I'm Not The Only One Who Does This

Friendies,

Some of you have admitted this to me behind cupped hands, as though it were something to be embarrassed about. I prefer to think of it as "multi-source information gathering" (MIG, for short, which also happens to play perfectly into my military jet fettish). I'm talking about those of you who read 3 and 4 books simultaneously and sometimes, don't finish any of them. Of course, the perilous disadvantage to this method is that you are bound to credit a quote to the wrong author and really exasperate the people who run out to get the book, only to find that the wit and wisdom they're thirsting for is nowhere to be found in the weighty Mayo Clinic's Digestive Health tome you so enthusiastically recommended. They won't come back to you for another book suggestion very soon. At least that's been my experience.

However, this week, even though I'm MIGing at full throttle (oh, I crack myself up), I have the book I'm going to quote from, right HERE, next to me, so I don't get the author, the title or even the page number and paragraph location messed up.

In the early era of our wedded bliss, watching M*A*S*H was an integral component of our Cheap Evenings At Home. We feasted on the quick-witted humor and longed to be in a life-setting that fostered the kind of camaraderie sported on the show. I knew Alan Alda helped direct the later episodes and had directed movies as well, but I had no idea that he'd taken up his pen to deliver his wry humor into books, until I spied one at Costco yesterday; "Things I Overheard While Talking To Myself". Is that not one of the BEST titles ever? Oh come ON. ALL of you talk to yourselves. I've heard you. He's just had the wherewithal to write his mutterings DOWN. They didn't have his other book, "Never Have Your Dog Stuffed", which, I admit, conjures up some disturbing images, but sounds intriguing nonetheless. So I settled for this one in addition to one on Autsim, which rounded up my current MIG book total to 4; Stepping Heavenward and The Shack, also a Costco purchase, are the others splayed out on my nightstand in various stages of dog-earedness. (I'm not sure The Shack is going to make it onto the "finished it!" list; it gets corny and corny makes my eyes roll involuntarily. Sorry if some of you found it to be life-changing. I can be hyper-critical about my reading material.)

Anyhooo, I'm actually underlining some of Mr. Alda's overheard snippets of himself. It's more of a humorously inspirational book than what I expected, but I am so touched by a few of these that I feel compelled to share them with you, because they are beautifully put. Here goes:

"I had always been moved by Alan Jay Lerner's lyric from Camelot's "How to Handle a Woman." The way to handle a woman, he said was to love her, simply love her. Love her. Love her." p. 14

(That's my favorite. Probably because I very much relish being loved. It's nice.)

"Love your work. If you always put your heart into everything you do, you can't lose. Whether or not you wind up making a lot of money, you will have had a wonderful time, and no one will ever be able to take that away from you." p. 17

(Welllll, that sounds really pleasant, anyway. I'm not sure everyone has the opportunity to implement that one. A certain Cisco employee-wanna-be-chef comes to mind.....)

"Knowing what you care about and then devoting yourself to it is just about the only way you're going to be able to have a sense of purpose in your life." p. 36

"It can be surprising when you try to rank your values. Ask yourself what's the most important thing in the world to you. When you come up with an answer to that ... ask yourself how much time you actually spend on your number one value and how much time you spend on what you thought was number five . . or number ten. What in fact, is the thing you value most?" p. 38

Ooooh, simple truths to *ruminate* on.

I promise, I won't quote from The Shack tomorrow. I'll have no eye-rolling on my watch. But if I manage to get my mitts on a copy of Never Have Your Dog Stuffed, watch out.

In the meantime, to all of you who MIG, be proud of it. Your membership acronym is totally awesome, the condition of your nightstand indicates impressive mental gymnastics and you have a lot more food for thought than the average one-at-a-time bookworm. You might not absorb as much or keep your authors straight, but my money is on the fact that you are having more FUN. I am.

Nothing But Crickets and Weensy Washers

For those of you who are curious, I haven't heard back from Restoration Hardware about my beloved chandelier. I ventured to write them and let them know I slightly noticed their pre-sale price jack-up, and that I'd be deliriously happy to give them a check today if they took a true $100 off the original price, the one I've been watching for months.

Nothing but crickets on the other end, even though their customer service policy is to respond to all emails within 24 hours. It's been 72. I wasn't mean; I was what you might call, "good-natured" about it. I'll keep you posted. (Does this count as "tattling"?)

On another note, I find two other things puzzling.

We've moved into a much larger abode than any of us ever thought we'd rest our heads in and call home. (Don't get me wrong; that part's delicious.) In a neighborhood littered with 4, 5, and 6 bedroom homes, you would think that builders would readily acknowledge that people purchase homes like these because SOMETIMES, they have a lot of kids. A lot of kids generally precludes that a large-ish vehicle will need a space in one of the garages. Several of the floor plans in our development include tandem garages, where you park two cars end to end, vs. side by side. All good. A little inconvenient, but still good. EXCEPT, the doors to the tandem garages were not sized with a large people-mover in mind. HELLOWWWW.

Actually, our single car garage is equally as narrow, come to think of it. There is zero possibility of me parking my van in one of these, unless I remember to roll down the windows, pull the mirrors in and proceed with eyebrows up, engage in frenetic side-to-side eye swishings and coordinate precise steering wheel/gas pedal applications. Actually, I only pull in the driver's side mirror now because I figured out how to shimmy my fatty van verrrry carefully til I've gotten the passenger mirror safely in without scraping it. It requires a slight angle upon entry, which is tricky, because then I'm also negotiating with an unforgiving stone wall. You have to know what you're doing in order to avoid a replay of that scene in Galaxy Quest when the kid is taking that spaceship out for it's first spin but eeeeeeerrrraaaaack - scraaaaaaapes the side of the hangar along the way. Phew. I mean, would it have cost THAT much more to give 4 extra inches? Two, even? Please!

Item Two:

In said home, with said offspring population, do we not also brilliantly predict that a high volume of laundry is inevitable? And so then WHY, I beg, WHY, did the builders find the very most diminutive washer and dryer set on the market to install in the amply spacious laundry room? Seriously, I have to get DOWN on the floor on my knees to empty the washer (it's a front loader). I've never seen anything like it. Not at Home Depot; certainly not at Costco. These HAVE to have been meant as stackables for an apartment. I'm not even going to tell you that I can only insert two bath sheets and a couple of washcloths in there, can barely close the door and hope that some kind of motion is going to render them clean. The end result is that the washer operates for most of the day, on most days. I've tried to ease the electricity drain by hanging stuff out on our balcony rather than using the dryer, which of course, being part of the set, is also Barbie Doll size. This presents a whole different problem, as I have to dance lightly around the HOA rules which state, "No Clothes Lines Of Any Kind May Be Installed On Any Part Of Any Property". (The entire HOA document is liberally peppered with the word "Any".)

They are SO NOT green......

I didn't INSTALL a laundry line -- I avoided that by purchasing a laundry RACK, which I dutifully clatter down to it's folded position and haul away inside when our stuff is dry, which here in perpetually sunny San Diego, takes less time than running it through the dryer. So, I hope I'm still within HOA compliance. No one has complained and our names have not come up in the monthly HOA Newsletter, aka, "tattle sheet". (Did I mention that we are forbidden from leaving our garbage or recycling bins out on the street after dusk on the day of trash pick up? People have been reprimanded for doing so. And for letting the stain on their fences fade, but that's another thing.)

Suffice it to say that I'm not impressed with this cutting corners attitude; not by RH and their chandelier pricing and not by builder *save-a-buck* tactics.

Maybe tomorrow's blog will be less cranky and more about Tim, or hey, about an actual CONCERN. (This is what you get when I'm uninspired and Holly peeks around the bedroom door; "Have you blogged yet today?")

Self-Developed Micro-Climates

For those of you who aren't aware; dressing room stalls are NOT soundproof. Neither does your voice travel singularly to your best friend in the next stall over, but rather, your personal observations regarding fit and your discussions on Metamucil intake results are quite likely to be amplified and projected throughout the entire changing area.

For instance:

(Guys, don't worry; this is totally decent.)

Today I was streaming through dress 5 of about 10 in an effort to find the perfect evening attire for our upcoming vacation. I was glad I had double checked the door to be sure the latch was securely fastened, because some bold woman shoved on it, drawing a frightful creaaaaak from the moorings of the thing before giving up and mumbling "oh, I'm sorry" when she realized the planet wasn't going to budge under her persistence and the door was in fact LOCKED. Yeesh. She decided to install herself in the booth next to mine (which, was CLOSER to the entrance to the dressing rooms -- why'd she push on MY door?) and then her pal chirped, "I'll take this one on down here".

So, just as an aside, I know this entry might slightly bore the men and make them roll their eyes, because pretty much, there's never a call in the entirety of their lives for them to go clothes shopping WITH A BUDDY. For instance, can any of you fathom a trip wherein Gary and Mike would venture into a men's dressing room, only to have Mike trot out of his stall in his socks and a crisp pair of charcoal slacks and quiz, "Gary, do these pants make my butt look big?" No. Not in this universe or any other one that God is planning on blowing into existence. But, you might want to read on anyway, because it's kind of interesting down at the bottom.

Some general chit-chat ensued between the two ladies about Frank's dog, somebody's kidney and how stressful it was that sizes were never consistent. During all this, there was a lot of huffing and blowing going on next to me, so I gathered that the gal on the other side of my wall was what my mother would dub, "a substantial woman". I was scurrying into dress 9 when the topic switched to whether or not it would be worth it to lose an extra 5 pounds just to get into these elastic-waisted pants.....lots more "Ooof"s, "Phew"s, and a couple of "Oh My Word"s floated over the wall, punctuated by wall-rattling encounters with elbows and other parts giving way to some kind of unsuccessful balancing situation (was she stuck in the pants?). I stopped my own find-the-right-dress project for a moment to contemplate asking whether I needed to render aid, but just then Gladys over in the far yonder piped, "How are you doing? I'm about ready to go get some more stuff to try on." And my wall-mate cheerfully chuffed, "Oh, I'm all done in. I can't see a thing. My glasses are completely fogged over because I'm just sweating SO much. Whoo."

They left before I could get out of gown 10 and back into my street clothes, so I can't tell you anything more except that I still don't have an evening dress, but then, neither does my stall-mate have her coveted elastic-waist pants, so it's a wash for everyone today. I hope the rest of her day was much better than her strenuous dressing room gymnastics, poor dear.

Who Are They Trying To Kid?

Normally, I comfy myself into one of my favorite spots in our new house, the front sofa, and enjoy a slow perusal through the Restoration Hardware catalog when it comes in the mail. I have an undeniable penchant for clean lines, and the catalog is pure eye candy for me. For the last few months, though, you would have found me standing outside our community mailbox station, eagerly rifling through a freshly arrived edition or thumbing it as I walked back home, one eyeball on the catalog and the other on the sidewalk, so as not to be embarrassed by an unscheduled splatting of myself in front of the neighbors, most of whom I haven't met.

There's a chandelier in there that they've advertised for some months, and being the frugal wife that I am, I've kept my eye on it for the inevitable sale. It's perfect. I want it. I want it to replace the baroque-twirly atrocity hanging in the dining room right now. I think these things came with these homes, because I've spotted them in other houses sporting this floor plan. It's supposed to be on the Italian side of things, but it just doesn't suit us (not a clean line to be found amongst the swirls and curliques), and besides, the spiders are having a hay-day trapezing from one arm of it to the other while I'm not looking, making it seem much more a Halloween prop than something that should grace our dinner foodstuffs with light (which it does poorly, by the way). At any rate, I've been very patient in waiting for The Perfect Chandelier to come down in price.

I've taken to checking the website on a weekly basis, rather than waiting for the catalog in the mail. Two weeks ago, my eyebrows bolted well up under my hairline upon espying that my beloved chandelier had gone UP in price by $50. What's this now? Usually, the fall brings about a clearance fever and instead they're jacking things UP? What sort of marketing ploy is this, particularly given the state of the economy? Pretty uppity, if you ask me. I'm sorry, but unless the thing folds my laundry for me and mows the lawn for Clay, NO chandelier of this style is worth the dollar figure they slapped on that puppy. I checked again a week later; fathom this.......it's on SALE! And the price DROPS by $100! Oh, I see now. So, this way, they can list the inflated price, cross it off with an elegantly thin, crisp, diagonal red line and declare the sale price at a riveting, hurry-up-and-buy-it $100 savings, which is still too much for as simple of a lamp that it is. Tricksy, tricksy, they are. I want a TRUE $100 markdown. In fact, I think as a reward for my patience, I'd be MOST satisfied fetching it AT COST. I think I need to write a letter. Blogging this is just not going to cut it.

I'm positive this is a marketing strategy used by every company in America, but for me, watching and waiting and observing the duping of the public made me a little ill. It's just not nice to lie, ok? Stop it. And give me my chandelier.

I Can't Find My Pumpkins

As most of you know, we're in the midst of month 9 after making a mind-blowing move to the warmer climes of southern Cal. As hard as it is to recover from leaving behind all the people and a life we loved, I will say that the balmy air has acted as a salve to our sore hearts. It's a kindness to the eyes to look out our living room window at lilting palm fronds and blue sky. That part, along with having a few extra bathrooms, is good.

Seasons? What seasons? There's "sunny" and "less sunny". You might need an umbrella on the odd day out in February or March, and those whose blood is truly thin will fling a scarf around the neck of a trench coat, while their bare legs and bermuda shorts peek out from under (it would not be unusual to see the trench creatively punctuated by a pair of velcro-strappy Tevas or flip-floppy Reefs). Suffice it to say, anything with lining or thicker than 2mm is hanging in the way back of my closet, untouched. Ergo, imagine my surprise when Holly and I headed north and found ourselves surrounded by reddening leaves and tastefully placed pumpkin decor, in anticipation of the fall holidays. I wore my one pair of long pants into a fray, having stupidly forgotten that there are seasons elsewhere and generally, the month of September in the SF area brings along morning and evening chill, necessitating more than the coverage offered by cute bermudas. Brrr.

At the end of our trip, my sweet mother rang in the crisp fall by gifting all her daughters with absolutely charming ceramic pumpkins, nostalgic to me because they are crafted by a local artisan. I was looking forward to getting back to the new house, rooting out other things of that nature and nurturing a bit of holiday cheer. I spent the better part of this morning hunting EVERYWHERE for the other pumpkin she had given me some years ago. Understand that we had many generous-hearted hands helping us move in this place, and wonderfully, things are generally exactly where they should be. Except my pumpkin/Thanksgiving decor. Where is it? Do any of you recall unpacking a few ceramic pumpkins and goofy looking pilgrims? (They've always looked slightly cross-eyed to me, but then after a rolling Atlantic crossing via the leaky Mayflower sans Dramamine, wouldn't you be?) The only thing I can figure is that those things somehow ended in with the Christmas stuff as we were packing up, and those boxes didn't get unpacked.

Botheration. I eventually found my turkey gravy boat around 11:15, way back with the serving trays, but I don't need him just yet. I stood in the garage for a few moments, contemplating the inconvenience of one of the top shelves in there, which is where all the Christmas things are stacked.

"This is too much trouble," I decided. I'm getting lazy, because there was a day when not only would I have teetered atop a ladder to take the whole lot down (the ladder is upstairs in Heidi's 1/2 painted room right now), but I would have cheerfully relished re-organizing all the boxes to boot. Instead, I satisfied myself by retreating back into the safety of the house, leafing through a West Elm catalogue for some mild inspiration, pulling out a few orange candles for the coffee table and setting the lone pumpkin under the oil painting of our old home, which graces the space over our piano. The oil was painted while our house was up for sale in the late fall with plenty of color on the trees, so technically you could say it flaunts autumnal sensibilities. I wouldn't say we're rife with fall decor, but it's better than nothing, and since I'm back in my shorts and swaying palms are constantly in my periphery, it'll do for now.

Rest assured; for those of you visiting over the Christmas holidays in hopes of a generous smattering of festive decor, I'll certainly not be this lax. I know EXACTLY where THOSE boxes are........

Happy Fall

Who's with me here?

I hope this finds you all well and thriving in your various environments. I've had lots of things twirling in my brain; a dangerous volume teetering on overload, thus the radio silence. But then, isn't that everyone's story?

Holly and I are anticipating a trip up north, leaving at a downright unseemly hour in order to jet through LA ahead of the perpetual traffic that seems to start at 6am and continue through til 10pm. I ask you, why is it that no one seems to have the impetus to apply tax dollars towards a mondo, time-saving overpass going directly from San Diego to the outlying regions of northern LA? This would solve so many problems. No exits; simply a direct overpass for those who have no need to stop and would rather just roll down the window and wave gleefully to the poor creepers below. Doubly beneficial; it would ease the down-below congestion so that residents could actually GET to where they wanted to go. I'd happily pay $5, nay, $10 to jump on and use it. Who do I call? You have to agree; it's a brilliant idea and we've certainly got the engineering wherewithal to pull it off.

I honestly don't understand what the big issues are with the traffic. Most often, there's no apparent reason for any sort of slowdown, but rather, people seem to engage in some sort of Vehicle Christmas Tree Light Competition to see who can get their brake lights blinking at siezure-inducing rates. Is this some part of LA culture that the rest of us aren't privvy to? Is it their ploy to keep the rest of the world's population discouraged from enjoying their beaches and pestering their movie stars? And haven't we all tried keeping up a skilled and patient 3 mph in the hopes that if we started a trend like that then slowly, it would catch on and at least everyone would be MOOOVING? The last time Heidi and I drove down from the Bay Area to SD, I was heard to be commenting loudly, "DON'T STEP ON THAT WIDE MIDDLE PEDAL UNLESS YOU REALLLLLLY MEAN IT." SO irritating. You can see why I'm insisting on a 4am departure time. Off we go.......