I think it might be almost time to mourn the passing of my air conditioner. Hopes had been high that the aged unit would last through the summer, but the end could be soon. It's gone kerplunk again. The last time it went kerplunk was April. Those two episodes are a little too close together for comfort.
Last night just after dinner, I thought I felt a warm draft. It was coming from the vicinity of the vent over my head in the kitchen. When I went back to the bedroom, I noticed the same strange, warm draft. I went upstairs - where the vents are in the floor and I can reach them (hush - I'm a shrimp), and put my hand over one. And then I swore like the most experienced variety of sailor.
Following my swearing fit, I zipped into high react mode: I went online and booked a hotel room. Packed up my gargantuan Lululemon tote with overnight supplies, my laptop, and a couple of DVD's ("Yoga Unveiled" and "Pretty in Pink"), then jotted right off to cool, air-conditioned comfort. And don't get me wrong - I enjoyed myself immensely. It was an adventure. A knee-jerk reaction-fueled adventure, yes, but an adventure nonetheless.
While at the hotel, I swore up and down I would be staying until the air conditioning was repaired. And then I remembered a couple of things; first, that I like to camp, and while camping I do without air conditioning. Second? I practice power vinyasa yoga in a ninety degree room, and LOVE it. The temperature in the house rarely exceeds the eighty to eighty five degree range when the air conditioning decides to take a breather. So, really, why the hell did I need a hotel room?
I didn't. I went to a place of reaction rather than response, and dashed to a hotel when taking a settled moment would have had me *respond* to the situation as I did this morning - which meant going to the nearest mega-discount emporium and purchasing some kick-butt fans. (I even bought a small one for Totsi the Dog to have by her bed.) The fans cost much less than the hotel, and honestly, now that I have the right equipment this is actually *fun*. More fun than, say, packing willy nilly and driving off to hang out in a hotel. By responding, I'm giving a sucky situation space to grow into something enjoyable and out of the ordinary. By reacting, I blew a hundred bucks.
So here's to responding rather than reacting - I'm chilling in in a cute black maxi dress, sipping a cold beverage from a mason jar while watching my dog savor the breezes on her belly from her own personal fan. Since I'm right in front of the equivalent of a wind machine, sometimes I whip my head around and pretend I'm an early 80's supermodel, just because I can. As much as I've explored the difference between reaction and response through inquiry and endless journal entries, I think this experience has driven said difference home better than any amount of intellectualizing and soul searching.
Enjoy your Monday! I think I'm going to locate my file of recipes for the grill, start a loaf of bread in the bread machine, and make some Red Zinger sun tea. In other words, I'm going to keep right on responding.
25 June 2012
20 June 2012
Can I get a summer?
Happy, happy Solstice!
Yes, I will complain about the heat. Give me about a month before I launch into a whiney tirade, but rest assured that it will happen. It is certain that I will faint at the sight of the power bill because of how much the air conditioner will run - this is Georgia, which means the a/c *will* run. There is nothing that will make me happy about my eyeliner smearing down to my nostrils from perspiration, and frizzy hair makes me want to stomp about and throw a tantrum. But that's fine, because it's summer, and summer is my favorite season.
I will repeatedly eat too many peaches before they're fully ripe and lament having done so while searching for the Alka Seltzer. It's likely I'll burn out the motor on my new juicer, and I will probably use entirely too much gas driving to various produce stands to buy more stuff than I will ever use. I'll intend to make pickles and jams, and forget. There will be a floating idea of purchasing a snow cone machine, which I'll probably never get around to, just as there will be with the ice cream maker. Perhaps this year I will accept that those freezer pop molds are never going to show back up and just buy new ones, but that's doubtful. None of this is an issue.
The invasion of big bugs and bees will freak me out, especially when I am in the middle of trying to convince the grill to light. Lawn equipment will run, and loud, at the first teensy crack of dawn on the first morning I get to sleep late in ages. I will go all the way to the lake for picnics and leave the cooler at home. When Totsi the Dog and I go for walks, she will find the stinkiest mud on the planet and roll in it, knowing that her body heat combined with the heat of the great outdoors will intensify the stench to the point of being completely unbearable. But it's all cool.
It's summer. I'm going to live out loud and own it - including the stuff that I will say sucks, because it's a package deal.
Yes, I will complain about the heat. Give me about a month before I launch into a whiney tirade, but rest assured that it will happen. It is certain that I will faint at the sight of the power bill because of how much the air conditioner will run - this is Georgia, which means the a/c *will* run. There is nothing that will make me happy about my eyeliner smearing down to my nostrils from perspiration, and frizzy hair makes me want to stomp about and throw a tantrum. But that's fine, because it's summer, and summer is my favorite season.
I will repeatedly eat too many peaches before they're fully ripe and lament having done so while searching for the Alka Seltzer. It's likely I'll burn out the motor on my new juicer, and I will probably use entirely too much gas driving to various produce stands to buy more stuff than I will ever use. I'll intend to make pickles and jams, and forget. There will be a floating idea of purchasing a snow cone machine, which I'll probably never get around to, just as there will be with the ice cream maker. Perhaps this year I will accept that those freezer pop molds are never going to show back up and just buy new ones, but that's doubtful. None of this is an issue.
The invasion of big bugs and bees will freak me out, especially when I am in the middle of trying to convince the grill to light. Lawn equipment will run, and loud, at the first teensy crack of dawn on the first morning I get to sleep late in ages. I will go all the way to the lake for picnics and leave the cooler at home. When Totsi the Dog and I go for walks, she will find the stinkiest mud on the planet and roll in it, knowing that her body heat combined with the heat of the great outdoors will intensify the stench to the point of being completely unbearable. But it's all cool.
It's summer. I'm going to live out loud and own it - including the stuff that I will say sucks, because it's a package deal.
18 June 2012
Waffles...
I'm trying something new, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable committing to having it be a full time thing:
I am only doing juice until lunch. (I know, right? When I jump on a bandwagon, I plop myself right down in the middle of it, shout out that I am damned well there, and buy every souvenir tee shirt I can get my hands on.) So, yes, when I get up around 6am or so, I go completely mad scientist with the juicer, and make enough for breakfast and a mid-morning snack. I even do juice before coffee. Yes, you might have just felt the ground get very cold and move a little. (Result of that? I want less coffee.) Until today, this has been easy - I didn't get hungry until around noon.
That was then. This is now. It's 10.24am, and I have finished my juice. I'm drinking water while waiting for lunch, which is sounding mighty good. Brunch is sounding mighty better. What I am trying not to admit is that I am about to starve, and that it was the thought of one food that got me thinking brunch might be better than lunch.
That one food? Waffles. I want waffles, people, drowning in butter and syrup, with another order of waffles on the side topped with strawberries, Nutella, and whipped cream. And waffles weren't even in my awareness when this happened - I was looking at ideas for converting a small, walk-in closet into an office. The thought entered my head that I could use a vanity that's been stashed upstairs as my desk, and BOOM! Waffles. Kind of like this:
I am only doing juice until lunch. (I know, right? When I jump on a bandwagon, I plop myself right down in the middle of it, shout out that I am damned well there, and buy every souvenir tee shirt I can get my hands on.) So, yes, when I get up around 6am or so, I go completely mad scientist with the juicer, and make enough for breakfast and a mid-morning snack. I even do juice before coffee. Yes, you might have just felt the ground get very cold and move a little. (Result of that? I want less coffee.) Until today, this has been easy - I didn't get hungry until around noon.
That was then. This is now. It's 10.24am, and I have finished my juice. I'm drinking water while waiting for lunch, which is sounding mighty good. Brunch is sounding mighty better. What I am trying not to admit is that I am about to starve, and that it was the thought of one food that got me thinking brunch might be better than lunch.
That one food? Waffles. I want waffles, people, drowning in butter and syrup, with another order of waffles on the side topped with strawberries, Nutella, and whipped cream. And waffles weren't even in my awareness when this happened - I was looking at ideas for converting a small, walk-in closet into an office. The thought entered my head that I could use a vanity that's been stashed upstairs as my desk, and BOOM! Waffles. Kind of like this:
Actually, I just now decided that this is NOT going to be a full time thing. There are waffles in the freezer. Amen.
15 June 2012
Kind of like snow...
Let's talk about the juicer. I *love* this thing, like, really, really love this thing. It's just the right size, I can clean it up in less than five minutes even after juicing a beet, and I am little kid delighted every time something goes down the chute, hits the blade, and is GRNFFFFF'd into pulp in an instant. There is something profoundly satisfying not just about the resulting scrumptious juice, but also that moment of seeing what had been a whole fruit or vegetable sprayed all up against the sides of the pulp receptacle. It's very much a hell yeah moment for me.
At first, I was afraid. My first juice involved a lot of stepping back a bit every time I ran something through, but my fascination (as in, "Holy hell. That was a CARROT a second ago!") got me over the fear. Even though I stocked up with juicing supplies Wednesday, I bought more yesterday because, honestly, I want to see what this stuff will look like in the moment it is flash-ground. Lets get blunt - it looks like the shit explodes. One second, a carrot. The next second, orange splatter and delicious juice. One second, a Granny Smith apple. The next second, pale green splatter and more delicious juice. I could go on. Beets? Beets *rule*. As do greens.
Greens, though, can do some really interesting things. Perhaps it's because my Breville compact is a centrifugal juicer, but there's an updraft. Juicing is easy enough, you put the stuff in, witness the pretty colors, and get juice. But bits of greens are rather light, and can blow back out unless you actually use your head and stuff your greens into the tube before you turn the juicer on. Oh, yeah. And admittedly, I probably should have bought whole kale - - but I went for the "easy" option and bought the monster bag of chopped stuff. "I can do chips! I can do juice! Win/win!"
I will be sweeping until Sunday, but it's all good.
At first, I was afraid. My first juice involved a lot of stepping back a bit every time I ran something through, but my fascination (as in, "Holy hell. That was a CARROT a second ago!") got me over the fear. Even though I stocked up with juicing supplies Wednesday, I bought more yesterday because, honestly, I want to see what this stuff will look like in the moment it is flash-ground. Lets get blunt - it looks like the shit explodes. One second, a carrot. The next second, orange splatter and delicious juice. One second, a Granny Smith apple. The next second, pale green splatter and more delicious juice. I could go on. Beets? Beets *rule*. As do greens.
Greens, though, can do some really interesting things. Perhaps it's because my Breville compact is a centrifugal juicer, but there's an updraft. Juicing is easy enough, you put the stuff in, witness the pretty colors, and get juice. But bits of greens are rather light, and can blow back out unless you actually use your head and stuff your greens into the tube before you turn the juicer on. Oh, yeah. And admittedly, I probably should have bought whole kale - - but I went for the "easy" option and bought the monster bag of chopped stuff. "I can do chips! I can do juice! Win/win!"
I will be sweeping until Sunday, but it's all good.
13 June 2012
Of sawmills sounds and such...
I'm about to embark upon a serious exercise in feeling highly empowered. This will mean donning my stompiest stompy boots and marching right up to the task of shredding, pulverizing, and reducing to pulp pretty all sorts of good things. Inspiration:
Why all this? My juicer is arriving today.
Let's make some freakin' noise.
Why all this? My juicer is arriving today.
Let's make some freakin' noise.
11 June 2012
Of letting go...
Sometimes it's not easy.
Behold, twenty three bracelets I made Friday and shipped off this morning to Dancing Dogs Yoga in Beaufort, SC to be sold to raise money for Africa Yoga Project. I'm having a little bit of empty nest syndrome right now. They were ready to go so fast. One moment they were just a muffin tin full of beautiful beads, and next, POOF! All grown up into bracelets. Well, actually the POOF took about six hours, but you get me, right? I love making these things - so much that I get lost in the process and am a little depressed when I'm out of materials.
Another thing I've had to let go of? The thought of wearing my pink cowboy boots while my foot is healing. Tried it. It hurt. Those boots ARE made for walking - - they're just not made for walking RIGHT NOW. With some positioning and contorting, I could have made it work - but I looked stupid. So stupid, in fact, that I just about asked a full length mirror how it could do that to me. Imagine what it might be like if the hunchback of Notre Dame tried to stand up straight and walk cute. Okay, that's kind of it - now pretend it's a film strip that keeps jamming and hanging, only to finally stay in one place, shaking, until it's just about to pop. Interject some particularly colorful exclamations, and you've got it. Maybe. Suffice to say it was a hot mess.
Have a fantastic Monday! I'm going to continue my search for a good source of beads in bulk and continue the process of reclaiming my kitchen while not wearing my pink cowboy boots.
10 June 2012
Yes...
Yes, I am redoing my blog. Yes, this means that over the next week, there will be an ever-shifting series of templates and color combinations. Yes, I will likely become very frustrated several times over and stomp my good foot while pouting and otherwise needing a tiara. Yes, I might be highly inclined to post pictures of my frustrated facial expressions because - - I don't know. Maybe I like attention. That said, yes, the focus is going to be more on me and my random adventures in creating my life and opening/operating a yoga studio rather than the trials and tribulations of coping with what my husband does in public places and the things he does to the house. (Great day in the morning.)
(This house may never recover from me being bound to sitting in bed for two and a half months.)
So where am I right now? I'm wondering if my pink cowboy boots would be what my orthopedist considers "good" shoes. I have two pairs that I think fit his description (TUK kitty cat mary janes and some really cute Adidas), and got the perfect jeans to go with them - - these jeans also just so happen to be the perfect jeans for my pink cowboy boots. Knowing this makes me want to wear them pretty much every damned place I go - - but I don't know if they're "good". I think he might mean things like Crocs, actually, and please allow me to tell you how strongly that will not be happening. Look up the meaning of "absurd", and you will likely find a picture of me rocking Crocs. They fall into that category of things that would make me look like a (likely cheesed off) toddler. With Bettie Page hair. And I would call the doctor's office to find out if they're acceptable, but I'm afraid they will tell me, "Actually, he means something like Crocs. We even sell them here!" This would crush me.
Of course, having to wear them would give me the perfect opportunity to whip up a range of cute little tee shirts emblazoned with "MY DOCTOR IS MAKING ME WEAR THEM!". To the doctor's office, even. (He would get a kick out of it - orthopedist is very cool.) I could get little studs to decorate them that display a countdown of how long I will still be wearing them. This could totally rock.
Or - not.
Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. I'm off to try on a cowboy boot.
(This house may never recover from me being bound to sitting in bed for two and a half months.)
So where am I right now? I'm wondering if my pink cowboy boots would be what my orthopedist considers "good" shoes. I have two pairs that I think fit his description (TUK kitty cat mary janes and some really cute Adidas), and got the perfect jeans to go with them - - these jeans also just so happen to be the perfect jeans for my pink cowboy boots. Knowing this makes me want to wear them pretty much every damned place I go - - but I don't know if they're "good". I think he might mean things like Crocs, actually, and please allow me to tell you how strongly that will not be happening. Look up the meaning of "absurd", and you will likely find a picture of me rocking Crocs. They fall into that category of things that would make me look like a (likely cheesed off) toddler. With Bettie Page hair. And I would call the doctor's office to find out if they're acceptable, but I'm afraid they will tell me, "Actually, he means something like Crocs. We even sell them here!" This would crush me.
Of course, having to wear them would give me the perfect opportunity to whip up a range of cute little tee shirts emblazoned with "MY DOCTOR IS MAKING ME WEAR THEM!". To the doctor's office, even. (He would get a kick out of it - orthopedist is very cool.) I could get little studs to decorate them that display a countdown of how long I will still be wearing them. This could totally rock.
Or - not.
Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. I'm off to try on a cowboy boot.
02 June 2012
Juiced...
I graduated teacher training last weekend.
I'm getting ready to sign a lease on what will be an amazing yoga studio.
I'm walking a little - mostly around the house. If I go shopping, I have to roll - doctor's orders.
Um....I'm buying a juicer and can't wait to trot out of Earth Fare with one of those monster bags of carrots. I'm not going to admit they're for juicing. I'm going to say something like, "You MIGHT say I like carrots, yeah." Watch me not be able to pick the bag up. Actually, I won't be able to because my walking cast isn't exactly the most stable thing in the world to walk on - - and I'll probably still be on the Roll-A-Bout, anyway. Images of breaking more bones in the produce section aren't making me very happy, so my smartypants purchase of a monster bag of carrots will have to wait. But a bored chick can dream, right? If it was a bag of beets, I could say something like, "Basebeets. Bet you NEVER thought of that one." There are so many fun things I could prattle off, most of which would probably result in my never having to worry about having anyone at the grocery store speak to me again. "Veggie hooch." Huff it, I'll just admit the stuff is for juicing and not brand myself completely whacked - after all, I'm opening a business.
Just trying to give you something worth reading here. The holding pattern continues since I'm still staying in bed most of the time with my foot propped up.
I'm getting ready to sign a lease on what will be an amazing yoga studio.
I'm walking a little - mostly around the house. If I go shopping, I have to roll - doctor's orders.
Um....I'm buying a juicer and can't wait to trot out of Earth Fare with one of those monster bags of carrots. I'm not going to admit they're for juicing. I'm going to say something like, "You MIGHT say I like carrots, yeah." Watch me not be able to pick the bag up. Actually, I won't be able to because my walking cast isn't exactly the most stable thing in the world to walk on - - and I'll probably still be on the Roll-A-Bout, anyway. Images of breaking more bones in the produce section aren't making me very happy, so my smartypants purchase of a monster bag of carrots will have to wait. But a bored chick can dream, right? If it was a bag of beets, I could say something like, "Basebeets. Bet you NEVER thought of that one." There are so many fun things I could prattle off, most of which would probably result in my never having to worry about having anyone at the grocery store speak to me again. "Veggie hooch." Huff it, I'll just admit the stuff is for juicing and not brand myself completely whacked - after all, I'm opening a business.
Just trying to give you something worth reading here. The holding pattern continues since I'm still staying in bed most of the time with my foot propped up.
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