Out and About

After spending yesterday inside enslaved to Mop ‘n Glo, today I just had to venture out.

Call it wishful thinking, but I think spring may be in the air. Yes, the F word (flurries) is forecasted for the next two days, but after that it’s sun and rising temps. How warm does it actually have to be to qualify as balmy?

Enjoy what I hope to be the last of the pictures containing snow … at least until November. Daffodils, budding trees, robins and other spring metamorphoses are just around the corner, I’m sure!

Look, Henry! There's a Storm Coming!

Fifth grade. Fairview Elementary. Amateur thespian production of The Wizard of Oz.

Oh sure, we all wanted to play Dorothy, but the role (and my boyfriend later in life) was filched by Carrie B. Luanne S. was the prettiest and a natural Glenda. No one really wanted to be the Wicked Witch of the West, and at age ten I was already way too tall to pass for a munchkin. I was cast as Auntie Em. All I really remember is the apron I wore and the solitary line I delivered with enthusiasm in what surely was an Oscar-winning performance:

LOOK, Henry! There’s a storm coming!

Yes, I was a catalyst even back then. But you’re probably wondering what in the heck Mrs. Hill’s class has to do with Windex and a feather duster. Rest assured I haven't resorted to reporting about some deviant behavior (not that the feather duster hasn't come in handy, mind you, but that's an entirely different story).  The common denominator here is a cyclone.

Today is the first day in a long time that I have absolutely nothing on my calendar. I could venture to a museum or day-trip to the lakeshore, but have something else to which I really must attend. While my house hasn’t been lifted from its foundation and dropped into some magical land, it definitely looks as if it’s been hit by a tornado.

I’ve already admitted to not being Suzie Homemaker. I can’t really cook and abhor cleaning. I think the last apron I actually wore was in that play back in 1970.  I live alone and don’t necessarily care if it looks like 40 disorderly slobs live here, but would be mortified if Prince Charming got lost in the forest and showed up on my doorstep. (Hey, it could happen!  In my fairy tales men not only put down the toilet seat and cry during chick flicks, but also actually stop to ask for directions.) Sometimes we must attend to the unpleasant. Today is the day I plug in the vacuum, inhale Endust, run the washing machine, tackle a mountain of ironing, and eradicate all things growing in both my refrigerator and bathroom. Trust me, it ain't pretty.

But after donning rubber gloves, eye protection and a hazmat suit, I’m going in. If you don’t hear from me again by Wednesday, send out a search party!

Dear Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

I know in the past I haven’t thought the chilly, flurry-filled, blustery weather of your wintry season was all that, but my eyes have recently been opened. I really have come to appreciate the beauty in what you’ve icily kissed these past few months and enjoyed getting to know you in your frosty loveliness.

But I’ve about had it with your friend Old Man Winter. Have your way with him one final time if you must, but then send him packin'.  Wouldn’t you rather fraternize with Mars, the Roman god of spring? I know he’s no Adonis, but …

According to the calendar we’ve got another 22 days until the vernal equinox, but do you think you could do something to speed the transition along? You remember the thaw with which you taunted us in January, don’t you? Sun, warm temps, melting snow. More along those lines … soon!

Thank you, Ma'am!

It was a dark and stormy night ...

I’m not much of a packrat. My philosophy is that if I can’t use something within the next two weeks, I generally don’t need to keep it. One of the exceptions to my rule, however, is my schoolwork from college. For some reason I have all the papers and exams I had written, and every now and then like to pull them out for perusal. The following excerpt is from the 28-page semester summary I submitted as a final exam in my Interpersonal Communications class (circa June 1999):

When you were very young, what media figures (TV or radio or books) served as models for you? What effect did they have on you?

First of all, you’re asking me to remember when I was very young. That was a long time ago! The media figures that immediately come to mind are Nancy Drew, Beaver Cleaver and Bozo the Clown. What a combo, huh? Nancy Drew’s stories always impressed upon me that if you really put your mind to it, you can always come up with a solution to your problems. The Beav was an adventurous sort (usually due to the encouragement of his dubious sidekick) who taught me that it is okay to step off the straight and narrow path as long as you are willing to accept the consequences that may accompany such behavior. And Bozo? Laughter is indeed the best medicine!

Yes, like millions of other young readers, I loved Nancy Drew.  Didn’t you? The teenage detective was independent and gutsy and kind and intelligent and successful … a super sleuth who could do it all. Is it any wonder why she is one of the best role models for adolescent girls?

The story of the American heroine began in 1930. She was the brainchild of Edward Stratemeyer, owner of Stratemeyer Syndicate, who had already created the Hardy Boys, The Bobbsey Twins and Tom Swift. This new girls’ mystery series was authored by “Carolyn Keene,” a pseudonym for the myriad of writers who penned Nancy’s adventures, and initially published by Grosset & Dunlap.

The history of these books through the years is interesting, if not a bit confusing. The first 34 volumes of the original texts contained 25 chapters and were published between 1930 and 1956. Then, in an effort to modernize them to remove racial and gender stereotypes, as well as to update the language and plots for current-day readers, the Nancy Drew Mystery Stories were rewritten and condensed in 1959. The ensuing 56 titles of these 20-chapter books were published from 1959 to 1979. Various paperback series followed, as did movies and television shows and games and cookbooks. Whew!

Nancy didn’t enter my life until the late 1960s. By that time the original blue hard covers with dust jackets bearing the illustrations of Russell H. Tandy were out of print and replaced by yellow spine books with pictures printed directly on their covers. Fortunately, in 1991, Applewood Books began releasing unedited facsimile reprints of the first editions. Unfortunately, only the first 21 volumes were made available. So I’m now on the lookout for volumes 22 through 34 of the original novels I have yet to own. I have no doubt they’ll someday turn up in an obscure bookstore or someone’s attic, but I won’t be able to accomplish No. 49 on my Bucket List—reread the original Nancy Drew mysteries—until I find them!

I may be well beyond the books’ target age of 8- to 12-year-olds, but I’m still very young at heart and enjoy them just as much now as I did back then. Nancy Drew remains classic and timeless. She not only provides a window into the past but, even after all these years, stories that I still love to read!

In the Dark

Tonight I’m in the dark with my photography experiment. Literally.

I probably spend way too much time surfing the net, but always seem to stumble upon something interesting. I recently discovered a photography technique called painting with light. This is one of the frickin’ coolest things I’ve seen in a long time.  (Am I easily amused or do I just need to get out more?)

All it requires is a controllable exposure, a dark environment and light. The trick is to set your camera to a long shutter speed and use a remote or self-timer so there’s no movement in the camera when the shutter is depressed. Then all you have to do is paint!

This is my first attempt with a mini Maglite, but certainly won’t be my last. I need to get my hands on some colored lights and try again. Oh what fun!

The Simple Life

To find the universal elements enough; to find the air and the water exhilarating; to be refreshed by a morning walk or an evening saunter; to be thrilled by the stars at night; to be elated over a bird’s nest or a wildflower in spring—these are some of the rewards of the simple life.

~John Burroughs

I wonder … do our lives seem complicated because we tend to make them that way? Why is it that the more we have, the more we want? If we strive for the biggest, the fastest, the most and the best, are we not compounding our problems? When we take the time to question where we’ve been and where we’re going, don’t the answers always seem to return to basic and elementary foundations?

Life is fragile and too short; I learn that more and more every day. Getting caught up in the rat race and keeping up with the Joneses isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. These days I find more joy in genuine people than artificial things. To stay focused on what really matters, I feel the need to slow down, remove the distractions which attempt to lure me from an undemanding existence, and savor the truly important things in life. Living simply may very well hold the key to my happiness.

Yes, I’m in one of those deeply reflective moods today. Why do you ask?

Let It Snow!

Mini retreat over; it’s back to reality.

The gorgeous weekend weather in Ohio gave way to five inches of new snow at home today. As much as I would have loved to enjoy it from a cozy indoors, work responsibilities were calling and I had to venture out. Since I’m trying to keep my eyes open these days for unique photo ops, I noticed contrast in the fluffiness of a snow-covered tree against the patterned brick of a building. Though I’m creatively tapped out from penning (typing?) a recap of our get-away, I’d like to think I’m keeping pace in the photo department. I love the way this shot turned out!

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Even though I thrive on the glamour and pulsating metro vibe of a big city, there’s something equally enjoyable about exploring quintessential small town America. Pemberville, Ohio provided us with an opportunity to do just that.

The Village of Pemberville is located in Northwestern Ohio on S.R. 105 in Wood County and rests on the forks of the Portage River. Iroquois, Wyandot and Ottawa Indians originally inhabited the area, but were eventually forced westward when pioneer settlement began. The initial survey of the town, named for James Pember who built the first frame house in the community, was completed in 1854.

Pemberville’s current population numbers exactly 1,372. The village today is home to a variety of small businesses, parks, schools, churches and a library. Farming is also still a vital part of life here.

After perusing the For the Love of Art exhibit and touring the Pemberville Opera House, we decided to wander the three uniquely preserved blocks that comprise the downtown area. Because it had been a long time since we indulged in the breakfast buffet at the hotel, we ducked into the Medicine Shoppe to mingle with the locals, grab some coffee and sample yummy homemade sugar cookies. After purchasing some Amish peanut butter, it was on to our next stop.

Beeker’s is one of Ohio’s oldest general stores. Believed to date back 140+ years, the business opened when Pemberville was a flourishing farm community. Browsing at Beeker’s was like taking a step back into time. The creak of the old wooden floor, the original gas lampshades, the wooden counters and stools, the tin ceiling and the merchandise were all reminiscent of what the town’s ancestors would have experienced back in the day.

Mark also could have poked around for days in the three-story Riverbank Antique Market if I would have let him. There I discovered the coolest pair of lime green crock bottles for a mere $3.50 each; something similar would have cost me ten times as much at Pottery Barn.  I have no idea of their history, but they were very “Lynn” and needed to come home with me. Yes, the “you see it, you like it, you buy it” approach to shopping was applied here as well. Mark picked up two wooden bowls for $1 each, and definitely plans to return once he relocates to the area to see what other treasures can find their way into his new home.

Our final destination was the Front Street Café for a late lunch before hitting the road to return home.

I cannot tell you how much we enjoyed our day in Pemberville. The atmosphere was laid back, and the people genuinely warm and friendly. Our visit to this quaint, nostalgic town provided us with just the respite we needed from our day-to-day hectic lives. What better benefit than a brief escape to a simpler environment containing recollections of the past?

For the Love of Art

Something much lovelier than the tang of cow manure was in the air. Yes, we were in the middle of Ohio farm country, but fascinating artwork created from the minds and hands of the area’s gifted artists was waiting to be discovered. The Village of Pemberville had once again been transformed into a town-wide art extravaganza.

Enjoying its seventh year, For the Love of Art was sponsored by the Pemberville Historical Society and area businesses committed to supporting and promoting the arts. The Opera House showcased the visions of area high school students and recent alumni, while local artists displayed their works in shop windows and demonstrated their talents throughout the town.

The designs presented by the young artists did not disappoint. In fact, we were blown away by the level of their creativeness and enjoyed the exhibition every bit as much as those we’ve seen in large cities. And, as luck would have it, the house manager offered us a behind-the-scenes tour of the beautifully restored Pemberville Opera House which accommodated the event.

Built during the height of the state’s oil boom, it is the oldest operating opera house in Ohio. Completed in 1892 at a cost of $6,000, it boasted seating for 250 and welcomed a myriad of traveling shows; everyone who has ever graced its stage has autographed its walls.

Its “modern stage” offers two trap doors, one on the stage itself and one leading to the scenery loft in the attic, as well as three dressing rooms. The theater features a raked stage (which slopes upward from the footlights so everyone in the audience can see the actors in the back as well) and Old English-style scenery. Sliding a series of flats into grooves suspended from the stage ceiling allows for efficient scene transition. Hand-painted roll-drop curtains are also used to depict picturesque scenes.

The house was popular into the late 1930’s until World War II became the focus of the nation’s attention.  It lay dormant and was used to store town records until the early 1990’s when it recaptured the interest of the Pemberville Historical Society. By 1998 enough funds were raised to start restoration. Thanks to the efforts and countless volunteer hours of a core group, the project was amazingly completed in just 16 months.

Many of the original features of the opera house are intact and still in use today. As we poked around its nooks and crannies, we were transported back some 118 years to a time when entertainment meant no radio, no movies, no television.

We really appreciated the time Jim took to show us around. It was evident that he, like all citizens of Pemberville, is proud of this local treasure.

Roll On Down the Highway

I love impromptu get-aways and try to take advantage of every opportunity which affords me a chance to get out of Dodge. As much as I’d like to report that I’ve again jet-setted to an exotic locale, our destination was only a mere 2.5-hour drive from Grand Rapids.

Rewind to July 2008. Mark’s employer at the time, like many businesses these days, re-evaluated its employee pool. We had just returned from a 36-hour excursion when he learned his position had been eliminated. Amazingly, he sent out (count ‘em) one resume and, after a lengthy interview process, accepted a position similar to that he previously held. Since his territory was to encompass the Detroit area, Northern Ohio and Western Pennsylvania, it was a given he’d eventually have to relocate. That time has finally arrived; he’ll become a Buckeye as of May 1. In his recent travels he happened upon notice for an art exhibit and decided it provided a great excuse to visit the Toledo area to begin scouting potential neighborhoods. He invited me to tag along and we hit the road for the weekend.

Mark and I may no longer be married, but he’ll always be a part of my life. He remains a friend and one of my favorite travel companions. (Weird, I know, but it works for us!) Since he prefers to do the driving, I was usually in charge of navigating … until he replaced me with Bernice, his GPS. She can tell him where to go much better than I ever did! (Interpret any way you deem appropriate!)  I then instead focused on scanning radio stations for the best music to accompany us on the open road, but that too has fallen by the wayside with the introduction of his latest technological discovery.

After downloading the Slacker Personal Radio app to his Blackberry, Mark can channel through his car’s stereo system over 100 programmed Slacker stations, 10,000 artist stations or create his own custom station. Once we found the ‘70s music, we were in classic rock ‘n roll heaven. It's the next best thing to pulling up a bean bag on the shag rug, putting on the headphones and drifting away.

BTO, Led Zeppelin, the Stones, Eagles, CCR, Aerosmith, The Who, Fleetwood Mac, Bad Company, ZZ Top, Eric Clapton, Bob Seger, the Boss, Pink Floyd, Elton John, Boston, Jimi Hendrix, AC/DC, Steely Dan, Queen, Styx, The Cars, The Doobie Brothers, David Bowie, Jethro Tull, Tom Petty, Van Morrison, Supertramp, Foreigner, Heart, ELO, Ted Nugent, Little Feat, Journey, Santana and, yes, even Rod “the Bod” Stewart.

We mused about how these blasts from the past have transitioned from 45s to LPs to—dare I admit to an eight-track or two???—cassette tapes to compact discs and now to downloadable music. And it never ceases to amaze me, even decades later, how a specific song has the power to instantaneously transport me back to a former place in my life. Groovy sounds which not only allow us to rock on through the greatest decade of music while road trippin’, but also never fail to spur great discussions of the good ‘ole days.

How can the drive time do anything but fly?

Winter Wonderland

Yes, I suppose I should have focused on work this afternoon, but blue skies and a beautiful day were beckoning. It was way too nice to stay inside. Besides, I typically work into the wee hours of the morning; why should today be any different? Give me some sun, a couple of hours on the clock and my camera and I’m easily distracted.

Mark used to fish at Grand River Park all the time, but I never really explored it until I took a photography class last year and was working on an outdoor assignment. Today provided just as many photo ops, and I ended up shooting about 100 pictures in 1.5 hours. (Do you think that’s obsessive?)

The 162-acre park is located in Georgetown Township along the banks of the Grand River. It features three miles of nature trails, upland woods, a floodplain forest, restored native grasslands, wetlands and a small lake. I’m anxious to revisit and wander later this year to discover what each season has to offer.

Great exercise, tons of good pictures. How am I going to narrow it down to just one?

Doing the Veggie Thing

I had a doozy of a cold these past few weeks and didn’t feel like eating, much less blogging about food. But now that I’m nearly back amongst the ranks of the healthy, it’s time once again to return to the kitchen to see what I conjured up.

Seven-layer is one of the few things I had previously managed to master. Don’t be too impressed … anyone can throw a handful of things into a bowl and call it a salad. Then again, everyone seems to rant and rave whenever I make it. This healthier version, I must say, is just as delish. By adding two pieces of Wasa whole wheat crispbread and an apple, the meal covers all the requisites … even the veggies I have yet to embrace!

***

SEVEN-LAYER SALAD*

Serves 2

Ingredients

3 c iceberg lettuce

1 c frozen green peas, thawed

1/4 c chopped green onion

1/2 c chopped celery

1/4 c chopped green pepper

1/4 c Yoplait Light Very Vanilla Yogurt

2 Tbsp reduced-calorie mayonnaise

2 oz reduced-fat cheddar cheese

2 Tbsp Hormel Real Crumbled Bacon

2 medium hard-boiled eggs, sliced

Method

Layer lettuce and other vegetables in two salad bowls.

Mix together yogurt and mayonnaise and spread on top layer.

Top with cheese, crumbled bacon and sliced eggs.

*Adapted from the American Diabetes Association Month of Meals 4

The Best Gift

Today my nephew Zhak transitioned from “plain five” to age six. I think he had more people joining in his festivities than I did last summer when I celebrated my milestone birthday. (No, I didn’t turn 30, but thank you for thinking that!). Tonight’s occasion was marked with dinner at Applebee’s (Zhak’s favorite restaurant), followed by cake and ice cream at home with 14 of his closest family and friends. The kid is a social butterfly! And boy did he make a haul in the presents department: Books and games and movies and a Leapster2 Learning System. Today may be his birthday, but he receives a special gift on a daily basis. He has a brother who adores him.

Interestingly, it was my sister’s intention to accept a referral of a little girl from China, but all along Zhak told her he’d instead be getting a brother. How did he know?!? I was fortunate to have been a part of their incredible journey and traveled to the Far East with the two of them for the adoption of the newest member of our family. I witnessed then firsthand the instant bond that seemed to form between the boys. They’ve been inseparable since. Oh sure, they’re siblings and some type of rivalry is a given, but Deni relays more heartwarming tales than horror stories. Zhak is usually the one to back down in times of conflict, and not once has he told her he no longer likes his brother and wants to send him back. “I love my Kaden!” he repeatedly claims. (Amusingly, he recently indicated that a sister would now be nice as well. Uh, yeah. I don’t know how Deni does it as it is by raising two rambunctious boys at our age, but she wisely told him that ain’t gonna happen.) Zhak takes his role as a big brother very seriously and instinctively takes care of his di di (little brother). Many a night Deni has awakened to hear Kaden crying only to discover he’s crawled into bed with and is being comforted by Zhak singing the moon song to him. Is it any wonder why Kaden loves his ge ge (big brother)? He’s become a Mini Me in emulating Zhak’s every word and action. For children who have come from very different backgrounds, they are like two peas in a pod and joined at the hip. Is it obvious that these exceptional boys have a special place in my heart?

Happy Birthday, Zhak! I love you and your Kaden!

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

If you haven’t yet figured it out, I’m really not much of a winter person and admittedly have to question what there is to love about it. I’m wimpy when it comes to frigid temps, and typically put on earmuffs and mittens just to peruse the refrigerator. I hate wearing socks, miss my sexy summer sandals, and the layers upon layers of bulky clothing do nothing to highlight the girlish figure I’ve been cultivating since the first of the year. I have plowing service, but still must tend to clearing the sidewalk, which I liken to dusting; I spend a great deal of time and effort to eradicate the offensive only to discover it has reappeared days later and my efforts were for naught. I don’t skate, ski or snowmobile. The days are short and the sun often nowhere to be found. Yes, I definitely think bears may very well be onto something with that hibernation thing.

But what would I miss by holing up until the spring thaw? Is there really anything to enjoy during the coldest season of the year? I’ve discovered that there is indeed beauty in everything Mother Nature provides and photographic opportunities abound at every bend. All I have to do is get outside, open my eyes and take the time to see them.

Happy SAD!

Lest I be alone on Cupid’s red letter day, Cherri and Perry invited me to spend time with them. I accepted their invitation to attend Sunday morning worship at their church. I had to chuckle when I met their fellow parishioner. Shirley is also unattached, and humorously relayed that she and her daughter were celebrating Single Awareness Day. SAD. But rather than commiserate, we instead rejoiced in our solo status. After all, I pointed out, why have 1 when you can have 50?

Amidst grins and giggles, that afternoon I shared M & M’s with Sarah and Olivia. We all toasted the holiday with wine and sparkling grape juice before delving into cranberry and walnut salad, crabcakes and zucchini. The meal was delish, and ended with two special treats: a rousing rendition of “Happy Valentine’s Day to You!” and a Bill Knapp’s chocolate cake painstakingly decorated by the twins with red hearts and black jail centers. (I don’t pretend to comprehend the complex workings of a five-year-old mind, but do you think they were onto something with that?)

My spouse is now my ex and I’m in between significant others; there was no bouquet of roses, no Godiva chocolates. As much as I’d love to be wined and dined by some hunky bachelor, I don’t need to be in a romantic relationship to celebrate life. I cannot think of a better way to have spent my day.

One of the lovely Valentines I received poignantly stated:

I believe in love for you, that you’ll find the exactly right person to share your life with.

I believe that it’ll happen in the perfect time and the perfect way.

And in the meantime, I hope you really feel the love that’s already in your life …

Because you are loved by so many people.

“All you need is love” is how the song goes. Blessed with wonderful family and friends, I’ve got that one covered.

Hello World!

Main Entry: cabin fever

Function: noun

Date: 1918

: extreme irritability and restlessness from living in isolation or a confined indoor area for a prolonged time

I guess I didn’t really need Merriam-Webster to point that out, did I? After battling a cold and being down for the count for nearly a week, it’s a given that I was ill-tempered and antsy. Doing nothing but staring at four walls and sleeping a majority of the time definitely quashes one’s right brain. What to do to combat this affliction?  Get the heck out of the house, of course! I can only take so many photos of my interior precinct and didn’t really want to start detailing bodily functions; it wouldn’t have been pretty. Fresh air was definitely in order.

Even though this photo was taken at the historic summer resort community of Ottawa Beach, its February landscape parallels yet starkly contrasts the subject of my recent flashback to Oahu. Much of this water was frozen and didn’t invitingly beckon an afternoon dip. (I’ve never had a desire to become a member of any Polar Bear Club by plunging into icy waters.) The snow-covered beach wasn’t wrapped in blue skies, but rather cloudy gray through which very little sun shone. Those hunky cabana boys and totally rad surfer dudes? They were replaced with ice fishermen not prancing around in Speedos, but instead bundled up against the elements. Yes, I’d still rather be recouping and taking pictures in Hawaii, but I think this shot is just as lovely.

And it sure was great to again be out in the real world!

Rubber Ducky Optional

When was the last time you took a bubble bath? Go ahead … indulge. You know you want to. It’s been a long, crazy week and a little destressing is in order. What better way to unwind and ease your mind than by soaking in fragrantly foamy bliss?

Pour yourself a glass of wine or whatever else relaxes you (correct me if I'm wrong, but somehow I don’t think Coors Light will do the trick).

Turn off all phones.

Lock the door to prevent interruptions (kids, spouses, a hamster on the loose …).

Fill the bathtub with warm—or, as in my case, hot hot hot—water.

Toss in scented bath salts or bubbles totally ignoring package directions; one capful must be quadrupled for maximum suds.

Include some soothing background music; Rod Stewart crooning any of his four Great American Songbooks does it for me.  (I could gush for hours with explicit detail, but we'll just leave it at that.)

Add aromatherapy candles and turn off the lights; lavender, jasmine, sandalwood or vanilla are calming scents.

Slowwwwwwly submerge into the water, toes first.

Relax, enjoy and don’t surface until you’re pruny!

Say it with me … “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The Quick Brown Fox Jumps Over The Lazy Dog

Think about it. I transitioned from the clickety-clack of the typewriter to the hum of the computer. Children like my nieces and nephews don’t even know what a typewriter is. My mother, on the other hand, knows nothing but. In fact, when she graduated from the eighth grade, her parents offered to buy her either a typewriter or a bicycle. She became the proud owner of the world’s finest portable, the Smith-Corona. I’ve already inherited from her this relic of days gone by, which is proudly displayed in my home office.

And I didn’t even have to lay claim to it with a sticker declaring, “This is mine when she dies!”

Mom

Eighth Grade Graduation

circa 1951

Time in a Bottle

Back in the day when I had a real job, I was part of a big, fancy schmancy downtown firm and Kevin was one of the litigators with whom I worked. He was a great guy and always got me cards or flowers or fabulous gifts for every occasion. It wasn’t until well after one particular Christmas that I discovered the real thought behind his phenomenal token of appreciation.

First and foremost, he’s a guy. It’s not that I’m knocking men and their gift-giving ability, but I think many failed to get in line when they were handing out plan ahead genes; they end up scrambling at the eleventh hour to find something which even slightly resembles a gift into which they imparted a bit of forethought. Imagine my surprise that year when I opened a beautifully decorated box to discover the most exquisite hand-blown perfume bottle nestled inside. How on earth did he know? It’s not something you can find at your local hardware store.  He just smiled and accepted my profound thanks as if he’d planned it for months.

Although I can’t give him credit for coming up with the idea on his own, at least he had enough sense to confer with a co-worker to find something that would knock my socks off. The conversation, as later relayed to me by aforementioned friend, was along these lines:

K: I’d like to get her something she’ll love for Christmas this year. Any ideas?

R: Well, she likes perfume bottles. Why don’t you get her one of those?

K: Oh. Okay.

(ten minutes pass and he returns with a quizzical expression)

K: Um, perfume bottles? Empty?!?!?

Okay, maybe you had to be there, but it still makes me chuckle. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the concept of gifting something that is actually packaging. Too funny! In any event, this came to mind in my current state of cabin fever as I anxiously perused my house for something blog worthy. (I promise you … I’m going to go out in the real world again soon!)

Over the years I’ve amassed bric-a-brac of all kinds. Miniature shoes, Starbucks mugs, compacts, perfume bottles. I can’t remember if it started with one I purchased or one I received as a gift, but my first fragrance container escalated into a full-blown obsession. There were many shapes, styles, sizes and colors just waiting to be discovered. Amazingly, despite my fading memory, I can still recall how each came to be part of my collection. The adventures may have occurred in the distant past, but the reminiscences are just as vivid as the bottles from which they emanate.

I used to love this kind of stuff and have been known to shell out a lot of money on these mementos. I’m learning, however, to be much more content in surrendering to the ambiance rather than the goods, and now instead focus on memories instead of purchases.

And there's much less to dust that way! Housework is one of my least favorite chores and I can think of no less than 1,476 things I’d rather be doing.

Send Chicken Soup!

No, I unfortunately am not remoting in from some tropical locale. Since I’m still coughing up a lung and house-bound, we interrupt our regularly scheduled blog posting to bring you a blast from the past.

This is one of my favorite photos from Oahu. It says it all … sun, water, beach, huge drinks with little umbrellas served by hunky cabana boys, totally rad surfer dudes. (No, your eyes aren’t going. The latter two descriptives are indeed missing from the photo; you just need to read them into it!) Suffice it to say that I’d give anything to be here right now (or anywhere else, for that matter) instead of stuck at home with a nasty cold.

Yeah, yeah. I know. Lame post for today, but give an ailing girl a break, will ya?

And be very thankful I didn’t resort to writing about phlegm!

Just Ducky

Have these past few days been more fun than a barrel of monkeys? No, not exactly the cat’s meow. I’m busy as a beaver in this dog-eat-dog world, but a nasty cold has recently rendered me as useless as tits on a bull. I’m not bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed. In fact, I’m downright owly. I have a frog in my throat, and one minute sport goose bumps while the next sweat like a pig. And with pillow hair and drippy nose, I definitely look like something the cat dragged in. I’ve been moving at a snail’s pace and so dog tired that I cat nap until the cows come home. This affliction is definitely for the birds, but I’m not going to have kittens over it or let it get my goat. I’ve taken the bull by the horns and, like a chicken on a June bug, made a beeline to the grocery store for Puffs, soup and Robitussin. I’m not as hungry as a bear, but have been drinking orange juice like a fish. I may no longer be a spring chicken, but don’t think my goose is cooked just yet. I’m stubborn as a mule and have bigger fish to fry. I hope to soon be grinning like the Cheshire cat and once again feeling just ducky.

Cool Shoes

Cruel Shoes, a satirical short-short story by Steven Martin (1979):

Anna knew she had to have some new shoes today, and Carlo had helped her try on every pair in the store. Carlo spoke wearily, “Well, that’s every pair of shoes in the place.”

“Oh, you must have one more pair...”

“No, not one more pair... Well, we have the cruel shoes, but no one would want...”

Anna interrupted, “Oh yes, let me see the cruel shoes!”

Carlo looked incredulous. “No, Anna, you don’t understand, you see, the cruel shoes are...”

“Get them!”

Carlo disappeared into the back room for a moment, then returned with an ordinary shoe box. He opened the lid and removed a hideous pair of black and white pumps. But these were not an ordinary pair of black and white pumps; both were left feet, one had a right angled turn with separate compartments that pointed the toes in impossible directions. The other shoe was six inches long and was curved inward like a rocking chair with a vise and razor blades to hold the foot in place.

Carlo spoke hesitantly, “... Now you see why... they’re not fit for humans...”

“Put them on me.”

“But...”

“Put them on me!”

Carlo knew all arguments were useless. He knelt down before her and forced the feet into the shoes.

The screams were incredible.

Anna crawled over to the mirror and held her bloody feet up where she could see.

“I like them.”

She paid Carlo and crawled out of the store into the street.

Later that day, Carlo was overheard saying to a new customer, “Well, that’s every shoe in the place. Unless, of course, you’d like to try the cruel shoes.”

***

What is it about women and shoes that make people wonder if we've taken leave of our senses? I’ll admit many a time I have been branded as an Imelda wannabe, though mine number more modestly around 50 pairs than the 3,000 she purportedly left behind when her family fled the Malacanang Palace. But who’s counting? My brother (or was it my ex-husband?) once declared, “I think you played with Barbie dolls too much when you were little. You have to have matching shoes for every outfit.” Spoken like a true male and right up there with, “How many pairs of shoes do you NEED?”

The fact of the matter is, I’m slowly but surely coming to grips with the realization that I actually don’t need many shoes at all. Oh sure, I still think they can make or break an outfit, am just as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning when I rip into a box and draw in the aroma of new leather, and have been known to stop dead in my tracks to swoon over window displays in major department stores (read: Carrie Bradshaw’s “Hello lover!”). My collection no longer boasts a rainbow of hues and, in fact, a good two-thirds of it is now black. But yes, there is still a great variety. Gladiator, evening and thong sandals. Mary Janes, flip flops, sling backs, mules and skimmers. Cowboy boots, calf-huggers and ankle booties. Patent leather, snakeskin, suede and microfiber. Kitten heels and stilettos. Buckles and bows. Kenneth Cole, Via Spiga, Aerosoles, Donald J. Pliner, the Opelusos which had to be in my suitcase before I could leave Italy, and the oh-so-sexy Claudio Merazzi FMPs discovered in a vintage store in Lincoln Park, fabulous with the requisite little black dress or, quite frankly, with nothing at all!  You think I was mildly obsessed?

But, if truth be told, my most beloved footwear is no longer cruel shoes but rather cool shoes … the ever-hip Converse All Stars. They are incredibly comfy and I get compliments galore whenever I wear them. More importantly, however, when I pair them with jeans and a plain white tee, instead of transforming me into Cinderella or a fashionista, their kick-back style allows me to just be me.

Seriously? That’s all I really need to be happy.

A Fishy Tale

Flashback to the 1960s.

Remember Don Knotts as the bespectacled, mild-mannered bookkeeper who is so obsessed with fish that he longs to be one? After he falls off a pier and turns into an articulate aquatic animal, his life proves more exciting than mundane as he helps the US Navy defeat the Nazis during WWII.

My nephew Zhak is not an incredible limpet nor does he sport fins or gills, and I seriously doubt that at the tender age of "plain five" he’s going to be the latest secret weapon of our naval forces.  But he definitely would live in the water if we let him. He’s in his second year of Saturday morning lessons and, well, swimming like a fish! The only style I’ve ever managed to master is the dog paddle, but I know it won’t be long before Zhak is front crawling, breaststroking and butterflying his way through waters of all kind.

Henry Limpet was ultimately transformed into a tilefish. Zhak is just as animated, but I’m thinking he more aptly resembles a clownfish!

Hoops!

The gymnasium bleachers were packed with adoring fans shaking pompoms and yelling words of encouragement at their favorite team. Tennis shoes squeaked as the players shuffled and took their positions on the floor.

A tip-off started the game. Blue was in possession.

*bounce* *bounce* *bounce*

The ball handler beat the defender, quickly glanced around, and weighed his options to advance the ball. In an assist attempt, he lob-passed it downcourt. The shooter in the short corner leapt under the basket with a layup, but the bank shot deflected from the rim. The field goal effort failed.

White snatched the defensive rebound and ran a fast break. An outlet pass toward midcourt was seized by his waiting teammate. He drove to the basket and took a shot from the paint.

*swoosh*

Nothing but net!

High-fives all around!

The fancy footwork and ball-handling weren’t showcased by high-profile NBA players nor were they exhibited by those marching to NCAA madness. It wasn’t even that local Grandville Bulldogs were enjoying a home court advantage. The exemplary dribbling, passing, shooting and rebounding skills were executed by teams comprised of athletes with and without cognitive disabilities who took part in a Special Olympics basketball tournament.

For anyone who competitively shoots hoops, there are rules which must be followed. But during these matches we also played witness to actions not typically found on bball courts. While one young player was rotated in, she noticed her grandparents had arrived and took leave from the game to acknowledge her entire family with hugs before returning to her position on the floor. The athlete sporting the No. 1 jersey loved playing so much that he was begrudgingly led from the court in tears when it was his turn to rotate out. And my nephew Caleb? Though he’s a Troy Bolton wannabe who achieved one two-pointer that would make his idol proud, he spent most of his time running up and down the sidelines with a smile on his face instead of fully immersing in the game. I can’t remember the last time I thoroughly enjoyed basketball.

This kind of sporting event not only provides an occasion for the participants to share their gifts with family, other Olympians and the community, but also with an opportunity to belong to a team, to demonstrate courage and to excel.

Isn’t that really all any of us strives to achieve?

Seeing the Light

I may live smack dab in the heart of the Midwest, but I am fortunate to reside on the west side of the Mitten State; the nearest shoreline is only 30 minutes away. I’m a city girl if there ever was one, but there’s just something about being on the water that gets to my core. And where there are treacherous shores, reefs and shoals, there are lighthouses.

What is it about these towers that I find so intriguing? Part of the attraction stems from the craggy coastlines and sandy beaches over which the beacons loom; lighthouses are found in the most scenic locales. They also illuminate the fog and darkness of maritime history and the solitary life of a lightkeeper. And the architectural detail is amazing. Each structure is unique and incorporates distinctive design elements.

Did you know that Lake Michigan is the third-largest of the Great Lakes in surface area, and the only one entirely within the United States? Bordered by Michigan, Indiana, Illinois and Wisconsin, more lighthouses dot its 1,600-mile shoreline than any other Great Lake. At one time there were as many as 247 in Michigan, but less than half now remain.

Last October Mark and I coupled a business meeting in Wisconsin with a hasty four-day Lake Michigan circle tour. Driving north from Muskegon we followed the water’s edge, crossed the Mighty Mac, traversed the Upper Peninsula, traveled down through Milwaukee and Chicago, and looped back into Lower Michigan. While we were able to photograph, visit and even (harrowingly) climb many of the lighthouses which grace this Great Lake, we didn’t come close to scratching the surface of seeing all it has to offer. It would take weeks to properly circumvent its waters and give the structures the attention they deserve. But it’s really not necessary to do it all at once, is it? What better place to start than in my own backyard?

After I raced against the clock to make it to the bank and the post office before 5:00 p.m., I headed west for home. The soundtrack of The Jersey Boys was reverberating through my car (yes, it remains my favorite a year later) and there was still about 45 minutes of daylight left. I decided to keep driving.

I suppose I should learn to travel with a map at the ready, but I fortunately have an innate sense of direction. (Okay, I’ll admit it … those well-placed signs helped, too!) I can’t remember the last time I visited Holland State Park, but I know it wasn’t on a dusky February evening. Nonetheless, I had no trouble finding it at the end of Ottawa Beach Road.

I suppose I should also learn to travel with hiking boots on standby for I once again found myself attempting to navigate the winter landscape in cowboy boots (I feel another lecture from my shoemaker coming on; will I ever learn?). As I slip-slided over the boardwalk, I saw what I was looking for. The Holland Harbor Lighthouse blazed like a red beacon over the frozen, snow-covered dunes. I chatted with another photographer on the hillcrest (great minds think alike!) and fired off a dozen or three shots before retreating to the toastiness of my car.

This one was an impromptu trip, but it won’t be the last you’ll see of Lake Michigan lighthouses from my perspective. Next time, with a bit of advanced planning, I’ll be prepared to invest more time and memory card to these coastal beauties. Stay tuned!

The Abstracts of Nature

I'm an art lover.  While I can certainly appreciate beautiful and thought-provoking works of all kind, my taste runs toward the abstract. Pablo Picasso, Wassily Kandinksy, Jackson Pollock, Henri Matisse. These pieces may tend to look random, but upon closer inspection there are indeed intentional patterns.

No different are the kaleidoscope of shapes found in the natural world. In embarking upon my photographic endeavor in 2010, I’m learning to look for order and form in plants and animals and water and minerals. Beauty emerges through the repetition of simple rules and begs me to see things with new eyes. As a result, I’m discovering splendor in places I least expect.

Patterns are all around us, but are they as arbitrary as they seem?

How Do You Like Them Apples?

The most difficult thing I’ve encountered about trying to eat healthy is that I only cook for one (or two, if anyone is adventurous enough to brave my experiments!). Math is not my strong suit, and it’s not easy for me to halve or quarter recipes meant to serve four to eight people. I’ve been on the lookout for cookbooks which cater to us singles and discovered Frances Price RD’s Healthy Cooking for Two (or Just You). Love, love, love it! Not only does the book contain healthy versions of some of my favorite foods (like meat loaf and ham and scalloped potatoes), but the recipes are specifically designed for one or two people and take the guesswork out of converting measurements. Plenty of them can be whipped up in 30 minutes and the full nutrient analysis is stated for each (in case you pay attention to those types of things).

This apple crisp is delicious when served warm for dessert (with vanilla frozen yogurt!) and just as tasty for breakfast the next morning when reheated in the microwave.

The oven timer just went off. Mmmmmmmmm … I’ve made this one before and am glad I don’t have to share tonight!

***

SALLY'S LEFT BANK APPLE CRISP

Serves 2

Ingredients

2 medium apples (for best results, use good baking apples like Granny Smith or Golden Delicious)

2 tablespoons cider

1/4 c light brown sugar, packed

2 Tbsp rolled oats

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon

1 Tbsp butter or margarine, softened

Method

Preheat oven to 375.

Peel, halve and core the apples, then cut each half into 6 or 8 slices.

Place the slices in a 4.5” x 8” loaf pan or an 8” x 8” baking dish and sprinkle them with the cider.

In a small bowl, using your fingertips, rub together the brown sugar, oats, cinnamon and butter or margarine until the mixture feels crumbly; sprinkle it evenly over the apples.

Bake for 30-35 minutes or until the topping is browned and the apples are tender.

Serve warm.

One Down, Eleven to Go

I cannot believe that the first month of the new year has already passed. We were just ringing in 2010 and now it’s already February. How does this happen?

In reviewing my goals for this year and the progress I’ve made thus far, it would typically be my inclination to detail everything I haven't yet accomplished.  In the alternative, I must take to heart the advice of my pseudo-therapists (either my sister or my BFF, depending upon the day). Rather than dwell on those areas in which I feel I’m not quite up to par, I instead need to congratulate myself for my successes to date.

You got to ac-cent-tchu-ate the positive

E-lim-i-nate the negative

And latch on to the affirmative

Don’t mess with mister inbetween

You got to spread joy up to the maximum

Bring gloom down to the minimum

And have faith, or pandemonium

Liable to walk upon the scene

I always seem to go off on some lyrics tangent, don’t I? And what’s up with all these things that are surfacing from the deepest recesses of my mind?

Back on point.  I have been writing and posting. Every. Single. Day. It’s a far cry from that Pulitzer and admittedly has been my biggest struggle. Even though I think I always have to be witty or insightful, I’m realizing it doesn’t really matter what I relay as long as I continue to do so.

I’ve been a bit more enthusiastic about the daily photo challenge. Yes, it’s just as difficult to come up with 365 subjects (are we tired of weeds and trees yet?), but I am having fun learning all the bells and whistles of my camera and experimenting with composition.  Of course I have a lonnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggg way to go since I’m still taking 50 pictures to get THE perfect shot. But is there really any harm in that? In addition, I’ve been playing around with the different effects available through Photoshop and am having just as much fun with that. (Did you notice the fresco filter I used on the photo in my Dreamin’ post?)

I also devoured two books in January: Three Cups of Tea: One Man’s Mission to Promote Peace … One School at a Time by Greg Mortenson and David Olive Relin, as well as Night by Elie Wiesel. Both are excellent reads, not only for the writing talent but also for the powerful stories behind them. We all struggle and we all seek inspiration; borrow, rent or buy but read these books!

Lastly, but in no way the least important, I’ve done remarkably well in attempting to exercise more, eat less. I lost 11.4 pounds in the last month! Interestingly, I recently had a craving for a ham and cheese sub and “real Pepsi.” I knew it wouldn’t kill me, so I indulged. Know what? It didn’t even taste that great. I’m thinking I’m getting used to taking better care of me.

I’m looking forward to posting more accomplishments in the months to come. I’m glad you’re along for the journey and appreciate your feedback to date. Love the comments; keep ‘em coming!