Meet Octavius

Recently, I attended an all-day crafting session, Stamp Camp. One of our projects was a “stamp a stack”. If you are not familiar with “StampinUp!”,  this is a project where you make several of the same card, using various paper craft projects. We completed 4 stacks with this little owl guy.

As I search Pinterest for other card and paper craft ideas, I have seen all kinds of cards, gifts, wrapping paper, folders, fabric, etc. with owls.

Why is this? I have never found them to be endearing. These are birds that make noises at night, turn their heads, as if they require an exorcism and eat whole animals. Very few people have them as pets. If you did happen to have one as a pet, when would you play, entertain and feed it, since they are “night owls”.

After seeing this owl everywhere, I decided he needed a name. Mostly, because I felt I could more easily identify my stalker should he have a name. I have since deemed his name to be “Octavius”.

Octavius is a military genius. He has cute little owl minions on most every type of merchandise available. Honestly, I think he has surpassed even the volume of merchandizing for “One Direction”. And, that is a LOT. (At least, I haven’t yet seen a musical group including Octavius. They would just seem like a huge collection of back-up singers with their “whoo-whoo-ing”.)

Octavius is another one of those items, along with Candy Crush and Toms, where there is a mission for world domination.

I will admit to purchasing a stamp set including Octavius, but it was purely out of convenience. I remain hesitant to use him on any craft I create.

As part of my refusing to be assimilated, I still did not choose him to be in my monthly craft group. Instead I chose a beautiful tangerine ink with brush-like stamps to share with my fellow crafters.  I’m just rebellious like that.

However, please still watch out for you know “whoo”.

My New Friend, Vera

 

My mother and sister have been toting these busy, quilted bags for a few years. Apparently, such bags (of assorted sizes with other little coordinating baggies) were deemed quite stylish. To me, the bags looked like quilt scraps, and I was completely unimpressed.

Of course, I would personally choose an $8 Wal-Mart pocketbook, and then carry it until it was too ragged to be acceptable at even the homeless shelter. My other rationale was not to spend more on a pocketbook than the amount of cash I typically carry in it.

Then, one day, we enter the Vera Bradley store ONLY to purchase some summer jammies. Not the Victoria’s Secret, slinky kind of stuff – the slumber party, hanging with your girlfriend jammies. And, they were on sale.

We find the correct sizes, and then I notice LOTS of 50%-off signs around the story. OK – I still am not on board with the quilted bags. Suddenly, I see THE pattern – it is a lovely fuchsia and green – not too flowery, and jus the perfect shades. Of course, we find a matching coin purse, luggage tag, small clutch, ID holder and backpack.

At this point, I tell Rick I am entering foreign territory, and I fear I am in danger of the impending world takeover. You know, the one where everyone is playing Candy Crush on iPhones, while wearing Toms and carrying Vera bags. I beg Rick to please restrain me, sedate me – whatever means are necessary – if I appear to come close to any Toms shoes or accept a Facebook invitate for Candy Crush. I must maintain my individualism somehow.

Vera also had a gift with purchase item, so I received 2 beautiful beach towels in appreciation for my monetary exchange for the assorted quilted bags and pouches.

I do have to admit, the new bags are prettier and more feminine than the military-grade, 3-day bug out bag I have been accustomed to carrying (even as much as I love the big, black bag). And, the “girly” bags do go nicely with my dresses and sandals.

I’m still not playing Candy Crush.

 

I am not a morning person

Rick had online meetings, which included persons from various continents, so his wakeup time was at 0400. PLEASE NOTE: 0400 is still night time in my world. However, wanting to spend some time with him (he really is a great guy), I threw on some “work out” clothes (which he promptly chided me, because Eli immediately associates “those clothes: with “W-A-L-K”.
I had one remaining unwashed load of clothes, so I gathered them in the basket, walked them to the laundry room, switched loads and started the washer. Again – I am NOT a morning person. As Rick was preparing for work, I tidied my side of the bathroom counter, as somehow my side accumulates a much larger volume of everything than on his counter.
I continued to busy myself with assundry activities until he was eventually packed and out the door. OH – I also made a quick little greeting card, and snuck it in his lunch box. As he left, he mentioned I should go back to bed and reset. Since I had officially accomplished a few tasks before 0530, I felt this was an acceptable activity. Eli and I curled up and napped for a while.
When I awoke at 0930, I presumed the 0430 load of wash would be completed and ready to dry. As I begin to move the clothes to the dryer, I was fortunate to locate my fitbit on some pajama pants. NOTE TO SELF – write a FitBit review.
I continued to move t-shirts, underwear, etc., to the dryer, when I encounter a more solid type object. A pink flip flop. The left one. I have no idea how a single random shoe (that wasn’t even dirty) jumped into my wash, but this phenomenon validates why I should not attempt any household activities between 2200 and 0730.

MiRI and Mother

 

 

Mother stayed at the house a couple weeks ago, so she could drive me for my MRIs. She has been very supportive while we have been waiting and waiting for any kind of answers. (No, we still have none.)

The MRIs went well. I didn’t have to remove any clothing since I planned ahead, and wore all knit clothing – absolutely no metal. Despite being fully clothed, I was still freezing.

The technicians were unable to accommodate me with a choice music play list of my own. (I honestly thought they would have a dock or something where we could just connect my iPhone.) Actually, the rationale the staff provided was that the headphones would not fit between my head and the head brace. I hope that meant the headbrace was tight on everyone, and not that I have some unusually large head.

Due to the 2 ativan I had taken (1035 and 1045), I was feeling pretty relaxed, so I didn’t argue about music or anything else. The staff did offer some small headphones for a short time, so I could listen to some VERY LOUD classic rock music.

Although I knew the music was loud, the MRI machine is always a game changer. For a short time MiRI (now my pet name for this beast) will lull someone to sleep, right before she unleashes the zombie/flying monkeys/Bubo et al to thrust Thor’s hammer all over the outside of the tunnel. Their exuberance is impressive, yet quite frightening. Had I not seen so many MRI safety films over the years where someone dies because the janitor left an empty metal mop bucket , or facilities inadvertently forgot a random screwdriver, and the patient died, or was mamed for life.

The nice Ativan nap allowed me to forget my inspection of the room for random metal objects over every inch of the room. I lied in my head brace, and knee support covered with a typical hospital blanket. PLEASE NOTE: The blanket was not one of those cozy ones from the wonderful blanket warmer, but it was better than cold air.

The male tech was gracious. He talked me through each change of position (i.e., waking of the nap). The total process from head, cervical, thoracic and lumbar spine took only about 2 hours. Then, I was removed. They didn’t seem to have any napping pods for me to continue my nap, so I gathered my things, to move on with my adventure with Mother.

Riding around with my mother is always an adventure. Sometimes, she may think a 2-way road is one-way, so she can drive on whichever side she desires. Or, maybe she won’t notice curbs on the road. Or, be aware which direction she is driving. She says I have the same directional impairment as she, but she is the one with a GPS. And, a phone with a charge.

Whenever Mother visits, she likes to check out any new flats, flip flops or tennis shoes that might fit her and meet her standards. She will try on the flip flops, model them, drool over them and repeat the process.  But,  when we find her size in the store, and I offer to purchase them, she will say, “Oh – you REALLY shouldn’t spend money on my. Oh, but did you see the new Vera Bradley pattern?”

Mother, if you are reading this – your Coach flip flops were delivered yesterday, and we can make arrangements for getting them to you.

Yes, I love and adore my mother.

Addictions – Mine is better than yours

“Addiction” always has a negative connotation. Why is that? Most all of us have some kind of addiction, even if we don’t use that particular word.
People are addicted to drugs (prescription and/or street), alcohol, nicotine, tobacco, food, exercise, work, sex, porn, Facebook and this is certainly a partial and very incomplete listing. But, what makes one addiction worse than another?
One rationale could be that the substance is illegal, such as marijuana, crack or other illicit drugs. But, barring legalities, why then is one bad and another acceptable?
When I worked at a certain employer, our manager allow the smokers to take breaks every 1-2 hours – just 5 minutes or so to get a few puffs. In attempt to provide a fair environment, the manager did allow the non-smokers longer lunch breaks. It was a nice token.
But, what if, as a non-smoker, my addiction was porn or sex or chocolate? Even generous employers don’t allow sex breaks during the day.
The addiction issue shouldn’t be scaled on a “bad-to-worse” scale based on the substance. The substance of choice can even possible change in an addict, but the real issue is the addiction still.
It is an attempt to fill an emptiness we feel in the deepest part of our being. Yes, we may also enjoy the substance of choice, but the substance will never fill that vacuum.
Here is where many people would insert religion, meditation or other spiritual fulfillments. To me, it is identifying what that empty spot REALLY is. Maybe I feel empty because of a loss. Maybe I feel empty because I don’t feel that I am good enough to meet someone else’s standards. But, I – me, myself – have to identify the emptiness. Perhaps another person (professional or not) may help guide and make observations, but I still have to see it, name it and address it.
So, please, next time you see an “addict”, see the person with a need. And, when you see the “normal” person beside you, understand they may also be an addict, but it is hidden. Regardless of how visible the addiction is, that person has to make the choice. It is theirs alone to fix it, feed it, starve it or kill it.

Hair Musings

Hair Musings

 

Over the past few years, my hair has been thinning. Maybe hereditary, maybe hypothyroidism, maybe results from gastric bypass surgery – or maybe all combined. It seems I have more hair in my sink and drain than on my head.

Rick’s hairdresser has resorted (after only 2 visits with her by me) to a MASSIVE combover. I typically part my hair slightly to one side or the other – always hoping the side “resting” would regain some thickness. Kind of like rotating crops on farms.

Today, I had a brilliant thought – I would tease the front part of my hair, and use one of my newly-purchased hair clips. (It is quite adorable – pink flower with matching little pink feather. All in all, it is about 1.5 inches in diameter.) As I prepare to tease, I realize I mush blow dry my hair. OK – so, I hang my head upside down, and dry enough of my hair to attempt this “new” style.

Step 2 – Tease the hair.

Problem  – No comb. I haven’t used combs in decades (I really don’t know why). My quest for a comb begins. I search my bathroom drawers for a comb, and find toothpaste (of course), which reminds me I need to brush my teeth. While brushing my teeth, I am still pondering how to make a small poof out of my thinning top hair. In mid-thought, my hairdryer lunges forward into the sink with the water running. (Sorry, water-restriction people. I forgot to turn off the water while brushing my teeth. Bite me.)

With cat-like reflexes (if they were to have opposable thumbs), I catch the blowdryer before all the things on the warning labels come true.

My next thought, with a sign of relief, was “Thank goodness I didn’t electrocute myself. Otherwise, no one would know the effort that went into my POOF today. Yeah, me!”

Step 3 – The Search Continues

Back to my search for a comb. Since Rick has changed from “Air Force comb down” hair to “spiky hip guy” hair, he no long has a comb. However, I did find 2 round hair brushes (noting I was a bit confused by that), razors, toothpaste and a few other grooming supplies. Still, NO COMB.

Step 4 – Search the Other Bathroom

This bathroom is primarily used by our 12-year-old son, Josef. I start my search in these bathroom drawers. Thankfully, Rick removed the child-proof locks with the remodel of the bathroom. This is what I find in his bathroom drawers:

Toothpaste

Toothbrush

2 baseball caps (full-sized)

Small scissors

3 sharpies in various colors

A book

My multi-colored pen (that has like 20 colors)

Chapstick (3 tubes)

Deck of Uno cards

Toy fire truck

Pack of 12 unused pencils

 

Great – I was wondering what had happened to my scissors, sharpies, and especialy my multi-colored pen (did I mention it has at least 20 colors??)

By the time I return to my bathroom, cut the tag from my totally cute hair clip, I realized why my scissors were in Josef’s drawer.

A while back, Josef inquired regarding body grooming issues. So, for the sake of safety, I gave him some scissors to trim “down there”.

ICK!!! I just touched THOSE scissors. I don’t think I have enough hand sanitizer, bleach, sandpaper, etc. to fix this one. Just EWWWW.

Last resort – Hairspray

I’m not sure why this didn’t occur to me sooner. Goodness – I was a teen girl in the 80s with totally awesome BIG Texas Hair (even though we lived in Missouri).

I sprayed my hair with some Suave Max Hold pump hairspray. I have not had a supply of Aquanet aerosol in over 20 years. I spray, let the hairspray dry and tease my bangs. My teeny hair clip was still substantially bigger than my poof. Sad. Sad. Sad.

But, I am hungry. I also need to find a biohazard bag to return these scissors to Josef’s bathroom.

Upside – I have a great corner office with a wonderful view.

 

Learning to Blog

Learning to Blog

Or Websites for Beginners

 

I have never really stayed at home for an extended time, other than during maternity leave or other medical leave. I did stay home for a couple years (kind of) when the “big kids” were 3 and 4 through 4 and 5. During this time, we watched a lot of Barney and Toy Story (the original). We sang songs like “You got a fend a me”, “You are my Sunshine” and “It had to be You”. The kids had a great repertoire; not that kids ever perform on queue. We were also still on dial-up internet. (Yes, I am that old.)

Since currently I am at home on FMLA, working on various project, developing a home business, etc., I thought a blog site would be nice. I’ve seen fellow crafters post designs and ideas on their blogs.

Attempting to work within the chain of command, I sent this email to my upline:

Me – I don’t remember what I ordered last time. You might as well start calling me Dorie (as in Finding Nemo.) I have one other question. Where did you go to get your domains for blogs? Was it Big Doggie (or whatever company has the funny Super Bowl commercials every year?

Denise – Thanks. Mine is from Go Daddy . . . I think it’s around $9/month – at least it used to be. I also use my email through them.

 

How I got Big Doggie instead of Go Daddy, I’ll never know. I could tell you Danika Patrick has their logo on her car, and Julian from “The Biggest Loser” has also been in some. These “nearly the right word” moments are happening more frequently.

I’ll have the word in my head, but somehow the word goes through some kind of scrambler on its way out my mouth. Even when I think about the correct word, it still gets scrambled. Ugh.

But, when I type, spellcheck mostly catches my incorrect words (mostly), so I can unscramble/rescramble ideas back into something somewhat coherently.

And, thank goodness, we have wi-fi instead of dial-up. So, when I finally get the correct place for finding domains (instead of Big Doggie), I can set up of website without knowing code, or even much at all. Google does that for us.

Thinking of Google – I need to speak to my neurologist about implanting something like that, using Google Translate to change my scrambled words into ideas people can actually understand.