not paying the bills any more. So, happy independence, y'all, dear sovereign beings!

I'm doing bits & pieces of things. A bit of laundry. A bit of straightening. A bit of reading. & so on.

That means just a bit of blogging, so

Bye!

Blog alternative:
133. Write a declaration of independence, from a person, a habit, a no-longer-useful/desirable/whateverish possession.

Ocean umbrella chick turns pink anyway

I know--
it's July.
Happy July, everyone.

Um, yeah, June wasn't a real good blogging month, was it? It was a good living month for me, & I hope it was for you as well. (If you died in June, write & tell me right away & I will hope it was a good dying month for you.)

Anyway, back to July.

I got a bit of pink on me from a (tax-deductible!) trip to the beach. No, the government hasn't assigned me a job of Nag's Head beachcomber, but I did travel to Elizabeth City for a literary festival at the Page After Page bookstore & Nag's Head was but a skippety-hop away. If you were at the beach on Sunday the 29th of (nearly) blogless June, I was the one walking in the ocean holding an umbrella between the sun & my 5/8s Norwegian body. (The other 3/8s is German & Scottish, almost as well-known for lack-of-tanning abilities as the Norwegians.) I wasn't as persistent with the umbrella as I should have been, but I didn't burn badly. It was HOT, though. I enjoyed dipping into mama ocean, but it was real good to get back to the mountains.

Met some lovely writers at the literary festival. Signed a few books. Had a great deal of fun. Got that beach fix. Appreciate the cool mountains even more. The real estate prices in Greenville, South Carolina, are a lot better than they are here in Asheville, but it would have to be one heckuva house to persuade me the 10-degree increase in temperature was worth it.

Cool number report coming up, so if you don't get all excited over the universe bestowing lovely coinkydental numbers, go ahead & skip to the blog alternative.

The number of my hotel room the first night was 429. (I know, wussy girl--Montana would be ashamed of me--but I didn't leave until after 5 p.m.)
I pumped $22.27 worth of gas the next morning.
My hotel room in Elizabeth City was 227--& the internet access code was 0429.
Fun, huh!

Okay, so I'm rambling. Someday I'll learn to blog again. Then you'll be sorry. (Unless, as I fervently suggest, you spend your time off fishing or writing poetry or racing cars or some other worthy pursuit rather than reading blabbering blogs.)

& to practice,
my suggestion, the
Blog alternative:

132. Make someone a birthday card--especially if it's nowhere near their birthday--& send it, proudly proclaiming you're several months early.