Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Can You Hear It?

We're off on a business trip on Wednesday morning.
Our 26th wedding anniversary is also this week and by happy chance, we are working somewhere with a nice view, so we will be taking an extra day just for us! I'll be back over the weekend. In the meantime you may enjoy this song and video Biggest and DecentGuy introduced me too. It spoke to them. I found it spoke to me too. It spoke to all my worries. It spoke to all that I love.
 I dedicate it to The Seamonkey and Our Family. Maybe you will find it speaks to you as well.

 See Ya Soon : )

Thursday, February 23, 2012


It's Thursday and I feel like I should be posting something but I've been working almost straight on since last Thursday, so I didn't have a weekend to tidy out my brain and focus. I actually have two posts that I started but I haven't finished them, though I did indulge in some foolishness.

Today I mostly caught up on the hideous amorphous beast that ate my house this week. Then, I was bored but too tired to think very hard and I though of Pinterest. I've been curious about it for some time. I checked it several months ago and thought, "Invited?" I have to be invited? well screw that...but I decided to check again because I was curious...and I like stuff...and I can't fit anymore stuff in my house....so maybe I could store stuff there. So I went back. And I still had to be invited but I could beg to be invited like a total dorky drip who wants to go to the popular girls big party in 7th grade. Being familiar with being a dorky drip of a seventh grader I got down on my knees and cried and offered to do their algebra homework for the rest of the year and promised my firstborn child...(which Ha Ha..jokes on them if they touch that one) but anyway....

They said, Sure! You can come. If you're one of those Hip Popular kids on Facebook or Twitter.

well....The last place I want to be is hanging out with that wild bunch on Facebook. I have to consider my reputation if I want to get into that exclusive nursing home I'm shooting for someday, so...

I did something I always said I would never do. I reached out and took a hit of Twitter. I'm not following anyone and I'm not asking anyone to follow me right now. As my very first tweet said:

I'm only here for the Pinterest.

Which brings to mind another question.
If a Tweet Twits in an empty web and no one reads it, does it make a Twitter at all?

 ( I don't want to repeat the debacle of joining Google Plus and then being completely stumped with what to do with it but not wanting to delete it either. A few nice people connected to me there but I haven't done anything with it yet. If you are one of them please don't let it hurt your feelings. I have absolutely no one and nothing in my circles or otherwise). Anyway..

Then I skipped back over to Pinterest where they made me follow some total strangers before I could pin anything and I don't want to look because I don't know those people and God knows what they might be pinning in there! Then I made some boards and skipped to the Internet where I found and pinned a picture of the Smoky Mountains a Swiss Mountain Dog puppy and Mother Teresa.

You know, because I can only fit one Swissy in my house, there certainly isn't room for a mountain and getting Mother Teresa might be awkward.

I'd like to pin all my favorite books but I'm way too tired to look them up right now because Allison introduced me to finding and listing books on Goodreads awhile back and it has consumed the other 5 minutes of free time I have every week, though I love it. I guess I'll pin them eventually unless I forget my new password.

I have always rocked gently in the cocoon of my anti social media arrogance. Like that same dorky girl who starts wearing combat boots and dies her hair blue and gets a lip piercing in high school. I'm feeling so social now! Do you suppose it will make up for hiding from my new neighbors for the past two days? My favorite neighbors from the past 14 years next door moved away. I was just getting used to them ; ) They aren't officially moved in yet, just working on the house. Eventually I might show up with a plate of cookies and thrust them at them when they open the door and then run like hell. Life would be so much easier if I could just leave people little happy faces in the real world. Wait. I guess I can. It's called a smile. 

FINE! I'll work on it. Who knows, maybe they're Pinteresting.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Thursday, February 16, 2012

What Is It About These Shoes?

It all started with the Go Go boots. Or maybe with the 'bee bops', as my mom called them. The saddle shoes I wore when I was little and that I really loved . But I have to say the first real yearning was the new white Go Go boots the sisters across the street were wearing when I was in third grade. I begged. I pleaded. I got some. My life was complete. This desire was addictive by the time I was fourteen and wore my mother down until she agreed to the black satin sandals with the six inch heel and gold ankle chain that I wore to the Christmas party Where. She. Worked. as a finishing touch to the skin tight royal blue sweater dress. Poor Mom. As the years passed I became a shoe connoisseur. I quickly grew in knowledge and taste and abandoned the hookerish for very expensive beautifully made shoes and as the eighties approached developed a penchant for the funky. My shoe store of choice at this time was Wild Pair where I also found my wonderful bright red ballet flats that laced to the knee as  well as my beloved camouflage high top converse and really bitchin scrunched ankle boots. But I  still had a deep appreciation for quality and owned a pair of outrageously expensive Italian white leather pumps  made for dancing, even though I don't dance. They were smooth as butter reminiscing for a moment. A friend spent the night and borrowed them the next morning when my brother was trying to flirt with her and asked her to go for a ride and they decided to take a walk through a construction site and she tramped around in the mud in them and I have never forgiven either of them....anyway...

As my life changed so did my shoes. As a young mom I toned it down a bit. Both in style and budget but never stopped longing for and loving wonderful shoes. I know I'm not the only blogger who loves shoes. I have seen the posts. I find myself in a quandary about a shoe decision and need some advice. I never thought I would see this day but it seems my judgment is slipping. Could someone help me out?

Be Honest. Why do these shoes make me feel like the worlds biggest dork?

I was looking for something casual and comfortable (bad sign already, I know) that were a little nicer than tennis shoes.   Now deck shoes have never really been my thing but when I saw those shoes I wanted them. I thought they were cute and looked comfortable and tried them on. Perfect! But now I have a problem.  No offence to anyone else who is wearing these shoes. If I saw you in them I would compliment you and tell you I like them. But when I put them on and look in the mirror...
I See My Mothers Shoes. And it freaks me out and I take them off.

Please tell me...

Are they old lady shoes? Am I turning into an old lady?

Is my judgement off? Now last year I recognized that the indigo blue suede short cuffed ankle boots with the six inch stiletto were not for me even though I could imagine the outfit they belonged with and tried them on along with both Littlest and Middlest because they were the most awesome thing on the planet and I will never forget them, but I'm starting to wonder if I can trust my instincts.  I saw these and I bought them too. I eyed them for a long time because I had a suspicion they were actually slippers because the sole is basically straw but they were in the shoe section and I also suspected they might be teenager shoes. That suspicion was confirmed when Littlest saw them and said, "I am Borrowing those shoes!" Uh Oh. Am I too old for these shoes?

Because I am perfectly comfortable wearing them. I like how they look. They have as much support as notebook paper and probably are responsible for 2/3 of my back pain but I don't care. I'm obviously wearing them to shreds
Does that make me young at heart or a silly old woman? I really don't know.
Or is Littlest turning into an old woman? Hmmm...possible..maybe...

Hey, I still have pretty decent ankles though, for an old lady. Wanna see my surgery scar from my roller skating injury when I was 17? You can click to blow it up and really see it well!  I've blown that bugger out three times but it's never been as good as the first. Not even when I busted it coming down a mountain.

Yeah. Good times.

Don't even ask how I had to contort myself to get that picture. Why am I here again? Anyway....
So seriously, about the first pair. I put them on and took them off at least five times and then threw them in the closet where they've been since September.

Could someone please tell me, what is it about those shoes? Why do I hate them more (on me) every time I see them? What the heck is an age appropriate shoe for someone in their mid forties? Is there such a thing as an appropriate shoe for middle age?  How much do you think I could get for them on eBay?

Should I do a blog contest and give them away as prize? I could call it Walk In My Shoes. Everyone can write a post about where they would go in those shoes. PTA meeting? Miniature Golf? Bingo?

...maybe someday. For now just tell me: Where would you wear those shoes? I can't really ship them to you but best answer wins a photo of them to hang on your fridge ; )

Deep stuff this week I know.

Believe it or not I'm in the middle of a full time project right now. If I don't reply to you right away don't despair. I'm in my work shoes........
© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Monday, February 13, 2012

a Walk, a Beating Heart and Time..

walk in to a bar  A Valentine

He would ask if I wanted to go. Yes. That winter I wanted to go. The year I turned eleven had been long and boring and lonely. Sitting in hospital waiting rooms. Lounging in the snack bar eating my fill of candy and chips. One soda after another. Waiting. Not allowed in.  I would grab my shoes when he asked and head out the door. We would drive a few blocks and park. Walk to the access and climb down to the sand. His zipped jacket covered the violent looking vertical scar bordered by reddened dots in a trail.  Like a railroad track bisecting his breastbone. The frightening gleam of the row of staples from a few months before was gone but they left behind...these tracks. They couldn't be seen but from time to time his hand would gravitate to the center of his chest gently brushing back and forth with his finger tips. An unconscious habit that continued the rest of his life. He walked before me in brand new running shoes. Something he had never owned before, gleaming white. The paunch recognizable my whole life gone and replaced by bone thinness, the face just beginning to lose it's pallor of the past months and return to a living shade of beige. The sharp edged cheekbones revealing a character alien to me with only a faint resemblance the full cheeks and rounded nose of the face I recognized. But when he rolled his sleeves, even on this twiggy canvas the faded hula girl etched on his forearm still gracefully raised her hip in the air,  her grass skirt flying,  pale flowers ringing the blurring edges of the blue black locks of bouncing hair.  We would face south and begin, our feet crunching companionably on the coquina.  Jeans swishing in unison. Sometimes the wind blew soft from the south. Quickly warming us until I removed my jacket, tying the sleeves around my waist. Flapping around my legs, spreading like a sail as we turned back, gently steering the return. Most days it came from the North and West. Misleading by the easy journey out. Bundled up it pushed us effortlessly forward, fast paced because we had no choice. Already I would be dreading the moment when we looked up to see the row of pylons that marked our miles as halfway.  The return trip a tortuous fight against the wind roaring in our ears, freezing the lobes and the tip of my nose and tears running from my blinking eyes. Leaning forward in to the wind slowly we trudged our way back. The water too cold for swimming rolled to one side. Beautiful elegant homes on the other. Sometimes he would break the silence.  "I like that house". I might nod to agree. Wait to pass the one I liked best. Wondering who was the fortunate family to fill it. Their view at the moment a father and his daughter walking on the beach. I would keep my head down watching shell fragments fly past beneath my eyes. Focusing between my sneakers in the event something caught my eye. A sharks tooth. A twirled brown sea snail shell like a fish eye staring back at me. Broken fragments of sand dollar. The riches of the deep shattered on this shore. Mostly coquina crackling, crunching, mixed with sand. He never broke his stride and if I spied a treasure I would bend and swoop to grab and double my steps to catch up, holding it up for him to see before shoving it deep in pockets to be forgotten until laundry day. We did not dawdle. We kept a brisk pace,  maybe remarking the passing of a porpoise in the waves but not stopping to watch it's antics. White and gray seabirds swooped in escort demanding a handout in shrewish screeches but we marched purposefully over the gray sand hardened by the receding tide or struggled valiantly through collapsing ivory humps like the Coty loose face powder spilled on my mothers vanity. Our feet keeping a consistent beat. Our hearts doing the same.
We had a purpose.

My father was told to walk. Walk so that he would continue to walk this earth. So when I was eleven we walked together. We walked to make up for time we had lost. Months of recovery in the mid seventies. He walked me down the aisle nine years later. Walked to the kitchen with all ten grand babies at some point holding his hand to see what cookies he had hidden there. Walked beside my mother for 53 years total. He walked among us for 23 years after his heart attack and quadruple bypass surgery at the age of 52. He changed his lifestyle completely to make sure no more time was wasted or lost. He also started wearing a silver chain with an eagle pendant and bought a Camaro but that's a whole nother story ; )

February is American Heart Month

Visit the National Heart Association website to learn more.

You can take your risk assessment test here.  Find out your score for a start.

I am 46 years old. My score was 17%.  A 17% chance of dying from a heart attack within the next ten years. This puts me in the same age frame as my father. Would you be surprised if I tell you that my weight is exactly where it should be and that I have perfect blood pressure?  There are many factors in the risk for heart disease.  My father passed down some of his risk factors to me through genetics. He also passed down what he learned to help combat it. Even with all I learned from my dad I haven't been careful enough. So, to my family this Valentines Day I give the promise to try harder. Step away from the chip bag ma'am. If you're good you can have a low salt Triscuit with .02 ounces of reduced fat skim milk cheddar. But that's ok.

As Moms we tend to put ourselves last. Taking care of yourself,  Taking care of your heart, Is taking care of your family. Heart disease is the number one killer of women but my message is for everyone. Wives, mothers, husbands, fathers, sisters and brothers.

This Valentines day don't just give your family your heart. Give them a healthy one. 
Give them the gift of a long walk with you beside them.

Have a Happy and Healthy Valentines Day!

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Better Than a Purple Sash and Tiara

It's hard to believe that Littlest is nearly halfway through her sixteenth year. So much  about her seems to jump from twelve to thirty.  In good ways. Don't misunderstand me! In many ways she is an average teenage girl. She likes clothes. Cares about her hair and make-up. Listens to music. She has a boyfriend and likes to hang out with her...well... her one female friend she can abide. She has posters on the walls of her room....Marine Corp recruiting posters...not pop stars or kittens but.....posters anyway....

Three times a week, more if she is off from school, she walks in to a cinder block building with no heat or air and spars with grown men twice her size. Or the one woman who is a black belt and occasionally comes in. She revels in it. She is thrilled with her power and intimidated by nothing. She takes her lumps and savors them as a learning experience. Her eyes glitter with delight at what she accomplishes. She was in her first  Brazilian Jiu Jitsu match recently. It was just a small one but she did very well.  When we first walk in a guy from her class comes up grinning, tells her, "I feel sorry for whoever gets in there with The Technician." Yes. She already has a nickname with her classmates.  There wasn't anyone to evenly match with her. At five foot four and 127lbs. (of pure muscle) the closest to her size was a twenty four year old young man who was ranked one belt higher than her.  I watched, amazed at the fluidity of her movements. Surprised at the beauty of this dance of strength, skill and will. At the end she popped up slightly mussed, but calm cool and collected. Her opponent was red faced and out of breath. His hair standing straight up, his Gi falling off.  It was a draw and they both received a medal. Though when she went to her next class the instructor told her that as far as points went she had actually won.  I think there may have been some saving face for the more experienced student going on. But that is fine. It was her first time out and good practice for a larger tournament this spring.  She is very pleased with herself.

 At home, after the fight she happily carried her medal into her room. Later she came running in the kitchen, jumping up and down and waving her arms around.  Look, she exclaimed, I have a black eye!  Pulling her hair back from her forehead she exhibited a swollen,  deep purple blood vessel on her brow bone oozing  blue stains into her eyelid. I'm bruised, she shouted excitedly, clapping her hands. "I'm injured!" She grinned from ear to ear like she had just won Homecoming Queen.

That's my girl. : )

Moon Music

I'm gonna go find a place to hide from Littlest if she watches this video now.....

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Thursday, February 2, 2012

21st. Century? Grab Our Canes.

Do you know how they say that there comes a time when roles are reversed? When children become adults and parents return to childhood. Well I guess it's here. I just wasn't expecting it so soon.

The SeaMonkey has been resisting progress and still using a simple old flip phone. Not only that but, to the deep frustration of the girls,  for years he has staunchly refused to Text message. Would not do it under any circumstances.  As the owner of a business he finally realized it would be more professional to get with it. Calling the girls or his mom several times a day and hoping they were home to check his email when we are traveling and then dictating his responses was becoming a little too uncertain. Not to mention, if I told you what industry we are in you would say, "Are you kidding? ", which is what the guy at the phone store said when the SeaMonkey told him his occupation and that this was his first smart phone .

Anyway...Needless to say he was like a little kid at Christmas last night. He was so inspired by his new toy that he actually decided to Text Message! I heard him giggling downstairs and my phone chimed to reveal, I Love You : ). But that wasn't enough, he couldn't wait to surprise the girls and immediately sent a text to Middlest:

OMG! I'm texting.

To which he received a prompt reply:

OMG! I'm working.

Yeah. Any day now they will be whispering behind our backs and going silent when we walk in the room. Putting their arms around us and being understanding and suggesting that driving might be a little much for us these days with the car keys being lost in the freezer behind a Pink Floyd CD and that piece of baloney being found in our music collection.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

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