Bubble Bath Day

Tomorrow is Bubble Bath Day- and to tell you the truth, I don't see what all the celebration is about.
Bubble Baths are hugely over rated as far as I'm concerned, and we have all been scammed into believing they are the ultimate in relaxation and personal indulgence.

Hollywood has long promoted the adult bubble bath as a seductive and tantalizing practice wherein lovely ladies coyly smile up from a mound of foamy soap, flauntingly exposing a lean ankle and painted toes... propped up on the faucet. Usually there's some huge hunk of cowboy biceps grinning down in approval.

Doesn't happen. Not in real life.

First of all, I can never get the water the correct temperature. I tend to run it very hot, as I like warm baths, but I usually poke in a foot that retracts back like a frog snatching a fly. Then I stumble a bit, flip over the scented candles, saturate my towel, slip on the wet tile -and then see my husband looking down on me like he's watching a trick at Sea World.

By adding a small amount of cold water, I finally have the proper temperature adjustments required for a perfect bubble bath. But then one must make that critical decision about what type of bubbles to utilize for the best results.
Do you want fizz, essential oils, milky silkiness, exotic fragrances, healing aromatherapy, deep cleaning effervescence or plain old rubber ducky soapsuds?


Some people love to read a book or magazine while enjoying their bubble bath. I've tried that with negative results. Every time I turn a page, the water rolls down my elbows and soaks the book. I just don't understand how people do it without a bathtub desk. (Which I am going to invent someday.And not one of those flimsy tray holders you see at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I'm talking a major piece of furniture. That can hold reading material, a bottle of wine, crossword puzzles and and extra bubbles.)

I guess I'm doomed from the start. My bubbles normally last a total of one minute, thirty-nine seconds... in a bath I'm hoping to enjoy for at least fifteen minutes. That means for thirteen minutes and twenty-one seconds, I am laying in cold water with no bubbles,totally exposed like a beached whale- with magazine print on my face and hands.

I tried to celebrate Bubble Bath Day this morning.
My husband walked in and I slowly lifted an ankle to the faucet, fluttering my eyes and pursing my lips...in a lame attempt at a movie star pose.
And a blatant effort at flirtation.

He stared down at me a minute.
Lifted his mouth in a disgusted smile and said, "You need to trim your toenails."

"Well...ugh..I..ah...," I stuttered as he walked off.

And then I shouted after him- "Well, You need a cowboy hat!!!"

An Inconvenient Truth

There are signs of old age, and until now I have managed to ignore them.

Oh, sure, I have "crow's feet" the size of crows with Moon Boots on. When my bones creak, I think someone is talking to me. And I spend all my extra money on hair dye instead of perfume.
I simply try to avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible and pretend I still have that carefree hippy-heart and a nineteen inch waist.

Yet, sometimes life throws you a giant curve. The lights finally turn on. Your corrugated eyelids suddenly fly open and you realize it is time to face the truth.

My wake up call came in the mail yesterday.
Yes. I said the mail. And I know what you're thinking- AARP.
No. I've gotten that junk mail propaganda for several years now- and it doesn't scare me.

Here is what arrived. Addressed to my oldest daughter:

There was once upon a time that I could have actually met the qualifications on their size charts. There were days (at age 18 or 19) when it wasn't beyond my efforts to become as fit as those young models. (With a boob job and a leg extension, of course.)
But thumbing through the magazine on my way back up to the house, I was shocked and disgusted that apparently there has been some unnatural breeding between Stretch Armstrong and Moodonna.

(Please excuse my weird sense of humor. It's part of the Old Age Package).

Anyway-
the whole thing that really got to me was the particular mail that was addressed to ME.
Here's what I got:

This recent alarm was just too much reality. I thought of running the mail lady down and begging her to take it back- to put it in her jolly little Jeep and give it to someone down the road. To some decrepit old couple who have nothing better to do than to lie in bed and read seed catalogs and dream of fresh sweet corn and ripe tomatoes and the quality of their compost pile!
No, not me! Please not me! Nothing says mundane, unattractive, undesirable and "loser" more than the word "GURNEY".
"Gurney, Gurney, Gurney..." All day long that word haunted me. Slapped me in the face. Punched me in the gut. Caused me to look in the mirror and see clearly for the first time. I'm old! My daughter gets lingerie magazines and I get seed catalogs!!! Life isn't fair! No. Not one bit.

What is truly sad is ... later that evening, my husband and I curled up in our favorite chairs and reviewed the 2011 Spring Seed line at Gurney's.

And it got us excited.

******************************************
"Do not resent growing old. Many are denied the privilege."
-- Author Unknown

Goodwill Wednesday and Christmas Pics

I promised a Goodwill Wednesday, but I realized that since the holidays were so busy, I've not had time to haunt my local resale and thrift shops. So today I'm gonna give you a peek at past projects- even though they're kinda lame.
Also, I've noticed that most of my blogger friends have displayed crisp, beautiful photos of their elegant family Christmas. I just want you all to know that we did celebrate Christmas at my house and I'll share some not-so- beautiful pictures with you here today.

Now-here are my Christmas photos. Please keep in mind that I hosted an Ugly Sweater party for my family.

 My daughter's boyfriend's sweet little girl...

 The ugly sweaters line up for a vote.

.

My future daughter-in-law and my daughter.

                                         My three beautiful children

                                       Two of my sweet grandchildren

Crowded in the family room watching old VHS home movies

 My Sister Linda WINS the Ugly Sweater Contest!! She made it herself!!! What fun!

 Here's to second hand finds, ugly sweaters, and awesome fun in the new year!!!

3D? Not For Me!

During the holiday rush, there were so many new high-tech toys to choose from. And by toys, I mean adult electronics and awesome gadgets that make my entertainment inventory look obsolete. Things sure have changed...
I remember back when my brothers were ecstatic over Rock-em Sock-em Robots- and now kids can punch to their hearts content with the XBox Kinect.

And my sister Linda and I fainted at the chance to actually own a small slate chalkboard with a box of rainbow colored chalk. (Who cares that we had to use toilet paper to erase with?) Now there's iPad. (iPod? iPad? iPhone?- iCan't Afford them!)
Sorry, but what child would want a set of cool walkie-talkies when they can possess a Blackberry or an Android? (My cell phone is so old that I have to use a hammer and chisel to send a message!)
One new product that just began hitting the shelves this season was the 3-D television. If you're the kind of person that likes to feel as though Johnny Depp has just swash buckled his way into your bedroom (Yes, I know you do, JoAnn!)- then the high price tags may not deter you from this ultimate experience.
However, the price of the 3-D glasses alone were enough to make me pause and reconsider. At $150 to $300 a pop, I envisioned the consequences of owning such luxury...

(Video Daydream starts here...)

The new 3-D television is set up in all its humongous flat-screened glory in my family room. Ignore the fact that it's only two and a half feet from our eyeballs in this long, narrow room, but that's a sacrifice we're willing to pay to have Jurassic Park dinosaurs tumble into our laps. 
I've just popped a pig-sized bowl of buttery popcorn, iced down a two-liter of Coke, and snuggled up on my favorite chair to watch this spectacular new TV do it's dimensional magic.

"Where's the 3-D glasses?" my husband asks.


"Ugh...I don't know. You had them last." I reply.


"No. You did. I had you clean them, remember?


"Yeah, but I handed them back to you when you were connecting those ten thousand ugly cables to the back of the surround sound." I remind him.


"Well, I don't have them."


"Well, I don't either. So, how are we gonna watch our 3-D TV without 3-D TV glasses?" I ask.

This video daydream has a few alternate endings.

Our dog shows up munching on an unidentifiable object that looks suspiciously like two hundred dollar glasses....or....My husband cranks back the Lazy Boy and we hear a sickening crunch of plastic eye wear...

I can see it all...
Yes. These new high tech 3-D televisions are recipes for disaster at my house. We've lost remotes in the couch cushions, cordless phones have disappeared into thin air, and cell phone chargers have actually gotten up and walked out of the house somewhere.
Sadly, I must face the fact that we are not responsible adults. We can't handle any extra add-ons to the already overwhelming scientific and perplexing world of gadgetry.  Our technology IQ's are pretty low on the totem pole, I have to admit.

Oh, it just makes me look back on the early days...when we had to get up off our butt pillows to turn the channels. Or twist the metal knobs to find a station that "came in"... Or one that was on past midnight.
I remember when we were first married, my husband pulled on his robe and cowboy boots one night and climbed the antenna to try and pick up better reception. There I was with the window wide open in freezing weather, sticking my head out every three seconds to yell "Yes! No!Better!". And more likely than not, we watched Saturday Night Live through a veil of snow and tinny voices.

Maybe next year. Maybe when they come out with 3-D with no glasses. Maybe when we educate ourselves to the liability of owning such luxury equipment.

For now, we'll just eat our popcorn and drink our sodas and settle down to some fine old black and white movies on TMC.

Still ...I can't help dreaming about Johnny Depp....

Eat your heart out, JoAnn! :)

Fresh Paint

Well, it's official.

The new year, the new blog, the determination to change for the better. It's almost exhilarating at first- like an exotic vacation. I imagine in my mind how it's going to be. But I'm scoping it out from the starting line...and I have to remember that there are mountains and valleys and huge, giant pits of failure and temptation. As well as glowing days of pure promise and hilltops of happiness. Yet, they all have to be approached with a positive attitude and faith.

I look upon the year as a new book I'm writing. Or a new painting I'm creating. I'm excited, yet lost about how to begin. I know I'll make mistakes, things won't go smoothly...and  I'll certainly have to edit and rewrite. I'll become weary with the effort. I'll get lazy. I'll get complacent and disillusioned.

But this time, I will not stop. I'm going to do everything I can so that my story will have a happy ending. Or my painting will be a masterpiece.

 I don't like to talk about diets, but here we go. I'm going to put it out there today- and then not speak of it again. My son is getting married in September and I need to lose about 40 pounds. That's the size of an aardvark. Or a newborn Jersey calf. (Man, I'm screwed!)

But, I am determined that I will reach my goal in nine months. It's part of my story.

I'm also renewing my yearly resolution about being more creative. I'm taking time out during the week to paint or write or craft or build or decorate. If the laundry doesn't get folded or the TV dusted on those days, then it's okay. It will wait.

I'm featuring a Goodwill Wednesday here on my blog. I love scouting secondhand stores and yard sales and, of course, the local Goodwill. I try to find a pre-loved object and tweak it to something I can use in my home. Stay tuned.

I'm striving to be a neater person, too. I've never really gotten the hang of folding fitted sheets, organizing a working budget, or ridding my house of dust before you can actually write your name in it. I'm not a total slob, but my closets beg for mercy and my kitchen cabinets reek of spices from Y2K. And don't ask me why I have fifteen slivers of multi-colored soap under the sink. I've got a lot of work to do on these chapters of my life.

Finally, none of this will be possible without my faith to guide me. God has been so good to me and has blessed me with a beautiful, healthy family and a wonderful home. Each step I take this year, I want to take it with purpose and with the ultimate goal of securing my place in heaven. Someday my stories will all end on earth. But I believe there is a glory beyond our mortality.

So...there it is in a nut shell.

By the time the winter rolls around again, my house will be neater, I'll be surrounded by artful objects, I'll have studied the Bible, and I will have lost that giant aardvark in my pants.
At my son's wedding, I will be healthier and thinner.

And I will dance...