the gag reflex

I like to think of myself as a tough girl. I don't cry when I get a splinter, I often come upon bruises that I don't remember getting, and I curse when I stub my toe. I'm no ninny.

And then Pup gets a big fat ugly fat big tick in his forehead! And I gag a little and get the creepy crawlies and wish with all of my tough girl heart that tick was somewhere else chewing on someone else's dog's forehead.

Grrrrrrrross!

After a little online search on "how to remove a tick from a dog" I have settled on the Q-tip with mineral oil, followed by a gentle tweezing (pulling straight out). This will require two people at least, and may require the other person to do most of the work. Because I'm gagging just thinking about it.

I'd show you a picture but my skin crawls just looking at them so I'll attach a link from this word for you to click on. Beware, be forewarned, be less curious.

I did happen across a photographer's blog who came across a tick facing off with a spider. I have a hard time with spiders, too, so this photo is extra special.

the agitation of the unexpected

Sometimes I come across an article that is an ornately stitched tapestry of words, and it makes me happy. Even if I don't start out understanding the subject matter (the name Christopher Hitchens was vaguely familiar but didn't ring a loud bell) even if the sentence structure astounds my word-filled heart (I do love language, and the art of language)...

This happened today while reading an article on Christopher Hitchens by Martin Amis. As I perused the article, my eyes lingering here and there and then pouncing forward to the next happy literary moment, I came across the following phrase: "What we love is the agitation of the unexpected."

I find it delightful, appropriately simple, and absolutely true. To me.

Who knows if anyone else would love this article as I do, the intelligence of the writer apparent and the friendship between the writer and the subject so evident. (I admit I am more intrigued with the author than his politically controversial and word-witty friend.)

Aside from the language, I really do love to share in the feeling of camaraderie between one friend and another. It is a world unique to the pair, with a history that creates a million glinting facets honed and polished, a shining glittering thing that represents then, now, and soon-to-be.

The Article

Christopher Hitchens

it's a blue thing

Blue has been standing out lately, with all sorts of blue shades catching my eye. Everywhere I go I notice it. Today I was distracted by a blue pot filled with new fern shoots. Actually, the pot was terra cotta orange, but I found myself thinking, "That would look awfully nice if it were blue."

I want to paint my bathroom a pale blue and add silver mirrors and accents. I want to lacquer my toe nails powder blue and listen to a song about blueness and blue-y stuff.

I'd like to slip on a pair of pretty blue shoes and curl up on a blanket under a blue sky, sipping something cold with citrus flavors and wearing a white summer dress.

Perhaps that's what all this blue is really, secretly about: summer and warm air, dreamy, breezy afternoons and pleasantly lazy Sundays...

Michelle Williams photographed by Mikael Jansson for Interview Magazine

Lovely blue shoes photo was taken by SparklePaw
I had to repost a photo of this blue bathroom because I love it that much. From Coastal Living.

color gypsy - photos of blue interior design accents!

healthy me

My semi-recent health spree has landed me 5 lbs lighter but verging on the abyss of bitterness. Have you ever searched online for weight loss/health overhaul information? It's a mess out there! In the end (and I promise I know what I'm talking about) it's no more difficult and at the same time unbelievably hard to just: eat less, exercise more.

Even knowing this I struggle and I'm pretty sure I know a few other people who do as well. So, my new goal (and bear with me, because I'm just a tinkerer in a house full of ancient electrical equipment and tinker-worthy trinkets) is to just calm down about it. Pay more attention. Exercise more, eat less, and fill my meals with good-for-me stuff. Sounds simple enough, (and is, for the first few days).

I'm thinking long term which means I shouldn't care exactly where I'm at right this second, but instead gaze forward along the path to health, vibrancy, and energetic expounding on silly things (such as how much I really really enjoyed that Easter candy and those mimosas at brunch).

Which may or may not fit into my health plan.

sweet thing

Mine was a weekend filled with shenanigans, Easter-related candy consumption and entertaining people who I adore. So it was pretty much great.

I had a lovely 48 hours in sunny San Diego, and filled nearly every minute with food and beverage adventures. Other adventures ensued, but I think we all agreed that the blue peeps with their cute little baby carrot-parts were our favorite. They're just so cute, and so are baby carrots. It's like two times the cuteness! Somewhere along the way cute met cute and something else entirely was created. I'd blame boys, but I was a witness and yes, there were girls involved, too.

I'm happy to be home, but not as happy with the drizzling, dropping, pouring rain that's cascading from the sky. I think I'd started to believe that the whole world was a wonderfully bright, warm place. It's not.

And so we continue our patient longing as we shuffle toward July.

Here's hoping you had a great weekend, filled with adventures of the culinary kind, or just the regular weekend adventure kind. Either way, I hope it was great.

fly people

These days there is a palpable feeling of exhaustion in the air. I can almost taste the dry, tough texture of worn-downness. Flu, colds, coughing, snot, and even pink eye have presented themselves in our offices over the last month or so, and all kinds of havoc are wreaking themselves (yes, English is fun to play with). Thus far I have managed to avoid every one of them. This is both exciting and terrifying, because I know that at any moment I could wake up with any or all of the illnesses I've seen dropping people like flies.

Speaking of flies, they're rather disgusting. I do like to watch them grooming themselves, and their wings are pretty fascinating. It's their eyes and the fact that they regurgitate/spit on your food that freaks me out. The worst part is when they start cropping up in window sills in late summer, one by one frantically throwing themselves against the glass in a vain attempt to escape and eventually joining their fellows in the Fly Death Stance (upside down with their legs curled up). We've all seen it before.

love this

"Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss what insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem."

-walt whitman

soak it up

It's not every day you get to ease your aching bones by dipping all of your parts into a steaming tub of hot water. I seem to remember taking a bath every night before bed for a while, but that was years ago and it rarely crosses my mind these days. When it does, I light three candles (the ones sitting on a ledge close to the bathroom), turn out the lights, sprinkle in a little aromatic oil (three drops do nicely) and disappear for a while.

It doesn't take much to unwind, de-stress, let go and lay back. Plus, it's quite lovely, and warm. And I like being warm.

There's something to be said for being on the short side of tall (I'd rather not say short, thank you very much): I can fit in a bathtub quite comfortably. For those of you who tried a bath once and didn't really like it, well that makes me sad. Granted, it's understandably less enjoyable when you have to learn acrobatics just to fit, and your knees are bent up and poking you in the chin.

As for me, I may just plan a little evening around bath time.

the shabby nest

bad dog

How to make a taxidermy mouse-duck and other duck pond adventures.

Sad days. Here is the story as it was told to me:

Yester-evening Pup was taken for a walk to a nearby leash-free area which contains a couple of very nice little ponds with pretty ducks swimming dreamily, dreaming their little duck dreams and doing their little duck things.

Pup splashed around a bit and the ducks fluttered in annoyance and moved to the other pond. Pup followed, still splashing, and just as the camera was coming out to take a little video of this silly sweet pup and the healthy free ducks . . .

Sweet Pup turned into Villainous Duck-attack Pup.

I wasn't there. Thank goodness I wasn't there or I may never be able to pet Pup again, or walk lackadaisically as he sniffs mailbox posts, or let him curl up all 'cute and cuddly' while I read my book.

In the end, we don't know exactly what happened to the duck. I'm assuming the worst. I'm wishing he'd be okay and that the trickle of blood on his beak wasn't what it was.

It's never happened before and I hope it will never happen again. I'm sorry to be happy that I wasn't around when it happened, but it makes me a little ill just thinking about it.

Sorry, duck.

He was a bad, bad dog.

In case you wanted to learn how to make a taxidermy mouse into a mouse-duck, click here.

rain rain

The world is quite rainy today, and rather than fuss and fester over it I thought I'd poke around and find some nice photographs.

I found quite a lot of nice photos of rain. I'd like to say it was enough to make me appreciate our recent downpours that have now taken us into our near-65th day of showers (it might even be 165th, at least that what it feels like) but no. I still feel a little bitter.

I don't like getting wet every day. I do, however, like stomping in mud puddles. I don't like walking the pup down muddy roadways with giant potholes. He does, which makes it seem not quite so bad. How can it be bad when Pup is happily prancing around and sniffing?

Rain, the pros: the world smells a little sweeter after it rains. Things are clean, grass is greener, and it's like a magical carwash.

rain installation by stacee kalmanovsky courtesy of illusion.scene.360

splashing rain courtesy of evening sun

blue umbrella courtesy of guardian.co.uk

nope

This is not the perfect day to write.

My mind is everywhere and nowhere at once. No less than three times I've been having a conversation with someone and realized I had no idea what they were talking about.

Lots of things are happening to lots of people: New babies, sudden illness, exciting promotions, exotic travels... It's all wonderful and horrible, funny and sad. Which is, I suppose, life.

One of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite movies: "Yeah, it's scary out here."

"Where?"

"Life."

woodpecker, behave

The large, modern house down the street now has metallic streamers hanging from the eaves, as well as a large blow up ball with eyeball shapes painted on it.

Apparently the woodpecker has been causing quite a ruckus.

It makes me laugh and laugh. But I'm pretty sure if it were my house I'd feel like a crazy person with the incessant knocking and pecking. Who knows what lengths I would go to in trying to rid myself of the woodpeckery nuisance.

(Photo courtesy of my wobbly left hand whilst trying to keep the pup from knocking me over.)

tp

It can be rough or smooth, scented, printed with tiny flowers, or it can not exist at all (like in Bolivia).

It is often very close to one's shoulder in tiny stalls, nearly impossible to reach, or so tightly stored that normal size fingers can only pry bits of it from the roll.

It hangs on to shoe bottoms and collects in public restrooms.

It's stuffed into pockets when proper tissue can't be found, and stuffed up noses when nosebleeds occur.

It is used to wrap paper cuts, and some people even toss it through the air and over tree limbs (ha ha, really funny guys).

Toilet paper.

It's one of those un-thought-of everyday items that once forgotten is realized as crucial when it runs out. No one likes to have to ask for toilet paper, but everyone loves to have it when needed.

Ours is in a shiny tissue box, due to the toilet's close proximity to the wall. It's a little tricky to get at sometimes, and we have to remove the center roll and use that end or it won't come out at all.

Toilet paper. Who'd have thunk.

boundaries

I have been pondering the amazing breach of common social boundaries by some people, and the complete and wonderful adherence to them by others.

Some people (nameless and I swear I harbor no ill will) really do not seem fazed by the amazing lack of awareness that they are crossing, have crossed, and will again cross, The Line. For instance, my line.

I've been trying to assess where my line is, and why I get so uncomfortable, but I'm not sure I am qualified to figure it out.

Regardless, here are a couple of examples:

If I don't know you, I will not be your friend on Facebook. Sorry, that's just how it works.

If I am having a conversation with someone, and that someone is not you, please do not enter said conversation just because you are in the building, too.

This goes for questions, as well. If I ask someone a question and am looking at that person, that question is not for you. I know you want to be a part of it all, but well, you can't be. Them's the rules.

Lastly, if I am speaking with someone else, and you decide you want to be a part of the conversation, please (and this one is serious) do not walk over closer to me and sit down in order to be a part of the conversation I was a moment ago having with someone else. It's creepy.

Okay, now that I've vented, I'd like to apologize (if only a little) for being so affected. It's a lack of social awareness in an otherwise kind person, but there's something irksome about invading my space and crossing my boundaries...

I don't like feeling uncomfortable.

I've historically appreciated people who draw outside the lines, who dress wildly, who live differently, and enjoy a version of life quite different from my own. I guess it's easy to appreciate differences when you can't smell the soda pop on their breath.

art courtesy of fineartamerica.com

martel chapman - the boundary

a woodpecker's treat

This photo is a little dark, but look for the black spot (to the right of the top left window). Can you guess what it is?

Today as I was wandering around the neighborhood with my pup, we heard a knocking sound. As we got closer to the sound we both stopped and looked around. Up on the side of this quite large, modern house was a red-headed woodpecker. Eating the house! There was a good size hole already, as if he'd been at it for a while.

knock knock. knock knock knock. Several feet around the hole looked like they had been painted over (had other woodpeckers tried this before?).

While I'm on the subject, is there anything better than a straightforward name like Woodpecker? It's like pancake, curling iron, and light bulb.

We watched for a minute, quite distracted from our mailbox marking and grass sniffing. I'm now wondering: is this common? Do people have to protect their homes from woodpecker infestations? It doesn't sound tasty, but perhaps paint chips mixed with just the right amount of siding and a hint of formaldehyde is a delicacy to the woodpecker.

Or, was he helping? Maybe the woodpecker was hard at work on their termite problem! Maybe they should quit their whining and just paint over the holes gratefully.

the chair story

Three days ago, and at long last, I re-covered the cushion on a lovely mid-century chair. I also made a matching pillow cover, and have spent the last three days noticing happily how nice it looks. It even seems more inviting to sit in. I would venture to say it's more comfortable, too.

The previous upholstery was a rather hideous green and yellow with white swirly scribbles, well aged, and in serious need of modernization. The new upholstery was not my original choice, but came in a close second with its multi-colored grey velveteen texture. It suits the chair. It's nice.

At least it was. Today I walked in to find that our recent house guest's dog had taken a goobery orange poo right smack-dab in the center of it. It was disgusting, and required some serious chemical attacks and cleaning with tactical assault weapons (scrubby cloths, water and 409). I had to put a towel over it so I could walk away.

I'm hoping for a brand spanking 'new' chair when I come home. I'm going to do my best to forget about the shocking disregard for my beautiful new upholstery. I'm going to sit right down on that chair and read my damn book.

As soon as it dries. And after I check to make sure the stain really is gone.

with sun

Everything's better when the sun shines.

I'm going to go ahead and self-diagnose myself with Seasonal Affective Disorder (I'm pretty sure that for most people this stems from basic depression about life in general made worse by the fact that everything's grey for 9 months). For me, life is pretty good. It's great actually, and I still get a little morose. I blame clouds, rain, general dampness, and not being able to wear my favorite shoes.

This morning, I popped out of bed, put on a shirt with beaded bling on the sleeves (a la Michael Jackson), and practically bounced my way to work. Mention was made that I seemed more 'up' than usual, and the only cause I can think of is that the sun was shining.

Now that the sun has once again been devoured by ominous looking rainclouds, I'm picturing myself on a couch reading Water for Elephants, my pup curled up next to me, napping. Add candlelight and a glass of wine, and I guess life ain't so bad after all.

Of course, it's not a summer sail on a beautiful breezy ocean...

pretty spring

I get very excited every spring, some would say too excited. It's the flowers blooming, rays of long-lost sunshine darting through the clouds, pretty pastels and creatively dyed and dunked hollowed-out and be-ribboned eggs! Every year I plan on dyeing eggs, and creating an Easter tree. I picture a twisty curled branch, perhaps a perfect piece of driftwood, bedecked with prettiness.

And then suddenly May arrives and Easter has passed. So this year, I'll pay homage to other people's Easter trees and imagine creating my tree again next year.

Pretty dresses, brunch with waffles, whipped cream and strawberries, the sweet smell of flowers, and children giggling. This is Easter for me.

big amazing festive tree

the lennoxx

anna williams photography

glitterize it

April Fool's Day never ceases to be entertaining.

Each year I realize I should really come up with a fun prank, and the night before April 1st, I scheme and brood about what that fun will be. It is typically directed at my beau who is lucky that it's never sinister. Every once in a while it's really good, most of the time it's mediocre. And every once in a while someone else gets me, and gets me good.

Let me elucidate:

I was invited to a Girls' Night (with a group of great, interesting, fun, and talented women) where they would be Vajazzling their, um, vajingos at one of the women's homes. Someone offered to bring hygienic cleaning supplies, while another offered to bring feathers and sparkly crystals. We were encouraged to prepare with Brazilians.

If you've never heard the term "vajazzling," I invite you to imagine it on your own or do some research, for I shall not be going into detail (although it is a little tempting, I must admit).

Suffice it to say, I blushed a little bit, replied "no, thank you" to the invitation and was a little shocked at the thought of it. Maybe it's something I'd try sometime, alone, at a spa with a stranger who's job it is to glitterize special bits and bobs. It's not likely. Even less likely is joining a group of women I don't know well for an activity that just seeing in print makes me blush.

It has become quite popular in Hollywood circles (apparently, or so they say) but I'm okay with not being that stylish. And while I do love sparkles, I am of the mind that some things don't need that sort of embellishment.

Or do they?