Happy Thanksgiving!

i began this post on Thanksgiving morning, then couldn't seem to finish it, not really having a clear idea of what it actually was I was going for. It is now Sunday evening, the end to a perfectly beautiful four day weekend, filled with sunny skies, lazy mornings, fun with friends (Saturday night at a comedy club) and luxurious walks in nature with my dogs.

my intent was more than just wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving, I realize now. Mostly, I think in giving thanks, or being prompted to because of an annual holiday, gave me to understand that I am grateful everyday, not just the day they give us permission to voice it! In fact, I am grateful for so much I thought I might make a point of noting my gratitude in every blog entry, which may or may not be every day, although every day is my intent!

if there are things you too are grateful for, let me know, or post them in your blog for all to see, and we can start a gratitude revolution! Change the world by changing the way we think about it. Instead of all that's wrong with it, what's right, right now, in our personal experience, that brings joy to our lives...

Today, I am grateful for my handsome, creative and inspiring son, in whom I am well pleased. I can only hope I have loved him enough to shield his heart as he prepares to go out into the world on his own. I am grateful for my little house, it isn't an amazing house, but it's warm and friendly, surrounded by a wild garden and a shock of trees and shrubs, it makes me smile and has sheltered my family this many years. I am grateful for work I love, friends who make me laugh, and having been blessed with a creative spirit that motivates me and guides me towards happiness.

i wish you the warmest of holidays... and many reasons to be grateful,

~L

the little house that could

i'm not exactly sure how much my return was awaited by anyone else, but for me, it is a happy occasion. As I mentioned earlier I've been very busy visiting with company, all of whom I love very much and would not trade for diamonds, except for that one just awful relation who knows exactly who they are who I might trade for a lump of coal ... but... otherwise... uhuuum ... yeah.

anyway, it is not a secret among my close friends that I possess the introverted and introspective tendencies of "Hermit," card number 9 in the major arcana of the Tarot and also the day of my birth, my birth number in numerology, and also the number of steps from my refrigerator to the couch while balancing one carton of Hagen Daz vanilla ice cream and a bowl in one hand, and a bottle of Hershey's chocolate syrup and a spoon in another... okay ...big steps, mind you. Isn't that interesting, though? Who knew?

as such, you have probably surmised where I am going with this or you, dear reader, could care less ... either way, there is a purpose to this obvious musical-chair style explanation of things (I can just see you eyeing that chair as you time the length of my babbling)... and what I am saying is; I much prefer long, wordless, morning jaunts with my dogs in the woods than hours of talking and visiting with my loved ones. Sad as that may seem to some, I am really quite happy in my silences, exuberantly so, in fact. Be that as it may ... I do love to write and perhaps that is my way of transforming wordlessness into talking hours on end like a teenager, without really talking hours on end at all ... if you know what I mean.

which brings me to today... a gorgeous misty morning which has been spent roaming with dogs for the most part. I've also enjoyed a double-tall latte at Starbucks already, hand-wrestled with two very energetic and playful parrots, called a friend, done three loads of laundry, made a bank run and stared expectantly at a pile of dirty dishes on the counter. I also moved furniture ... the wing-back chair that stuck out too far in the living room, moved there to accommodate extra people, has returned to it's rightful place in the computer room, the bed that filled up the computer room has been humped back upstairs past the parrot condo to it's rightful place in the loft. I've also chugged down three extra strength Tylenol.

in my office, which looks a little worse for wear in the two weeks that I've neglected it, I've prepared jewelry for shipping, answered customer service emails, paid bills, attempted to organize receipts and ended up lumping them all in a file entitled (Receipts and Stuff).... and finally, plopped down at my desk to knock out a blog post, fingers pumping away at 90 wpm while parrots sit on my hands and try to pop keys off the keyboard. Finally, the mind quiets, the fingers stop and my eyes droop. I start to scribble on an envelope and then it's lunchtime. Quite alot for one morning.

I think it's probably a good thing I don't have a boss. He or she would certainly love to pay me (don't you think) to be slumped over my desk, staring off into space, dabbling here and there with no sense of direction or discipline ... but golly what a creative employee! "Just look at her doodles!" I can just hear them say. "Isn't she brilliant?" Why yes. She certainly is! Everyone says so.

oh, well, I say, locking up the studio and heading back up to the house for a salad. The sun's blazing away. Construction still goes on two lots over. Dogs tagging along at my feet. Out on the deck, Vera begs for McVitties Irish Biscuits, the cat sleeps just inches away in the red chair. I swing open the back door and peer into my kitchen... the little house that could hums in silent reverie. Isn't life just grand? I think so.

With love, ~L
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spider bites aren't fun, among other things

if it's weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all ... anyone remember Hee Haw? No? ... never mind. Still, luck, or rather the lack of it, seems to be the theme of the month of August for my human and animal family. Quite a few posts back I'm sure I mentioned "the Irishman's" visit to the doctor wherein he (we) found out he was not only allergic to the birds, but also to the cat and the two dogs! How nice.

Over a month later and several prescription medications consumed he is still not one ounce better than he was the first day he decided to go get needle poked by an overzealous receptionist (I swear), and told that perhaps he had a very slight allergy to our non-human children ($700 later). (Imagine being told you are allergic to your children?) Okay.... not the teenagers (whom I realize we all have allergic reactions to now and again) but rather your little toddlers? That's what it was like! An additional $300 in Heppa filters later, he's still coughing.

So I moved the birds upstairs. Oh my ... lucky you weren't here THAT day! Lucky no one was. The dogs hid, if that's any indication of how fun it was. You see, the bird cage is very large because it contains two parrots. So, I let the parrots play on a bookcase while I emptied out the cage, dragged it through the kitchen, knocked down several cups and cherished pottery pieces in the process, cursed, got the freaking thing down the stairs, and zapped it with the power hose. In the meantime, the parrots were unusually quiet. Good, you're thinking, right? No. Not good. Parrots being much like small children.

I then cleared out a nice spot at the top of the stairs by the big window where they could watch the workmen on the lot next door build the 18 houses that will destroy the neighborhood ... but that's another story. Then, back downstairs (there's 13 of them by the way, weird, huh!) and down another three to the patio where I then hauled the dripping bird condo back inside, took out several more precious nick nacks, and hoisting the thing half on back, precariously slipping on the wet stairs, lugged it up 13 stairs where I did battle with the thing (and they say most accidents happen in the home ... wonder why?), all the foul words I was merely thinking did in fact escape my lips (no sign of the dogs at this point), and finally after much repositioning and dagger looks at anything that moved in the vicinity, I got the thing situated. Then I packed up and down the stairs another three times to gather the grate and perches and feed dishes until everything was in place and perfect.

By the time I got back to the computer room which was the previous home of Mr. R and Ms. L ... there was a pile of confetti (I think that might have been a very thick book about hypnosis) and a half eaten bookcase. Luckily, I didn't like that bookcase very much because it was one of those put it together yourself Target specials. So ... I'm still relatively sane at this point.

After situating the birds in their new home, which they were very suspicious of and perched precariously on the door and stared at me in utter confusion and uncertainty without so much as one indication that they might actually ever inhabit their old condo in its new location ... I went back to the computer room to "de-bird" it. This took me most of the rest of the day. The birds watched from their perch at the top of the stairs. Worried expressions lingering on their brows. Yes, birds do actually have brows.

By the time the allergic Irishman got home, you'd never know a bird lived in our house, what with a pristine environment and heppa filters blowing fresh air all about the place and not an animal to be seen (the dogs and cat were still hiding) ... except for the fact that two very nervous parrots were screeching from the top of the stairs ... it sounded something like "HELP ... SAVE US!"

I swear it was the very next day when I noticed our little Esky, Mr. E., who'd finally come out of hiding to eat, came down with a terrible rash all over his body following a reaction to his flea medication. I clipped away at least twenty-five pounds of hair and still couldn't find his skin ... but eventually, after continued snipping and pulling and coming to understand what a sheep shearer must feel like, I did ...and slathered his rash with neosporin, the wonder drug of the century. At this point our dear Mr. E resembled something like a French poodle who'd received his last hairdo at the nearest hedgeclipper's. Needless to say he was mortified to go out in public.

The very next day, truth, our beautiful golden Shepard Ms. S was bitten by something, I think it was a brown recluse spider ... and suddenly her eye, cheek and nose swole up (I do realize swole is not a word, however, here it fits quite nicely) with blisters that popped and began to bleed. Gahhh! At this point, I had to chase her with the neosporin.

Okay, perhaps two days later, Mr. E's "hot spots" were not doing so well, despite neosporin, Reiki treatments and oatmeal baths ... and so it was time to bite the bullet and go to the vet for a cortisone shot. However, the vet thought it would be very nice to shave his tail, to help heal one of the more severe "spots." I had to hold Mr. E because he was growling like a hyena, bearing his pearly whites, and acting totally in character. But if you'd seen what that vet did to his tail, you'd sympathize. Now he looks like a weird white lion with a naked tail and a baboon's bottom. Every time my eyes happen to fall upon his backside he is prone to growl at me or look certifiably embarrassed. The very nice vet also gave us some antibiotics to help him heal quicker.

In the meantime, Ms. S's spider bite has spread. I looked it up on-line and there are horrid photos of spider bites! Now I'm feeling very frantic and slathering neosporin on her every two hours, and giving her Mr. E's antibiotics. She runs from me every time I reach for the neosporin and tries to hide her huge bulk under the bed.

The Irishman, by now, has gotten no better at all and continues to hack like a 30 year smoker and has given up all faith in the medical establishment. But back to the doctor he goes, and now they think he's aspirating or maybe he has acid reflux. GAHHHHH ... he takes a new bunch of pills (these are purple) and once again there is no response. He goes back to the allergy specialist's nice receptionist ... apparently there are shots that can give you immunity. Really? Who knew? Immunity to what? The birds? The dogs? The cat? Acid Reflux? Aspirating?

He keeps asking me, like I actually know something, what do you think it is? They've x-rayed, they've poked, prodded, checked his throat, his esophagus, his larynx, his lungs ... it appears he's coughing for no reason at all! I think a minute and look him in the eye. I still think it's the birds, I say. So now he walks around the house with a mask. Should we move the birds out of the house? I ask. No, he says, I love those birds! Are you crazy? I'm getting those shots! But in the meantime, he wears the mask and takes the purple pills, just in case the doctors do know what they are talking about, but which I very highly doubt.

Amid all these goings on, the birds, who have yet to truly accept their new home, repeatedly leap from their perches to land at the bottom of the 13 stairs, sort of like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when they leaped off the cliff into the raging river miles below! I can just hear them say, "but I can't fly ... so what, we'll probably die from the fall anyway!"

In the meantime, the "young man" has turned his ankle skateboarding for the umpteenth time and is hold up on the couch or in bed with his foot up in the air and wrapped in ice or generally wimpering and limping about the place and begging for room service.

This week, with all of the forementioned taken into account, despite painting, making jewelry, preparing for a houseload of company, I'm running up and down the stairs with two insecure birds on my shoulder, caring for two-legged and four-legged patients like a much friendlier version of Nurse Ratchid ... ( right about to fly over the cuckoo's nest myself!) Just picture me chasing down dogs, cornering them, slathering on neosporin and stuffing hot dogs loaded with antibiotics down their throats. It doesn't actually bare thinking, does it?

Trouble is, I'm not sure at this point if it was the teenager who got that last antibiotic stuffed in a hot dog or the Irishman who got the neosporin slathered on his eye. And who, for godsakes, took the last purple pill!

A spa sounds "real nice" right about now ... actually a small cave in the Andes shared with nothing but a family of roving coatimundies sounds heavenly.

Sigh....

Note: For those of you who DON'T remember ... here's words from that infamous country variety show of the 60's featuring Buck Owens and the Buckaroos, Roy Clark, Grandpa Jones,and a whole slew of old time country-western singers which I must say I loved to watch and who's huge audience base shall forever baffle mankind, science and the arts, while somehow managing to remain time immemorial:

"Gloom, despair and agony on me
Deep dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all
Gloom, despair and agony on me...."

That's about it.

digressions in decorating

believe it or not, and you'll probably believe it because why wouldn't you ... I am blogging from my bed this morning. I woke up at 6 a.m. and was unable to get back to sleep so made myself a cup of tea and some toast with jam, grabbed my laptop and headed back up to bed. The number one "young man" of the house (favorite son and only son) presented me with a nifty lap table on my last birthday for just the purpose of writing in bed ... so here I sit, blogging away in the half light of morning with two dogs strewn across my feet. What more could anyone ask for?

this rather askew-seeming photograph below was taken at this angle for a purpose, and that is to show you, my dear fellow bloggers and blog visitors my new accent wall.

this weekend I took on the very daunting task of painting an accent wall in my dining nook. The painting part was not the daunting part ... although I must admit to my embarrassment, I absolutely despise prep-work ... I much prefer just opening the can of paint, rolling it on fast and furiously and getting it overwith so I can stand back and admire my handywork... but, this time, I did things right. I taped off the woodwork and adjoining walls with blue tape and even spackled the multitude of nail holes behind the big mirror... so ... that's not the daunting part. What's really really daunting is the choosing of paint colors!

I really liked it when the illustrious KMart had that great line of Martha S paints that all were in the same color family or appropriate contrast on the artist's color-wheel and matched up perfectly. KMart has since closed in our area ... well, I think you must go to the big city to find them now and my little corner of the universe is too backwoods for them, if you can imagine anywhere being to backwoods for KMart! So, I was left to my own devices. Lucky for me, and I don't come by luck easily, I'd managed to remember the name of the Dutchboy brand of paint I'd used in the kitchen! Hooray! So I merely found a chip and laid it against about 5 zillion other chips and agonized for about an hour and finally came up with a dark olive.

I'm very happy with the result and took a photograph for posterity ... although I usually change my wall colors every year out of sheer bordom, much to my husband's chagrin, poor man! And probably next year, I'll have had enough of accent walls and this one will too go by the wayside in a splash of inspiration. But, for now ... it's rather pretty ... sort of moody as the art critiques are so fond of saying, and despite the fact that I suffered a crick in my upper back and right shoulder due to this project, I decided to forge onward...that I must also have an accent wall in the living room and in one day, prepped and painted an additional, much longer wall and must say, it looks overall pretty neat!

In the midst of my painting fury, with furniture pulled out this way and that and paint pans and brushes atop tables in the midst of spread out newspaper here and there and the 6-foot step ladder being dragged throughout the house, I took a break and at this moment, I can't remember just why I needed to leave the house on said break, but I did. I ended up having to take the "young man's" car ... and what a mess it was let alone on empty! Being a good mother and somewhat over indulgent mother and probably a really verging on bad mother, I filled up his tank and ran his car through the car wash ... yes, he thanked me. But, what I was going to say was, while I was out and about taking my paint break I actually decided to run through the McD's drivethrough and get myself a cup of coffee, having heard that they do a pretty good java. Guess what? It was one of the best cups of coffee I've had in years! And, they put the cream in for me (well, how nice of them!) ... AND ... it cost a whole heck of alot less than Starbucks! Now ... it wasn't a Latte ... granted ... it was merely a regular cupa joe with some half and half added. But, it was rich and hot and ... well, just thought I'd mention a good thing.

Today I am still on the painting spree (or will be when I get out of this bed anyway) and will probably finish off my entryway, which is a sweet little place with a domed ceiling. Now, that sounds really fantastic doesn't it? But, my entryway is about big enough for an ant family to enter and turn around twice in because I live in an 80 year old Sears and Roebuck kit house. Cute, but just a tad... impractical. Impractical by today's standards because our furniture is so big! How do we get the big furniture of the 90's onward into a little dinky house built for the mini-people of the 50's?

You know what the only problem with writing in bed is? The mouse keeps sliding off the pad ... either that, or the pad gets bent up like a fortune cookie and the mouse is only able to get its signal out via the wormhole effect... thus the curser is flying all over the darn page!

Okay... that being said... I think its time for another cup of tea. Thanks for stopping by.
~L

the secret life of one particularly spoiled kitty cat

need I say more.....

pitiful.... ain't it....

the trials and tribulations of motherhood and stuff

Sunday night and the heat has finally dissipated to a nice comfy temperature outside. The clouds have rolled in and the winds picked up and this dreary heatwave is on its way out the door ... I only wish for good, but alas Summertime is just around the corner here in the Pacific Northwest.

Despite the heat, the summer has already brightened up my garden with so many blooms and the colors of the Oriental poppies are inspiring me in regard to a necklace that keeps popping in my head. Hmmmm ... I'm wondering where I will find beads as red-orange as a poppy? What about Jasper?

Then of course there were the usual things a mother of a teenager must attend to. Which things are those? ... for one, the young man-child is now one teeny bit closer to "man" period... or so he will tell you! Though I don't promote this line of thinking ... certainly not! Still ... Saturday morning he cajoled me into accompanying him for the second time to take his written driver's test, and me thinking, well, he'll probably fail it again since he refuses to study so no big deal ... then ... I had this idea! I told him if he failed, he had to pay me back the $20. That'd stop him in his tracks. Only fair, right? But... shockingly... he agreed with little more than pursed lips. He went off to the little computer cubical to take his test and I went for coffee and as I was stepping out of the coffee shop, latte in hand, I had a small epiphany ... he's going to ace the test a voice said. You'd think if God was going to talk with you She'd tell you about something that didn't cost money!

When I got back to the DMV or is it DOT now ... whatever they call themselves these days, latte in hand, there he stood all by himself up at the counter chatting to one of the wonderful federal employees and she (the federal employee) was smiling and looking as if she were quite happy to be in that conversation instead of looking at her computer screen and frowning, which seemed very, very STRANGE. I raced up to the desk, "I'm back! I'm the mother! Oh my god! What happened?" I panted. The federal employee frowned and looked back at her computer screen (did I just miss something?) ... guess what, he said, I can take the drive test in 20 minutes! Someone just cancelled! Can you believe my luck? No ... I can't believe MY luck (I only thought this last bit, while I smiled encouragingly, realizing I was out a minimum of twenty bucks! I was also wondering what the maximum might be.)

Waiting for the nice lady (we hoped) who would judge his abilities to join the ranks of the safe and careful American driver, he decided he would practice his parallel park. Like a true champ, he executed every step perfectly except for turning on the windshield wipers instead of the indicator light ... heh, heh... oops! I burst out laughing... feeling as though I'd just stepped inside a Monty Python skit, and he in turn giggled hysterically! Not good. Hysterical laughter is, as I'm sure you are aware, unbearably infectious and I immediately realized I must pick myself up off the floor boards and maintain a serious demeanor, which meant getting as far away from him as possible because my sympathetic nervous energy (its hard being a mother!) was pushing him over the edge of sanity which is not a good condition to be in when taking a driving test. Maybe I should just go wait inside, I said. Good idea.

In the end, the nice lady passed him. First try! And him grinning from ear to ear with a thumbs up as he swaggered in the door. That'll be $25 the lady behind the counter said, and I planted two bills down and smiled. Before I put my pocket book away, will you folks be wanting any more of my money, I asked. This new Federal employee had no sense of humor and merely considered me as if she hadn't noticed me before nor planned to ever again. Her hand smacked down on the $25 as if it had been hers all along.

When can I get insured? He asked on the way home, happy as a clam in muck.

Help?

~Lora