Where's the Integrity?

I rarely, if ever, use the blog as a soapbox. This is mainly a creative outlet for me to write about things that I find interesting, comical, or just fun. By no means is the C&SL an issue based piece of prose.

That said, with the release of a new White House tell-all book this week, I feel the need to take my reaction to the blog. And let me say, this reaction has less to do with my political leanings and more to do with my overall feelings of serving in an administration...ANY administration.

As most of you know, I served in the Bush administration during the first term. During my time there I was basically a catfish staffer...I was low-level without any access or authority. Serving there was, nevertheless, an amazing opportunity and one that will undoubtedly continue to impact my life in ways I don't even know yet. The 2000 campaign was a long road to get there and that made victory so much sweeter.

It was announced earlier this week that yet another former Bush White House staffer is scheduled to release a less than flattering account of the goings on at the 18 acres. This isn't the first of its kind...and I think that is what bothers me.

I have sat by and watched as one staffer after another has come forward to reveal how inept, corrupt, and crooked the Bush White House was. The one common thread that continues to unnerve me is that all of these "insiders" waited until they were no longer AT the White House to make these revelations. It's interesting to me how the very people who found life at the White House under President Bush so hard to stomach had NO issue with their seats aboard Air Force One, their access to the White House Mess, or the mere fact that they were able to work at 1600. In a few instances, these folks had posh offices in the West Wing and coveted Commissions. While employed at the White House, none of these staffers let on that their integrity was being compromised...maybe because they didn't have any.

It would be a pipe dream to hope that there would be an honor code or even a confidentiality agreement for staffers to sign just before they get their badge. Even if such measures DID exist, it wouldn't be an assurance of integrity.

I don't take issue with former staffers disagreeing with the President. I take issue with staffers who serve at the pleasure of the President using that opportunity to not only air dirty laundry but to do it at the expense of someone else. I'd have far more respect for any of these "authors" if during their time of service they voluntarily departed the White House citing the very reasons that are now landing them book deals when they don't have the White House to fall back on anymore.

I pity those who spent so much time clamoring to get inside the gates of the White House and even more time and energy posing as loyalists once they made it in only to have their true colors revealed the minute the show stopped. I pity them because what they are writing says far more about what kind of employee they are than what kind of President they were fortunate enough to serve.

I guess in my idyllic opinion, when you go to work for an administration you should have some shred of integrity; one that makes you accountable for your decision to serve and one that acts as a safeguard against the temptation to make a buck and get 15 minutes of fame at any cost. I am not advocating blind loyalty but I think there is something to be said for maintaining decorum. After all, is nothing sacred?

For Now...

Homeward Bound

Maybe it's the 104 degree temperatures or maybe it's the busy travel/social calendar of late, but whatever it is, I am completely in hibernation mode. This is rare for me in the Summer. Expecting mothers call it "nesting". My friend, Stacey, calls it "cocooning". I call it being a
shut-in.

In the wake of being a homebody, I like to curl up with a good book. I am reading The Pulitzer Prize winning number, Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout. I'm roughly half way through and so far, I like it. The writer's style is not what I expected, but it's certainly not a disappointment. It's billed as a novel, but I don't know that I agree with that classification. It seems like more of a combo of a novel and short story series, emphasis on the latter. Check it out if you're in between reads, trying to switch genres, or just in the market for a good book.

You may recall that an important element of being cozy is having a stocked kitchen. Having a freezer full of food is a nice option if you don't want to cook. I have grown very fond of Amy's Kitchen - Natural and Organic Foods. Their items, which are mainly frozen but also include soups, chili, and jars of pasta sauce, are excellent. I am a full blown carnivore and while Amy's food contains no meat, I don't find myself noticing the discrepancy much less missing it. The selections are vast, the flavor is great, and they are good for you. Amy isn't giving her eats away, but this isn't highway robbery, either. Compared to the other "healthy" frozen foods out there, I'd say Amy is a worthwhile purchase. You can learn more about Amy's at http://www.amys.com/.

Yo Soy Cozy

For those of you looking for a good cozy scent perfect for the hot temps of summer, look no further than right here:

My good friend, Claudia, is always giving me amazing candles and soaps and such. She recently gave me this one, Mrs. Meyers Lavender Soy Candle and I am HOOKED. The scent is refreshing and light and perfect for summer, when cozy can be a bit more difficult to achieve. An added bonus is that when you're done burning the candle, you can reuse the glass jar as a juice glass. I think that's such a nifty and appealing idea.

Mrs. Meyers also makes cleaning products. Her line is pretty basic and I can find her cleaning items at my grocery store, however, the candles seem harder to locate. I went to the Mrs. Meyers website and found that you can order them there: http://www.mrsmeyers.com/. They retail for far less than most candles and have approximately 36 hours of burning time.

If you're burning the midnight oil or burning the candle from both ends, let Mrs. Meyers and her soy candles assist!

I'm in Heat

Note: This post was actually written en route NYC on Friday, July 10th, 2009.

Up until recently, I thought the hottest place I had been ever in my life had been Qatar. We arrived there at night and I recall vividly wearing a suit and heels and disembarking the blue and white military plane from the stairs and wondering why in the world the Air Force pilot would have left the engine running while we got off the plane. It wasn’t until I hit the tarmac that I realized the incendiary blast was not from the engine of a 747. It was the temperature in the place we had arrived. It was so hot that I distinctly remember walking out of the Ritz Carlton again in full on business attire to wait to board the motorcade and thinking, “there is no way I can wait outside, I will have to stand in the lobby until it’s time to go”. With equal distinction, I remember the soles of the USSS agents’ shoes melting on the tarmac as they awaited our arrival at the airport, more importantly, our departure from the region.


I grew up in a miserably humid climate and have lived in a few others so this statement that Qatar was the hottest I had ever been was pretty bold. Hot summers are not lost on me so this posting should tell you something. I’m not some pansy who grew up in Puget Sound and is whining because the mercury broke 80 today.


I think it’s time for me to revise my thinking. Summer, 2009 is headed to be the hottest on record in Texas. Think about that. That’s the equivalent of saying, “that’s hot for Texas…WHICH IS ALWAYS HOT”. The difference between this experience and my Middle East one is the duration of the heat. Maybe if I spent a summer in Qatar we wouldn’t be having this “discussion”. But I’m spending the summer in Austin and the endless streak of triple digit temps is enough to make you cry…if for no other reason than because the feeling of tears streaming down your face is somewhat refreshing. The fact that I am comparing the summer in Texas to the climate in the MIDDLE EAST is a bit absurd. I actually think those Middle Eastern inhabitants are cooler because of that whole robe thing they have going on. I’m telling you, they are onto something with those robes; all that ventilation. Texans are still trying to prove a point by wearing Wranglers and boots in the middle of this nightmare. Talk about a hot mess. I’m having to adjust my ac vent above my airplane seat as I write this. Phew.


August and even mid-July are expected to feel like Dante’s 7th Level of Hell. You know that as a Texan your summers are going to be hot. Your grass is going to be brown and you are going to have to adhere to very strict city/county ordinances which dictate when you can water your lawn based on your zip code. If your zip code ends in an even number, you can water your lawn on Monday, Wednesday and Friday between 6:30 pm and 8 pm. No, seriously…that’s about how it goes.


But this year is different. It’s different because the blast of exhaust started in early June and is showing no signs of giving up. My car, Joan Jetta, has not gone unscathed. Lucifer had his way with her battery two weeks ago thereby costing her owner a whopping 162 bucks to get her running again. Not only is this heat brutal, it’s expensive.


Then there is the age old, “but it’s a dry heat” debate. Spare me. My oven is a dry heat and I use it cook a 10 pound turkey at Thanksgiving and a dense lasagna. It’s by no means cool in there simply because it is devoid of moisture. There is only ONE exception to the, “but it’s a dry heat” theory and that is if, and only if, the dry heat dissipates in the evening and you are graced with a cool night, complete with breezes a la Phoenix in October. Then a dry heat makes its point. In Austin, two nights ago, it was 106 at 8:30 pm. Dry or humid, I don’t care. That simply ain’t right. I agree that humidity is much more oppressive in a lot of ways but that argument is moot when the temperature hits 108. No one is getting the better end of the deal at that point. 100% humidity. 108 degrees in a “dry heat”. Everyone is sweating through shirts, suits, and is sticking to their car.


I’m winging my way to the East Coast for a nice weekend with friends and family and I am thrilled that the temps are in the 70s and 80s. I do believe I packed a jacket. The East Coast is no stranger to sweltering heat. They have to check on their elderly neighbors like the rest of us and a few years back, an electrical grid of some sort blew due to extreme heat thereby leaving 8 million or so New Yorkers stranded and walking in said oppression. For now, they are enjoying almost fall-like temperatures and I cannot wait to enjoy a little bit of it in New York City. Things are looking pretty cool…cool city, cool people, and yes, cool temps. Bring it!

Drawn to Scale

This is a random post, but I was going through my pictures and found one that jumped out at me for some reason.

Air Force One is easily in the top five when it comes to mammoth structures I have seen. I don't know that its true size can be captured unless you've seen it in person and even then you've got to be pretty dang close to appreciate its girth. To give some idea of how large it is, take a gander at the photo below; paying no attention to the phantom ghost-like Casper individual handing out schedules under the wing. I'm pretty sure I couldn't have been any whiter had I rolled around in talcum, flour, and zinc oxide. Had Air Force One landed at night, I could have been the beacon that brought her down and directed her to chalk on the T, though now that I think about it, it would have been a challenge for Col. Tillman to discern between me and the chalk.

Thank GOD for my friend, Rachael seen just to my right, for supplying the contrast of mandatory White House dark suit and Jon Hart dark luggage. Otherwise, I could have been mistaken for a landing stripe. You know it's bad when you fade in the presence of chrome. Please note: The notion of wearing white to look tan only applies if you have PIGMENT IN YOUR SKIN.

Note: Thank you to Donny Jones, Belton, TX, for supplying this footage.

Pajama Pants: Not Just for Bedtime Anymore

I was packing for my trip to the beach and as I stocked up my "loungewear", I started thinking about the evolution of the pajama pants. (Yes, I know this sounds like a Creative Writing 101 topic.)

The pajama pants have not always had a stand-alone identity. When the footie pajama peeked complete with footies and back flap, there was no separation of pant and top. When the pajama set rose to popularity, there was no mixing or matching and there was definitely not the option to buy one without the other. We wore sets of pajamas...flannel, silk, and has a child, who could forget the Chinese pajamas? I don't have children, but I'm curious to know if Chinese pajamas can still be referred to as such or are they now Asian pajamas? Just sayin'...

It appears that the pajama pants have broken off from the band and gone single. Like Sting did from The Police. Like Phil Collins did from Genesis. The dress code for pajama pants is much more lax than it used to be. I remember wearing pajamas (the set) to bed and if I was sick. And that was it. I didn't come home from school and change out of my Catholic school girl uniform and into a pair of pjs. Those were reserved for sleeping.

Now, all I can say is, God bless the stand-alone pajama pants. I love that when I shop on-line, they have their own category and I'm not committed to the pajama top AND the pajama bottom. While I have yet to bust out in public with them on, it is good to know that they are a fairly acceptable means of attire. I'm not going to get tossed out of my local grocer for cruising for produce in pajama pants.

When it comes down to settling in for a cozy night or weekend in your abode, there's nothing better than pajama pants. I don't know what it is about them, but for me, they are rising to prominence similar to that of the black pants...you can't have too many pairs.

Photo Album

As promised, I am posting pictures. Thank you to Rachael for supplying the footage!

The Crew and Thomas for Girls' Night at my humble abode:



Memorial Day Dinner at Iguana Grill with Susie, Rachael and Kevin:

Vaycay

There are many obvious benefits to being employed. I won't insult your intelligence by listing them. A couple of the not so obvious benefits of being a contributing member of society are being excited about Friday and taking a vacation.

When you're unemployed, every day feels like Saturday. That can get quite depressing...sort of that feeling you get when you're in casino where there are no windows and clocks. You lose track of time and days altogether and I find that to be rather depressing. (Another reason I find casinos depressing is because I have no money...another causality of being jobless.) I love being able to appreciate Fridays and the weekend. That sort of appreciation only comes from working hard all week and reaping the rewards of two days of downtime.

Planning a vacation is another upside to holding down a job. It gives you something to look forward to and you relish the time off. Not only is this not the case when you don't have a job but for me, it's hard to completely downshift and relax when I am not working. There's a little bit of guilt there and it just doesn't feel right.

Last week I managed to suck it up and join my family on the coast of North Carolina for a little bit of R&R. Unfortunately, the entire family couldn't join us but those who were able to make the trip were lucky enough to bask in the sun and eat and drink well. There's something about a beach vacation that just can't be beat. It's a mind clearing, low overhead getaway that does wonders to take the edge off.

As most of you know, I am not a sun goddess. I have fair skin and I burn just opening the sunroof to go to the grocery store. My makeup has sunscreen in it and I can't go on the beach without SPF 50 on my face. The rest of my pasty self is slathered in 35 and I am an OCD re applier. Until Neutrogena emerged with their sunscreen for pasty and sensitive skinned folks, going to the beach usually was a good idea turned bad. If I did apply sunscreen correctly, I usually was allergic to the brand so while I may not have been sunburned, I would most definitely have had a rash or some horrible reaction. Thanks to the skin freaks at Neutrogena for coming to my rescue. It is because of them that I was able to join my family out on the actual beach last week.

While it seems almost laughable to take a vacation while you're unemployed, I will say that there is a certain stress that comes with pounding the pavement in the middle of a 30% unemployment rate. If you've never had to do it, be glad. If you have or if you're weathering the storm right now, I feel your pain. It's a roller coaster and it's maddening.

Getting away for a few days with my family at the beach was a welcomed reprieve. I needed a change of scenery and time with my people. Thanks to my parents for planning such a wonderful time for everyone and thanks to my sisters and bro-in-law for being able to make the trip.

Below is a photo of my pops with some of the girls in the family. My brother in law, John, has about 852 hobbies, one of them being photography. He brought along his spiffy new camera and snapped this one of us on my last night there. Cheers!

It's Not What You Know, It's WHO You Know...

Whether you are immersed in politics or just vaguely familiar with the good, the bad, and the ugly of it, the adage, "It's not what you know, it's WHO you know" likely sounds familiar.
This phrase has more than one dimension and I was reminded of it on two separate occasions over Memorial Day Weekend.

On Saturday, May 23rd, 2009 my close friend, Katie McArthur wed my good friend, Jason Houck in her parents' lush and elegant garden in Tyler, Texas. A little family tree for you; when I relocated to Austin in 1997 to work for then-Governor Bush, little did I know I would meet a guy who would soon become one of my closest friends. David McArthur and I met and worked in "the salt mines" of the Governor's Office in the State Capitol and it was through this strong friendship that I was able to get to know Katie. To this day, I consider David one of my closest friends. Knowing people in politics gets you more than an interview or a job. It gets you a bond with people with whom you will have a long and colorful history. This is better than any amount of face time. Trust me.

As I mentioned in my previous post, one of my best friends, Rachael Duffy nee Sunbarger, was in the neighborhood en route San Diego and decided to stay for a few days. Rachael and I first met on the 2000 Presidential campaign here in Austin and became close friends in DC during our time at The White House and on the road doing advance for the President. On Memorial Day, Rachael, her husband, Major Kevin Duffy USMC, and her mother, Paula invited me on a traditional Austin Memorial Day celebration; boating on Lake Travis. It's a rite of passage, you could say.

We spent a spectacular four hours aboard the Four Winns vessel complete with a cooler of beer, sandwiches, and a professional tour given by our Captain, Paula Snider. The only casualty was a pair of sunglasses belonging to Kevin. I haven't been on the lake since I moved back here and this will go down as one of my best holiday weekends. The Duffies and Rachael's sister and my friend, Susie Sunbarger, closed the chapter on Memorial Day with a dinner overlooking the lake at Iguana Grill. Thanks to Paula and the Duffies for a much needed respite. And thank you to Major Kevin Duffy for your service.

These two special events happening over the same weekend reminded me, once again, that no matter where you are in your life; no matter what hurdle you're currently trying to overcome or what victory you're celebrating, everything is better with your close friends around. I met all of these folks through my time in politics...in some way, we are connected because I made the choice to go into the political arena. I cannot imagine my life had I chosen a different path.

Footnote: Due to the fact that I am WAY behind the times and do not own a camera, I am relying on aforementioned amazing friends to supply me with footage. Once I get back on my financial feet, I plan to "go digital". Until then, I am relying on the kindness of friends to give you a sneak peak. A-hem...

My Crew

One of the benefits of having good girl friends is that when the rest of your life is in the shop, your girl friends continue to operate normally. It's a wonderful refuge and it has gotten me through some pretty bumpy times. As the title of the blogs indicates, I am single. Even if I was attached, I would need this group of girls to lean on.

The stars were aligned this week because two of my closest friends happened to be in Austin at the same time. Georgia had a last minute trip to Austin and Rachael is here for a few days en route San Diego. The timing could not have been more perfect and that combined with a nice selection of spirits are really all we need to have a good time.

Lauren, Georgia, and Rachael covened at my apartment and we kicked off a great evening which lasted well into the wee hours. Thomas enjoyed having a harem of babes and we enjoyed just being together. It's been my experience that true friendships, the ones that are built to last, are characterized by the ability to go months without being together and still feeling as if no time has elapsed. Our lives, on paper, are different. We span two coasts (well, we will when Rachael arrives in San Diego) half of us are married and the other two are not. It keeps things interesting and no matter what paths our lives take, it's comforting to know that the friendships will remain a constant.

I'm always grateful for the time I can spend with my closest girl friends. It never disappoints and for me, it's something I truly need. Thanks for being here, girls...both figuratively and literally.

The Doors

Well, after a month or so of neglecting the blog, I am dusting it off. I'd like to report that I have been secluded on a tropical island with access only to fruity drinks instead of the internet. I wish I could say that I have been making my way around Europe with sporadic coverage and a bad signal. But alas, that is not the case.



I'll spare you the details but the bottom line is, I lost my job. Needless to say, my mind has been elsewhere. While most would argue that with all of this free time I should be a blogging machine, I have been trying to direct the majority of my brainpower to finding a job and being creative in my search.



Unemployment is a unique calamity. There is a very fine line between sounding off about your current situation and sounding bitter. I didn't want to use my blog as a venue for a pity party. It is what it is. I'm doing everything I can to direct my efforts to finding a new job.



Unemployment is also one of those awkward categories like money, religion, and politics. It tends to yield prophetic responses from people when you hit them with the news. People reach into their reserve of safe responses to get through the awkward moment. I can't help but make note and give commentary on some of the most popular responses to the words, "I lost my job".



1) "When God closes one door, he opens another." Really? He opens another? So far, the only door that I can tell He has opened is a doggie door built for a dachshund because I am still unemployed.



2) "This too shall pass." Lots of things pass. Gas, tornadoes, and people when they die. I don't see this as a comforting adage when you consider the other things that also "pass".



3) "Everything happens for a reason." This does absolutely nothing to comfort a person who has ceased to have money coming in. People win the lottery for a reason, too. Anyway I can get in THAT car of the EHFAR train?



4) "Is there anything I can do?" Um, yeah, there are a few things that come to mind but "YOU COULD HIRE ME" is the first one that leaps to mind.



5) "Hang in there." Here's a tip. Don't ever tell someone who is unemployed to "hang" anything.

Let's Work it Out

One of my favorite aspects of being single is the ability to set my own routines. I'm a routine person to begin with and being single makes it easy for me to stick to my rituals. I'm working my way back into an exercise regiment which is both challenging and rewarding. By exercise routine I don't mean marathons, triathlons, or Iron Man races. I don't have what it takes to do those; namely, desire.

No, my little exercise regiment is, at the moment, three to four days a week at the "gym" at my apartment complex. It's a good 30 -40 minute walk on the treadmill at a good clip followed by a few "reps"(as they say in the biz) with some free weights. It works for me and I am able to set goals for myself. I guess you could say I am the Goldilocks of working out...not too easy, not too hard, but JUUUUST right.

The "gym" at my apartment complex is basically a workout room. Considering there is no membership fee and it's located literally next door to my building, I find it to be pretty darn nice. It's also pretty darn basic and I find that the people who frequent it are status quo. There are folks who are in better shape than I am and folks who are in worse shape than I am. I would probably fall in the middle in comparison.

If I was a serious athlete and "in training", I'd consider the Gables Grandview workout room "cute". It would be where I would stop over for my "cool down". You don't get a lot of Iron Men in there on a regular basis, which is why yesterday was such a departure from the usual after-work crowd.

Before I even crossed the threshold of the workout room, I could see the silhouette of a frantic elliptical user in the window. The workout room is encased in floor to ceiling windows so I can usually gage how crowded it is while I am en route. There are only four treadmills so my arrivals must be timely. I'm used to looking inside on my way over to see if I can spot a vacant one, then I hone in on it like a cadaver dog on a scent and do not relent. At any rate, I ended up claiming a treadmill two machines over from the elliptical enthusiast. Her wild antics continued as I proceeded with my workout and several times, I honestly thought she was going to propel herself off of the elliptical and the hilltop and land on a tree limb somewhere on the side of a cliff. I had this cartoon-esque imagery in my head which made concentration difficult. Something a la old school Looney Tunes.

Had this been a spinning class, she would have been the instructor; up front with a Madonna drive-through head-set on calling out motivational chants like the Tony Robbins of exercising. But it wasn't a spinning class. This is the Gables Grandview; the anarchy of activity. No lifeguards at the pool and no instructors on staff in the workout room to prevent you from smashing your femur with a weight. My fellow workout tentant seemed so serious, so focused, and so out of her element.

I was determined to get into that zone where the endorphins do their thing and you find you are enjoying your workout so while it was difficult to flip off my peripheral vision, I managed to do so and with great success; I shaved three minutes off my time from the day before. For me, a personal victory.

As I was entering the twilight of my workout, my fellow workout tenant was still going strong. She now bore a resemblance to Chris Farley in Tommy Boy during the "She's a Maniac" scene with Rob Lowe. Upon further inspection I noticed that she had a small piece of notepaper affixed to her elliptical. That's right people, Tommy Boy had brought with her workout instructions, presumably she was doing different increments at different speeds or something equally complicated. Whatever the reason, there was no denying that Tommy Boy had INSTRUCTIONS with her. Where was I? IKEA?

While I am motivated on my own to return to the gym today after work, I must confess that seeing what Tommy Boy has as her routine du jour gives me added incentive to go straight home and hit the t-mill, perhaps in record time.

The Element of Surprise

I went to a surprise party on Saturday night for a good friend. He turned 40 about a week ago and his wife decided that it would be great to not only plan a surprise party for him, but do it a week after his actual birthday so it would definitely be unexpected. The plan went off without a hitch and the party was a complete success. Patrick had NO clue this was in the works and his reaction was priceless.

This got me thinking about surprise parties. I continue to be, well, surprised, that this form of celebration still "takes". We've all been to a surprise party, many of us have probably been the the guest of honor at a surprise party, and a good number have more than likely hosted a surprise party. It's not like the surprise party is a rare event, yet, I always find it interesting how these events seem to stand the test of time and continue to produce the desired reaction.

It's as if birthdays humble us a bit and we never think that WE could be on the receiving end of a surprise party. The irony there is, everyone expects to be the center of attention on their birthday so you'd THINK it would be harder and harder to pull off a surprise party with the 100% desired impact. Doesn't seem to be the case. I'm a perfect example of this theory. I was completely blindsided on my 35th birthday. When I Monday Morning Quarterback the scenario, I guess it seems like there were SOME signs, but I would have had to have been a super sleuth to have read between the lines on that one. It never once occurred to me that any sort of party was in the works and as a result, I didn't have any clue until I walked into the restaurant and saw a long table full of family and friends all waiting to utter that one word that indicates the plan was not foiled, "SURPRISE!"

Whatever the reason, I love that surprise parties haven't been shelved. Nothing is a surprise anymore, it seems; what with all the technology and transparency of everyday life. In our "need to know and need to know NOW" society, the unplanned and the unscripted seem so distant and with that is lost the joy of raw emotion. Some things just can't be planned and watching Patrick's reaction made me remember that. Surprise parties remind me of the whimsy of life and how some of the greatest joys can be found in the truly unexpected.

Festivus for the Rest of You

SXSW (for non-Austinites=South by Southwest) took place last week here in the Capital of the Great State. For those of you not familiar with this 22-year old, time honored tradition, a little background for you:

"The SXSW MUSIC AND MEDIA CONFERENCE features a legendary festival showcasing more than 1,800 musical acts of all genres from around the globe on over eighty stages in downtown Austin." (SXSW homepage)

In theory, this is a pretty cool event. You take a few big names, a lot of no names, dump them into an eclectic and laid back city and you've got the makings a fun few days. The thing is, for people like myself who are anti-hassle, anti-crowd, anti-no parking (that double negative means I am PRO parking), anti-traffic, and broke, this has the makings of nightmare.

Let me back up and say that in my youth, I tried, I mean REALLY tried to like festivals. New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, French Quarter Festival, Shiner Festival, Blues Festival. I did them and I did them big. I did crawfish pie at Jazz Fest. I did the felt chicken hat at Shiner Fest. I did catfish at Blue Festival. I can't remember what exactly I did at French Quarter Festival which probably means I did it big.

Regardless of the theme, location, or time of year, I cannot bring myself to enjoy a festival. I can also think of about 8,572 other ways I'd rather spend my money. $165 for a wristband. That's a new Le Creuset dutch oven and some change. That's a 50 minute spa treatment at Lake Austin Spa; The Number One Destination Spa in the Country. That's a new set of roman shades from Pottery Barn. These are just three items off the top of my head that would be in line AHEAD of a wristband; a wristband which I would likely lose before the end of the five day festival.

I'm fascinated by the dedication of festival goers. They are well-hydrated nomads in sensible shoes and more often than not, minimal clothing. The minimal clothing is often compensated for by an enormous hat and/or big sunglasses. They also have a bit of the Pony Express in them; "neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night"...add to that in the case of Texas, "nor dust storm" will keep these festival goers from their beloved festivals.

Since I have felt like I am missing something by being completely and totally turned OFF by festivals when everyone around me is reveling in them, I decided to examine what it is about festivals that make me want to run the other way.

Here is what I came up with:

1) Crowds

2) Parking in a "satellite" location and taking a "shuttle" to the festival location

3) Aforementioned wristbands

4) Heat with no refuge

5) Port-a-jons

6) Hot beer

7) Lines...for everything

8) Dirt

9) Traffic

10) Overpriced...everything

On This Day in History...

Yesterday was my 36th birthday. I don't really take issue with birthdays on either end. I don't dread them and I don't start planning my own party six months out, either. If anything, birthdays make me contemplative and reflective and nostalgic. I don't pace my apartment singing, "Where Have All The Flowers Gone" or anything, but birthdays do give me pause. For starters, birthdays are a great example of "life doesn't turn out the way you plan it". Again, this is not a negative, it is just a fact. I have a good life, cozy and single, and am blessed. That doesn't mean, however, that this was the picture I envisioned when I thought of "where will you be at 36".

Like everyone, I have regrets in my life. There are some things that, if given the chance, I would do differently. As a result, I may be in a different place at 36. I can't undo these things so I often find myself pondering the preceding years and what they have meant to me. The good, the bad, and the ugly. It's a good mental cleansing and it usually ends by the dawn of March 13th.

In other news, I received what may have been the MOST peculiar birthday card in birthday card history. It's so "out there" I am tempted give Hallmark a call. At first glance, it seemed fairly typical. Pastel drawing of a cake with whimsical lettering. The message inside is what totally threw me. "Happy Birthday, Gretchen. I didn't make you a cake or cupcakes even though I planned to. Have a great day".

Okay, I don't need a ticker tape parade through downtown on my birthday. I tend to fly slightly below the radar and am not one for the whole, "center of attention" thing. But this card is like nothing I have ever seen. What do you do with that? In my case, I turn it into blog material. But seriously, how do you respond that? Does that fall into the "it's the thought that counts" category? Do you thank the person for the card and some how skim over the "I thought about you but thought better of it" bit? Talk about a good idea gone bad. I don't think the cake or cupcakes or lack thereof would have really phased me...until it was called to my attention...ON MY BIRTHDAY CARD.

Finally, a devoted reader is completely appalled that I did not have any birthday cake yesterday. So, this weekend I have promised her that I will procure a birthday cake (or cupcakes) complete with candle and have a full-on "Happy Birthday to You" singing ceremony. I will report back on Monday with the results.

Single Yet Not Alone

Single and alone are two very different states of being. I am very much single and very much NOT alone. Conversely, and I don't want to cast an ominous shadow on couples, I know a number of people who are not by census standards "single" but are, sadly, alone.

Last weekend I had to go to New Orleans, my home, to move a fair amount of furniture out of storage. I'll blame my procrastination on being a late bloomer. For me it was a daunting task and one which required me to lean on others; a skill I need to do a lot to perfect. Two months ago, I was able to enlist a very generous friend in aiding me in this transport. He had three key requirements: 1) he is a friend 2) he is a male 3) he has a truck. The original plan was to suck it up, make the five hour drive, unload the furniture, secure it in his truck, suck it up, and drive back.

As I have mentioned several times in various postings, I am extremely lucky to have a uniquely close group of friends. I think there are several reasons for this rare bond, but the biggest reason is that we have been through some rare and very emotional experiences together. We are, as a result, more like family. We have seen each other at our absolute best and at our absolute worst. We know each other's victories, defeats, strong suits, and shortcomings. We are beyond comfortable around each and we look after each other like siblings. And like family, we have stuck together and weathered all of the peaks and pitfalls life has thrown at us. I've given up on trying to explain my friendships to those who ask and most people have just quit asking. They know that this is my crew and that this is how we roll.

Make no mistake; these friends do not replace my family. My family is incredibly supportive and as a result, Operation Armoire was made that much easier. They put me up on both legs of the trip and even kept Thomas, my pooch, for three whole days. I couldn't have planned my trip without them.

When it was all said and done, approximately 17 of us descended upon New Orleans and turned an otherwise stale and laborious venture into a weekend of historic measure. It was an excellent chance to reconnect with old friends, hang out with some new folks, and just "be" for a while. I think we were actually our own economic stimulus for the city...with a pulse...go figure. I need to give a shout out to my sister, Lilah, and brother in law, John for making this trip and adding a special brand of fun for me. They are my family AND my friends so it was a definite two for one. Let me also say that the group was NOT fully complete without the presence of three of my closest friends, Rachael and Georgia and Heather. For unavoidable reasons, they could not make the trip but they were missed dearly.

In the midst of all of this kumbaya was an underlying sense of uncertainty for everyone who traveled to NOLA last weekend. Everyone is sweating the times for their own personal reasons but as a group who was conquered hard times before, it was the perfect escape and reunion all rolled into one.

The City That Care Forgot was the perfect venue to allow this crew to forget to care, if only for a few days.

Note: It is unlikely this is the last entry detailing the trip. There are pictures to be imported and some residual thoughts to compile. In short, prepare for a few volumes regarding Operation Armoire.

Justice, Faith, and Power

Today is Mardi Gras and as a native of New Orleans, this holiday always makes me nostalgic. I don't miss living in New Orleans. Truth be told, I haven't lived there since I was 18, but it will always be home to me. I think I knew when I left there to go to college summer school in June of 1991 that I would only return as a part-time resident. I knew I'd never move back there as an adult. But again, it would always be my home.

I haven't done Mardi Gras as a grown-up so most of what I think of when I think of Mardi Gras is how exciting it was. All of it. From the Epiphany until Fat Tuesday, it was all so exciting. See, Mardi Gras is not just the day, "Fat Tuesday". Fat Tuesday is the culmination of the season of Mardi Gras and the last big blow-out affair before Lent. Yes, Mardi Gras is, in nature, a religious holiday. Who knew? As a child, having your neighborhoods and thoroughfares turned into parade routes was almost magical. Having the very streets you drove down to get to school in the morning turned into a mall of floats and bands and flambeaux that same night was such a thrill. And let's not overlook the fact that schools in NOLA got the entire week of Mardi Gras off. You got your two days for Thanksgiving. Then there were your two and HALF days for Easter. And a full week for Mardi Gras.

I think what I loved most about Mardi Gras is that it enveloped every inch of New Orleans. Unlike Jazz Fest, it wasn't confined to a specific area. There weren't access points or admission fees or gates. It's called the "Greatest Free Show On Earth" because it is just that. Every pocket of the city does Mardi Gras in their own way. There is a place for everyone at Mardi Gras. For me, it was St. Charles Avenue from Napoleon to the numbered streets of the Garden District. It was also the stands at The Pickwick Club on the corner of St. Charles and Canal downtown. These were two different ways to see Mardi Gras but they were steeped in tradition and I loved them.

Another tradition of Mardi Gras that I loved (and I think I speak for all daughters of the Big Easy) was the theme of "royalty" of the balls and krewes. I loved to read about the queens and maids of the Mardi Gras season and what they wore and who made their dresses and what they danced to. It made my home unique and it made it special. And it was fun. I guess that's the simple thread of Mardi Gras; it's fun.

Justice, Faith, and Power are the colors of Mardi Gras. These colors and their meaning stand out this year more than they have in the past. Given the state of world affairs today and the challenges we face here at home it is my hope that Justice, Faith, and Power not only reign today in New Orleans, Louisiana, but throughout the years to come in the remaining 49.

Annnnnddd We're Back

Apologies for the MIA status of the blog. Life got in the way last week so I was on radio silence. I'd love for the blog to be my first priority but until I find a way for it (or other writings) to pay the bills, the blog remains one of those things I have to take "One Day at a Time". Maybe I should name the blog Schneider. Or Bill Wilson.

I spent a quiet weekend being both cozy AND single. I threw it into complete OCD mode on Sunday and scoured my apartment from top to bottom. Any unsuspecting pedestrian who would have wandered in at around 11 am would have thought a family of eight lived in #16303 just by the piles of laundry. I did four loads. Four loads of laundry. Clearly I have more clothes than I realized. Thanks to the Gables Grandview for providing me with that brand new full sized washer and dryer. Renting DOES have its benefits.

I also went to the grocery store and Blockbuster where I rented Sex and the City, the movie. While I knew I was a little bit behind on my flick watching, I had no idea HOW far behind until the clerk at Blockbuster gasped when I confessed to him it was the first time I was watching Sex and the City, the movie. The same "in the know" clerk also asked me if the apparatus on my key chain which opens my garage and is named, "Liftmaster" was used to lift things like couches or "anything else heavy which I may need lifted". Skippy, I wish the "Liftmaster" did have that capability. If it did, you'd be lifted right out of Blockbuster.

A Daisy By Any Other Name Is A-Love-Me-Not

Before I get to the topic of today's blog, let me say that this week has been a rough one for your authoress. After composing a creative posting on Wednesday; one which I gave a lot of thought, the entire thing was deleted. I saved early AND often and it was still deleted. So, I needed a day to recover. I think I am starting to get this writer thing down because I now know how the Lindberghs felt on March 1, 1932.

Now, back to the topic of today. You knew it had to be done. Any publication entitled, "The Cozy and SINGLE Life" has to have a piece of pontification on Valentine's Day.

I am staring down the barrel of 36 and I have never had a Valentine. As a result, I've had lots of opportunity to witness Valentine's Day from the outside looking in. Like the uninvited child pressing her nose against the window of the popular girl's fancy birthday party. First of all, I am THRILLED that Valentine's Day is on a weekend. When Valentine's Day falls on a Saturday that means my office doesn't turn into an instant shrine to Merlin Olsen. I don't return from lunch and have to step back outside my office to read the sign and make sure I am at my work place and didn't stumble into a funeral home by mistake. There's no 3:1 ratio of female employees to flower delivery men. I don't necessarily have a problem with being single on Valentine's Day. I don't need the equivalent of a full-page ad in the New York Times announcing it to everyone, either. "Hey, YOU, single person with no flowers on your desk..."

When Valentine's Day is on a weekend, it's easier to overlook. I can go about my normal weekend routine and not be hit between the eyes with the atrocious color combination of red and pink every time I come around a corner. I can be my usual hermit self and not have to worry about dodging cheesy stuffed animals holding faux satin lame' hearts with the words, "I Wuv You" hot glued across the front in felt lettering. Again, remind why this holiday is so revered and cherished?

Valentine's Day has always been a self imposed status symbol. Even when I was young and had Valentine's parties at school, they were a sign of one's loveability. I can picture the flimsy card board package of valentines to this day. The were wrapped in thin, red plastic wrap and had two clear heart cut-outs for viewing of the contents. Oh and the themes. Every cartoon and child pop culture fad had a valentine produced in its honor. It's no surprise that I usually chose Peanuts valentines.

This anticipation and excitement turned into nerves and anxiety for me. I remember feeling panicked on Valentine's Day because I worried that I would only garner a small amount of valentines and be labeled unpopular or worse, unloved. Even back then, I longed for Valentine's Day to be on Saturday or a Sunday. Now, while my parents didn't have to rent a U-Haul to get me and my valentines home from school, I certainly don't ever recall having a shameful showing. That's the sort of thing you remember for life if it happens to you as a child. I think I came away with a very respectable number of paper valentines and NECCO hearts.

If I wasn't single on Valentine's Day, here's how I'd want it to go down. I'd rather have flowers sent to me at work every day. And on Valentine's Day, no flowers. No sense in being like everyone else, no matter what day of the year it is.

Technical Difficulties

Due to technical difficulties we here at the C&SL (okay, there is no "we", just "I") are/am unable to send out today's posting. In short, blogspot deleted today's entry after it had been completed.

Tune in tomorrow.

Back to Regular Programming

The blog got a three day weekend because I got a migraine yesterday. If I am able to catch the migraine early, just as it is arriving, I can usually cut it off at the pass. Since migraines usually show up for me at about 5 am, getting this timing down can be a challenge. I am usually awakened from my slumber with what feels like an ice pick impaling my skull. Sort of like this, only bigger:

This is a debilitating and excruciating affliction and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy; a pretty powerful statement coming from me. If you've never had one, consider yourself lucky. If you do fall victim to the migraine demon, I think you'll agree that my description is not an exaggeration.

In other news, the peanut butter scare has begun to freak me out so when I went to the grocery store this weekend, I made alternate plans and purchased some almond butter.
I wasn't sure what to expect. I love almonds so I thought it couldn't be too much of a risk. I was correct. It's not a huge departure from peanut butter and it saved me the stress of wondering if I had just ingested some tainted peanuts with my Thomas's Whole Grain English Muffin. If you find yourself a bit wary of peanuts these days while craving the same satisfaction from a protein packed spread, I highly recommend this product:

The White House

GOTCHA! You saw the title and started eye rolling and sighing because you thought this was going to be yet another love-fest, warm-fuzzy piece about my time at 1600 with the Bushes. Wrong-o. It's not. But a somewhat funny prank, nevertheless.

This actually popped into my head yesterday when I was at home for lunch. I find that I am constantly captivated by houses that are decorated in all white. If not the entire house, than a specific room dedicated entirely to the absence of color. White linen roman shades, white slip covers, white lamps and lamp shades. I think it takes a disciplined and committed decorator to make the decision to create a white room and not stray. See, I would run around on white because I cannot resist color.

Each time I move to a new place, I tell myself that I am going to give color the ol' heave -ho in at least one room. And every time, I go right back to color swatches. Once a cheater, always a cheater, I guess.

As you can see here, I made a strong effort to whiten by bedroom, but in the end, "accents of color", as they are called in the sophisticated world of decorating, crept in and spoiled my pristine canvass:

Even when adopting a rescue puppy, I couldn't go all white. My dog had to have a splash of cream next to his otherwise white coat.

My living room never had a fighting chance. See below for a prism of shades and hues:

If nothing else, my love for color and vibrancy proves that I do NOT see the world in only black...or white.

8 Million of My Closest Friends

Here's a new one for ya': I think New York City would be a cozy place to live. That's right. Nothing says cozy to me like 8 million plus people crammed onto 300 or so square miles. Such a peculiar impression of NYC. I don't think many, if any, would tell you they'd feel cozy in a city that never sleeps. For me, though, it's the character NYC has that gives it a cozy feel combined with the idea of having my own little refuge in the middle of all the chaos. For the small space obsessed, there's no better place to find a piece of minuscule real estate than New York. What a dichotomy it is; a city where everything is larger than life and in-your-face-BIG, the vast majority of residential space is tiny. With an enormous price tag, of course. But it's cozy to me to be able to retreat to a tiny slab and escape the constant barrage of people and noise. Sort of a port in a storm, if you will.



The character bestowed upon New York City is a big contributor to this coziness I feel when I am there. Take, for instance, grocery shopping. (There I go again with groceries.) Manhattan is not a city of strip malls. When I think of shopping for food in New York, I picture myself not so much at Zabar's, but in a corner market or "bodega" if you're attempting to go native. I love these places and I love that most trips to the "bodega" are not hour long, sprees of bulk purchases. Being a hugely pedestrian city, you can't double park your mini van on Columbus while the grocery porter loads your car with a month's supply of groceries. In New York, it's a totally different game. It's an appealing idea; popping into the corner deli/market on your way home from work and grabbing whatever it is you're craving for dinner and then taking it up to your sixth floor walk-up. Equally appealing is having groceries delivered to your front door. A self-proclaimed shut-in, I feel this is a service that should be taking the country by storm. I love that in New York you can have just about anything delivered at any time of day. No need to leave the apartment if you don't want to. Heaven, I tell you.





The historic nature of New York makes it cozy. Pre-war buildings and subway tiles are just two of my favorite examples. New York is an epicenter of the progressive and yet, hasn't forgotten from whence it came. I love that contrast.



Some will argue that I am romanticizing New York a bit; that it's a very hard and exhausting and insanely expensive place to live. Perhaps. But I've found that life is a trade-off and I don't think NYC would be any different. It all depends on what you're willing to sacrifice in the name of feeling comfortable and content and, yes, cozy, in your surroundings.

Great Minds

Addendum to previous posting: I failed to blog yesterday. In a feeble attempt to make up for it, I am posting twice today, however, the topic for the second half of the double feature just presented itself.

After posting, "The List - Back by Popular Demand", I decided to skim one of my favorite blogs out there, Beach Bungalow 8. It's listed on the right hand side of the C&SL. Rather than try to convey to you what I discovered when I clicked on it, I will simply refer you to this blog and ask that you scroll down the second posting entitled, "Virtual Voyeur". I then refer you to my posting of "A Peeping Thomas".

A-hem...

The List - Back by Popular Demand

I'm cognizant of posting too many lists when writing the blog. I think they make a good read every now and then, but getting in the habit is sort of a cop-out when it comes to writing, I think.

That said, when I released "My Least Favorite Things, Part I", I received many responses/requests for certain words that were absent from the posting. Here's the thing, for as long as I can remember, I have had a running list of words that I hate. It gained notoriety in the early 90s and continued to grow. This collection of words that I hate is its own entity. It simply can't be grouped in with reply cards and bananas. "The List", as it is affectionately known, has been the topic of countless conversations. It's funny because people will arbitrarily ask me if a certain word is "on The List".

There is one rule which governs The List and that is, words do not qualify based on definition. They are on there because of the way they sound. For instance, the word "puss" does not make the cut. That's a gimme. Puss is gross so of course, we think the word is gross. That's too easy.

Here is a portion of The List. There isn't enough memory on the computer for me to include all its members.

The List:

1) Cockpit

2) Moist

3) Ointment

4) Slacks

5) Satchel

6) Platter

7) Belly

8) Proctor

9) Bulb

10) Probe

11) Balm

12) Lube

13) Wound

14) Trousers

15) Salve

Broken Hip

I am the most unhip person in America. When it comes to any and all things pop culture, you'd think I was part of Tom Brokaw's Greatest Generation. Honest to God, be it technology, fashion, or Hollywood, I am so behind the curve it's embarrassing. My friends buy US Weekly and In Style magazines. I buy Coastal Living and Real Simple. My friends save up for iPhones. I save up for a Le Creuset. Need more proof? I didn't own a DVD player until almost a year ago...and the one I DO own is the bottom of the line model sold at Target. Still not convinced? From 1997 until 2007 the only t.v. I owned was a small 19 inch with built in VCR. The big "upgrade" for me came in the summer of 2007 when I added a larger, flat screen, bought second hand from a former co-worker. For the record, I still own the 19 inch. It resides in my bedroom.

Instead of Hollywood drama, I'm running down the top appointments of the new administration in Washington. I wait for Cabinet picks the way the rest of savvy, celebrity obsessed, America waits for the Oscar nominations. I read WSJ Editorials and the Washington Post instead of Perez and TMZ. MTV Cribs? No thanks, I want to know who has what office in the West Wing.

When it comes to fashion, this may be my greatest downfall. I'm not on the cutting edge of fashion. Never have been, probably never will be. No one would EVER accuse me of being a slave to fashion. I love Ann Taylor. I love Cole Haan. I love Anthropologie. I love J. Crew. Now, this isn't like shopping at Laura Ashley or Units, but it's not exactly a set of names you see splattered all over NYC during Fashion Week. I'm willing to bet my collection of sweater sets that there's no dialogue like this overheard in Fashion District in NYC in September:

"I'm heading to the Diane von Furstenberg show. You?"

"I'm on my to the Ann Taylor show. I hear she's out down herself this year with sundresses and double strands of pearls".

I love clothes and I think I have fairly decent taste, but I could never tell you what's "in" this season. I'm not a runway girl. Most designers' names escape me. The ones that do sound familiar are way out of my price range so I automatically dump them into my mental "junk mail". Trendy I am not.

Clearly my desire to be hip is not all THAT great because I am surrounded by hip people. My friends and family are probably in the top percentage in terms of being pop-culturally astute. At least I know I don't have to go far if I decide to have a hip replacement.

Gee, Thanks

A loyal reader sent this photo to me last night with the caption, "So sad this is necessary". I couldn't agree more. It then got me thinking about what kinds of people buy this sort of book. I mean, if you don't know to WRITE thank-you notes, would it occur to you to buy a book ABOUT thank-you notes? And if you ARE a thank-you note writer, wouldn't that probably mean that you are aware of the art of thank-you notes, in which case, you wouldn't NEED a book?

I posed this question back to the loyal reader and he responded that this book is purchased by the same demographic as those who purchase etiquette books. This notion, I disagree with and I'll tell you why. The Miss Manners - Emily Post umbrella is vast. It covers an endless amount of categories and subcategories. There is an Emily Post Institute, for crying out loud. It's located in Vermont and it's Incorporated. Clearly, this is a world unto itself. (A world, I admit, with which I am COMPLETELY fascinated...an entire Inc. on manners? Who knew?) Etiquette encompasses everything from fish forks to salutations. And then there is the business of wedding etiquette. Wedding etiquette comes with enough material for a solo posting.

I openly admit to owning a copy of Emily Post. I couldn't tell you which edition because much like the prongs of etiquette, there are several. The book is a wonderful resource for those rare occasions when you DO NOT receive a reply card with a wedding invitation (a-hem - see Least Favorite Things List, Part I, #16) and you need to compose an old fashioned response. The very precise wording, type of stationary, and, I believe, the ink color required, are all there. How so very helpful! A one stop shop for being polite!

While we're on the subject of reply cards, let me just say that I understand they are a necessary evil. Reply cards are here to stay. They are a sign of the times and they makes sense. Again, I'm a purist and I love the old school ways of doing things. Call me antiquated. I've been called worse. Fundamentally, I know that it's not realistic or fiscally smart to rely upon the old way of responding to a wedding invitation. But I still like it.

I work part-time in a high end stationary and paper store. No greeting cards. No wrapping paper. Paper and stationary. It's a fantastic store and I love the four hours a week I put in there. When I first started working there, I noticed something I had never seen before. In the Children's Section of the store where there are displays of birth announcements and stationary for those just starting out on the thank-you note path I found the equivalent of a thank-you note reply card. This totally took me by surprise. Basically, we're talking the Mad-Libs of thank-you notes. Fill in the blank:

"Dear____________, Thank you so much for the _______________. You are so thoughtful to think of me. Love,_____________".

Seriously, I am not making this up. As I read it in my head, it sounds like the dictation of an old fashioned, WWII, telegram. Dear Roberta. Stop. I hope you are doing well. Stop. Will be home soon. Stop. I have typhoid. Stop.

Not exactly what one would call a heart-felt piece of correspondence. It gets the job done, but it seems so rushed and so impersonal. So insincere. Makes me wonder if the children who start out with these drive-through thank you notes will continue with the same bland, cadence in their adult thank you notes...

I do believe I have just answered my own question. These grateful Mad-Libbers of today are the Art of Thank You buyers of tomorrow.

Veggies to Go

This week has been overwrought with an influx of distractions which have caused the blog's authoress to becomes a bit drained. In short, the blog has been neglected. It's not that the creative juices aren't flowing. It's just that they aren't coming out of the usual spigot with the usual force. When I feel the well start to dry up a bit, I find myself paying extra special attention to the extremely random and obscure. While it may not make for outstanding subject matter, I am a firm believer that EVERYTHING is material so I try to find a way to turn the outlandish into some form of entertainment. I didn't say I was good at it, I just said I tried to do it.

Yesterday when the union man 5 pm whistle sounded and I was scattering to my car along with the rest of the State Government roaches awakened by a kitchen light I was nearly run off the sidewalk by a very determined pedestrian. Said pedestrian was pulling behind her a wire cart on two wheels. You know the ones I mean, used to haul groceries by residents of New York City and used to tote knitting needles and yarn by elderly women too old to drive. They tilt a little to the front and can cause a major bottle neck if wheeled into unsuspecting crowds. There's always some stooge thinking it's a great way to transport his booze down Jackson Avenue in New Orleans during the Zulu Parade on Mardi Gras Day.

Anyway, this primitive and non-motorized vessel hopped the curb and nearly caused me to take a nasty spill. No doubt I would have been run over like those poor people in Wal Mart the day after Thanksgiving had I taken a tumble. Nothing and I mean NOTHING gets in between a State Government worker and his or her car at 5 pm. Once I was able to regain some equilibrium and recover I noticed that this oddity was more obscure than I had initially thought. Bobbing and weaving in between the State slugs and bureaucrats was a cart overflowing with roughage. It was a proverbial vending machine on wheels of every conceivable leafy green flora you could think of. Swiss Chard? Check. Romaine? Check. Boston Bibb? Check. Field Greens? Check. Baby Spinach? Check. Broccoli Rab? Check.

Had Granny Greens been in the general vicinity of a Farmers' Market or even a Whole Foods, this wouldn't be an issue. But what struck me was not JUST that this geriatric woman was the Pace Car of nomad's wheels, she was completely out of place. There isn't a single produce stand or vegetable stand within MILES of the State Capitol. There are no road side fruit and veggie stands anywhere in the downtown Austin area. A taco cart? Sure. A cappuccino buggy? Oh yeah. But to date, no one is peddling salad greens near the Capitol. I couldn't help but wonder, "Where in the world is this woman coming from and where on EARTH is she going in such a hurry? It's not as if those raw veggies are going to melt or spoil or lose their flavor if she doesn't break the sound barrier getting them home".

This "story" doesn't have a big finish or a moral. It was just one of those completely out of place and bizarre occurrences that caught my attention and made me wonder, had I not been so agile and had Granny Greens been in a bit more of a hurry, and had I collided with her lettuce and been hurled into the air and landed on my head, would that have constituted a "tossed salad"?

Writer's Bloc

Noun
1.
writer's block - an inability to write; "he had writer's block; the words wouldn't come"

On Ice

With any luck, the latest Arctic blast will bring ice to Austin later today. I first became aware of this development last night on the t.v. ticker. The gratuitous map of counties was featured in the bottom left hand corner of my screen. A mass of small geometric shapes was shaded with a nice peach hue contrasting the uniform gray of the rest of the area, presumably to indicate which counties were being referenced in the weather ticker. It's always hard for me to decipher these little jigsaw pieces because I can't really tell to which part of Central Texas they are referring. I've been duped before...the same little shape has appeared and, yet, my county has been spared. Just a few miles up the road, Williamson County is getting dumped upon with sideways rain and high winds and rising creeks while the infinity edge pool at my apartment complex is having a luau and playing Marco Polo. I don't put a great deal of stock in this little map when it comes to planning a day of shut-in, cozy solitude.

Eventually, the ticker began to reveal the relevant counties. I live in Travis County which means, as is the case with nearly all things in my life that are alphabetized, I had to wait. Burnet. Lllano. A-HA! Travis. Yes! One small piece of encouragement, the ticker served as an interpreter for those too challenged to unlock the codes of the handy-dandy map.

Now before you envision me throwing on a jacket and heading to the store at 10:30 pm to procure all the bottled water, non-perishables, and milk (this I have never understood. Milk. If your power has the potential to be zapped and not restored for days, what's with buying milk? I don't get that.) I could load in my VW, let me say that I am only cautiously optimistic. I'm not a chicken little who thinks a few sheets of ice warrant a trip to Home Depot to secure a generator. But I am rethinking happy hour so I have time to swing by the store and assemble a mini-stockpile just in case I find myself trapped on top of the hill where I live.

My initial plan, which was entirely devised to take "precautions", may be altered a bit since I heard this morning on the radio that we have been "upgraded" from a "watch" to a "warning". The term, "wintry mix" has been used several times, as well. That always gets me riled up and, as a result, my grocery list expands a bit. "Wintry Mix". I always thought that sounded like the name of a fancy-pants seasonal cocktail that should be served at the Hay Adams Hotel Off The Record Bar in Washington, DC from November to February. I digress...

Deep down I know this is probably going to amount to nothing, but if you can't get in touch with me tonight, don't come looking for me in the dairy section. Rather, I can probably be found in the battery, candle, and bottled water aisle of WalMart.

Coziness is Next to Cleanliness

I mentioned a few weeks ago that, in my humble opinion, a key ingredient for a cozy weekend is a supply of laundry detergent. It seemed random then and I doubt it seems any less random now, but for some reason, things seem cozier when they are in their place and there is something cozy to me about doing laundry and restoring order to my small, cracker box sized abode.

I think I feel strongly about the laundry component because for about four or five years, when I was living in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia, I had to use a communal laundry room. That meant I had to save up quarters like I did when I lived in the college dorm, load up my duds and sheets, and go outside and around back, then down a flight of creepy stairs to a sinister basement which reeked of mildew. I had to juggle my laundry, quarters, detergent, and keys all the while holding my breath and hoping that there was an available machine and not Jack the Ripper waiting to mug me and take my stash of quarters. For drying the clothes, rinse and repeat. It was an inconvenient step in any peace I was trying to create in my apartment.

When I moved back to Texas I vowed never, EVER to be without a washer and dryer in my actual domicile. I found an apartment which came with a brand, spanking new set; full sized to boot and it's made a world of difference. It's actually sort of liberating. I do laundry when I want to, not when the other residents of the ant farm dictate. I don't have to make sure to save up countless quarters and large loads of menacing, dirty clothes and then transport them to another location. Wanna wash just a napkin and a couple of dish towels? Go ahead. Toss 'em in. Though not energy efficient, it's your call and your's alone. Don't worry about setting an egg timer so you're notified when to go rescue your skivvies before some unknown neighbor has time to rummage through them and claim the machine for himself.

I'm a fairly Type A person. I like everything in its place. I alphabetize my spices. Okay, maybe Type A is an understatement, but you get the gist. Even for the most organized and Type A person, life can creep up and certain things fall by the way side. This has happened to me over the past few weeks and finally, yesterday, I couldn't take it any more. So, I threw it into high power cleaning mode, complete with loads of laundry.

Little by little, as each room was returned to its original state, I felt cozy working it's way back into my space. I tend to light candles as I clean so that the place is not overpowered by Lysol, Scrubbing Bubbles, and Clorox. You can still catch a whiff of the cleaning products, but it's not overbearing. The counters glisten, the clutter is removed, the vacuum cleaner tracks on the carpet are vivid, and the space begins to feel like home again.

Aside from the scents wafting through the apartment and the feeling of clarity, I relish a freshly made bed complete with clean sheets and duvet just out of the dryer. I guess even when things aren't going completely as I'd like and it all seems a bit out of my control, a freshly made bed gives me a bit of a sense of normalcy; as if to say, maybe I can't get all of my ducks in a row right now, but at least I can make my bed.

After I'd finished cleaning my apartment, I went out to dinner. There is a noticeable difference of returning to a newly organized and cleaned apartment. Placing the key in the door and walking in gives me the feeling of familiarity that comes with being home combined with a refreshed sense of slowing getting back on top of my game.

My LEAST Favorite Things, Part I

In the spirit of full disclosure, I thought I would follow up last Friday's List of Favorite Things with a List of Least Favorite Things. Like the other list, I have limited this entry to 20 items, so for those of you who know me very well, do not fear. Your computers will not blow due to an overload of material. It's probably a safe bet, however, that this list will have more volumes than the other list.

1) People who think they are funny, but are not
2) Bananas
3) Anything that comes in a floret
4) Incorrect grammar
5) The phrase, "Welcome Aboard"
6) Realizing you've left or lost one shoe out of the pair (I'd rather leave or lose the pair)
7) Dirty dishes left in the sink
8) Carnations
9) Numbers
10) Being told to, "smile" or "relax"
11) Clapping in church
12) Being excluded
13) The song, "Muskrat Love"
14) Ambrosia salad
15) Humidity
16) Reply Cards
17) Animal print
18) Tardiness
19) Hangovers
20) Disloyalty

A Peeping Thomas

So, I'm taking a huge risk in posting today's blog. In the words of one of my favorite writers, Peggy Noonan, there's serious potential for yielding a "creepy quotient". I love to write and I think in order to grow as a writer, you have to be willing to shed some skin and reveal a little bit. At least that's one thing my favorite writers have in common; their willingness to depart the safe and be a bit vulnerable, so here goes.

As I've mentioned, I have an enormous fascination with houses and homes. From the architectural to the decor, I am drawn to all of the nuances surrounding this aspect of the domestic. I recall as a little girl, riding in the back seat of my parents' car at night, peering through the car window and into the homes of unsuspecting families who had left their window treatments open. As I grew older, this interest stuck with me and in college, my friends and I would load up in my car and drive through the nicer parts of town and look at stately homes as well as the quaint cottages, for no other purpose than to "browse".

It wasn't that I was trying to "spy" on people. I think I was interested to see how people decorated their homes and what sorts of activities were going on. Even the most mundane; people getting up from a dinner table or playing Parcheesi on the coffee table translated to something cozy for me. To this day it is difficult for me to pinpoint from where this "hobby" stems, but it's become one of may favorites.

I was completely vindicated when I moved to Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia in the 1990s and was re energized in my interest when I returned to the area in 2000. Imagine my utter glee when I learned that the residents of this colonial mini-urban locale deliberately left their plantation shutters and silk drapes open so that passers-by could view their wears. An intentional peep show! Admission: FREE! Talk about a dream come true. These houses would sit up like trained circus ponies, just screaming for attention and praise. I can't say for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if somewhere, in the Southern quadrant of Old Town there is a nose print of mine suctioned to someone's circa 1790 beveled glass window pane.

Now that I have moved back to Texas and am living in a less aesthetically pleasing venue for this past time, I have managed to find a way to still indulge. I live in an apartment complex. It's fairly large by apartment complex standards and while the scenery is amazing, it's not Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia, which was a proverbial hobby shop for the house stalker.

My best bud, Thomas, and I like to take walks in the evenings. In the Spring and Summer, we usually end up doing this during twilight, which is a great time for a walk. BUT, during the Autumn and Winter months, when it is already dark after work, Thomas and I suit up and take our strolls after the sun has gone down. This hobby is so much more fun to do with someone else, especially when that other party is always up for a walk and doesn't make you feel like a total creep for looking in other people's apartments to see what is going on inside. In fact, Thomas actually has gotten to where he enjoys the jaunt around the complex and he has developed a personal affection for certain aspects of this activity, as well. He's become overly excited about this nightly routine and part of me is concerned he is going to get busted due to lack of subtlety. I try to remind him that we need to maintain a certain distance from these abodes and not be too obvious, but he is generally so excited about the excursion, he doesn't understand this. So, we're trying to find a balance, Thomas and I.

For those of you who haven't met the potential, perp, Thomas, here is a mug shot, which I am worried is going to end up in the paper in the criminal section if he doesn't work on using a little discretion.