New Year's Resolutions Good & Bad

I was looking over my post from last New Year's Eve (Personal Resolutions) and although I still stand by the concept of New Year's "philosophies," I have a new perspective. I've never been much for making resolutions at New Year's, but something completely unforeseen happened to me this past year and through that my new business, crabulous fine art, was born. It has a lit a fire under me like nothing else ever has and I have a mammoth list of "resolutions," or as I prefer to think of it, goals, for 2012.

I guess it's only natural to make such lists at the beginning of a new year; out with the old, in with the new. But I think it's important to distinguish between resolutions and wishes. Good resolutions ought to be things over which we have control as opposed to wishes which depend on luck. For instance, losing 10 pounds or quitting smoking are good resolutions because a person actually can control the outcome of those things (believe it or not). But one really can't "resolve" to fall in love (or, conversely, have someone fall in love with you) or win the Lotto. Those things are completely out of one's control.

And it's important to be specific. "I'm going to exercise for 30 minutes everyday" is much more tangible and beneficial than "I'm going to join a gym." 

But the absolute best resolutions are the ones where you resolve to spend more time doing the things you love. Whether it's a hobby or spending more time with loved ones, make a list and be specific about how much time you want to spend on these things or with these people. Life is about living and loving and it's too short to spend beating ourselves over the heads about our shortcomings. Make loving yourself and loving your life your number one resolution for 2012.

Happy New Year!

Collectors

What is it that makes people collect things? I can't think of anyone I know who doesn't. Sometimes people collect pricey, expensive items... other people the  things that are free.

I, for instance, collect flotsam; those items that the ocean brings ashore. My favorite local beach for combing is littered with rocks and stones, mostly igneous in nature, of all different sizes, shapes and colors. To me,  they are like gemstones, and I can't resist their allure.

There are also a variety of seashells, but few of them are whole having broken up when dashed against the stoney beach. But I love the broken ones that have been washed smooth. I'm particularly fascinated with broken whelk shells that allow you to see into their winding interiors.

For many reasons I have not been to my favorite beach in a long time, but today I could not resist walking it for it's still not been too long since Irene passed by. And, as I suspected, the beach was covered with treasures. My favorite find this morning, was a tiny little starfish. I have found starfish here before, but it's rare.

So, Emmett was chasing the birds and romping in the waves while I collected various keepsakes, when another beachcomber walked up to us. He was a man, probably in his late 50's, very bronzed, buffed and was wearing only a straw hat and Speedos. But what most caught my attention is what he was carrying by his side in his left hand.

"I see you found a whelk," I said. 

"A what?" he asked. 

"A whelk," I replied.

"You mean this?" And he held up the largest and most perfect specimen I have ever seen of a channeled whelk. By this time I was fairly drooling. I have a few knobbed whelks that I was lucky enough to find on the beach, but not a channeled whelk.

And he continued, "I thought it was a conch!"

(Aaargh! Face palm! God, please give me the patience to deal with the fact that you left such a gorgeous specimen on the beach only to be discovered by an idiot who doesn't know what it is... and please, please don't let him take it home and use it as an ash tray!)

I carefully explained that conchs are somewhat different than whelks and that although whelks are native to the area, it's very rare that one arrives on the beach intact. "Well then," he intoned, "I must be lucky!"

So, even though what I collect is free, I still experience the same frustration as a Beanie Baby collector when someone else has just snatched the last fluffy critter of a limited edition.

Happy collecting, whatever it may be!

Rescue Flowers

What's wrong with me? (Really, I should know better than to ask that by now.) What is it that draws me to the weak and pathetic and less than perfect? How difficult would it be for me to go to that beautiful greenhouse on the corner and buy a flat of healthy, robust petunias? But nooooo. I have to go to Walmart, 17 weeks* after they've received this season's shipment of annuals, and purchase the seediest petunias I could find. I always feel sad for the left over flowers. Who's going to love them and take them home?

I purchased 6 white ones and 6 red ones and planted them in a pot by the steps to the porch. OK, I know. There are only 10 plants in the picture. That's because there was already a dead plant in each of the packs. I then pinched them way back so that the plants would once again bush out and they'd produce healthy blossoms. That was a month ago and I thought for sure there would be blooms by the 4th of July. But today is June 30 and I have little hope that a miracle will occur in 4 days.

And yes, to answer the question I know you all are thinking. I have brought home my share of Charlie Brown Christmas trees; even long after my finances no longer made it my only option. Once again, I felt sorry for the tree no one else could ever love and I would slave over it to make it look exceptionally beautiful.

In the past week I've found myself thinking that I should just buy some new flowers and replace the runts that refuse to flourish; but something in me just won't let me. Wait... what's this? A bud? Two buds? Ah, vindication will yet be mine!

*All measurements of time as expressed in this article are prone to exaggeration.

God's Shopping List

I received a message from God today, in the form of his grocery list. I was returning from a walk with my dog, and there it was, at my feet in my very own back yard. "Typical male," I thought, "dropping this on me; the busiest woman in the world." Then I noticed the date - a full three weeks ago. I wondered how many women before me had turned down this task before he finally gave me the list in despair.

I couldn't help but laugh when I saw the first item on the list. Crackers?!? Surely God has enough of those and plenty to spare. And I read over the rest of the list. What in the world is going on in heaven? This sounds like depression food. Is the economy bad there, too? Is this what I have to look forward to when I spend time in eternity? Spam and Jello? And cream soup? What is cream soup anyway? Cream of what? Cream of cream? I'm not sure I can spend all of eternity eating pork and beans and spaghetti sauce. This is not what I pictured on the menu in heaven. And so I wonder... what do they eat in the other place?

I thought about just pitching the list like I'd never seen it, but guilt got the better of me. After all, I had plans to go to the supermarket after work; what was a few more things for God? And then it hit me. Where in the hell was I supposed to ship it?

First Day of Spring!

It's the first day of spring! Time for those of us who don't wear winter well to wake up. Although, I don't really shake off my light deprived funk until Derby Day.

Fetish?

Fetish: any object, activity, etc, to which one is excessively or irrationally devoted

Is it a fetish, fixation or obsession? Or maybe it's just a weird fascination or infatuation. I think all of us have something like that in our lives. Actually I'm fascinated and drawn to more than one thing, but one of my longest lived infatuations has been with wind chimes.

I adore wind chimes and have ever since I was a little girl. And I certainly have enough of them to lend testimony to this statement. It's not as bad as "Body Heat" (the 1981 movie starring William Hurt and Kathleen Turner) wind chime obsessed (well maybe it is). But, I'm picky about them. They have to be melodious. Most of the ones I own are "tuned." My most recent acquisition (a gift from my mother) is tuned to a typical Japanese-type scale characteristic of the music from that culture.

I have a very wide and comfortable front porch which I designed for our home and my favorite wind chimes live there... summer and winter. They sound symphonic in a storm or on a blustery day. And on a sleepy, hot summer afternoon, they play the perfect lullaby. 

We also have a large back deck with a pergola and a collection of chimes reside there as well.

 

Of course I have a few decorative chimes, too. I really don't know what kind of music they play. I haven't given them much of a chance. They are too pretty to survive the elements so they grace various points within my home. I even have a set of them in my bathroom which I hit with my hairdryer from time to time.

Despite the fact I'm running out of room, I know that won't keep me from collecting more. I'd like to own a set of really large wind chimes that play very low tones. Right now I have a lot of soprano and alto voices and could use some tenor and bass.

The Siren Song of the Flip Flops

I didn't sleep well last night. Just as I was drifting off, I heard the faint sound of voices in distress. I could hear them crying out "Help me!" "Release me!" "Let me out to play!" 

With that last cry I realized that the voices were coming from the storage bin in my attic. My flip flops had awakened too early from their hibernation.

Wearily I released the pull down stairs and in my flannel pajamas made my way to the attic. It was so cold up there. The cries of distress grew louder and as I opened the Rubbermaid bin, my flip flops were nearly hysterical. They begged and pleaded to be released. They were tired, they said, of the dark and cold. And patiently I tried to explain to them that it wasn't much better outside the bin either.

Then take us somewhere warm, they pleaded. They entreated me with a variety of options but the one that nearly brought me to my knees (well, in truth I was already on my knees, our attic ceiling isn't that high) was Puerto Rico. Let's go to Cerromar Beach, they exclaimed. You can float down the river pool and enjoy Pina Coladas at the "in pool" bar made with the freshest pineapple on earth. We'll bask in the sun and save your lounge chair for you. For a moment they almost made sense. Only with the greatest self-discipline, and an even greater lack of funding, was I able to resist the temptation.

I spent more time talking quietly with them and encouraging them by letting them know that spring was right around the corner. In 30 days they'll notice that it's definitely lighter and in 60 days it will be noticeably warmer. 

They finally calmed down and drifted back into their hibernation. But as I crept quietly back down the stairs I found myself thinking, it's a long, long time until May.

I, with a deeper instinct...

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.
~ Anais Nin

Wow! Powerful stuff!

This quote crossed my radar screen today and stopped me in my tracks. (It takes a lot to stop me in my tracks!) I  thought about it for a long time. And I realized that, as young as I was (and perhaps it was through instinct) I managed to choose a man just like this to marry 32 years ago. It hasn't always been the smoothest ride (in fact it's been down right bumpy) but it's made me the woman I am today... in need of no man. I am with a man because I "choose" to be, not because I "need" to be.

And while I find this quote powerful, I am a little puzzled about what it means to be "treated like a woman." I'd love to get some dialog going on this because I am willing to bet there would be a variety of responses.

When is Enough, Enough?

I really don't like to waste energy by dwelling on things that I hate; however, I HATE the COLD! And I find that I hate it worse every winter. I'm not especially crazy about extremely hot days, either, but I'd much rather complain about being hot than about being cold. Of course, not everyone feels as I do. Some people LOVE the cold! And that's just fine. 

So my big question is, why do I continue to live where it's cold in the winter if I hate it so much? For that matter why don't we all live exactly where we'd like to? And what does it take for us to finally pick up and leave the places we've called home to find paradise elsewhere?

One couple I know, who'd lived in Florida forever, finally couldn't take the barrage of hurricanes they were experiencing some years back, so they moved back to Ohio, where he was from. She didn't make it through that first Ohio winter. The miserable, gray days, so typical of the Buckeye State, caused her to succumb to deep depression; forcing them to move to the Carolinas the following summer. Last I heard, they were doing just fine.

In late 1989, my grandfather, who'd lived many years in Oakland, California, returned to live in his native state of Ohio. Most family members thought the sudden migration east was due to his shake-up during the Loma Prieta earthquake; but he confided in me it was because his girlfriend refused to sleep with him anymore. Two years later, at the age of 84, he left Ohio and moved to Alabama to marry his latest sweetheart. In this instance, love trumped climate not once, but twice.

And of course there are the people who feel stuck where they are because of jobs; or they move to god-forsaken places because of jobs where they're stuck.once again. Sometimes I fantasize about being a gypsy; where my job, my home and all my possessions go with me wherever I go, whenever I feel like going. 

So when will the cold finally prove to be too much for me? I'm not sure, but I feel that day is growing closer and I already have my "saved searches" on Realtor.com. What will it take to finally push me over the edge? That's just another question for the universe.

Perspective

Wow, when you put it that way...

Click here:

Dot