If you get thrown from a horse, you have to get up and get back on, unless you landed on a cactus; then you have to roll around and scream in pain.~ unknown

Wow. Has it really been over a year since I posted anything here?  I'd love to tell you that I was too busy writing the great American Novel, had been traveling the world and experiencing the great wonders, or perhaps returned to my former and still unrequited love of the stage.  I'd love to tell you these things, but the truth is I have been doing ....nothing.

Sure, I've been working more and have taken on added responsibilities at my job. I have a new car, a new computer, and new credit cards......and the monthly payments that come with these new things keeps me running on that hamster wheel.  When I come home, I just want to numb my mind. So I play games, stumble on the Internet, and watch bad television.  It worked perfectly.  I've been completely numbed for over a year.

I fell off the horse and just laid there.

Part of what threw me was a dissatisfaction with the outcome of my larger writing projects.  I started one story, then began another, then got side tracked on a third, then went back to an even older project, then lost 50% of all my work in a computer crash.

I was fed up.  Tired of treading water and not getting anywhere.  But lately, in one of those late night conversations with my husband, I came to realize something.  It is time to finally get up, dust myself off and get back up on that horse.

My problem was in thinking too big.  I needed to focus on short term goals. One story at a time.  One foot in front of the other in a steady path. This is the way to move forward, a slow methodical push and not a spastic dash from one side to the next.

So here we go.  Back on the horse and plodding forward at a steady pace. No whooping and hollering, no spurs digging in, and no rearing back and waving my hat in the air one handed.  I intend on staying one this horse until I cross that finish line.  "Giddy-Up."

“The function of muscle is to pull and not to push, except in the case of the genitals and the tongue.” Leonardo da Vinci

So there we were, sitting on the bed late at night.  My husband looked me deep in the eyes and said "You do me first and then I'll take care of you."

I bit my lower lip.  "Okay.  Let me get the stuff and I'll rub it in for you."  Reaching for the tube of magical ointment that has been a staple in our bedroom for several years now, I carefully popped the cap and squeezed a generous dose out on my hand.  Soon there were moans and groans and things were being rubbed until they felt good- really good!  This is a nightly routine in my house.

I am of course talking about rubbing down aching muscles with BenGay.  What did you think I was talking about?

At times like this I'm reminded of my Great-Great Uncle Albert.  My Grandmother's Uncle and Aunt lived in a trailer next door to my grandparent's house.  I would visit occasionally in the hopes of getting a piece of candy or a pudding cup.  There was a very distinct smell when you entered their home.  It was a mix of menthol and vitamins.  My Great-Great Uncle was a firm believer in the powers of natural medicine, and apparently menthol rub was the most powerful thing there was.  It must have worked well for him, because he hung around for quite a long time.

I didn't understand why they practically marinated in the stuff... until I hit forty.  Now I see a vibrating adjustable bed as a necessity, rather than a luxury.  I make decisions on what to have for dinner by whether it will give me heartburn (or even worse, gas).  I actually find myself struggling to stay up to see the end of late night television and waking up earlier every morning....whether I need to or not. Such are the burdens of old age.

I know, I yammer on and on about getting old.  Well, to quote a wise old sage, "I've never been this old before."

Getting older is something we all do, if were lucky.  Some of us are just better at doing it than others. The reality of not being twenty-something is a little hard to come to grips with at times.  One of those times is when I remind myself of my Great-Great Uncle.  Where ever you are Uncle Albert, I hope they have plenty of  BenGay!

It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness. ~Cicero

Times are tough...but I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.  It seems life has no shortage of pits to fall in. 

I have been tight rope walking over those pits for years now.  Sometimes I've slipped and dangled by my fingertips; sometimes I had to retie the rope before it frayed and dropped me into the chasm below.

But there are also beautiful parasols that help me maintain my balance.  Occasionally there will be snippets of carnival music and cheers from the crowd offering encouragement.  And all the time I continue putting one foot in front of the other as I keep my eye on the goal at the end of the rope...firm ground.

I have friends who 'talk' to me about the good times that are long gone.  Back before the wars and the deficit and the lay offs.  A time back when we were all younger and full of hope and our future was so bright we had to wear shades.  They lament their current life and it frustrates me to no end to listen to them.  They forget the problems of their youth and refuse to acknowledge the good in their present. 

Yes, there are a ton of issues we need to deal with today.  I can't help but share in the stress of my friends who no longer have jobs or homes, or have ever increasing bills but ever decreasing income, or especially those who are touched by the terrible loss that war brings.  These problems are real, but giving up or wallowing in self pity does not fix these problems. 

We have to keep walking the tight rope.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Our problems are just minor tremors in the rope.  You may have to step over a knot or two on your path...but that just means someone walked this same rope before you.  If they got to the other side then so can you.  I'll be there to cheer you on.

"My real hair color is kind of a dark blonde. Now I just have mood hair." ~ Julia Roberts

I plan to grow old gracefully.  No botox or nips and tucks for me.  I imagine wrinkles are like the stars on a generals uniform, it shows years of service and experience.  I have visions of myself in old age with long, flowing, silver hair rocking contentedly as the sun sets. No vainly chasing youth for me.

That being said....I recently dyed my greying hair.  I didn't do it to look younger.  I actually like the streaks of silver along my crown.  But I hadn't done anything color-wise with my hair for over a  year, and had a definite two tone effect going on.  Since I couldn't bring myself to commit to a drastic hair cut that would trim the previous color away and leave just the natural gray dappled color, I chose to take the dye highway. 

It was actually part of my Mother's Day celebration.  I took a little time to work on some of the beauty maintenance that I so often ignore.  At the urging of my husband, I chose a deep burgundy color (black cherry to be exact).  I'm naturally a dark brunette and thought a dark hint of red would be both fun and not too far from what nature actually gave me. 

When the time came I locked myself away in the bathroom, dawned the rubber gloves that come in the kit and mixed the potion like some mad scientist.  The color in the little squeeze bottle hadn't quite developed yet and was still a creamy white as I began.  Impatiently I started at the front, knowing that the gray hair surrounding my face would be the most resistant to the new color.  When I've colored my hair in the past, this actually translated into one stop color and highlights.  I was excited at the prospect.

As I worked the magic elixir through my hair, the color began to emerge.  It started as a lite pink tinge.  'Interesting' is the thought that bounced around in my head.  But pink is the start of red, right?.  As time progressed, so did the hue.  It deepened, not to the crimson or ruby color of my dreams but to a dark plum....as in purple.

After I washed it and dried it there was no denying it.  I had dark brown hair with definite purple highlights.  In my eyes I was on the verge of looking like Mrs. Slocombe from the British comedy "Are you Being Served".  If you've ever dyed your hair, you know you aren't suppose to double process it too quickly.  I couldn't dye it again with out risking damage to the hair.  This meant that I was stuck for a day or two as is.   So off to work I went the next day.

Of course I got noticed, but I was surprised at how many compliments I got on it.  Genuine compliments.  I went to the grocery store and the gentleman who sweeps the floors actually came up to me and gave me a little hug, telling me I looked twenty years younger.  On three separate occasions twenty-something year-olds made positive comments on my hair saying, with a slight bit of awe in their voices, how they liked the color. 

Appearently, I'm hip!  Who knew? 

It's been a week now, and I'm growing used to it.  I occasionally get a shock when I look in the mirror.  My husband tells me I look beautiful, but still sniggers slightly when I'm in full sunlight.  When it comes down to it, it really doesn't matter what color my hair is. 

Bleach blonde or raven black, streaked with gray or multi-hued, it doesn't change who I am.  Before, I was more youthful than my gray hair attested to... and I'm not as rave-enabled as my current purple hair might suggest.  Nothing has changed.  Perhaps I might try to correct the color to a more natural tint.  But who knows, I might add pink and blue to my highlights. Outward appearances do not effect who we are inside.

The greatest gift of the garden is the restoration of the five senses. ~Hanna Rion

March 21st was the first day of Spring, the Vernal Equinox, and what a wonderful day it was.   I'm an optimistic gardener to my core, even if I see my plants wilt under the harsh summer sun.  That is why I try to plant something every year.

This year I've started out simple.  Just a couple of tomatoes and peppers with a side of basil.  There's still a good amount of potting soil left, so more planting is definitely in my future  But for now, on my humble apartment porch, it is a start.  But it calls to mind a garden from several years ago.

I used to work for a garden center. I came home tired, hot, sweaty, and smelly... but happy. I enjoyed walking up and down the rows of annuals, perennials, and shrubberies as I watered all of the stock. I delighted in reading the numerous gardening books, covers fading from the sun and pages curling from moisture, that were offered for for sale but never seemed to get sold. I especially loved imparting that information to anyone who asked for my gardening advice.

One of the perks of my old job, was taking home dry and damaged bags of soil for a pittance. This was especially welcomed since my husband and I had just purchased our first home and to call it a fixer-upper was being kind. The back yard was small and dominated by a huge pecan tree and a sad little peach tree. Most of the space was covered with a concrete driveway. What little dirt there was, was hard packed and littered with long forgotten nails, glass ...and pennies for some strange reason.

Being young and full of energy, my husband and I spent most of our time either fixing the house or working in the yard.  I sprinkled soil and grass seed over the small back yard until the grey dirt turned into a lush green carpet.  I dug beds in the front and back yards, no easy task since the soil was thick and black with clay.  In these beds I planted the scraggly plants I had saved from the dumpster.  Some were so sickly looking, I even questioned if I was planting or burying them.  My husband called this "Darwinian Gardening" since only the strong and best suited for our environment would survive.  Not all did.

But those that did not only lived, they thrived.  Soon, what was once a desolate waste land that even weeds found hard to survive in became an oasis in a hectic city.  Along the front fence and arbor (built from recycled wood...see earlier post) grew Morning Glories greeting the morning with purples and blues and and Nasturtiums seeing the sunset with a blaze of yellow and orange.  Amazingly, corn grew and produced a few small ears, potatoes defied pill bugs and tough soil to increase their numbers, and even a few tomatoes managed to grow to maturity.   The noise of the city faded as the growing vegetation seemed to muffle the sounds of car horns and alarms.  I even found myself altered by the creation going on around me. I found more and more calmness in my garden.  We harvested and dried so much fragrant Basil and Lemon Balm that memories of the summer were remembered in my cooking all winter long.   

I loved that garden; I loved the sweat, the dirt, the disappointments and the sore muscles. I continue to plant despite not owning a patch of ground on which to plant. I still find calmness in the dirt under my nails. I breath deeply the scent of lavender and basil. The sight of tiny flowers and fruits growing day after day fills my heart with joy. I look forward to tasting the fruits of my labor (quite literally).  Noises still seem to fade when I sit amongst my plants. My senses and my soul are restored with each new leaf.

For my friend who asked about planting tomatoes, and anyone else interested too.....
http://www.ehow.com/how_4546092_when-plant-tomatoes.html

Spring Forward, Fall Back.

This past weekend many (but not all) people  across the country observed Day Light Saving(s) Time and moved their clocks forward one hour.  It's a time of mixed emotions for me.  On the one hand, I love the idea of gaining more day light hours to get things done.  On the other hand, I hate loosing that hour of sleep. I usually find myself sleepwalking through my life for a few days until my internal clock realigns itself.

I'm told I have Benjamin Franklin to thank for my drowse state.  He conceived of the idea back in 1784 while in Paris as an American delegate.  It didn't get any serious consideration until the early twentieth century. Actually standard time itself was a relatively new idea.  The time was usually agreed upon by the general population of a town and it might not coincide with the time agreed upon a town or two over.  The concept of a standardized time meant trains could maintain arrival and departure schedules.  Workers and business owners had the same idea of when to show up and when to leave work.  Everyone was on the same page. 

During the wars (WWI and WWII), enacting Day Light Savings Time meant a savings of fuel.  This was what got many people on board with the idea.  Many arguments have been made through out the world both for and against this manipulation of time.  There is some debate on exactly how much fuel/electricity is saved by moving the clocks forward in the Spring and back in the Fall.

To further add to the confusion of what the time is, not everyone observes the 'Spring forward, fall back' observance.  There are even parts of this country where crossing the street puts you either forward or backwards in time.  To find out who does and who doesn't participate in this idea, check out this website:

http://www.webexhibits.org/daylightsaving/g.html

Inevitably, this time of years gets me to thinking about time in general.  I am not one of those people with an in born sense of time.  Hours whiz by in the blink of an eye for me.  I looked up one day and twelve years had passed.  The opposite side of that coin is time standing still.  I'm sure we all have experienced that slow as molasses passage of time while either sitting in the doctors office or standing in line.  In reality the same amount of time has elapsed for me as for everyone around me, but it's my perception that is altered.  There are days I'd love to make last forever and others I'd rather see leave.  

I guess that is the difference for the pro and anti day light savings time people.  It depends on which side of the hour hand you stand as to whether it is a good idea or not.

We are not to throw away those things which can benefit our neighbor. Goods are called good because they can be used for good: they are instruments for good, in the hands of those who use them properly. -- Clement of Alexandria (150?-220?)

I have to pass two dumpsters as I leave my apartment.  Often it is overflowing with the everyday household debris... empty milk containers and cardboard boxes, broken plates, empty plastic packaging and left overs that, while no longer palatable to humans, make the cats and birds very happy. But inevitably there will also be a piece of furniture, a mattress, or an old tire. I've seen high chairs and electric fans, an entire six drawer dresser with mirror, and even a car bumper once.  The trash always goes beyond the container and oozes into the roadway like some horrible lab experiment that has gained a life of it's own and wants to escape it's captors.

In many ways, the trash we produce is getting away from us.  We are not only a nation of mass consumers, but mass disposers as well. Despite dwindling resources and finite landfills, we believe it's so much easier and cheaper to throw something out than to try and fix it or reuse it. It's ingrained in the American psyche that what you have isn't enough. The gods of consumerism command that we buy the latest thing. In order to get that new thing, you have to get rid of the thing you bought 6 months ago. As soon as you step out of the store your computer is obsolete. The resale value of that car plummets the moment you drive it off the lot.

We Americans consume things. It's what we do. We're good at it. Consumerism is part of our culture. It was elevated to an art form in the 20th century and now it threatens to drown us in debt and our own garbage.

At the beginning of the industrial age planned obsolescence wasn't a marketing strategy. Once upon a time, we actually took pride in craftsmanship and made things that were sturdy and well built. We designed and manufactured things that would last a very long time.  Something that could be of use not only to us but to the generations that would follow us.

The problem with making quality products that never break is that a company can only sell so many before everyone has one.  But somewhere along the way someone discovered that if you could make something slightly less durable so that it would wear out or breakdown at a certain time...well then you could sell it again, and again, and again.  Add to that the holy grail of planned obsolescence--rapid multi-generational electronic devices and you have a Jackpot! The strategy goes like this: "You wanna play that new game or run that new app?" Well, you'll have to have a faster computer or a better phone or the newest game machine. Some nerds become billionaires and our dumpsters overfloweth!

I'm not a mass consumer or a mass disposer, or at least I try not to be. I'm not on a par with the hoarders you see on TV, but I try to consider the value and reuse of an item before it's pitched in the trash.

Case in point:  We no longer needed the box springs for my son's twin size bed. Instead of tossing it on top of the trash pile, I re-purposed it.  After stripping off the fabric and cardboard, I had a frame for my new bookcase.  We made shelves from wood that was rescued from the construction scraps of a neighbor.  On this free bookcase I placed a chipped water pitcher, no longer able to do its original job, it now houses a plant grown from a clipping that would itself have been thrown away.  And finally, an antique fan that was rescued from the trash heap now sits on my new box spring shelves. Thrown away simply because it needed a $2 cord.

One man's trash is another man's treasure.

If you want to make treasure from trash, you might give these websites a try.

http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/132/from-trash-to-cash.html


http://www.suite101.com/content/creative-repurposing--turning-trash-into-treasure-a253753

http://earth911.com/news/2009/04/27/5-ways-to-repurpose-your-trash/

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1645679/repurpose_your_household_trash.html