Respite

When I arrived home last night my house had changed from Pepto-Bismol pink to a relaxing sky blue. I never realized how much I hated that our house was pink until that transformation occurred.

Hubby and I moved in to our current home about two and a half years ago. We bought the pink house on short sale because the house was great and all it would take was some paint to change one of the few things we didn’t like. A quick fix. Time, as it always does, intervened. More important things came up between moving in to the house and present day that the exterior color of the house became less a priority. Finally, with the wood siding exposing more of itself, and the shabbiness of the pink paint becoming more apparent we booked a painter.

The thought of changing the feel of the exterior completely nearly made Hubby and I giddy as we walked in to the paint store to face the overwhelming wall of paint chips. It took us half an hour and thirty or so paint chips held under various lights to decide between two colors. A light true-blue and a light shade of blue-gray. We took home sample sizes of each to paint on the side of the house. After a week at the coast, and realizing we live in Oregon where the sky is a shade of gray for most of the year, we decided on the light true-blue or “Respite”.

It’s true that if you change the color of something it will illicit a different reaction. Now, when I pull into my driveway and look up at my house I don’t loathe the look of it. I look at my home and my shoulders relax a little and as I pull my car in to the garage I begin to enjoy my respite.

An Ode to Bacon

There are few foods in the world that feel sinful to consume. Bacon is one of them. Think about it, the fattiest part of the pig sliced into strips and fried until it's crisp for our consumption. It's so bad, that doctors will tell heart patients to stop eating it all together. But it tastes so good.

Hubby and I are making Migas (Mexican scrambled eggs), among other things it has four slices of crisp bacon in it. We have been using a common grocery store brand bacon, thin slices and mostly fat. We got a new brand of bacon when we were last grocery shopping, the slices not only looked thicker, but they looked meatier so we figured it would be worth a try. This morning when I plopped four slices in to the pan I knew we were in for a treat. These were were like slices you would get from a butcher shop, not prepacked in the deli section at Winco like the other ones. As they were cooking they barely shrank, a good sign of their hearty, meaty nature. When they were done cooking the slices were crisp, but substantial enough to not fall apart when you bit into it. Truly a a delightful change in our Sunday Migas.

So, I thank you Daybreak Bacon for giving me a bacon I can truly sink my teeth into.

Tigger

It can be frightening, really, if one stops to think about it for a moment about how brief a pet’s life is when compared to the span of a human’s life time. When I adopted Tigger from Hubby’s mom back before he was hubby the thought never entered my mind that she wasn’t always going to be there with me. As years wore on and my life’s circumstances changed she was always right there, a static and predictable aspect of my home life. It seemed though, that there was always room for more love in my life. Anyone who knows me will agree that I’m an un abashed animal lover and if I could I would open my home to many more than I currently have. Which is why when Hubby and I moved in to a house we adopted a dog, and then six months later another cat.

I feel a bit guilty, in retrospect, for being selfish and bringing more animals into our home, but at the time I couldn’t have known how Tigger would react. With the two other animals in the picture and vying for Hubby and my affections Tigger became more reclusive choosing to spend her time alone in the sleeping in the bay window or on the back of the couch in the other room rather than in my lap or on the cushion next to me. We joked that she was just becoming a crabby old lady cat, but I made sure that her spot next to me was available at night, and most times she took it.

A month ago Tigger started throwing up every two hours or so and acting very lethargic. It wasn’t like her at all, and it worried me. Hubby and I drove out to the emergency vet hoping it was something easily cared for. After two hours and inconclusive x-rays we drove home with her still sick and instructions of hopefully care for her to make her better.

The next day Hubby came home for lunch to check on her to discover that she was still throwing up regularly. He took her back to the emergency vet to have blood tests done. Her blood pressure was so low they had difficulty drawing her blood, but what little they did get confirmed that she had developed feline diabetes and her body was essentially shutting down. I was at work, crying my eyes out trying to decide what to do. She was my baby, she had always been there for me even if she didn’t know why, and here I had put her life in question because I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe that’s just my guilty conscience talking.

In the end my amazing boss drove me to the emergency vet so I could be there with Tigger and Hubby and make the decisions necessary. Ultimately, it came down to five days in the veterinary ICU and a lifetime of two insulin shots a day for her or end her suffering. If money hadn’t been a factor I would have done anything possible to make her healthy again. But, as it is with everything in life there are no guarantees. And as I held her, and looked down at her I asked her what she wanted. Unquestioningly, I know she wanted us to let her go. So, we did.

Ultimately, she lived a good eleven years and was a very happy spoiled cat for most of them. I know we made the right choice to let her go because it was what she wanted. I still miss her terribly, but I know she’s in a better place now.

Holly Hobby

I often wonder if I have too many hobbies. When I was younger just about any craft that you put in front of me I would instantly become infatuated with. Often my mom would take me to Michael’s and we would wander the isles and I would say, like most children, “Oh Mom, can you get that for me?” She would take one look at the drawstring bag, or the beaded necklace, or piece of doll house furniture and respond “You could make that.” Now at this point in my life, fifteen or more years later, I don’t know if she was saying that as a way to get me to stop asking her for something or if she honestly believed that I could make everything I wanted. To this day, I still hear those words ringing in my ears when I go shopping.

I explored many, many crafts in my youth including: sewing and quilting, scrapbooking, cooking, baking, making miniatures for my dollhouse, flower arranging, writing, drawing, painting, collage, decoupage, gardening, and beading or jewelry making. I still practice a few of these hobbies to this day, and I may have picked up some new ones, and part of me is thankful for my Mom’s voice ringing out that I could make anything I wanted.

Now when I walk through a craft store my mind reels with all of the things I could make - oh that charm would look great on a beaded necklace, oh that fabric would make a nice skirt, etc. Truly, it’s a dangerous thing for me to walk in to a craft store unattended. I am glad though, that I have learned the importance of the reality check, because really I could make all of those things I want given the time and money. However, seeing as I have a full time job with an hour commute each way and a husband with three pets that don’t take too well to me ignoring them for long periods of time.

So I’m left with a mere few choices for my creative habits, but that’s okay with me. It is far less expensive, far less time consuming, and far less crazy making if I limit myself to the number of crafts I do. On the other hand, I can’t limit myself too much or I find myself crying out inside for a creative outlet. As it is with all things, hobbies come down to a balancing act.

Jesus and Buddha walk into a bar...

I was thinking this morning on my walk from the MAX station to work about a conversation I had with one of my coworkers about two weeks ago. I happened to mention in passing friendly conversation that I was a Religious Studies minor in college. Typically I’m reluctant to mention this fact to people, especially coworkers, considering it is a touchy subject for many and I don’t think it is very appropriate to discuss religion at work. In fact, it just may be against the law. Actually, I don’t really remember what brought it up but what I do remember is the conversation that ensued.

A little background on me: I was raised in a Christian family, and was quite active in the church up until I went to college. My beliefs went through an adjustment period as I grew and changed and came into myself as an individual. Hubby’s family is, for the most part, Jewish with the exception of Hubby’s Mom who practices Bon. When asked, I typically respond that I am a Buddhist because the majority of what I believe is encompassed in Buddhism. I’m not going to get in to the deep recesses of why I believe what I believe, suffice to say that it is my choice and I have put A LOT of thought in to it.

Let’s get back to where this all started - that conversation. What it came down to was me trying to explain to her as how I viewed the Buddha in terms similar to Christianity. Somehow, I managed to end up comparing the Buddha to Jesus. This may seem to be a strange bridge but allow me to explain. Christians generally believe that Jesus came to earth as a means by which God could save the sinners from Hell. Similarly, Buddha found a way to escape Hell – in Buddhist terms this would be continual reincarnation and the suffering that is life – and shared. That is not where the similarities end. Both taught to love, be kind, be spiritually faithful, and one can escape from Hell. Now, to clarify, I’m not saying that the Buddha is “the savior” in the same respect that Christians consider Jesus to be their savior. Buddha (which means the enlightened one in Sanskrit) would be more of a prophet or a teacher, the one that figured out the key to enlightenment for the everyday practitioner (or Average Joe Buddhist). Buddha came in to the world as a Hindu and didn’t necessarily intend to start his own religion. Similarly, Jesus was raised as a Jew and probably had little intention of starting his own religion either – he was sent to put people on the right path.

I realize that comparing Christianity to Buddhism may seem like comparing apples to a prickly pear, but my personal understanding is that most religions when you take away the dogma all come down to two things: answering the question of powers larger than us as humans, and being a good person.

As ShoeDiva would say: “I’m just sayin’…”

What's the opposite of a "Pity Party"?

I am feeling full of deep thoughts this morning. I think it may have something to do with the big thunderstorm that rolled through yesterday evening. It seems like it hit all of a sudden, and after a torrential downpour, thunder & lightning and perhaps even a little hail, by the time I had finished cooking dinner it was all done.

Hubby's dad (MusicMan) has been doing something daily that I find intriguing. I guess he's been feeling down about the housing market and the balance between work and life so his business coach advised him to get up a little earlier every day and do something he loved before he started going through his routine of getting ready for the day. So MusicMan has started emailing every morning his thoughts on life. He started out with a group of ten or so people and Hubby tells me that MusicMan is now up to 50 on his list. Hubby forwarded the emails to me (MusicMan is titling them "Passion Party", the opposite of "Pity Party") and I read through the first 9 of his emails this morning. WOW. They are really simple observations on life, but you can tell that he's pouring his soul in to them.

I hadn't really thought about it much, but I think that I have my own little "Passion Party" every morning when I water my garden. It was still raining this morning so I didn't water my plants when I let Cleo out... & I kind of was disappointed about that. Like I said, I hadn't realized that watering my plants is kind of like a morning meditation for me - doing something I enjoy before I get my day started. And I do it every morning.

I hope you're doing something for yourself lately.

Eat the View: Part 4, Back to "The Word Garden"

The weather forecast predicted a high in the upper 70s over this past weekend, something for Portlanders to get excited about and cause to start making plans to be outside all day. I had ordered some tomato starts to be delivered in the beginning of April, and while I received them at their promised date, they have been relegated to living in our garden window until the weather was more appropriate for putting them in their permanent home outside. In the meantime, I have watched them inch ever higher and waiting impatiently for the day when they will start producing. Luckily I’ve had other things in the garden to be focusing my attention on to abate my “limited tomato based thinking”. While Hubby ran around mowing the lawn and other important yard tasks I took advantage of the warm weather and decided that my tomato plants would be able to survive outside now that the lows are hovering around fifty degrees.

Toward the end of March I planted four Oregon Snow Pea seeds in the hopes that one would sprout and produce snow peas for us to enjoy through the season. Much to my happy surprise all four sprouted and have been growing ever skyward. Noticing that they were starting to climb on one another I improvised a trellis with a tomato cage that wouldn’t come to use for a little while and strung some gardener’s twine diagonally between the bars to give the peas something else for their little tendrils to wrap around. When ShoeDiva came over to help me pull weeds on Saturday, she was shocked at the growth of the snow peas in the month since she had last seen them. Truth be told, I’m a little amazed at how quickly they’re growing too. But seeing as neither of us has really had any experience with veggie gardening our surprise should be no surprise.

Eat the View: Part 3, In “The Word Garden”

The time of year that I have been anxiously waiting for since our first cold day of fall has finally arrived. Spring! Sadly the turning of the season of new life doesn’t necessarily mean that I can start putting my veggies in the ground just yet. I have been reading gardening blogs of people who live in a warmer climate and drooling over my garden’s potential – dreaming of the day when I can actually transplant my tomato starts in to the raised planter bed that Hubby and I built with the help of CodeMonkey and his lovely wife LadyNurse. Alas, it is still too cold and if I prematurely put the plants out it could damage them. So, the tomato starts have taken up residence in my kitchen window along with the basil, sage, oregano and marjoram starts. The snow peas I planted outside in a 5 gallon pot over a month ago seem to be growing quite happily in this cold weather. I am regretting, though, not having staggered planting them because now we will have an abundance of the peas all at once. Looks like I will be learning how to freeze fresh produce.

This is my first edible garden, and I would like to think that I’m taking it slowly and not getting too excited but it is hard to judge my level of excitement until I get to the “uh oh, I may have done too much” point. By the way, I am nowhere near that point yet. Once we get fully in to the swing of growing season it is likely that that is when I will look at my over abundance of crops and wonder what the heck I was thinking. In the mean time, I’m enjoying watching little sprouts pop up in the starter pots in my kitchen window and imagining the fun meals I can produce with them when the time comes.

If you would like to read my previous posts on the subject see: Part One, and Part Two

Eat the View: Part 2

Almost a month ago I posted a video called “This Lawn is Your Lawn”. The video is about the initiative to have the front lawn of the White House be partially converted to a vegetable garden to fill the first kitchen. The movement has been dubbed Victory Garden 2.0 after Eleanor Roosevelt’s WWII era Victory Garden at the White House. I think this is a magnificent idea, and one that Obama should take to heart when he has a moment. I really do believe that if he takes the lead it could have a profound impact on our country in ways we may not be able to calculate. We can’t exactly expect the leader of the free world to focus on something that we find important – then it comes back to us to stand up to do it ourselves.

Around the time that I posted that video Hubby and I had dinner with the Married Couple Collective (MCC) and found that many of us felt the same way about growing our own produce to the extent that we can. The other two wives and I chatted and found that they already had a plan laid out, if not planting beds already built, so they were already ready for planting when the time comes this year. Hubby and I on the other hand, don’t have much in the yard.

When we moved in to this house last year there wasn’t much in the yard but grass and a tree in the back. Last Spring/Summer my main goal was to beautify. We planted three rose bushes, cleaned out some weeds, purchased a lawn mower, and this fall I planted some bulbs. The plan for this season: build planter boxes and grow some veggies for ourselves. The great thing about this plan and the conversation with the MCC, is a built in growing community. We’ve worked out a seed-share program between the three couples to share the packets of seeds that we order.

Really it’s not much. It is just a little bit to provide for me and Hubby, perhaps even share any over abundance I have with others – but my reduced demand in the grocery store might just translate to something larger than I can conceive. I like that.

The Results Are In!

Last night after the election results came in overwhelmingly in favor of Obama, I couldn’t help but be excited. This is the first election since I have been eligible to vote where the man I chose to go to office won – and not just by a little bit. I will be honest, as I have no reason to do otherwise; I’m not really all that in to politics. I believe it my right and duty as an American Woman to vote. As I was telling my coworker, FlatEarth, 90% of the time I don’t really care what’s going on in Washington DC and will generally avoid political topics mostly because I don’t know enough to hold up an intelligent end of the conversation. But I digress.

I had an overwhelming sense of dread going in to Election Day yesterday. I think my sense of optimism was murdered by the previous presidential election when the bushman was put back in office for a second term. Being that I’m not really politically minded, I hadn’t been checking the opinion polls, I hadn’t been reading up on the details and checking political blogs to see what others were thinking I just went in to the day hopeful that our country would go the direction it needed to go.

I was diligently working on my NaNoWriMo novel, trying my damndest to ignore the poles and just get the thing done. I didn’t expect that they would have the results as quickly as they did. I had gotten to 500 words of my 1700 words and clicked over to the NBC website to check the standing at the polls. At that moment the website reloaded to show that Obama was over the 270 electoral votes needed to win and I couldn’t help but scream: “Holy crap!” I ran out to the family room and turned on the TV and sat down in time for them to repeat what I had just seen come over the internet. To say I was elated would be a mild description of my emotions of the moment. I continued to watch completely ignoring anything else that needed to be done while Hubby watched his Twitter feed repeating the funny comments to me.

Several things strike me about the McCain rally/ concession speech versus the Obama rally / acceptance speech and I think that the things that stood out to me are emblematic of the type of person or leader that each would be. McCain’s rally was in a private ballroom in Arizona with an invitation only crowd, this screams exclusiveness to me. Obama’s Rally was in an open air park in Chicago – anyone and everyone could have shown up, this speaks to an open willingness to be comprehensive in everything that he does. As for their speeches, both were eloquent, but the really telling thing to me was the crowd’s response when one would mention the other’s name. While McCain’s concession speech was gracious and supportive of Obama his crowd was considerably less so, booing whenever Obama’s name was mentioned and at one point chanting “We want John” while he was speaking. I can understand their disappointment with the loss of their chosen candidate and perhaps meant this as a way to cheer him up, but in my opinion those tactics are childish. The attitude was of course more celebratory during Obama’s speech but everyone in the thousands gathered was respectful and listened quietly and even cheered once or twice when he mentioned McCain. I believe they saying goes: “you are judged by the company you keep.”

I look forward to President-Elect Obama taking office on January 20, 2009.

I'm The Saddest Sicky You'll Ever Meet

I don’t like getting sick. Truly, I don’t know many people who do (“Oh wow that cold looks awesome! Can I drink from your glass there?”). But as hubby points out regularly, I am down right pathetic when any type of illness strikes me. I’m not the “suffer in silence” type.

Two weeks ago I had some stomach bug that caused me to pray to the porcelain gods for most of the night, and ultimately took the next day off of work – which I never do. Hubby was sweet and brought me water so I didn’t get dehydrated, and came home for lunch with a container of chicken noodle soup and crackers from our local grocery store. Ultimately it blew over two days later much to my relief and everything was hunky dory.

This past Saturday night hubby and I had our long awaited Halloween Pirate Party. Hubby had kicked his cold for the most part so we seemed all ready to go. Everything went great and we had good food, dirk, and excellent company who could have stayed long past midnight if I hadn’t all of a sudden been felled with the symptoms of Hubby’s cold at the stroke of midnight. Luckily there were only a few revelers left, and I think me starting to clean up may have been a sign for them to exit. Yesterday morning I woke up much later than normal to Cleo whining to be let out and feeling as if I still had a pillow over my face due to the lack of ability to breathe, my throat on fire, and my head buzzing like an angry anthill. My response: groan like I’m dying.

I spent most of yesterday on the couch or in bed bemoaning my fate and wondering if I should call in sick to work again. Ultimately I decided that since I wasn’t really dying I would go to work and go to the store on my break to get some medicine. This morning while getting ready for work, and generally feeling bad for myself I found a set of Dayquil liquid caps in my medicine cabinet that may or may not be more than a year old, I took them in the hopes they would help. As of this moment don't feel nearly as horrible. I'm just hoping the phone doesn't ring all that much today, I don't know how much talking I can do with this sore throat.

What I do know, is that I'm going to be stocking up on the airborne the next chance I get, because I can't really afford to be so pathetic.

Workin' at the Car Wash

I think everything comes down to whether you are willing to put the time and effort in to it. As I mentioned in a post not too long ago, I have a Beetle. Well, as it happens my car got dirty in the two months I have called her mine. Something I have noticed with this car is that the color shows dirt a lot sooner than my other car did. Not nearly as badly as my husband's "atomic blue" Civic though. So, after a trip to Cost-co and the grocery store we decided the weather was nice enough and would stay nice long enough for it to be worthwhile to bathe our respective vehicles.

It's been a good while since I've sudsed up my own vehicle, although it is really not all that complicated my husband likes to make it that way. "You have to spray in an up and down motion to get the dirt to run off properly, and then wash in a circular motion. Most importantly when you're drying go top to bottom in one smooth line so that it won't streak," he instructs me. I didn't realize that this process was so complicated. It would be a lot easier if I just took it to the car wash down the road.

The most complicated part of washing my car myself is that we live in an apartment complex. I suspect that our strutting around to "Sympathy for the Devil" as we go through the appropriate movements involved in washing a vehicle in the complex's shared space where we all spend as little time as possible on a regular basis can cause a mixture of emotions. I can never tell if it amuses or annoys our neighbors when we get around to doing this, perhaps it's a fair blend of both.