Monday, August 6, 2018

Yoga and Me.

Yoga.
Yoga used to be my friend.
It used to be fun and kind of relaxing as it gave me a physical workout without the aerobic stress of having to count my heart beats or support my unwieldy boobs in my hands as I jumped around trying to burn off calories that really had no where to go anyway.
I liked yoga*.
Especially after Oprah had 'Yoga Guy' on her TV show to reveal to us yoga novices how blissful yoga could be.
That was 17 years ago.
Since then Yoga has off and on become important to me as a way to feel less blob like during whatever latest episode of manic, time to get fit mentality I am or was in, (all of which admittedly were short lived episodes).
So anyway, I was looking for my old 'Yoga Guy' yoga dvd.
No where.
NO freaking WHERE!
Dagummitt.
So thanks to the interweb and its ability to replace things that are lost for a constantly rising fee, I decided to get another yoga workout video.
Well thank you internet, but you are a liar.
There is not an old version of young 'Yoga Guy' ANYWHERE!


'Yoga Guy'.

Just him, the sand, the ocean, music and 22 minutes of 'yoga'.
That's all I want.
Sure it is...
Focus please...
The only videos available have other people in them as well as equipment I do not pocess and lots of commercials, plus I find out that 'Yoga Guy' was a chick magnet and got in trouble and had to burn all his original yoga videos as part of his punishment (not really, but it seems that way) so the Yoga community moved on and amassed an incredible number of yoga styles that now require a suitcase full of accessories.
Various Yoga options include:
Hot yoga.
Acroyoga.
Bikram yoga.
Yin yoga.
Hatha yoga.
Cold yoga with sprinkles.
Blocks.
Cushions.
Rollers.
Oils.
Socks.
Goodwill bags to put all your yoga stuff in because you can't keep up with it all anyway.
I just don't get it.
I even have a fabulous daughter-in-law who is a certified Yoga instructor who could, in my opinion, slinky style her agile and limber body all the way down the stairs of the Lincoln memorial, in a crowd, with 2 dozen bells on and not even be noticed.
That is how 'yogafied' she is.
Her abilities are very impressive.
But not mine.
I can't even find a stupid video and my daughter-in-law lives hundreds of miles away.
I want to work out.
Truly I do.
But the evolution of Yoga has become a confusing, multi-leveled, complex activity that supports only the survival of the accessorized with a 17 year old 'Yoga Guy' video #1 on it's extinction list.
I guess I'll just go for a walk.
No video, instructor or accessories needed.
Sheesh.


Thanks for being here.

* Yoga. To capatilize or not to capitalize, that is the question?

Thursday, June 28, 2018

Sleep. "You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means."

Good morning people!
I got my full 8 hours of sleep in 4 hours and 20 minutes last night.
Rested and ready for the day I am!

Just kidding.

I am rested and ready for the day if the day only lasts till about 11:30 am.
Then I'm gonna need a nap.
Or 2.

If I were a Doctor, (I play one on my blog) I would diagnose my condition as Brainiculus Hyperactivicosisallnightlongica, which is Latin for: A brain that won't slow down and give it's human a full nights sleep even without caffeine all day, a deprivation which is barely tolerable by the way, along with attempts at exercise meant to wear the brain and body out which also doesn't work and is really only suggested propaganda by the stretchy-comfy clothing industry."
This is a rough translation because my Latin translator app doesn't translate medical terms very well.


Brain during sleep.
The video was taken because the bee behavior was so adorable but all that insect activity and flitting around is just like my brain in the wee hours of the night.

I am attributing this sleeplessness to my age and the fact that my brain knows its getting close to its final shut down with each passing day so it has to cram all of it's enthusiastic activity into every minute before it becomes worm food.

But between my exuberant brain's two lobes there should be at least some gray matter that tries to talk sense to me, "Give it a rest already, the neighbor didn't wave because she hates you, maybe she just didn't see you, plus you only get 7 more times to go over the internal video of the bird that flew in front of the car today and just barely survived" and "No one should drink that much juice so it doesn't need to go on the list because if you add it to the list now, the light from your phone will wake you completely and then you will have to get up and let the dogs out because they don't have watches and will want to go out because their human is up so it must be morning but if they go out they will once again bark enthusiastically at 3:00 am for 2 minutes and wake the neighbor who really saw you today but still hates you because you almost hit a bird and she is a bird watcher (or are the binoculars more sinister?) not because the dogs bark for 2 minutes in the middle of the night which she probably never even hears because she has a normal brain and is asleep at 3:00am, so forget the juice and the fact that now you have to use the restroom which isn't actually restful at all and just go back to sleep."

Thank you gray matter.
At least you tried.

Thankfully though, I do get some sleep and I wake up every day.
For that I am grateful.
And for coffee.
I am also grateful for coffee.
Since going without it didn't help me sleep, I shall not deny myself the lovely caffeine particles that coffee effortlessly provides.
Hello cup number 3!

Take that dreamland.


Thank you for being here.
Sweet dreams!




Tuesday, June 19, 2018

You're Not the Boss of Me.

I have never been one to be a follower.
As soon as you tell me that I have to do something a certain way then I will immediately try to find another way to do it or refuse to do it at all.
My pinecone Mama told me I was quite a handfull during my teenage years but that was because I realized early that she was NOT the boss of me.
I honestly don't remember being anything but me.
I did and do remember pulling my hair out (yes, completely bald on one side) at 14 because of the stress of too many people telling me what to do.

Point of the story?

My grandson.
He is 4.

Below are 2 pics of my husband trying to teach our grandson to spit watermelon seeds.
Bacon (the grandchilds chosen moniker for my husband who does indeed love bacon) instructed him to stand behind the line, insert the seed, get a lung full of air and then spit.
They were competing for a while and the grandson did well.


Insert seed into mouth and look at camera with an 'I got this' smirk.


Inhale enough air to create a vaccum around yourself before spitting...

It was a fun activity on a hot June day.
He actually figured it out and was entertained for a while.

I took the pics to send to his mom and dad while they were at work so they would be entertained as well.
It wasn't till days later as I looked at the pics again, that I realized the pictures were a glimpse into the dawning of rebellion.

The young padawan is not even close to being behind the line.
(he was when we started and before I decided to take pictures)
I was not aware at the time but it looks like he has moved up with every step or seed!
LOL!
"You are not the boss of me!"

And so it begins.
Keep an eye on this one we must.

Thank you for being here.

Monday, April 16, 2018

The Expiration Date.

Recently my mother, yes the giver of pinecones one, hurt her back lifting a 60 pound vintage sewing machine since that is how senior citizens in my family work on upper body strength.
Just kidding.
We do lots of fork lifting.
As in table to mouth.
As in extra reps if there is pie.
So I was needing some extra pinecones... just kidding again...I went to stay with her and help out as she mended because I needed to feel like I was 9 years old again and in need of time out.
For almost 2 weeks I trepidatiously tried to tend to a person who knows the correct way to do most everything, won't eat anything unless it is 'good for you', keeps EVERYTHING in case she or someone she knows might need it and who is a bit snippy now because she is in pain.
Sheesh.
The things we do for love.
Or what we do out of guilt and possibly the shadow of future quilt.
50/50
Point of the story?
Butter.
Yes, butter.
It has been my experience that the Great Depression generation believes that butter is Greasy Gold.
To them it is good on anything and should always be in the house.
Always.
As a child my mother would put it on sandwiches, both sides, to 'keep the mayonnaise from soaking into the bread'.
Yuck.
I hated it.
My mothers version of a good sandwich was 2 pieces of bread, lots of butter and some butter toppings like roast beef or ham.
Well, during my stay with her I was making some food for the two of us and needed some butter to saute a few vegetables.
There was no butter in the refrigerator so out to the giant garage freezer of long forgotten leftovers and bargain groceries I went.
Found it:


Butter from a bygone era.

Look at the 'best if used by' people!

2007 !!
Butter from another decade!!

But my mom is 83 and only in ill health from trying to do too much and I wanted to tempt fate.

So we ate it.

It was actually delicious!
Expiration dates are made to be tested by people who live (and possibly die) on the edge, who take risks, who have no fear of danger!
Sell by dates did not even exist for the public till the 1970's yet humans survived for centuries and myriad generations before their existence.
My family has eaten bugs, worms, fish food, dirt and dog treats, all with no dates to warn us off.
We are still going strong.

Anyway...

I am alive and healthy after eating 11 year old butter.
My mother is on the mend after eating 11 year old butter.
Expiration dates are helpful, sometimes annoying, easily ignored, wasteful and a predictor of things to possibly come.

My plan is to go well past my human expiration date.

Hope you will join me!


Thank you for being here.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Easter Peeps vs Godzilla. Retribution.

It is that Eastery time of year and my brain would not shut off.
So...after Godzilla mostly beat the beejeebus out of the Marshmallow Peep Bunnies a couple years ago, they decided to inflict their ultimate revenge.

***************

I bring you,

The Peeps Revenge,

The Peeps take back Easter,

Marshmallow Retribution or

The Kraken Peep:





Easter Bunny Peeps vs Godzilla

Or this outdoor version:


Easter Marshmallow Peep Bunnies vs Godzilla

(Now as a true green Godzilla fan I am keenly aware that Godzilla should/could/would always win, but sometimes strength, power, scariness and the immediate need to retreat come in the simplest packages)

Happy Easter.

Thanks for being here.

Sunday, February 4, 2018

With Love From...

Valentines Day is fast approaching, so please let me wish you a:

Happy Valentines Day!

From our family to yours!



Godzilla Valentine Love

It's all about love.
All of it.
Everything.


Thanks for being here.
Have a lovely day!

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Perpetual Winter Coat.

Living with animals, the mammalian variety, for me is one of the greatest honors I have as a human.
The fact that they haven't killed me at some point during the day is testament to their intelligence, restraint and understanding of doorknobs.
So....if they have the a b i l i t y to destroy me but choose not to, they are shrewdly teaching me that I should appreciate and honor them all the more.
They do have many ways of subtle domination but the one I will focus on today is their fur, hair or whatever you want to call the stuff that covers EVERYTHING IN MY HOME!!!
It is the animal worlds way of branding us humans so other animals know who we belong to.
Lint rollers need to come in wallpaper versions about 30 layers thick so as the family prepares for the day we just lean and roll our whole body against the wall and go out the door.
We then tear off a sheet of 'wallpaper' when it gets too furry and repeat as necessary.
This attachment of animal hair to humans is why I really don't need a winter coat.
Every day a fresh jacket becomes magnetized to me as I move about the house.
Some days I worry that a PETA supporter will throw red paint on me in protest as I walk down the street.
It is that bad.
Or...
Is it that good?
Q. What is a little lot of hair on your clothes every day when you compare it to adoring dog kisses, snuggles and excitement when you return home or purring, petting and cleaning up hairballs?
A. Often it is a hassle when scheduling concerns are now delayed by the process of hair removal or being broke because of all the money was spent on lint rollers and never looking like you did laundry even though you do a load every single day and could weave blankets out of the 'lint' that comes out of the dryer.

But...like I mentioned earlier, animals honor us with their presence and love us no matter what kind of jerk we are on any given day.
It is worth every single minute and every single discarded hair.
Truly.
It is also being able to stay warm in the winter without even trying as your 'pets' share some of their warmth like a reverent gift as you leave the house.
Blessings.


One of these things is not like the other.
But they all share their coats.

Thank you for being here.

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Dinner Bell.

When I was younger my sister and I would, more often than not, play outside after school with neighborhood kids until it was dinner time.
We knew it was dinner time when our mother would stand out on the front porch and ring a bell.
It wasn't a loud bell but it had high timber and we knew we had to come home within the next five minutes after hearing it.
No actually it was 5 minutes after she began ringing it, but when we were zooming around hiding in the bushes or riding our bikes all willy nilly we didn't always hear it because dadgummit we were in the middle of something!
But ring it she did and under the threat of some random extra chore for tardiness we usually bolted home.

The family dinner bell.

This ritual occured until we got old enough to cook for ourselves and decided to not carry the burden of sitting at the table for 3 hours after dinner was over because we refused to consume some horrible concoction our mother thought we needed in our diet.
Although to be fair we were pretty healthy and did not take vitamins back then or have bouts of sickness that required hospital stays so maybe........
M a y b e...
Meals though were pretty routine and pale because the only spices we had in the house to make meals interesting were:
Salt...for everything.
Pepper...for company--to show how fancy we were.
Cinnamon... for bread and toast.
Nutmeg...for custard pie.
That is it!
Even regular mustard was for people living in the fast lane.
So....
I bring this up because I'm thinking of starting a new blog where people who are nervous about the aging process can ask me all types of questions then receive semi-researched but mostly cockamamy speculative answers and take some stress off of their worried old shoulders.
Such as:
Q: Why do old people eat dinner so early?
A: Well, gentle reader it is because they could die at any minute and they feel the need to get one final meal in their bodies before the sun goes down or people* will sneak their food away under the cover of darkness!
And driving after dark to get food or anything is practically a suicide mission.
I find that as I get older that this early meal regimen is adhered to with every meal.
Why take the chance?
Food is the highlight of the day.
Heck, food is the highlight of life!!
Dead people don't get excited if someone mentions mashed potatoes!
So hearing the dinner bell or watching the clock in anticipation of the next meal means that life is good!!!
Yes, yes it is.
Where is that cake from yesterday?

Thanks for being here.


*people? People, being no one really, because who does that? Dogs m a y b e, but even they aren't that crazy about applesauce. But have you ever tried to argue with an 85 year old who is hungry?

Monday, January 1, 2018

And then....

And then......

It was/is 2018.

I actually stayed awake until after midnight without having to tape my eyelids open and wished every one at my party a "Happy New Year!"
And by 'at my party' I mean I didn't really have a party and I don't have friends who could stay awake that long if I did.
So, I kissed my husband sitting in the chair next to me, texted 'Happy New Year' to the rest of my loving family, comforted my shaking dog who is terrified of fire works and finished a 'Call the Midwife' Christmas Special on Netflix and considered all this celebration as my way of welcoming in a brand new year!

It was fabulous.

I'll probably do it again in 2019.

That's the kind of party animal I am.

Thanks for being here and may 2018 be everything you need it to be!




My Boxer. A real party animal!!
And yes, he got that box on his head all by himself.


Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Googly Christmas

This post is a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to you post.
I wish all my readers the happiest of times this season.
There is lot going on in my life here at the end of 2017 and those 'going on' things keep me from regular postings and my brain from working on the coherent side of normal.
But you deserve better in 2018 so please stay with me!!!!!!!
Love you lots.



Keeping an eye on our Christmas festivities.
or
My Taxidermy Christmas Tree, "The eyes make it so lifelike!"


Thanks for being here.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

How much is it?

Money.
Such an elusive thing.
My father always told me that "The rich get richer and the poor...can't do anything about it".
Words to think about.
No, he didn't always say that.
What he always said was "Would you please get some fudge ripple ice-cream when you go to the store?"
No, he only sometimes said that.
What he always said was "How much is it?"
Now that is a phrase that most everyone can relate to.
I thought that as I got older I would have more disposable income and wouldn't have to worry about that question.
Hahahaha!
I don't know why I thought that.
It's a good thought but completely erroneous.
"How much is it?"
I ask that question when I buy groceries, get gas, watch TV, do ANY sort of shopping or gift giving.
Everything in my world revolves around that question.
It stinks.
What brought it up was this shirt:


Neil Young is my Co-Pilot shirt

Not something I need, (I don't even wear t-shirts!) just some sentiment I think is adorable because I have liked Neil Young since forever and still have the ticket stub from the first concert I ever went to which was...of course...Neil Young and the ticket was $3.00.
ARE YOU KIDDING?????????????????
Yes, $3.00 !!!!
That is how old I am.
Kinda bragging right here, but that is free.
So I thought the shirt was cute.
But when I found it online-here it was $78.00!!!
ARE YOU KIDDING ME??????????
It's a freaking t-shirt!!!!
Kinda crazy.
Don't even wanna spend that much on a casket.
Like who cares how cute your death box is.
But I understand that a casket and all the death party accessories can be quite expensive.
Not that I am ready to shop for that yet.
Google says the average funeral is $7000-$10000!
HOW MUCH?
And you don't even get fudge ripple ice-cream for any guests who might show up to say good-bye thrown in as a bonus!
Google's average estimate cost for burial makes $78.00 for a dumb t-shirt almost look like a good deal!
Especially if I save it for my funeral outfit!
Spend it while you got it people.
Sheesh.


Thanks for being here!


Monday, September 25, 2017

Mosquitos don't even deserve a blog post!

Ok.
I get that mosquitos are part of the food chain.
That they are food for bats, frogs, lizards, spiders, some birds and probably many more dietary deviants that I am not even aware of.
They are necessary.
(I typed the previous sentence with my eyes closed because if I don't see it then it's not true)
Recently I became a significant part of that food chain too.
I am a buffet item for them.
Have mercy!
I am contributing major tissue* donations on a daily basis to this circle of life and will probably pass out before I finish this post.
Since hurricane Irma bashed up my little part of life here in Florida, the mosquitos think it's Mardis Gras or Spring Break or the Running of the Bulls or OctoberFest or La Tomatina or some such other party that I can't relate too because I am not big on crowds, large pointy bovines or vegetables in my hair.
That is why the sun is out and I am inside at the computer.
I am sitting at the computer scratching like a yard dog trying to soothe the itch of bites I didn't know I had.
It is 85 degrees right now and I am wrapped up in a double thick throw that is my temporary mosquito armor.
One consolation though is that these hurricane mosquitoes are huge.
Well, not huge like blue whale huge, but big enough that if they were domesticated could be kept on a leash.
As a pet.
If you like quiet blood sucking pets that won't bark at your neighbors or require a pet deposit at your rental.
Because who has time for grooming and teaching things to roll over?
Sheesh.
Gross.
But gratefully because of their immenseness, the hurricane mosquitos are easy to spot and exterminate.
So after my son and husband declare war in the front room on the little buggers that squeaked through the screen door after we quickly get groceries out of the car, the scene looks like a blood filled paintball fight that lasted way too long.
Then I, yes I alone, spend the next 20 minutes trying to remove the bloody squashings from the wall that must be cleaned up immediately because if the spots are left for more that 15 nano-seconds, they bond to the wall like paint does on a battleship.
Squashings and insect death everywhere.
It is truly a scene from a nightmare.
Don't know why I thought you should know this.
But there it is.
Covered with bumps, itching and a splat of blood.

Thanks for being here.
Be careful out there!


One of my resident but mostly useless pond frogs who is clearly more interested in showing off than catching mosquitoes.
(No bloody squashed mosquito pic for this easily queasy blog.)



*Yes, blood is a tissue. I had no idea of that till I did a little (very little) research on the good old inter web. Now you know it too!
Mosquitos: Your educational resource!