Goldie Treasure

My mother never permitted me anything sweet as a child. I mean, not even a graham cracker until I was almost five. Yes, I joke too that I have spent ages 5-33 making up for lost time. Heh. The forbidden fruit was provided secretly and lovingly by one Goldie Sweat. I think have written before of the empowering and naughty feeling of hiding on my closet floor to consume bird peck sized bites of a Reese's peanut butter cup and m siplets from a tall cold glass of fresh sugar water (shuggah wahw-tah). If I trace my addiction back as far as I can, it goes to my closet floor. In fact, those are literally some of my earliest memories. My face still feels warm and the world is light when I revisit those moments. Sugar water, for those of you who did not have a Goldie in your lives, is water with a bunch of sugar stirred in, iced simple syrup - but not too thick. Divine. When I saw the bees in my grandparents' neighbors' yard hard at work in their hives, I imagined that the pollen they collected surely must taste the same. And so it was no wonder they collected it so diligently and tirelessly.

Goldie will be 77 next week. She lives in Winston Salem and I had not seen her since I was about 5 or 6 years old. What a joy. What a treasure! We stopped to see her on the long drive to my cousin's wedding in Beaufort, NC last weekend. She was the same. Happily, some things never change. :) Although... she used to carry a chicken foot in her purse for protection but no longer does. Now she has a turkey foot. Shellac doesn't actually make everything look so good...

A Bird in the Hand

If a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, what is a face full of bird poop worth? No, it's not a clever riddle from the latest Batman flick. It's a joke really. My life can b e a joke. It is today. My animal karma is officially OFF this week. After barely making it to tennis this morning (in every way), I was proud walking home, sweaty, accomplished. I did it! I was thinking (again) "yeah. I can do this thing! I am gonna SPLAT make it." Never. I mean never. Do you know anyone who ever got bird pooped in the FACE? I am so grossed out right now. First, I know that the reason I can smell the dead mouse is because actual molecules of his stinky liquefying guts are going up my nose. What I really needed was some filthy bird excrement in my mucous membranes to boost my immune system into the stratosphere. And it got on my tennis racquet handle. I had just wrapped it. PINK. Do you think that punk aimed!? You thought pterodactyls were extinct, didja? Well, not based on the size of this event. I don't think it was an ostrich up there. Seriously. Pray for me.

Something Rotten in Denmark

I know the picture is funny - me: greasy, in undies, freshly awake, with cheap drug store flashlight, crazy hair, looking toothless (and from a weird angle so it looks like I am going to the 7 1/2 floor in the movie Being John Malkovich) but the problem isn't. Funny, that is.

You can't imagine my luck with mice. Seriously. And I have a cat! What's the deal yo? It's not that I have them it's that I have them infrequently but can't just have a normal experience with them. UGH. Sigh. Okay, so...forgetting the old mouse tales for now and focusing on the current troubles...Norma (the cat) caught a baby mouse on Friday night. It was bed time, I was relaxed and I saw her playing with her toy - you know, the one that wasn't a toy. The poor little guy was about the size of a thumb and so cute. Of course, being a cat, she had to play with it and not mercifully kill it. He escaped - with my help - to the back of the bookcase (not my idea). The one nailed to the wall. With hollow space underneath but a panel on the front of the empty space. The space that little mousey could reach from the back but that I can't get to from the front...yeah, that. I could go on but will spare you details and get to the point. That little thumb sized idiot is dead under there. And guess what. He reeks. Not a little and increasing by the minute. The book shelf is built in (firmly attached to the brick wall behind it). I have been ripping, hammering, drilling, vacuuming and scooping (coat hanger) this morning for several hours now - to no avail. I am utterly repulsed. And totally out of ideas.

Needless to say, I am focused elsewhere today. Will resume weight obsession when I can inhale without gagging in my own home.

Always a Bridesmaid...

Or maybe not...I don't know about yours but my grandmother used to say Nosirreebob. (No sir, Bob...whoever Bob was.) That is what I thought about this little get-up. It was a toughie. A friend who is getting married asked me to be a bridesmaid but selected the largest size of which comes in well, not so large. I tried. I cried. I felt so sad, embarrassed and sick. My pig behavior rears its ugly head again. And I got mad. Then I got determined. Though I felt pretty slaughtered emotionally, I saw this, at bottom, for what it was, the universe's call to arms! Back to the arms Lucia! And the legs. Tummy. Chest. Neck. Let's go Dollface! Mixed blessing - you know, it's true, clouds with silver linings and all that. When I am aware enough to realize (rare!) I am amazed that that universe/ gods that be/ karma/ mother nature/ the Tao is still looking out for little old me. Ah, in those rare moments I am full and peaceful. I must have done something right.

Standing in Anthropologie yesterday (a.k.a. the place that will officially bankrupt me the second I can wear their clothes. And I am warning you, er, warning me, that I am not far off), wrestling with my wallet over some beaded hair ties and some olive oil hand butter, I read a book. Well, okay, I read part of a book, several parts actually. Here is the part that I was meant to read, the reason I wandered in to the store after returning the dress that doesn't fit (see photo insert) to the nearby J.Crew (the reason this whole dress fiasco happened? Maybe. I can make a case for tracing it back that far... that's how important this part of the book was.) I know - the build up. I hope everyone reading this already knows it....(drum roll...I am such a pest!)...You cannot value others the way you think you can until you value yourself. I took two meanings 1) the obvious one and 2) I must dig myself more than I ever imagined. I love my friends so much and do value them beyond value so I must value myself in the process. Hopefully also obvious.

Activity today: sweating profusely in negotiations with the New York City Dept. of Education on a rare day when I was a real lawyer.
Don't sweat it (heh), today is my one day off in 7. I have to let my body recuperate. Yesterday I was so hungry, even Norma's Fancy Feast looked delish. And boy was it ever! (I know you think I am nuts but you didn't actually go for that, didja?)

Thanks for all the support. Let's just pick back up where we left off and call this thing what it is: a life. Work in progress.

TGIF!

Supplies!

An Italian, a Irishman and a Chinese fellow are hired at a construction site. The foreman points out a huge pile of sand.
He says to the Italian guy, "You're in charge of sweeping."
To the Irishman he says, "You're in charge of shoveling."
And to the Chinese guy, "You're in charge of supplies."
He then says, "Now, I have to leave for a little while. I expect you guys to make a dent in that there pile of sand."
So when the foreman returns, after being away for a couple of hours, the pile of sand is untouched.
He asks the Italian, "Why didn't you sweep any of it?"
The Italian replies, "I no hava no broom. You saida to the Chinese-a fella that he a wasa in a charge of supplies, but he hasa disappeared and I no coulda finda him nowhere."
Then the foreman turns to the Irishman and says, And you, I thought I told you to shovel this pile."
The Irishman replies, "Aye, that ye did laddie, boot ah couldnay get meself a shoovel! Ye left th' Chinese gadgie in chairge of supplies, boot ah couldnay fin' him neither."
The foreman is really angry now. He storms off toward the pile of sand to look for the Chinese guy. Just then, the Chinese guy leaps out from behind the pile of sand and yells...
"SUPPLIES!!

I am back. Get ready. The game is BACK on. I am so emabrrassed to have been away but you loves have called me back.

Today: hour walk, pilates. When I laugh, my body shuts down. Hey, I have abs. Who knew?

P.S.

The photo is of a "supplies" package I received recently from my mom. Yes, that's a heart potato and a mermaid faux-barbie. When Mama said there was no hope for me, she wasn't kidding. :)