Bleh

Have you ever had one of those days where the world was moving Mach 7 . . . and you have the equipment to keep up, but the mechanic dropped a wrench in your engine early on and now, even though the components are held together with bubble-gum and duct tape, it keeps making this weird rattling cough sound when you get close to Mach 5?

Yeah . . . um. Yeah.

A Momentous Occasion . . . I Finally Visited the Tattered Cover

When we have children, sometimes we tend to box up our lives (literally and figuratively), and place things in a closet for a few years, while 90% of your attention is taken by a little voice saying "Mommy, mommy . . . look! Look! Mommy." To which the usual response is something like "I see, Peanut. Wow! You can jump over your shoes. I bet no other child in the history of mankind has learned how to jump over their shoes." Okay . . . maybe I'm a little heavy on the sarcasm. On the other hand, my child will grow up understanding sarcasm.

Back to the boxing metaphor. . . After a few years, you open the closet doors and see all of these boxes covered with dust and these boxes become windows into your past life (because trust me: pre-child and post-child will give reincarnation a run for its money any day). For me, many of those boxes contain books. And the hours and hours of reading time that I never had to spend . . . until now.

Thirty years, and I've never visited one of the most famous bookstores (if not THE famous bookstore) in Denver . . . until yesterday.

And it was like blowing the dust off a very important box, and opening it to find a lot of fond memories. And no . . . the Tattered Cover does not smell like mothballs and dust . . . I'm pretty sure most of that was in my head. But the point is, I spent HOURS wandering around looking at any section that caught my fancy, and pulling a few select books off the shelves. I spent an additional hour curled up in an armchair and reading . . . uninterrupted even . . . reading! The armchairs was located next to a bright window, and muted sunlight (it was cloudy yesterday) spilled through the glass and onto the book, lighting it perfectly (yes, armchair positions matter - that's how I knew these people UNDERSTAND what makes a good reading nook) . . .

and I think I found a piece of myself that's been locked in a box for four years. I felt a restoration. I found a peace I've been missing (or would it be a "piece" I've been missing)?

Either way, the Tattered Cover was awesome!

Celtic Fushigi - Spoof 1 - At the Ceili

It's sad how many hours this took to complete . . . and most of them between 10:00 p.m. and 1:00 in the morning! It won't be nearly as amusing to folks who haven't seen the series . . . but locating enough clips for five minutes of fun (out of SEVENTEEN hours of footage) was much harder than I expected!!!!

Ah well. Breaking loose with Fushigi. Or breaking Fushigi. Take your pick.

Overmedicated Canine

I didn't think it was possible, but my dog has found all new ways to gross me out.

Okay . . . so this really wasn't her fault . . . . Most of the Fourth of July weekend was wonderful. Lots of food, lots of friends, lots of friends who bought new grilling equipment on which to cook the food . . . the usual. Then, on Sunday, I finally decided it was time to give the dog a dose of attention, especially since she's been blowing her winter coat in large chunks all over the house (for those who don't own long-haired poochies, when the warm weather hits, the dogs ditch their undercoat . . . imagine a sheep that sheds, and you'll know what it looks like). I've been meaning to deep clean the floors in my house, but until I groomed the dog, what was the point?

After a quick bath, I encouraged Tika to lay down while I used a brush to remove her undercoat. Ever obliging, she rolled over . . . and much to my horror, their was a TICK hanging on her breastbone.

I don't think you can get away with living in Colorado without a basic knowledge of how to remove a tick, but this was my first up close and personal encounter with one . . . and THEY ARE THE MOST DISGUSTING CRITTERS I HAVE EVER RUN INTO. Needless to say, I made T. deal with pulling them out. If I were home alone, I probably would have taken her to the vet (and I've never considered myself the faint of heart . . . ). The good news is, I think we caught them before they dropped off to lay eggs (yes . . . my skin still itches when I say that).

For all those folks who have never had to deal with a tick, they plunge their heads into the skin and suck blood . . . so when you pull them off, you have to make sure to get the head or the wound can fester. This is much easier if the tick is willing to cooperate. One way to tell if you got the head is to see if the tick is still alive once you pull it. The first tick had gorged herself on blood and was five times her normal size. ICKY ICKY ICKY . . . but T. did a great job of removing her, head intact, by the simple expedient of removing a chunk of Tika's skin along with the tick (poor poochie - but no regrets here!). For the second tick, we touched its butt with heated tweezers . . .and it pulled out of Tika's skin and bolted as fast as its six little legs could carry it . . . to the soundtrack of me saying "Get it, get it, get it, AAAAHHHHHHHHHH."

T. took both ticks outside and crushed them . . . which I later discovered is the absolute WORST way to dispose of a tick. After the crisis was over, T. and I did some research on the internet . . . and as my public service announcement of the year, please note the following:

There is a new EASY way to remove ticks that replaces the old method of using tweezers. You don't want to touch a tick (since they can bite and they carry diseases) . . . so the best way to remove a tick is to saturate a cotton ball with liquid dishwashing soap (Dawn, Joy, etc.) and hold it over the tick. For some reason, this makes it so the tick can't breathe. It will back itself out of your poochie's skin and into the soap . . . which also means it can't make a mad dash for freedom like our second blood-sucking freeloader did. (Not that it helped. T. still managed to take it out back and smoosh it.) If you are wiser than we were and use the cotton ball, the tick will remain safely entangled in the soap/cotton ball, and you can either drown it in alcohol or flush it down the toilet. Crushing the tick is not recommended as it can spread the diseases they carry (especially if any tick contents get on you or your animals).

And now that I'm done scientifically discussing it . . . AAAAAHHHHHHHH. ICK! ICK! ULTIMATE GROSSNESS.

Needless to say, I called my vet - and on their advice, I dosed Tika with Cortaid (for the itching) and Advantix tick repellant. Which led to a rather unique problem . . . Tika's belly and chest were slimy with Cortaid, and her back from the nape of her neck to her butt stump (she's an aussie . . . no tail), was dosed with Advantix - which comes in a lovely liquid form that is easily absorbed by their skin (and yours, if you're not careful!)

Needless to say, her pets last night consisted entirely of one finger stroking her forehead . . . because I wasn't about to touch any other part of her. BLECH!!!!

It's Not Always About You . . .

A piece of coffee shop wisdom. . .

A friend and I were discussing the theories behind The Secret (for those who haven't read the book, it centers on the law of attraction: i.e., if you think good thoughts, good things happen. If you think bad thoughts, bad things happen.) To an extent, I agree this is true.

But we've all had the perfect day . . . the day when the sun was shining, the birds were singing, traffic was light, and Life was zooming along at 90 miles an hour when suddenly the Universe kicks you in the teeth . . . HARD.

This has always been my issue with The Secret. It didn't seem to account for the things outside your control . . . the (for lack of a better word) STUFF that Life throws at you. But I think my friend W. has it right.

It's not always about you.

That's right, boys and girls, (and transexual, heterosexual, hermaphrodite, and undecided . . . don't you wonder what addressing a crowd will be like in the next 400 years :P :P :P) . . .

It's not always about you.

Maybe the secret to The Secret is that the Universe occasionally borrows your Life to create the situation in someone else's. To illustrate the point . . .

My friend W. was having a perfect day when she was in a fairly severe car wreck. Someone rear-ended her van, on the FREEWAY, doing a minimum of 75. Talk about a dent you can't hammer out . . .

She told me that for weeks she thought about why the car wreck had happened. She knew she hadn't been zooming down the freeway thinking "Wow! I really hope someone rear-ends me! You know what would make my day? A high-speed collision . . . WHEEE!!!!"

And then one day, it hit her.

It's not always about you.

The car in front of her was a Geo with three kids in the back. If her van hadn't been there, most certainly one . . . if not all three . . . probably would have died.

Every once in a while I get a blinding flash of light when I hear a story. An epiphany that gives me goosebumps. This made that feeling look like a Polaroid flash in a lightning storm.

As a sidenote, the van was still drivable, and she now has a custom bumper sticker that reads "I brake for tailgaters." Oddly enough, NO ONE tailgates her.

So in a way, the car wreck has a happy ending for everyone. Think about that one for a while. :P :P :P

Evolution of a Garden 2

This evening marks the first time I took a book and sat in my GARDEN after work in order to relax! Yes, my GARDEN. Not the-place-that-fosters-countless-WEEDS! I'm so proud of what I accomplished this year - so even though I've said it before, I'm saying it again. I LOVE MY GARDEN!!!

BEFORE...........

AFTER...............