Ten-word Tuesday: the big easy

My view at breakfast -- that close, and loud, and fabulous...

Thirsty Thursday

When you're thirsty -- and I often am -- there is nothing like Thirsty Thursday at McCormick Field.

'Course, you've got to go to Asheville, NC, to get there . . .

. . . but why wouldn't you?

I mean, just look who you run into when you get there.

Oh, hi Mistah!

Julie tormented her poor girl Erin with photos until she went plum crazy . . .

Totally plum crazy.

But oh, the Plum Crazy Time we had . . .

I spied Mr. Moon, who reminded me vaguely of my dearest friend and mascot Mr. Met, and yelled to Julie, "Come on!" She jumped up without a question or second thought and followed me as I chased Mr. Moon for a photo.

We've been to Asheville approximately one million times . . .

. . . and we've been to McCormick Field approximately one million times . . .

. . . and I will tell you this . . .

. . . it just keeps getting better every time.

See you next time, Mr. Moon.

Weekend 3-Way: Base-A-Ball

McCormick Field, Asheville NC

hanging with the D-L

Okay, this is weird. I'm pulling a Beth today, rushing rushing rushing to get to my computer and now that I'm here and finally sat down to log in, I find that the entire blogspot interface has changed! Ellie? Beth? Did you know this? Be warned.

Anyway. It's been a funny week! Not funny ha ha, funny funny. Funny different. Like the way my gynecologist once told me I have a funny uterus. Ha ha ha ha. Oh, this is off to a good start.

My boy has been away on a very cool trip with his 7th grade class all week, he's at Joshua Tree, a magical, mystical place in the desert. It's been in the upper 90s all week there, I've seen a few photos from the school's facebook page. The kids are dirty and happy and sweaty, rock climbing and hiking and working on balancing rock sculptures and eating. They look really smelly. I'm going to wear a gas mask when I go pick him up tonight, and maybe tie him to the roof of the car. If it's good enough for Mit's pooch, it's good enough for my boy.

My girl had an adventure of her own

As Beth mentioned, we had the opportunity to attend a talk with the Dalai Lama. It was an amazing experience, as I described it to my family:

It was really something. The man has such an amazing presence, he's so inspired and purely good and smart and happy. And he's a big ol' goofball. 

I was thrilled to be taking my girl along for this once in a lifetime adventure, it was unfortunate (fortunate for Beth) that my boy was off on his class trip because the message was one I would have really liked for him to hear. I wasn't sure exactly what my girl would take away from the experience, but I knew it would be something.

We had been warned about crazy traffic and parking woes on campus the day of His Holiness' visit, so I opted to just bring my girl along to work with me. She got herself all purdied up for the D-L

And then when we got to my office, she asked: "Who is the Dalai Lama, anyway?"  Whoops. Nice prep work, mom. Thanks to National Geographic Kids and a few other helpful websites, she had herself an expedited education in the hours before we set off for the big event.


The talk was held in a huge auditorium, and we had great seats. I had told my girl that there would probably be some stuff she didn't understand, but I didn't want her to worry about it. I told her to just open her heart and her mind and try to take it all in. I promised that we'd talk later about what the Dalai Lama had said. I just wanted her to look at him and see him and feel the unique sense of happiness that comes from being in a huge place filled with positive energy. It was really something.

She was trying to read along on the closed captioning that was available on the big screens, English is not, after all, the man's first language. She put her glasses on but the glare made it hard for her to see. Someone in our row leaned forward, hen she couldn't really see the screen. I saw her push back in her seat and take off her specs, a frown threatening and a furrowed brow. I gave her a hug and reminded her not to worry about trying to understand. Just look around, just be open to whatever, just have some jelly beans. It's all good.

I spy a tiara

She did. And it was.


Later, she told her Dad: "When I'm an old lady in the nursing home, I will tell school kids who visit all about the time I saw the Dalai Lama when I was 10."

A wink from the cosmos

I love this title! I stole it from Meg Lundtrom's May 1996 article of the same name in Intuition Magazine.  

I was quickly Googling "syncronicity" before starting this post, and happened upon her article. I had a "syncronistic" day yesterday, and was just verifying that it was, in fact, Carl Jung who coined the term and believed that meaningful coincidences were in fact "a glimpse into the underlying order of the universe."

I love this too. Why can't this be so? Why must some insist that it is only "selective perception" or the human mind finding meaning and significance where there is none?

But I guess it doesn't matter if people are skeptical, because when it happens to you, it's real. It's mysterious and magical and makes you feel as though there is come grand order to the universe that is probably always present, but that you only glimpse from time to time.

Here's how it went down. I was putting in a few hours of work yesterday morning before heading over to meet Jacquie and her girl to go see His Holiness the Dalai Lama speak at USD.

Within these 2.5 hours of work, there were 2 events that left me feeling like the whole world was on my very wavelength, like the universe was telling me to really make the most of this opportunity. To tune in, to listen, to learn.


The first was an email sent to my office that was not intended for my office. It was, in fact, an email from one of our Editorial Board members, but it was (meant to be) a private communication between him and someone from the Santa Barbara Institute for Consciousness Studies. It had nothing to do with his work with us.

It was nonetheless fascinating. It was discussing EEG signatures -- whether these could be the result of individual energy that transfers from one body to the next during transmigration (the neuroscientist was skeptical). It spoke of meditation and how contemplative practice in combination with neuroscience tools could perhaps help us to better understand the mind (the neuroscientist put forth this idea).

Heady stuff, I tell you.

Then, maybe a half hour later, I was putting together a news article for our neurologic audience that was recently published in Nature Neuroscience, tilted, Changing brains for the better; article documents benefits of multiple practices. The article was discussing brain plasticity, and how we can be more proactive in shaping the positive influences on the brain, by engaging in activities such as physical exercise, meditation, cognitive therapy. Additionally how social stressors can actually physically harm the brain.

Then this line: "Davidson says his work has been shaped by his association with the Dalai Lama, who asked him in the 1990s, 'Why can't we use the same rigorous tools of neuroscience to investigate kindness, compassion, and wellbeing?'

C'mon, really? You may not belive this, but I don't read medical news releases that include quotes from the Dalai Lama every day, and this was not something that was published by a San Diego outlet to purposely coincide with His Holiness' visit to the city. No, this was a press release out of the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

What can I say? wink.

Two of my Favorite Things

Raindrops on Roses?

Pffffft.

Whiskers on Kittens?

Ha!

A few of my favorite things?

Well, one is Champagne . . .

. . . and another is Tulips.

Let's see if we can make that into a song . . .

Bubbles on champers . . .

. . . and sunlight on Tulips.

Well done! Let's sing some more!

Bright shiny Bubbly . . .

. . . and warm silky Blossoms . . . 

When the taxman bites . . .
When the allergies sting . . . 
When I'm feeling saaaaaaad . . . 

I simply remember my two favorite things . . .

. . . and then I don't feeeeeeel . . . so bad.

I'd rather be....

This weekend, the stars aligned so that both of our children were off to sleepover adventures on Saturday night. Bill and I found ourselves down at the beach, enjoying a cocktail in the late afternoon. It was a sunny, windy day with huge surf, and OB offered its usual plethora of moderately crazy behavior to observe. At one point I commented to the bartender that if we were being filmed for an episode of “What Would you Do?” we’d look like total assholes for sitting there drinking when we weren’t sure if the guy under the car was having a bad dream or a seizure.  On the other hand, we felt really badly about waving down the passing patrol car when the guy had to get up and perform a field sobriety test. At least he passed.

But anyway, there we were, being entertained and nourished and enjoying the blissful absence of bickering that is the soundtrack to our lives. We moved upstairs after a while to get out of the wind and into the sports bar when the game was about to start. I had a sushi roll that was so delicious, so sublime, so perfect that I made yummy noises with every bite and with every breath in between bites.

It was a perfect date, with potential to be an epically awesome night of grown up fun.

Yet I couldn’t wait to get home.

It's not my relationship, people. It's my book. I can't put it down!

I hadn't been able to pick it up since the day before when I was forced to set it aside before my hair turned into snakes at the salon (bam!). It was a pivotal moment. I had been sitting there under the dryer in my little shower cap, one hand clapped dramatically across my mouth, eyes wide, squirming to get through the scene when suddenly it was time to go shampoo. Then I met the family for dinner on my way home, then we met our new neighbors for a drink after dinner, then when we got home I realized that the book was still in the car and I went nigh nigh. Saturday was a whirlwind of activity, as per usual, and thus there I was, finally able to kick back and enjoy some leisure time, but I was out when I really really really really really wanted to be in.

I had two things going for me: first: my husband gets me. Even though he likes to tell that I'm boring when I read, he understands that my glazed over eyes were not going to focus. Second: the Padres are an abomination and it was truly painful to watch that game. So we went home! And I got to read! Until I fell asleep! on the couch. at ten.

I found some time to dig in on Sunday, and even though I had to back up and review a few details that might have become somewhat blurry in my memory after those Saturday afternoon drinks, I got a nice fat chunk of that tome under my belt that day.

On Monday, of all things, I had to go to work. Annoying. Then I had to rush through the gym and dinner and packing up my boy for the adventure he's off to find, and shower and yada yada yada yada MILES of muck to murck through before I could get back to my boyfriend book!

Now it's Tuesday. And here I am with you. We've established that I'd rather be reading this book than enjoying a beachfront date with my husband, working, spending time with my children, doing housework, watching baseball, eating sushi......

...blogging?

See you Friday.

Book spine poetry

On Friday afternoon, I read a comment from Eileen, a friend of Ellie's, which she had posted in response to a photo post of Ellie's, which showed a lovely stack of library books. The comment read:

Oh, for a minute i thought you were doing Book Spine Poetry...my new favorite obsession. Check it out. http://100scopenotes.com/2012/04/02/2012-book-spine-poem-gallery-2/

Book Spine Poetry, well how cool does that sound. I followed the link straight away and knew I had to give it a whirl as soon as I got home, to some books. I came clean with Ellie about the fact that I would be posting about this, the next chance I got, which, lucky for me, is today.

So here goes (I apologize about the quality of the photos, they really suck for the most part, but hopefully if you click to enlarge you can make out most of them...)

good

Better

Pretty bad, but man, I had to do something with all those wives

Okay

Better

Poetic book spine poetry

I'm telling you, it's addictive. I will never look at book spines the same again.... So go on, try it. (I know you want to.)

3 way weekend: blossom

Only Perfect

So last week I scored a couple of awesome wooden rockers from my neighbor.

Fabulous, no?

I walked by those rockers day after day, and every day I wanted to ask Angel if he was getting rid of them, or wanted to sell them, but I never saw him out there.  I was so worried one day they'd be gone and I'd have to knock my head into the side of a barn -- if there were any around here -- and ask, "Why? Why? Why?"

But then one day Mistah and I were driving by Angel's house when he was out, which saved my fool head. "Hey Angel, you don't want to sell those rockers, do you?" (That was Mistah; I would have said, "Hey, Angel, you do want to sell those rockers, don't you?")

In any case, Angel answered, "You can have them" and walked them down the street to our house before we had parked and gotten out of Subie.

They looked like chipped-paint crap, those rockers, but they were solid and they were true. They just needed some good old-fashioned TLC, Ellie-Style.

First, the sanding:

First one . . .

. . . then both were done.

I went to Home Depot and bought a quart of "Old Vine" paint. Sounds perfect, right?

First coat on one . . .

. . . and then the other, and then second coats on both.

So? Whaddya think?

Sigh. I know; I agree.

The color is just not quite right. There's too much blue and not enough black in that green. They're too light.

I tried to make it work, though. I tried to like them.

A couple of friends came over and checked them out.

"Well, they're not terrible."
"I think you can work with them."
"They're going to age well."

All true, of course. They weren't terrible. But you know what else they weren't? Perfect.

My Dad loved to finish a project and have it come out just exactly the way he wanted it to. He'd measure and saw the last piece of wood to fit into its allotted spot, screw in the final nail, use the level to check for straightness, and deem it finished: "Only Perfect."

That's what I wanted from my rockers. Perfection. Not too much to ask, I don't think. I wanted my rockers to be Only Perfect.

So even though those rockers were carefully and patiently and thoroughly painted with two coats of exterior semi-gloss Old Vine, I went back to Home Depot to get a sample of the next darker color because I clearly had lost what had been my previously 100% successful color-pickin' mojo.

See that? See the new paint on the left arm (well, the left arm if you're the chair) and the back and that one vertical slat?

That's Fresh Pine. That's the color I was after.

So I went back to Home Depot to get more.

And I painted one . . .

. . . and then the second of my new-old fabulous front porch rockers. And you know how they turned out?

Only Perfect.