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Living Simple in Texas??

We've been trapped in our house far too long.  Summer temps of 100+ have forced me to look at every spot in my house and realize that we have fallen in to the trap - everything is bigger in Texas - which includes clutter piles and junk.  As the home size increases, so does the area available to leave things sitting, stacking and stuffing.  I love our key possessions but have little need for all the crap.  I want to gut it all.  I've been through this so many times with little success, yet today, this time, I am even more determined.  This becomes a little harder when one lives in Dallas, the land of show and "stuff".  Rather than "decorate", I want to make the foundation more pleasant to look at there by eliminating the desire to beautify with junk.  The name of the game here is to find the biggest for the least amount of money.  I hope to spend the least amount of money to have the smallest need to buy things in the first place.  Oh the challenge.  I fall in to all the traps, including the two biggies: "But I paid a fortune for that"and "I might need/want/use/wear it one day".  I even do it with the kids stuff.  I should have learned my lesson from three years ago when we moved boxes down here from Canada that had already been sitting in storage for two years, only to return them to storage here. 

A simple way to start, as I read on one of the many blogs I was scanning, is to place maybe items in a box and stash them to see if you ever go looking.  I so desperately want to be organized.  Baby steps, as Fly Lady says.  Baby steps. 

Today.  The first day of the rest of my life.  Remove.  Toss.  Minimize.  Wish me luck.

The New Camera times three

When I bought my semi pro camera at christmas, I couldn't have been more excited.  We took pictures, pictures and more pictures.  We went on a sail trip and gave the camera a work out between rolling with the waves, the salt air and being taken in and out of the galley a million times.  No problems until we got home and the auto flash quit working.  It worked, it just stayed popped up indefinitely - which proved to be very inconvenient.  I took it back to the store I purchased it from, since it was all of about 4 weeks old and "demanded" a new one after I was told they would send it in to get fixed - about six week turn around.  They gave me a new one and off I went, learning about all the errors a digital SLR can give you every time you try to make the shot.

 I learned about blogs with great ideas and books to read as I figured I was doing something terribly wrong every time I touched the camera.  Alas - it froze- for good, and back to the shop I went with second camera in hand.
 "I've never seen this before" says sales manager who was so kind to have replaced the first camera with the second dud.  On to number three.  Out of the box, err/chg message.  I almost cried.  More research via my friend the web and I eventually found out ways to avoid.  As others were experiencing similar issues, I calmed down a bit and moved forward to reading some books and having a little faith.  Yesterday, I made it through two chapters and learned a millisecond worth of knowledge which at least help me sort out what a few of the dials are for.  These pictures are by no means amazing - I was just so excited to get to focus on the correct spot, do a little fading and get the zoom to be amazing.  All the features I was wanting.  So I'm out the door for the summer with a little more knowledge a returned passion for figuring out how to take some really amazing pictures this summer.  Wish me luck!

Try Something New . . . or NOT

So upon turning 40 a few months ago, and pondering on reaching life goals, I was conversing with my dear friend and neighbor about things I still had left to accomplish. Only a few months away from finishing a Master's degree I had debated since my 30th birthday, I had one check on the list. Other accomplishments from things to do before you die: marry decent man for love and attempt to raise decent children - check, and still a work in progress . . . . get boobs - check, and also still a work in progress as they are officially three weeks old and I am in love again . . . and then came hair. I have Italian ancestry - need I say more? Between hormones shifting post baby and perimenopause - a new term I've learned all about - the ten or so years before pre-menopause (who thinks this stuff up??) I've had to contemplate hair removal. The arrival to Texas and the need to bare legs for many, many days at a time led to laser hair removal and worth every penny. I jumped on that band wagon within a few months of arriving and have never looked back. Eyebrows and upper lip - frequent part of female grooming and a non issue. Post baby chin whiskers - not feminine but controllable with a pair of tweezers - at least for the time being. But arms - hadn't really thought about them much. In the white zone of a Canadian winter, I had tried bleach once when I had to go to a formal Xmas event and the dark shadow that was usually blonde in the summer (thanks to the sun) stood out a little too much and I tried bleaching for the event. Worked out fine, but not something I'd ever had much of a desire to repeat as I usually wasn't walking around in a formal gown, nor short sleeves. But in Dallas, long sleeves rarely occur (except this winter which is Calgary relived!) So back to the discussion with girlfriend neighbor, another Italian ancestry kind of girl: Get Nair on those arms. I googled and researched reviews and read that Veet was much more year 2000 than Nair, so I gave it a whirl. One comment I read over and over was NOT to use the plastic razor wipe off thing that came with it as it will cut you to pieces. Who ever follows directions? So my first Veet effort left me telling people I had a few fights with my rose bushes, which they believed because I'm always fixing my garden. Removing Veet from arms needs to be done in the shower with a pair of scrubby mitts. After that, beauty and a convert. But the story does NOT end here.

Now that I view my self as a Jaguar (the sexier version of a Cougar, because I'm 40, classy and at peace with my self rather than 30 and, well, Cougarish) and sporting the new rack - which is hardly substantial but still perfect - I get the Veet pump to fix up the arms while standing in the shower. I look down. I wonder what Veet would do to "the patch". I proceed. I'm sure some where the directions said DO NOT do this. I do. Every nook and cranny. I'm on a role. I've never been so brave with a razor, so why now, with a chemical???? The minutes tick by. I wash. I get the scrubby mitts going after I comb off the major top coat. Nasty combination that was! And then reality hit. Some body parts were NOT meant to be touched by chemical. Holy Crap. Nothing pretty to look at down there. Reminded me of moments before birthing (even if I did end up with C sections) - over stimulation and swelling to the max. I'm sure this is way too much info, but I do it for your own good. Never, I repeat, Never, Veet the Bush. Bikini line, sure, bring it on. Veet the intimate dealings - Never. Ever. Ever. Do add pain to my already not so aware misery, I decided to make use of my clean and fresh moment and bring on husband. Worked well until the post shower. This time HOLY CRAP needs to be in caps. Have I said NEVER, EVER enough yet to make my point?? I will also be banned from any form of future husbandly encounters now for the next few weeks as the Sand Paper effect kicks in. So I pass my Yoda wisdom of 40 on to you. Use wisely young Jedi!!!

It's a good one

I've always been a Nora Jones fan, and bought this CD at Christmas. In fact, I listened to it on repeat for hours as I rewired my pre-lit tree, and decorated it. Not exactly nostalgic xmas music, but I loved it all the same. It is nothing typical of Nora Jones and I had to keep listening to it over and over to decide what I really thought. Alas, one of my MOST favorite CD compilations to blast in the car, in the kitchen, while cleaning, while hiding from my kids . . . . basically anywhere. Still Nora, but with a twist. If you haven't listened, give it a try.

My Penis is growing a baby!!!"

Just one of the lines that came from this evenings bath time conversation. Once in a while, my little man ( 4 yrs) has an inquiring mind about his favorite appendage. One day it was about size/shape/colour in comparison to his best buddy, another blaming "bad penis" for peeing all over the toilet seat. Today he noticed his testes.

"Mommy, what are those wiggly, wrinkly things bugging my penis?"

"Those are your testes sweetie."

"What are they there for?"

"That's where the sperm grows so you can make a baby one day when you are a man."

"So I can grow a baby?"

"No, you can grow sperm that will later help to grow a baby."

This was obviously not quite enough information, as when he made the title announcement to his six year old sister whom is well versed (in her mind) about all things relating to human reproduction, she was quick to shut him down and tell him that only girls could grow babies, looking to me for confirmation after her "don't be such an idiot" tone directed towards her brother in her reply.

And since he is so great at ignoring most of everything that springs forth from her when said tone is utilized, he carried on with his fantasy that when he was a man, (a fact he wasn't too thrilled about having to wait on), he was going to grow us all a new baby and we could keep it in the fancy room (formal living room) so that everyone could watch him grow and sleep, and that Little Man would take very good care of him. All very fitting considering Gman's imaginary friends consist of a variety of babies he carries around in his pocket, hand, back pack etc. Baby world exists in his room, and quite often one of the babies is suddenly with us - defined by color. There is white baby and black baby, blue baby and green baby, purple baby, spotted baby, striped baby . . . you get the idea. Where his fascination comes from, no one knows as we have no babies in our family future nor do we talk about babies other than those in Gman's baby world.

I hope this doesn't mean I'm looking at an early grandmotherhood . . . obviously it is time to get the childhood sex ed books out around here!

Snow and all things Sad

Strange title perhaps, but pretty much the way things are around here these days. Dallas had a historical snow fall last Thursday/Friday, which left many delighted as they went outside to have traditional snowball fights (something some had never done), made snow men and snow forts, and generally awed in the beauty of it while the cold temperatures allowed the trees to remain portrait like for hours. I would have included some stunning photos, but my new camera was in the shop. Instead, as life continues around us, the above photo held strong in the minds of others dear to me.

My friend of 20+ years has been supporting her mother through years of battling cancer. A few times we thought we were getting close to losing her, and then she'd rally back with clean work ups. My friend was exhausted, as even on a good day, mothers can be draining. In October, her father came home with a not so good diagnosis and was ball parked a few more years. He hadn't been feeling well for some time, but also suffered from arthritis, so no one expected such a rapid decline. The made family trips as best as they could given his pained condition, and she worked diligently to get all the affairs in order. Slideshow for her dad, long talks, letters, quiet moments and hours together. He lived just down the road, so it was easy to stay close.

Two weeks ago she called and said they were meeting with hospice counselor and such as he was fading fast. The following week she found a lump in her breast. Given the double sided family history (going back generations), her doctor has her pegged as "urgent" for needing an ultrasound/mammogram. Of course, with the awesome Canadian medical system (ie: wait lists) "Urgent" means three weeks from now. Then the call came late Saturday that dad has passed away in her arms. He is gone and she is devastated, despite having had all the prep.

I am close to her family, as the "adopted" daughter/sister over our university years. A whisper of a call came on Sunday - "When can you come?" and I booked my flights. It is time for me to go be her strength for a while, but I am scared. Not afraid of the stuff in the moments to come, but in the moments to follow as we wait for her own diagnosis. Thus my photo for today. The Breast Cancer cell. Put it on you dart board; rip it to pieces; burn it. Make it go away.