Subjective Interpretations: The Bowl

My mother-in-law is a hoarder.  To what extreme?  Well, according to the National Study Group on Chronic Disorganization (yep, they're legit), better known to a few as NSGCD, she probably falls in the Level 2 range.  There are apparently five levels of hoarders.  So I suppose that's not so bad.  I think most of us have a few hoarding tendencies to an extent, a few psychoses of one kind or another.

According to Hoarders Anonymous, she has a knack at acquiring and failing to discard large numbers of possessions which appear to be useless or of limited value; AND her living space is sufficiently cluttered so as to preclude activities for which those spaces were designed (paraphrasing their definition).

So she's in that gray area, which technically classifies her as a junk collector, a distinction worth noting.

Each time my husband goes to visit her on the farm to help with mowing and spend time with her, he brings home "keepsakes."  She agreed to attempt to declutter pursuant to his long-standing insistence.  But because she refuses to throw anything away (Depression Era), she wants to give it all to me.  Some things are unloaded from his truck straight to the trash can, others are gently carried into the house and placed in storage for future inspection.  These are the items that are usually sentimental in nature or are said to be valuable antiques.

Well, this is my dilemma.  Do I just keep acquiring and storing these items of questionable value in perpetuum?  

What is the purpose?

Take, for example, "the bowl."  It arrived wrapped in a soft cloth, which was wrapped in several layers of aged newspapers.  I unwrapped it, and I thought to myself:  "Oh, my.  How ugly is THIS?"  I wrapped it back up and placed it in our buffet in the dining room, annoyed that it was just taking up precious space, knowing I'd never use it and would never display it.  To me, it was hideously ugly.

Because we're getting ready to refinish our wood floors, I'm having to unload the drawers and cabinets of their breakable contents, wrap them safely and store them temporarily in boxes during the renovations.  So yesterday, out comes The Bowl.  There it was.  I stared at it for a very long time thinking:  I really do not like this bowl.  It is a very ugly bowl.  I don't want it in my house.  What do I do with this ugly bowl?

I began to wonder about its value.  And I began my googling research.  Into the search window I first typed:  ugly antique colorful glass bowl.  

And I searched, and searched, and eventually I learned that it is called carnival glass.  That it was wildly popular in the 20th century.  That it is somewhat rare.  Continuing my research, I found this photo online, which looks extremely similar to my bowl.

The bowl from the auction site

My bowl.

Interesting, huh?

According to this auction site, this bowl, if authentic, is worth $100-$150.  Hmm.

I would have never guessed.  As to whether mine is authentic, if I had to guess by the look and feel of it, its weightiness, the hues of this, uh, carnival glass effect (shaking head here), I'd say it likely is.  Not certain.  But likely.

It's funny how people value their stuff.  What they find beautiful and pleasing and valuable ... whatever, and what they deem as junk.

Had I gone to an estate auction and browsed the inventory to be auctioned off, and I happened to see that bowl on display, and sitting next to it was this:  

... or something like it, I would have guessed that the copper cannister/pail was far more expensive and valuable than The Bowl.  

Interesting observation.  Supposing The Bowl IS authentic, it is therefore roughly 8 x more valuable than this copper bucket that I fell madly in love with and recently bought for a whopping $16.99, which I find FAR, FAR more beautiful than The Bowl.  The copper bucket I will proudly display in my home.  I will walk past it now and then and smile inside, resting my eyes on its beauty.  But The Bowl?  Sorry.  I can't do it.  It may be worth $100 or more.  It may not.  But it's going back in the wrapping and into the buffet.  I'll keep it and preserve its ugliness  subjective beauty and value for my sons' wives.  Let them decide what to do with it.  

Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.   

Show Me Your Soul

I was browsing my Pinterest boards just now in search of my pins having to do with crafting --  it's how I've spent most of my day.  I'm in the mood to paint, and create, and when the mood strikes, I act on it before it fades.  To create is to liberate the soul...or something like that, they say.

So.  Why not free my soul a little.


And so I dug out some Billie Holiday to serenade my expressions.

As I began searching, I couldn't remember on which board I'd pinned what I was looking for.  My account has morphed into 37 boards.  I began with only two!  So I clicked on the tab that shows ALL of my pins, and the number said:  2023.

That's Two Thousand Twenty-Three pins.

Do WHAT??????????????  No way!  I have pinned that many pins. The shame!  I'm an obsessive pin-pinning fool. But it's evolved into one of my favorite ways to unwind.  I don't have to think.  I don't have to talk.  I just let my thoughts travel along with my imagination...and sometimes inspiration strikes a chord.

Much of what I pin is beautiful art and photography...poetry...fashions...and travel.  It's so cool the way these pins come together like one giant quilt, a kaleidoscope of a person's personality.

Inspiration:

I decided to cover the backs of my oak

cabinet with script fabric.

(Much better than the red!)

IS THIS NOT ME?

All about wine!

I found a remnant of this at JoAnn's Fabric

and bought all of it.

I love the way it turned out.

I dug out an old milk can that I'd bought years ago.

The owner had painted it a boring tan.

It had been sitting in my garage, covered in dust.

Waiting for inspiration.

(I don't have a "before" shot)

Voila!  I wiped and distressed it with Ebony Minwax.

Beautiful.  It found its soul.

I think I'll go back to my Pinterest boards

and see what else I can find to do.

Pinning...painting...projects...music...poetry.

It's all good.

Mission Update

WHAT is she DOING?

The smile is certainly suggestive.

Six weeks to go...and counting.  My goal was to lose roughly 10 lbs -- at least 10, more would be great too -- by October 10th.

So that meant cleaning up my diet (just say no!) and ratcheting up the cardio and lifting intensity. What's more important?  Well, diet is always most important.  It is the fuel that makes the engine go.  Without the right fuel and the right amounts, there will be no results from the cardio/lifting efforts.

No, none of this skinny-fat crap for me (note silly, brainless bimbos above). Lean, healthy, sexy muscle is the only way to go.

My Morning Hangout

Just before I stepped on the scale this morning for my weekly weigh-in, I wagered that the scale would show a loss.  My clothes were looser.  I felt leaner.  The mirror was reinforcing these points.  Yep.  I'm betting on a lower scale number.

But I was wrong.  The scale hadn't budged from last week.  Getting leaner isn't a linear thing.  It's a series of peaks and valleys and plateaus -- keeps it interesting, AND challenging.  But none of that means that progress has stopped.  When you know you've stuck to plan all week -- clean eating, sufficient cardio, targeted weight lifting, ample decent sleep, plenty of water -- check, check, check, check, check, and check, then you hold your head high and ignore the scale.

On the other hand, my bathroom mirror was very friendly to me this morning.  In a word:  Tighter.  And that totally works for me.  Screw the scale.

Undeterred, I'm pushing forward.  And I'm not stopping until I'm proud.

Tuna T-Style

1 can of water-packed tuna, drained
7 g light mayo
14 g light sour cream
pinch of curry
3-4 Tbs of chopped celery, onion & jalepenos
1/2 packet Splenda

Mix & devour.

Gotta Go Prime

Bra shopping.  It's not something I particularly enjoy doing.  Besides, once I find a style or brand I like, I often have trouble finding the size and color I need in stock.

Why is it that merchants don't order more of the more popular sizes and colors? It's always MY size that is the most difficult to find, especially in the classic, simple, and smooth T-shirt-fit styles.  (Incidentally, speaking from experience Victoria's Secret is SO overrated.  For what you pay vs. what you get, it's a big, fat, marketing bonanza ripoff.)

So I gave up looking in brick -n- mortar and found what I needed on Amazon.  A few clicks, done.  Ordered it last Wednesday and it arrived on Friday.  Unfortunately, it arrived somewhat damaged...?  One side.  Smooshed.  Very odd.  Who wants a lumpy-fitting bra?

But no worries.  As an Amazon Prime member, I simply logged on to my account, printed off the return label, and dropped the package off at the UPS store on my way to work this morning.  No return shipping.  An instant credit has been made to my credit card, no questions asked.   Could it get any simpler?

I've been an Amazon Prime member for several years now.  The way it happened, I was actually at an AT&T store dealing with a cell phone snafu, and the charming little geek waiting on me convinced me that my world would be a far happier place if I signed up for Prime with Amazon.  (He won my instant respect by suggesting I could buy "X" from Amazon cheaper than from AT&T -- now that's putting the customer first!)  He shared how buying gifts for special occasions and holidays had always been a huge pain in the butt for him since most of his family lived miles away.  And he wasn't particularly fond of shopping anyway.  But surfing the web?  That he could do.  And efficiently.  So when he discovered that he could buy just about anything on the planet from Amazon, and most purchases with free shipping if he signed on for Amazon Prime membership, he decided to rethink his dilemma and did the math.  The cost of Prime membership compared to the $ saved from using less gas, no more parking fees, no more waiting in long lines at checkout, and he could ship his purchases to his family FREE?  And free returns too?  Sold.  He realized he'd be done with his shopping long before most people had scored a parking spot at the mall.

And he sold me too.

I've never looked back.  I've saved tons of time and money being a Prime member.  When I'm needing something, I usually look on Amazon first before getting in my car and wasting my time, effort and gas.  Nine times out of ten, it's cheaper from Amazon.  Just the other day I needed a watch battery.  I happened to be at the drug store when I remembered, and I saw the one I needed.  One battery in a package for a few bucks.  Okay, I thought.  But let me check Amazon first.  Sure enough, I was able to buy 5 watch batteries in a pack for the same amount of money, shipped to my doorstep free just two days later.  That's only one of countless examples.

In the last six months alone I've bought shoes, vitamins, cologne, an Igloo cooler, a fan, crafts, shoe insoles, a foam roller, a decorative flag, printer toner, Mp3 headphones, and AP History flash cards -- for starters.  AND they were all cheaper than I could buy locally.  AND they all shipped free.

Not to mention that as a Prime member, I get to watch instant videos free, download music free, and get a free Kindle book once a month.  Just the other night I downloaded over 30 new songs to my workout playlist -- free -- using my Amazon App on my cell phone.

Is that not enough incentive to be an Amazon Prime member?  Is this a no-brainer?  Am I missing something here?

A couple of weeks ago I had shared with my friend about the benefits of black cohosh for her recent onset of hot flashes.  She texted me over the weekend with a pic of her bottle of black cohosh that she'd just picked up at a local health food store while she was out.  I read the label.  It was one-fifth the strength, and as it turns out, three x the cost of the black cohosh I'd bought from Amazon -- shipped free, of course, because of my Prime membership.

It's almost become a default response when someone asks me:  Hey, where can I get X?

Amazon.  And don't forget:

GO PRIME

Who Needs Google When You Have a Teenager Who Knows It All?

After two shots at raising teenagers 

-- make that TWO TEENAGE SONS --

one would think the third one would be easier.

I have so much to more to learn.

So many unanswered questions.

I thought I had this mom thing down.

But I definitely do not.

Why does everyone make such a big deal

about the terrible two's?

That stage was NOTHING in comparison

to the teenage years of 15+.

Having worked in the court system for 30 years,

I have heard it all pretty much,

the horror stories and heartaches of raising teens.

Some learn.  Some never do.

Whose fault is it?

Why can't they understand that we do what we do

BECAUSE WE LOVE THEM?

Sometimes the frustration

of feeling so inadequate as a parent 

is more than I can bear.

My lifeline in times like this is my 

Eternal Compass.

I'm thankful that He 

KNOWS EVEN MORE THAN GOOGLE.

And that he loves me enough

to never leave my side.

It's Not Just Friday, It's a Boogie-Oogie Friday!

As I'd mentioned previously in my blog, I was recently revisited by hormonal wrath that I thought I had long-since escaped at my age.  But sure enough, I ended up caught in its clutches yet again -- no way!   There IS no escape!  Cue Jaws music.

(Scene switches.)

Recently I recommitted to a mini goal of dropping ten pounds that have crept up on me over the summer.  My motivation lately had waxed and waned, and it was beginning to eat at me --- EAT AT ME, get it?  Oh, aren't I clever.  So I decided to set a timeline.  Goals need timelines.  Get grounded people!

We will be attending a post-wedding party in Manhattan in mid October.  I figured that was a realistic window of time to drop ten pounds of fat.  (Fat.  Not water.  Not weight.  Fat.  Yes, oh, yes, there is a difference.)  Being in denial for several weeks, I hadn't weighed myself since mid June or so.  It was time to face the music and begin the dance.

I like to weigh on Fridays.  When I stepped on the scale last Friday, I was reluctant to look.  It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but it wasn't good either.  But it was ground zero.  That's the relevant point.  Let the challenge begin.

And so just minutes after those annoying dogs began barking on my cell phone this morning, serenading me into a new day -- albeit still dark out -- I stepped on the scales once more for a progress report.  DOWN 3.5 POUNDS.  Seriously?  Suh-WEET!  How did THAT happen?  And then I remembered.  I had gotten a visit from Mother Nature about 10 days ago, so part of that was likely the dreaded water bloat.

But for the record, I think I'll claim at least 1 pound (if not more) of that from my kickin' hard work and rewards.  I've stayed rather focused -- except for one day when I ate way over my calorie limit for the day, one of those just-can't-get-full days.  (I learned a long time ago that one of those now and then, even once a week, is actually good for us when dieting.)  And I even had lunch out yesterday with a good friend/colleague that I hadn't seen in months, though I chose a grilled chicken salad and passed on their to-die-for bread, the bread that you can smell two blocks away?  Yeah, that bread.  I stared at it.  But I refused to let it pass my lips.

And as for the body-shaping approach, my workouts have been consistent and progressive.  Yep.  Life is boogie-oogie good!

"Let's see,"

as I wander into my closet this morning,

"how about this little black skirt,

this fitted feminine white blouse,

and nude pumps...for this fantastic Friday...?"

And so onward I go.  Oh, it most certainly will get more challenging in the weeks ahead.  One can't expect to keep up that pace week after week.  But it is a very motivating start toward the end.

Arsenal for today:  I'm reminded by a friend to plan my meals out ahead of time.  After all, eating out is the biggest challenge a dieter faces.  It's easy to plan our meals, weigh our meals, choose wisely when we're at home.  But when we are out, seduced by good times or laughter or friends or romance, the intoxicating aroma of yummy food dulls our senses.  We don't reason as well.  We make excuses.  Planning ahead is definitely the way to go.  Get online, pick your menu choices, and stick to your game plan.

I'll be enjoying wine today -- hell yeah, it IS Friday after all -- but I want to be prudent about my eating.  I can do this.  I'm looking ahead ... oh, there she is... yes, I see her... there she is... she's looking very fit for her age, in that classy, flattering cocktail dress...who is she?  Who is THAT woman?  That is the woman of my vision.

And I refuse to blink.

She Was Like the Moon

poetically precise
nothing could be more accurate

The Soul On Its Knees

This photo was snapped before church one Sunday morning 

while he was home.  

Home.

Where is home?  

We skyped with him for the first time last night,

seeing that smile and those blue eyes for the first time in 18 days...

... as he sat on the floor in HIS home in Japan.

That tiny little apartment

with the tiny little beds mats,

the tiny little shelves,

near the tiny little kitchen,

beside the tiny little bathroom

with the tiny little sink.

But he isn't a tiny man.

I shake my head in disbelief as he scans his apartment

with his cell cam.

It's show-n-tell time.

Hmm.

How's this workin' for ya?

On the elevator, heading a few blocks away to show us his church

and the classrooms where he'll be teaching.

Our conversation with him is interrupted 

as he greets another person getting on the elevator,

a brief conversation in Japanese ensues...

-- I wonder what they're saying --

then laughter...

more jibberish...

then he toggles back to English 

without missing a beat!

I smile broadly.

It's morning there as we skype...

It's nearly bedtime here.

One of three sanctuaries.

His church.

Classes begin for him one week from today,

teaching English, U.S. History and Chemistry.

Would I prefer him to be here?

Selfishly, yes.

But he's chosen to be in Japan for now.

There's a reason for this, I'm certain.

A certainty cultivated from a precious and redeeming gift of faith.

Practiced since my earliest memories of childhood.

The faith that I've passed on to him.

My thoughts of him now 

fuse into prayers,

trusting 

on bended knee 

that God is in control,

that my son is content,

protected,

fulfilled,

and exactly where he is supposed to be.

HE DID IT!

MY GAVIN'S FIRST BODYBUILDING COMPETITION

AND

"NATURALLY"

HE

KILLED

IT

FIRST PLACE NOVICE TALL

FIRST PLACE MEN'S OPEN HEAVYWEIGHT

I’M SO PROUD!

HE'S MY HERO!

To Work, Or Not To Work...That Is The Question

I was on the fence about it...

do I go to work today?

do I stay home?

work?

home?

work?

home?

Home won.

But I'll still be working.

Always on a mission...

It's Friday. Make It Ridiculously Amazing

While browsing Craigslist for the Charlotte, NC, area yesterday evening, I wandered over to the real estate/vacation rentals section -- no particular reason -- and was scanning down the list of ads, when I saw an alluring ad for lakefront property listed for a crazy-low price.  My curiosity got the best of me.  How can this be?  I must check this out.

My first reaction:  WTF?

And then I laughed at how ridiculous this ad was.  I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Ironically, based on the wordiness of the ad, the seller was apparently quite proud of his custom-built dream home.  I guess it takes all kinds.  We shake our heads in disbelief sometimes, questioning how or WHAT people are thinking when they do what they do.  

Weirdosis.

I think that's a word...isn't it?  If not, it should be.


I guess it's okay to be weird.  Who decides what's weird and what's normal anyway?

So.  Moving on.

My agenda for today:

• Get into a Friday ridiculously amazing frame of mind.  
• Stop by Capitol Market for some fresh tomatoes (since ours are showing no interest in ripening anytime soon)
• Make a return to Gabriel's; those "juniors-cut" black dress pants that I eyeballed instead of trying on - their dressing room annoys me -- are unfortunately too snug.  Of course, they were, considering most juniors pants are made to fit ostrich legs.
• Stop by Goodwill and unload four large boxes of "excess" -- ahh, the joy of decluttering!
• Run by the grocery store for almond milk, asiago cheese, chicken breasts, fresh spinach, and a bottle of yummy Spanish red.
• Leave work a little early to beat the traffic (and maybe the rain)
• Tidy up the back porch, light some candles, listen to some Blank & Jones...or, second though, maybe just listen to the rain.

Time to Unplug

Hauntingly, Breathlessly Beautiful

As I sit here on my back porch, anticipating the rain...
relaxing to Pandora...

...this song begins to play.

Each AND EVERY time I hear this song, it leaves me breathless.

I shut my eyes and lose myself in its haunting loveliness.

My God ...

From Hideway to Heaven

The unpredictability of hormones.  The demons that haunt women, coming out of nowhere like a bat outta hell.  Bam!  You try to run but you can't really hide. It serves only to prolong the misery.


I TRIED to hide.  It's that whole leave-me-the-hell-alone, I'm-having-a-pity-party mood thing.  Retreat from all forms of life.  My bones ached.  My breasts get sore.  My appetite goes out the roof. And I'm just a wee bit, uh, bitchy?  See, the thing is, I'm supposed to be over this shit.

My last trip to the gym was last Thursday.  A full week ago.  We left early to go to Gavin's for his GF's graduation from Duquesne's nursing program on Friday, so no time to go then.  We got home late Saturday, so that means "leg day" got skipped.  Unthinkable!  And Sunday was when Whormone Storm hit, and I haven't been quite right since.

(Note:  He's working toward his first body building show this fall!!!  MOMMA'S SO PROUD!)

So, I dragged my ass out the door on Tuesday morning for HIIT cardio outdoors, thinking it best not to inflict my misery on others around me.  Being out in the morning air in solitude seemed like a better plan.  I ran eight intervals on the hill in our subdivision, walking back down the hill for recovery.  On my way back to our house I did intervals of 20 walking lunges, brisk-walk recovery for one minute; repeat; until I'd done 100 walking lunges.  A total cardio workout of 40 mins.  Felt great.  By the end of the day, I still wasn't feeling my best.

On Wednesday, more of the same.  Still fighting demons.  So I decided to do light stretching, then 20 minutes of Callanetics -- a very focused, mind-to-muscle session, remembering why I love this workout so much; followed by 23 minutes of Turbo Jam Cardio Party to get my heart rate elevated and torch some fat.  I dropped into bed last night weary to the bone, frustrated that I felt so out of sync with myself, and determinted to go to the gym on Thursday, regardless of how tired (or bitchy) I felt.

This morning, exiting my hideaway, I made it to the gym, beginning with 10 minutes on the elliptical, and then promptly launching a metabolic shoulders and ab workout, no resting between exercises:

• Lateral raises, 4 sets, 10 reps
• Bicep curls, 4 sets, 10 reps
• Rear delt flyes, 4 sets, 10 reps

Supersetted with V-Up double-crunches (15) and raised-leg-lift/twists (15) with the an inflated exercise ball.

Then...

• Seated DB presses, 3 sets, 10 reps
• Isolated bicep curls, 3/10
• Lateral throws/squats, 3/15

Supersetted with a circuit of side plank crunches (20 per side) and 1-minute planks, no rests between exercises.

Halfway through my workout my second wind kicked in and I was running high octane, flying like a kite, my aches and pains and bitchiness conquered by my euphoria.  Oh, the music...!  Eau yeah.  Where's that volume control....! Yep, life IS good afterall.

I wish everyone on the planet could experience this kind of high.  We'd have far fewer overweight, disease-ridden masses.  It's absolutely the best drug anybody could ask for.  There is none better.

Dig outta your cave, outta your hideway, crank up the tunes, and just get at it.

And that's how it's done!

Motivational Theme Song

(yep, it's on my playlist!)