Yay Life!

Respecting the sensitivity and intelligence of animals

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 02 Aug 2013 22:46:00 +0000

As I walked through Earl Warren Showgrounds today, taking my usual shortcut on my 3-mile walk, I was stopped by a family in an SUV who had a couple of questions about the Fiesta rodeo, a longstanding tradition in Santa Barbara that's featured during our Old Spanish Days festivities.

"How is the rodeo?" they asked. "Is it suitable for children?" And... "Is it violent?"

If you know me at all, including the fact that I've been a vegetarian for 24 years, I think you know how I answered. I believe that:

1) Animals (especially mammals) are feeling, thinking, intelligent creatures that suffer physical and emotional pain.

2) People dominating animals for entertainment is harmful to both the animals and to the onlookers, as the audience becomes desensitized to the sufffering of animals. (Yes, yes, I know people still do these activities on ranches. Fine. That doesn't make it okay with me as entertainment.)

I was honest with the family about my feelings regarding the rodeo. I told them that I don't agree with rodeos, that I believe animals are harmed in the process and that I didn't feel that it was suitable for children. But no, there's no blood and gore. This satisfied them and they pressed on to look for a parking spot.

Because this is the Yay Life! blog and not the "Rodeos are a bummer" blog, I thought I would celebrate the intelligence and sensitivity of animals by sharing some interesting links with you.

From the Psychology Today blog: Animals and Emotions

From National Geographic: Minds of Their Own

When Elephants Weep: The Emotional Lives of Animals

From the New York Times: Can we see our hypocrisy to animals?

Cambridge Declaration of Consciousness

I was originally saddened while passing through Earl Warren, walking past all the rodeo horses and other animals who might suffer harm during this event. I was then surprised and grateful for the opportunity to talk to this one family and share my thoughts on rodeo and the effects on the animals pressed into service for what I consider to be an inhumane sport. They seemed thoughtful, and I hope that they'll think about what I shared and do more exploring for themselves.

Feeling alive in February

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 23:26:00 +0000

Every time I complete my three-mile walk, whether it's to the post office on my more productive days, or through the nearby Samarkand neighborhood on my contemplative days, I wonder why I make it so hard for myself.

It's always a struggle to get into my workout clothes and get out the door, yet the minute I'm outside, I'm overcome with the sights and sounds of LIFE.

I can't help but smile (for reals) as I walk along the roadside, catching sight of a Black Phoebe on the edge of a dumpster, disappearing as he dives in for a gnat, then reappearing and landing. Dive and land. Dive and land.

I pass through the showgrounds and marvel at the shiny coats of the weekend guests munching their hay, and I inhale the unmistakable scent of "horse." There are cones set up in the showgrounds parking lot and a number of motorcycle cops standing around waiting for someone to start riding. There's a guy who brings his dogs to play on the lawn. He always leaves his motor running...

Now that it's February, I start to see signs of spring: The purple flowers of ceanothus, lavender and rosemary are in full bloom, and the rose bushes are starting to bud. The almond trees are covered in delicate white blossoms (at least they are in Samarkand -- the one in our backyard doesn't flower as our House Finches consider the buds a delicacy).

The sky is clear and "Santa Barbara blue." The sun is warm but there's enough of a breeze to refresh me as I trudge up and down the hills.

Acorn Woodpeckers pack the top of a tall palm tree, making me impatient to see them at my feeder again. Maybe next month?

I pass a man pushing a baby stroller, a woman walking her dog and a couple walking their cat. Seriously.

A tiny white dog yaps from behind a gate, inquisitive and bossy. A white cat leaps from behind a bush and bolts into the next yard. Was it me? Knowing cats, probably not.

A desert landscape planted with succulents sports a tiny plastic dinosaur among the scenery. I keep meaning to pick up some toy dinosaurs and secretly add to the display.

Seniors roll balls at the lawn bowling club, gardeners whack weeds or sit on the curb with sandwiches and water bottles.

A flying insect of some sort loses its bearings and plows into my leg. Not sure who's more startled.

A flock of crows takes off at my approach, and I hope I didn't disturb their meal for long.

There's a lemon tree with yellow leaves -- not enough nitrogen? There are vivid freshly-planted annuals in the yards of the overachievers. Doors and windows are propped open for fresh air. A surfboard rests against a porch railing.

There is LIFE everywhere. I see it, feel it, smell it, hear it. When the occasional bug flies into my mouth, I taste it, too. My heart is pumping. My skin is damp with sweat. My breathing is heavy. My body feels alive.

I could stay in the house and stare at my computer screen all day. Which I frequently do.

Or I could go outside and feel ALIVE. Which I don't do enough!

5-Way Cincinnati Chili - low-FODMAP style!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 02:11:00 +0000

This image, from Sustainably, Kaity, will suffice until I take my own pic!

We're having friends over for the Super Bowl, and my goal is to make a low-FODMAP meal that appeals to all. This chili is killer - a little sweet, very spicy, and deliciously savory.

My version of 5-Way Cincinnati Chili (adapted from One-Dish Vegetarian Meals) uses tempeh instead of beans and Quorn grounds instead of soy crumbles, plus cheddar cheese and green onions as toppings. And of course, it's served over wheat-free spaghetti! This version serves 2.

2 T garlic oil
1/2 - 1 tsp mild chile powder (or as much as you can handle)
1/2 - 1 tsp ground cinnamon (more is better)
1/2 tsp ground paprika
1/2 tsp ground allspice
1 15-ounce can tomatoes, chopped or pureed, depending on how much texture you like
1/2 cup water
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon maple sugar or brown sugar
3 oz. Quorn grounds
3 oz. tempeh (Westsoy crumbles into individual beans, which adds nice texture)
4 oz. wheat-free spaghetti (Tinkyada's cooks up into nice and plump strands)
Grated cheddar, for garnish
Chopped green onion tops, for garnish
Lactose-free sour cream or yogurt, to tame excess heat

Heat the oil in a pot over medium heat. Add the spices and stir briefly until fragrant and simmering. Add the tomatoes, water, vinegar, sugar, Quorn and tempeh, and simmer for about 15 minutes, or as long as it takes your spaghetti to cook.

Meanwhile, cook the spaghetti in a pot of boiling salted water until al dente.

When spaghetti and chili are done, either serve chili over spaghetti, or toss them together and serve, with desired toppings.

Spicy Sweet Potato Dip (aka Mock Bean Dip)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 17:26:00 +0000

Spicy Sweet Potato Dip (aka Mock Bean Dip) (Low FODMAP) – Makes 4 servings

I created this dip as a substitute for the traditional canned bean dip that I love so much with salty corn chips.

Ingredients:

1/2 medium sweet potato, peeled, cubed and boiled until soft

1 medium Russet potato, peeled, cubed and boiled until soft

1 tsp cumin + ¼ tsp chile powder, heated in 2 T garlic oil until fragrant

1 T light vinegar, like rice vinegar

1-2 tsp Tabasco or other hot sauce with vinegar (or more to taste)

Salt (smoked salt is really good) and pepper to taste

Instructions:

Stir sweet potato and potato into spice oil and stir until warmed through and coated with spices.

Mash potatoes until smooth and creamy with salt, pepper and Tabasco to taste. Adjust seasonings as desired. The salt and vinegar are critical to the flavor of this dip if you're looking to recreate the flavor of canned bean dip.

Add more garlic oil if consistency is too dry and more vinegar for more acidity.

Serve with corn chips.

Getting to know you... Jay

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 26 Jun 2012 15:15:00 +0000

Photo by Justin Watts

Here's an update on our backyard bird community, since the last time I wrote six months ago. We've now gone through our first spring in this house and we're into summer, and the bird landscape has changed as well.

Since the last bird list, we've had sightings of so many beautiful birds: Acorn Woodpecker, Northern Mockingbird, House Finch, Spotted Towhee, Nutmeg Mannikin, Purple Finch, Common Yellowthroat, Oak Titmouse, Hooded Oriole, Cedar Waxwing, Band-Tailed Pigeon, Eurasian Collared Dove, Black-Headed Grosbeak, and Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher. You can see what these critters look like on my Pinterest backyard bird board.

But my favorite birdwatching right now is the Scrub Jay family.

About ten days ago, we discovered that we had fledgling jays in the yard, babies that had recently left the nest.

We've been feeding peanuts to the parents for some time, but didn't realize they were a family unit until the juveniles appeared.

As I said in my previous bird post, I had never been particularly interested in birds, and even seeing so many colorful visitors to the yard felt more like an exercise in collecting and categorizing than in getting to know the birds.

But the jays have changed all that. Watching the adults choose burial sites for their peanuts has been entertaining, sure. But watching the youngsters learn the ropes of being a bird is amazing. As corvids (the family that jays and crows belong to) are known for their intelligence and curiosity, the baby jays don't disappoint.

They chase the towhees and sometimes forage with them.

They pick up everything they find on the ground, sometimes trying to bury it, sometimes calling loudly for someone to come see their discovery. They've already developed the habit of hiding treasures under leaves, but sometimes the leaf itself is the treasure.

They steal from each other.

They can't figure out how to land in the bird feeder because of their size and still awkward flight ability, so they occasionally fall out.

One sits on a branch under the sock feeder, reaching up with its beak and trying to determine how to get the seeds without actually clinging to it like the finches do.

One juvenile came flying out of a bush the other day with something stuck all over its face, maybe leaves and spider webs? He rolled on the ground, he scratched, he flapped. The parent jay stood by, watching, then shoved some food into the baby's mouth and took off. Not exactly the most helpful act, but later the youngster returned with a clean face.

They sun themselves in the garden, lying on one side, fluffed up, wings out, with mouths hanging open. Sometimes they sleep on the sunny branch of a tree.

They scream for food, and occasionally I'm in the right place at the right time to see one flapping its wings and opening its mouth to receive a snack from the parent (they're almost as big as the full-grown jays, but will still be fed by them for another few weeks).

First bird to discover the new birdbath: baby jay. And he splashed and drank like it was the best thing ever. Sibling jay was a little more cautious.

The baby jays are no different from any kittens I've ever known. They play, they hunt, they explore, they learn and they become more and more like their parents every day.

I'm a little sad for the time when they're grown and their lives become all about work -- just like us human grownups. Jays tend to live in family groups for a couple of years until the juveniles are adults and ready to mate. And even then, they may stay nearby and raise *their* families.

I feel honored to be a part of the lives of these wild creatures. The parents still come for their peanuts and the babies follow. Maybe someday soon the babies will come for peanuts of their own!

Music for walking

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 22 May 2012 15:46:00 +0000

My current favorite form of exercise is walking. I have two particular routes I take from my house, both about three miles round trip. There's just the right mix of hills and flats so I get nice and sweaty and strong.

One route is my practical, errand-running route. I can get the mail, go to the bank and pick up small items at the grocery store that fit into my backpack. The other route goes in and around a neighborhood where every house on every street seems to have either a lush garden or a drought-tolerant native plantscape. Either way, most of the gardens on my route are beautiful and inspiring.

Both routes have strenuous sections, but the garden route is the one I take when I want to get into a more meditative mood. Here's a song that fits perfectly my garden-walking mood. How can you not feel good listening to "Feeling Good?" My fave: the Adam Lambert version (lyrics are below). I posted it on Yay Life! before, but I thought enough time had passed to post it again!

View on YouTube

Feeling Good lyrics

Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom in the tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when the day is done
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me

Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Yeah freedom is mine
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
For me
For me

And I'm feeling
I'm feeling
I'm feeling
good

Stop wasting food - use a fridge triage box!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 10 May 2012 16:23:00 +0000

Sorry for the blurry pic, but you get the idea...

How much food do you throw away? If you're like me (or at least how I was before), probably a lot. I have a tendency to over-buy at the farmers market, for one thing. All that produce looks so delicious! Then I forget about it, or only use part of it.

Also, hubby works in the specialty foods industry, which means he is constantly bringing home samples. Everything from breads and crackers to sauces and spreads, ice creams, chips, veggie burgers, drinks, pasta and grains, dressings and dips... you get the picture. We may open a sample, but never get around to finishing it, and if it's perishable, that's a lot of food waste.

So I was super excited to read this article about something called a "fridge triage box." I love the name, and I love the concept.

The idea is to put a box or container of some sort in a highly visible spot in your fridge. Right in front, so you can't miss it. Into this box goes every perishable item that has been opened and needs to be eaten.

My white board where I track my produce

Those giant jars of pasta sauce that languish in the back corners of the refrigerator after one use? Put 'em in the triage box! That deli salad you had for lunch but couldn't finish? Triage box! That package of deli meats or hot dogs (in my case, vegetarian faux meats or the inevitable half-package of tofu) you opened last week? Put it in the triage box and EAT it!

I'm enjoying seeing what's at the top of the list for my meals. Sometimes it's not even an opened package, but one that is unopened and nearing its expiration date. The triage box is a great way to eliminate (or at least reduce) my food waste, and I do believe it's working, though I don't have scientific research to back it up.

I'm also using a small white board on the fridge to track what produce I pick up each week, so I can see what I have without having to paw through the produce drawers. This has been beneficial in keeping me from wasting food.

Is this something that would work for you? Have you tried this before? I'd love to hear your experience!

Doing it for the right reasons

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 10 Mar 2012 19:04:00 +0000

These crazy steps get steeper as they get higher

I woke up last Sunday and very gingerly got out of bed. I expected sore feet, an aching back, and stiff quads. The previous night I had spent a couple of hours dancing (sometimes vigorously) to The English Beat. I had moved my body in ways it had forgotten and lost a couple of gallons of sweat.

It was a fabulous night, like being back in college, but I was certain I would suffer the next day. Just the fact that the band didn't start playing until after 10 p.m. was a warning sign.

So I was pleasantly surprised to discover that, except for suffering from minor dehydration and less than a full night's sleep, I felt darn good. No pain, no soreness. Just the memory of a fun concert with friends.

And it occurred to me that maybe my workouts were to thank for my easy recovery.

I don't work out as much as I should or as much as I would like, but I try to get in a combination of climbing stadium stairs at Santa Barbara City College and a heart-pumping and hilly 3-mile walk a couple times a week.

Sometimes I am not sure what my goals are for working out. Yes, I'd like to drop ten pounds. Yes, I'd like to keep my cholesterol and triglycerides in check. Yes, I like the endorphins that keep stress at bay. And yes, I hope to reap the physical benefits of stronger bones and cardiovascular fitness.

But I don't feel strongly enough about any of those things to get myself out the door more than three times a week, or else I would be doing it.

Then it occurred to me that what I really want from exercise is the ability to live my life the way I want to live it. I want to do what I want to do and go where I want to go, without hobbling around in pain, or worse, avoiding activities altogether.

If I go to San Francisco, I want to be able to walk up and down hills. If I go to a festival, craft show or fair, I'd like to be able to stand on my feet for hours at a time. If I go to a concert, I want to be able to rock out! There are many other instances that come to mind where having energy and endurance are necessary in my life. Public speaking, for example!

So really, exercise serves one main purpose for me: to allow me to live my life. All the other benefits are welcome and happen without any extra thought, but if I were to focus on those results, I would be exercising for the wrong reasons. At least the wrong reasons for me.

How many signs do you need?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 20:55:00 +0000

How many signs (or hints or warnings) do you need before you realize it's time to make a change? For me, a lot.

9 years ago, I started having problems with my digestion. After much misery, my doctor told me I was suffering from both IBS and GERD. Lovely. The typical "prescription" is to manage stress, change diet, and lose weight. And in my case, take a Prilosec every day.

So I did (actually, I lost the weight unintentionally when I changed my diet). I stopped drinking caffeine and alcohol, stopped eating after 7:00 p.m., started drinking more water, and either eliminated or reduced triggers: spicy food, acidic food, processed food, chocolate, wheat, raw or overly fibrous vegetables, raw garlic and onion.

It was a rough (and bland) year.

However, I got my digestion back on track and amazingly, lost 30 pounds. Which was pretty cool.

Time passed. A couple of years went by. I slowly started adding the offending foods back into my diet. Started going wine tasting a lot. Started drinking caffeinated tea in the mornings. Started buying such delicious tangerines at the farmers market... you get the picture.

And I started getting signs that my digestive problems were back. But only occasionally, so I could overlook them. One bad bout of heartburn here and there... so what? One day every now and then when my gut just wouldn't settle down. Big deal.

At the same time, my joints were becoming more arthritic (the result of a car accident 22 years ago) and my back and neck were constantly sore. I know I'm getting old, but I considered myself pretty fit and not overweight by more than a few pounds. But I know that digestive issues and inflammation are closely linked and wondered if my problems were related.

So I started toying with the idea of going back on my healthy digestion diet, and also started researching inflammation and foods that cause or reduce inflammation.

Then I was struck with the realization that I was having these digestive problems, not now and then, but every day. And my GERD was getting more painful. And I could barely eat anything anymore without some kind of flareup. Hello -- could this be a sign?

Yesterday I talked to BeTheMatch.org, the registry for the National Bone Marrow Donor Program, and that conversation sealed the deal.

Backstory: I joined the registry in 1990 when the community rallied around a local child who needed a transplant, and over the years I had received a call or two about being a possible match. I can't donate blood because of the mad cow disease scare in the 90s; I lived in London during a period of time considered risky for becoming a mad cow carrier. But that doesn't matter to the bone marrow donor registry, and since 1990 I've hoped that I could maybe help save someone's life with my bone marrow.

I got a letter last week from the registry saying that I'm a possible match, and that I should call in for more details and a health evaluation. Guess what health problem caused me to be deferred? No, not the digestive stuff -- the back and neck pain.

There are two methods of bone marrow donation. One is a surgical outpatient procedure where the bone marrow is extracted from the pelvic bone, and the other is a donation of peripheral blood stem cells in a procedure much like typical blood donation. The PBSC donation requires the use of a drug for five days before the procedure to stimulate the growth of these cells. Both the medication for the PBSC donation and the surgical procedure result in back pain.

Because my back pain is a recurring issue and not under control, I was deferred. So disappointed. But could this be another sign?

This was the push I needed to figure out how my diet is affecting my body physically through inflammation, including the back pain and the digestive problems, and to immediately shift my eating back to foods I know won't aggravate me.

I feel a little bit like an idiot for waiting so long to do something about it. But I'm motivated to get my health back on track -- for myself, and also so I can become eligible again to be a bone marrow donor.

I feel terrible that I might have been a match for someone and now I can't do anything to help.

How many signs do you need before making an important change in your life?

ETA: Today, February 27, I went to my doctor about the loud pulsating sound I've had in my left ear for two months. When she determined that I didn't have an ear infection, and started going down the list of possible causes, I just KNEW possible cause #3 was going to be GERD. Do I need any MORE signs?

On becoming a fan of birds

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 17:21:00 +0000

Photo by Ed Myers

One of the greatest things about our new place is our view of the outdoors. There's a sliding glass door looking out to the backyard and a window next to the dining room table looking to the side yard. The front screen door and living room window look out onto more trees and shrubbery. Because of these great views, we've (by default) become bird watchers!

In our last place, we got to know our Scrub Jays, American Crows, Mourning Doves and briefly, a family of Cooper's Hawks, but they weren't usually easy to see without going outside. Now we've got a ringside seat for all the bird entertainment we could want.

It all started with the little brown birds on the grass. Most of the birds on our property were familiar to me, but these chubby brown hopping birds were not, and I found myself with a strong desire to know what they were. So I bought a bird book and found out that they were California Towhees. I love knowing stuff!

Now that I had the bird book, I started to observe more unfamiliar birds. Isn't that the way it always goes? You buy a red car and then suddenly you notice every red car on the road?

Then my neighbor loaned me her book on crows, called Crow Planet: Essential Wisdom from the Urban Wilderness(affiliate link). As I read about the crows (who are not as visible here as they were at our last place), I had a revelation that I had never given birds credit for being as interesting as they really are!

Now that I had the bird book, I started to figure out the names of our visitors. I recognized the sparrows, but I didn't know that they were called White-crowned Sparrows. Or that their occasional partners in snacking were called Golden-crowned Sparrows.

Then there was the Anna's Hummingbird. We had hung a hummingbird feeder above the deck, and enjoyed watching the birds come to feed. But we didn't notice -- until we noticed -- that the same hummingbird would come back every day, perching between feedings on a branch about twelve feet from the dining room window. She would sit, preen, scratch and poop, then make another trip to the feeder. We never would have detected the tiny bird in the bush had we not been actively following her flights.

In order to see her better, we pulled the binoculars out from under the car seat and put them on the dining room table. And when yet another two unidentified birds appeared in the yard, I bought another bird book.

Here's the list of birds we've met so far:

California Towhee
Anna's Hummingbird
Scrub Jay
Downy Woodpecker
White-crowned Sparrow
Golden-crowned Sparrow
Black Phoebe
Robin

We're starting to recognize where they hang out, where they eat, where they perch, who they hide from and what times of day to expect them. Our neighbor has a bird bath, and it's fun to watch them drink and bathe. We plan to add different kinds of bird feeders and increase the bird-attracting plants in the yard.

Neither of us has ever had an interest in birds. It's amazing what happens when you just open your eyes and ears and start paying attention.

A tribute to Noonie

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:39:00 +0000

Once again, I'm having to write a tribute to a kitty we've loved and lost, this time our sweet Noonie. We miss her so much.

Moving in and moving on

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 01:06:00 +0000

I have not kept up with this blog, and I'm sad that I've been so lax. My whole purpose for starting it was to remind myself of the joyful things in life, big and small, and share them with you when you might need a lift or a smile. I still see those things, but forget to share. Shame on me. Here's what's occupying me right now.

We recently moved, for the first time in 19 years. It was exciting but stressful.

Back in 2010 we had decided it was finally time to move, spent six months looking with no luck, then thought we would try to make it work in our tiny, decrepit place. We were going to make a commitment to making it more livable, partly by taking over the studio on the property and remaking it as my office, and partly by holding our landlord to her word that she would fix the roof, upgrade the electrical, and tent the place for termites. Once we got serious about staying, just three months passed before our landlords decided to sell the property.

We knew that there might be some time between showings and an actual purchase, but we didn't want to wait around and find out. On Friday, we got the news the landlords were selling. Over the weekend, I studied Craigslist and found some houses to look at. On Tuesday, we looked at the first place on the list, and fell in love. Apparently the owners fell in love with us, too, because on Thursday they offered us the place.

We've now been here just over two months, and we feel like we're living in the lap of luxury.

The roof doesn't leak!

We have double-pane windows, so there's not a draft to be found. The house is cool on hot days and comfortable on chilly days.

The place feels like a mansion: We have (count 'em) TWO bedrooms -- one of which is my office-slash-guestroom -- and we have (count 'em) TWO bathrooms. One of them is twice the size of our previous bathroom.

We have a wood burning stove, and a heater WITH A THERMOSTAT (I cannot emphasize enough the luxury of having a thermostat).

We have a garage with additional storage, and a washer and dryer -- hubby spent the last 19 years taking our laundry to the laundromat.

We have a dining room that's separate from the living room. Not only is my office NOT in the dining room, but we actually have a table in there. Where we actually eat.

We have a lovely outdoor space with a deck, fruit trees and plenty of room for gardening, and we have privacy on all sides (my office does share a wall with a duplex-mate, but so far no complaints).

And can I talk about the landlords for just a minute?

To give some perspective, our previous landlord came on the property maybe five times in the 19 years we lived there. Hubby and his dad renovated the bathroom, and she didn't come see it. We had a house fire and she trusted us to handle the follow-up. Her hands-off approach was both a blessing and a curse. She was also always "broke," so could never afford to fix anything. When she agreed to replace our refrigerator years ago, she bought a cheap used one from a friend (we had to pay half), that ended up having cockroaches living in it. We ended up buying our own and bringing it with us to our new place.

New landlords: like night and day.

They come by on a regular basis to take care of gardening in the front of the property. Before our housewarming party, in fact, Kris came by to mow the lawn because she wanted to make sure the place looked nice for our guests.

Before the first rains of the season, Dan came by to make sure all the outside drains were clear. And then after it rained, he came by to make sure they were working and there was no flooding.

One day I discovered them outside filling in cracks in the front walkway. When I mentioned the grout in the kitchen counter needing to be sealed, first Kris told me what product to use and offered to reimburse us. And then she mentioned that they seal all the bathroom grout every two years. Seriously. They seal the grout every two years.

A large, mature palm tree in the front of the property had become dangerous when its fronds caught fire resting on a power line. Within days, Kris and Dan had arranged to have it removed, and today there's nothing but a stump. Sad to see the beautiful tree go, but we've had enough experience with house fire that we were not interested in reliving that drama.

People assume our landlords are retired, but they're not. They work full time and are just a little bit older than us. They lived in this house and raised their children here, so it's a home to them, not just an investment.

I hadn't felt truly comfortable or happy in our previous home for several years. We had stopped inviting friends over; the house was so cramped and in disrepair, and even the deck out back started to seem unsafe to walk on. Our wiring was so old and unsafe that an electrician (while also delivering the bad news that there weren't enough amps for a dryer) suggested we could have an electrical fire in the wall at any moment.

Since we've moved, my attitude has changed. I feel lighter, happier, less stressed (even though our rent doubled). My home is a sanctuary. I want to invite people over all the time. I have real furniture. I feel like a grownup -- but in a good way.

I thought adjusting to the new place would take time after so long on Quinto Street, but the minute our move was finished, I was mentally gone from the old place and here to stay. For how long? Who knows? But it feels like home.

With a little help from my friends

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 20:33:00 +0000

Last December, I made a commitment that, in 2011, I would think less, and act more. I haven't been as consistent as I would like to be, but I am conscious of my theme, and have it written on a sticky note above my desk so I don't forget.

There are times when I think about, dwell on, and dread what I should be doing, but I don't do it -- as is probably the case with most of you. A typical example is working out. I'll be watching the clock tick down to the time when I start to get dressed in my workout clothes. Sometimes I get carried away with something else and I don't notice how late it's gotten.

I used to look at the clock and say, "Oh well, it's too late." And just continue with whatever I was doing.

Now I look at the late hour on the clock, assess the rest of my day, and if I'm not in a time crunch, I get off my butt, put on my workout clothes and go.

Yesterday is a perfect example of how sometimes I need help to ACT -- even when the action is fun, not work.

I was eating dinner at a restaurant with hubby Rudy and friend Evelyn. The conversation was all about momentum, motivation and accountability. At one point, I mentioned something about planking, and how I would love to plank (pics) on one of the tables in the restaurant. After talking about it, scoping out good tables, discussing how the two of them would have to stabilize the table so I wouldn't fall off while getting into position, and talking about it some more, I basically chickened out.

Then, as we finished our food and got up to leave, Evelyn walked over to a table and grabbed onto the edge. I said, "Oh, are we doing this?" Rudy grabbed the other edge. And in an instant, I had dropped my bag, climbed onto the table, and had accomplished my first plank.

Now, this may seem like complete nonsense to you (but if you're reading this blog, then you must have a tiny sense of silliness in you somewhere), but I had been talking about doing this for weeks, and I finally did it. Sure, it's completely silly, but I like and need silly in my life, and I wanted to be part of this silly game playing out around the world.

Much like the nudge I needed to meet Kathy Griffin, as I described in my Starstruck post, Evelyn gave me that that little kick in the butt. No, I haven't finished either of my books. No, I haven't finished my online group coaching program. No, I haven't started packing for my move in three weeks. But YES, I planked on a table at Wahoo's restaurant, had a great laugh, and took a picture for posterity. I stopped thinking and started acting. Thanks, Evelyn!

Getting ready for 50

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 15:00:00 +0000

Lately, I find myself surrounded by articles, images and living examples of stylish, fit women in their fifties. I suddenly can't help noticing how many great-looking 50-year-olds there are here in Santa Barbara and elsewhere.

So maybe a lot of them can afford fitness trainers, weekly massages and manicures, facials and personal shoppers, but the fact remains, women in their fifties are looking hot.

Why am I suddenly obsessed with women in their fifties? Because I've got four years to get ready, and I need to get on the ball.

I was never prepared for aging, as most of us aren't, but I was excited to turn 30. I was so tired of everyone thinking I was still a college student, when I had accomplishments and achievements and life under my belt. Finally, I could say, "No, I'm not in college. I'm 30!" I felt I had come of age, a true grownup. I also gained weight for the first time in my life during my 30s, but easily exercised it away.

I was thrilled to turn 40. It was the year I walked away from the nonprofit I had founded and created my perfect career as a public speaking coach. I was coming into my own as a person and an entrepreneur, and feeling optimistic about the possibilities for my future. And I started noticing it was much harder to stay in shape through exercise; for the first time ever, I had to pay attention to my eating habits.

I'm not excited to turn 50. (Yet.) I feel more apprehension than anything else. My forties have been great, but also a wake-up call regarding my mental and physical health and fitness. I just can't screw around any more. I have four years to get my act together: I can either be a frumpy, dumpy 50-year-old who creaks and groans every time she gets up from the couch (and it's just downhill from there), or I can be a stylish and fit 50-year-old with joints and muscles that haven't completely deteriorated.

The grainy, fuzzy picture above of a half-eaten strawberry cake is symbolic of the journey I need to take, starting now. I need to approach my next four years with a new kind of discipline, a more mindful way of eating, exercising, taking care of myself and presenting myself. I don't mean discipline in a harsh or punishing way (and just to be clear, I don't believe in dieting). I mean the kind of discipline where I respect my body and what it's capable of.

That cake: It looked delicious in the case, but on the plate something was off. There was a chemical flavor to it, like artificially flavored jam. But I kept eating, thinking I would get used to it, or grow to like it. I mean, it was there.

It's easy to keep eating the bread in the bread basket, or the french fries that could serve an army, or the tortilla chips that keep coming with a new dish of fresh salsa.

But are they worth it? The question is no longer, "Are they good for me?" but rather, "Are they worth the extra weight, sluggishness and regret I'll experience if I'm not mindful of my eating?" And the answer is NO.

If I had ordered a rich Danish pastry, something that restaurant specializes in, I would not for a minute have hesitated to finish it. Because yes, some things are worth it. It would be a special treat and I would savor it.

But an off-tasting piece of strawberry cake is not worth it. A huge pile of generic french fries is not worth it. The second half of a gigantic burrito is not worth it. This is the lesson of my mid-forties.

1. I don't have to be angry that I can't eat everything I want or as much as I want. I just have to savor and relish the truly delectable foods I do eat, and eat them mindfully and in moderation.

2. I don't have to obsess over getting back the body of my 30s, when I was at the peak of my fitness. I just have to work out enough to keep my heart pumping, my joints flexible, my bones strong and my cholesterol at a reasonable level. Maintaining a healthy weight would be nice, too.

3. I don't have to resent dressing like a grownup (even a fun grownup). I can be comfortable in my clothes, while making a little more effort not to wear t-shirts and shorts every day. And for that matter, why do I always save certain jewelry, accessories and perfumes for special occasions? I need to pull those out, use and enjoy them.

As I've been looking back, I've also been looking forward. I want to carry the younger, feistier, more colorful me into my middle age. I also want to carry the older, wiser, more sensible and confident me forward. I want to live a long, happy, healthy life with my kitties, my husband, my family and friends.

I've made good strides over the years, and I'm on a good path. But the real work starts now. Four years to go... how will I do?

Sparkly fun with jewelry

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 18:19:00 +0000

Click images to see full size

I may not be as adventurous a dresser as I once was, but I do have a special affinity for funky jewelry, especially earrings.

From 2004-2007, I had a jewelry business. I made one-of-a-kind earrings, necklaces and bracelets from vintage, Venetian and art glass beads. I had been a jewelry artist as a hobby for decades, but at a time when I had been laid off my jobs in nonprofits three times in four years, it made sense to turn my hobby into a business.

Unfortunately, turning your favorite hobby into a business doesn't always work, and I found myself resisting the mass production that was going to be required in order for me to make a living at this. It stopped being fun to crank out 8-10 pairs of earrings in a day. And I had started my public speaking coaching business in 2005 that was starting to look like it would go somewhere.

I closed the jewelry business in 2007, and for probably a year, didn't pick up my tools. Slowly but surely, however, I've gotten back into my hobby, especially when I want to remake a piece for myself that I sold. It's fun again, it's a great creative outlet, and I take huge satisfaction in wearing my own handiwork.

It's gratifying to know that people still wear my jewelry; just the other day, a Twitter friend mentioned she had on a pair of my earrings, and when I met another friend for cocktails on Saturday, she was wearing some as well. I love seeing that my jewelry stands the test of time; it's not dated or out of style. It's a style all its own!

Here are a few of my favorite pieces, most of which now belong to someone else.

Are you who you were?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 02:08:00 +0000

When I was a freshman in college, my first experience as a theater major was participating in creating a collaborative play created by my fellow theater classmates and an English class. The English students submitted stories from their parents, grandparents and other ancestors; we submitted our own life stories. Then the whole thing was turned into a script and performed by my theater class as a two-part play exploring the differences and similarities between generations entitled, "Are We Who They Were?"

This title has come up again for me recently, but more in the form of "Am I Who I Was?" It was triggered by watching Jessi Arrington's TED talk on "Wearing Nothing New." If you haven't seen it, you can (and should!) watch it below (it's short). I also wrote about it from the public speaking perspective here.

I was once like Jessi in my thrift shopping zeal and love of colorful outfits. I still am, in fact, but you'd never know it.

Back in high school I shopped in thrift stores because it was the cool thing to do and, as I was a kid, I had limited income. I could buy bag loads of stuff with very little outlay. I even worked at a thrift store one summer and came home with half my pay in clothes and shoes. My best friend and I would wear our outfits to death, then trade and wear each other's to death. I went to the prom in an elegant 50s embroidered satin ballgown with a full skirt and deep V-back, and a week later, to a classmate's debutante ball in my best friend's vintage black lace evening gown. Vintage was hot in those days, and I amassed a distinctive collection of outfits from the 40s to the 60s, including shoes, hats and accessories.

I took my cool clothes with me to college, where thrift shopping was less cool among the preppy rich kids I hung out with, but I still enjoyed expressing my creativity, style and kooky personality through my mostly-thrifted threads. For many years I didn't own a pair of shorts or sweats; I preferred my mini-skirts, pencil skirts and pleated plaid skirts, thank you very much.

Pre-prom, 1983 (I didn't have time to put on makeup!)

Once out of college, I found myself in the workforce. With a full time job came a sense of needing to fit in as well as a certain amount of disposable income, leading me to shop more frequently in regular retail stores. I don't even know how or when it happened, but things started to change. I still shopped in thrift stores, but those purchases became more and more about finding good brands and well-made pieces (the joy of finding a like-new high-end silk or linen blouse for just a couple of bucks!) that made me look like everyone else.

20+ years later, my thrift store wardrobe now makes up a tiny portion of my closet, and most of those items are no more interesting (and sometimes less interesting) than the ones I buy at Banana Republic or Calvin Klein (the outlets, of course. I still hate spending money on clothes.)

Watching Jessi's talk reminded me that there's nothing wrong with expressing myself through my clothing, even in a professional setting, even if the colors and patterns I choose are a little brighter or crazier than the average girl. But I don't know if I can ever get back the devil-may-care attitude I used to have about my clothes. After all, I'm 46 and I'm supposed to exhibit some decorum, right?

The red Hilo Hattie dress

Thanks to Jessi, I visited the thrift stores this past week with the express purpose of breaking out of my usual habit of safe shopping. I found a red Hilo Hattie Hawaiian dress to replace the one I've had for over a decade and that no longer fits (here I am in my new dress). I also found an apple green velvet jacket, a tangerine skirt, and a pink, orange and red multi-colored top that may or may not go with anything in my closet (or maybe with aforementioned skirt and jacket!). All good quality and, by the way, fun.

I also picked up a sensible pink-and-red-striped shirt for "business-y" meetings (never let 'em see you sweat) and a soft gray sweater that will go with anything, no matter how garish.

I'm on a new quest: To be who I was. Or at least a reasonable facsimile; after all, I don't need to look like I'm 22 years old, I just want to let myself be playful in ways I haven't allowed in many years.

How about you? *Are you who you were?*

Do you wish that you were still doing things you used to do? *What's stopping you?*

Starstruck

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 19:03:00 +0000

Barbara Wayman, me, Diana Long, Meredith Liepelt

Let me preface this by saying that I grew up in Santa Barbara. Because we're so close to Los Angeles, yet somewhat isolated, celebrities are a dime a dozen here. They own homes or come for the weekend. They shop at the farmers market, eat breakfast at hometown haunts and of course, attend the occasional gala event like the Santa Barbara International Film Festival.

We let them be. It's not cool in Santa Barbara to bombard movie stars for autographs or to ogle them from across the room. We don't get starstruck.

So WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO ME Tuesday night, when I attended my first ever big Hollywood event, the Costume Designers Guild Awards?

I didn't go into it expecting lots of movie and TV stars, although I knew Kristin Davis would be the emcee and Halle Berry would be accepting an award. I figured there would be lots of successful costume industry people, a nice cocktail reception, dinner and awards speeches. I was with a group of women invited by my cousin Barbara, and I looked forward to meeting and enjoying a glamorous evening with these fellow coaches and consultants from across the country.

I was a theater major in college, my emphasis on acting. But through a serendipitous series of events, ended up senior year a costume design major. I still find costume design fascinating and analyze every detail of movie and TV costumes. I felt so lucky to be part of an event honoring such creative people. But the costume designers' faces were not familiar to me like the performers' faces were.

From the moment Kristin Davis walked by in her gorgeous black-on-white polka dot gown, I knew I was not going to be cool. I knew I was going to gawk. I so wanted to be unfazed, but it was not to be. Barbara managed to find her way into the VIP press lounge as part of an entourage of colleagues and friends. When she came out, she had met Bill Paxton and spotted Bette Midler somewhere in the crowd.

And then it just got more and more surreal as the movie and TV personalities piled up. I spotted Kathy Griffin, one of my favorite comedians (and the subject of a few Speak Schmeak blog posts), sitting at the next table on the lower level, facing me. As I gawked and squealed, suddenly Barbara and Meredith appeared in my view, chatting with Kathy along with their friend Lash who, of course, knew Kathy. As I marveled at how the heck they got there so fast, Diana, sitting next to me, started to jump out of her seat to join them. I said, "Are you going?" and impulsively leaped up to join her. We nearly sprinted to the Kathy Griffin table.

Here's something about me people don't believe: I'm shy. I love standing up in front of an audience of 500 people to speak. But when it comes to introducing myself to someone I admire, I'm a total freak. I will hide in a dark corner rather than say hello to someone of whom I'm a fan. I could have sat at that table all night staring at Kathy Griffin, just a few feet away. Thank goodness for the impulsiveness of Diana, forcing me to take action.

I butted right to the front of the group, probably a little rudely, to say hello to Kathy, who was absolutely lovely and charming. She asked if I wanted to take a picture and uh, heck YEAH I wanted to take a picture. She very graciously posed with me as Lash snapped away ~~(I hope I actually get a copy!)~~. I thanked her for being so willing to be accosted by and photographed with strangers. Then the conversation continued, and Diana and I went back to our seats.

There was a charming and handsome young man at our table, who looked familiar. Turns out he was Matt Lauria, from The Chicago Code and Friday Night Lights, two shows I've never watched. He was what someone my age calls a "nice young man."

And the presenters kept coming. Robert Duvall, Melora Hardin, Lisa Edelstein, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Ginnifer Goodwin, Claire Danes, Isaiah Mustafa (yes -- the Old Spice Guy!), Ashton Kutcher, Demi Moore, Diane Lane, Billy Bob Thornton, Bill Maher, Samuel L. Jackson...

It was a fairly small room and the presenters weren't far from us. It was easier to see them on the monitors, however, so we mostly watched the big screens. Which is how we normally view celebrities, right? Then I would turn my head and that person was standing RIGHT THERE, making an award presentation. Surreal, I tell you.

And yes, I ogled. I gawked. I stared. I tweeted and Facebooked and took a ton of pictures. And enjoyed every minute.

I'm a thinker and planner, but the "doing" usually follows much later, which is why my theme word for 2011 is "ACT!" Unfortunately, "acting" doesn't always come easily, which is why I'm so grateful for Diana motivating me to go meet Kathy Griffin. In the grand scheme of things, it's maybe a minor event in my life. But why not take the opportunity when it presents itself?

I find I'm now second guessing myself, wishing I had taken MORE action. "Why didn't I tell Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton how much I enjoyed their presentations?" Why didn't I do this? Why didn't I do that? In fact, because I was so in the moment, and hadn't planned or thought out anything, I couldn't take action at all.

My lesson in this: There is indeed value in the planning and preparation that I like to do, if I want to be on my toes making things happen.

A little planning goes a long way, but so does a little action!

(Shout out to Barbara, Meredith, Diana, Ruth and Jill, my companions for the evening: a group of powerful, accomplished, brilliant and gorgeous women that I'm so glad to have met!)

Photos from the event are here.

Why do you work out?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 22:47:00 +0000

When I was a teenager, I worked out because I wanted to win games and races. Without proper training, I had no idea what I was doing, and achieved little for my efforts.

When I was in my 20s, I worked out because I was skinny and wanted muscles. It was fun for a while, but my studies (and parties) were more appealing.

When I was in my 30s, I worked out because I wanted to match the women I studied as an advocate for gender equity in sports. And I had suddenly discovered my metabolism slowing down and myself 20 pounds heavier than I had ever been.

I became very fit and strong -- and very obsessed with exercise -- and found myself sick all the time.

In my 40s, I think I've finally found the right reasons to work out:

I work out to stay fit, but not to the detriment of my immune system.

I work out to support my vast energy stores (so lucky to be a high-energy girl).

I work out to maintain my mental health.

I work out to enjoy the natural beauty Santa Barbara offers every day.

I work out to get away from my desk, if only for a short time.

I work out because it feels damn good.

I try not to let fear or guilt motivate me. I try not to compete with other women's bodies. I try not to push myself beyond what's reasonable for my age, physical condition and interest. Sometimes I fail at these things. But I'm so much more physically and mentally healthy at this point in my life because I do what I enjoy and do it as often as possible.

Why do you work out?

The more things change...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 19:00:00 +0000

...the more they stay the same. (See original quote below.)

I've always found this a fascinating aspect of human nature, and it was reinforced for me yesterday as I sat drinking coffee with five friends I had first met in second grade and, for the most part, had not seen in nearly 30 years. By the time I changed high schools in 1981, I was not seeing these girls regularly any more. My memories of them were mostly fixed in elementary school and junior high. And I lost touch, and that was that.

Then Facebook came along! And suddenly, people I had wondered about from time to time were in my life again, flesh and blood. And then, the coffee date.

First of all, everyone looked the same to me. No surprise. I think our brains imprint a face in our memories and it doesn't matter how old someone gets, the original face is always overlaid on the new face.

But what is fascinating is how much everyone's basic personality, speech patterns and physical characteristics have stayed the same. We may spend billions of dollars a year in this country on self-help books, therapy and fitness training; we may get married, have kids (or not), experience traumas and dramas and life-changing events; we may improve our bad habits, become more confident and embrace healthy or unhealthy behaviors of all kinds, but we do not ever really change.

I like to think that I'm very different from the girl I was when I met these women back in 1972, and even different from the 16-year-old I was when I left for another school. But as our conversation went on, in each woman I saw the same girl I knew back then. Same personality, same sense of humor, same facial expressions, same mannerisms, same everything.

I had this experience with another elementary school friend I met up with a couple of years ago. I hadn't seen her since fourth grade. Guess what: Same exact person I knew in fourth grade.

I'm not saying this is a good or bad thing. It just is. We can change our outward behaviors, but can we change who we are at our core, the traits ingrained in us by biology and genetics?

I guess I'm resigned to the fact that the shy, nerdy, loudmouthed 7-year-old is still with me. I'm no different than I ever was, except that, at this age, I have the self-awareness to know who I am.

Here's a cool article on the "nature vs. nurture" argument as seen through the Human Genome Project.

The original expression, in French, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose" was said by Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr.

I wish I could tell you... (An open letter to negative people)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 23:00:00 +0000

Dear friend (although I'm not sure that is the appropriate term for our relationship),

I wish I could tell you how much I dread talking to you, because we can't have a conversation where everything in your life isn't falling apart, one way or another. And you only ask me about my life in order to one-up me with your troubles.

I wish I could tell you how much you are sabotaging your personal and professional progress and success because people don't want to work with you or spend time with you.

I wish I could tell you how bad you make people feel with your backhanded "compliments" which are only meant to make yourself look better or smarter than others.

I wish I could tell you to smile now and then. You have a nice smile, but mostly walk around with an expression of disdain.

I wish I could tell you to ease up on the world. Life is what you make of it. We all have struggles and challenges, but we don't all go around constantly complaining and blaming as though we're the only ones who ever experienced pain. Read Sean Holton's blog to see how it's done.

I wish I could tell you that dwelling on the past only works if you are using it to learn from your mistakes. Otherwise, it's a waste of time. And no one wants to hear it.

I wish I could tell you these things, but I don't feel that you are enough of a friend to have an honest conversation with you. Our relationship is based entirely on you complaining and me trying to be supportive and helpful. It's exhausting, and I don't think friendships should feel like that.

I wish that, by reading this, you would recognize yourself. But you won't, because you have a distorted perception of how you are perceived by others, and you will feel sorry for "someone else" when you read this.

What I do get from being around you is an incredible sense of gratitude about my own life. With all my problems and challenges, I can appreciate the good things (hence, this blog) and actively seek to make my life the way I want it. So thank you for that.

This is really more for me than for you.

It's only hair...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 00:28:00 +0000

There's a cashier at a store in my neighborhood who has the most adorable hairdo. Whenever I shop there, I can't stop looking at her... partly because I'm pretty sure it's a wig. But it's the kind of hair I wish I had: full, bouncy with just the right amount of curl, the perfect shade of brown with blond highlights, and darling bangs. A little retro; I can picture that hair looking sassy with a pair of go-go boots.

Today I go through her checkout line. She's always perky, friendly and conversational, so I decide to mention her hair. I tell her how much I love it; how it's exactly the kind of hair I wish I had, and how I love its bounce and curl.

She is flattered and surprised, and thanks me for the compliment. After a little more small talk about hair, she leans in and tells me quietly she's going through chemo and it's a wig. She doesn't normally tell people, but she's touched by the compliment. This is not her typical hairstyle, but she's enjoying it for her temporary look.

I was afraid she was going to tell me something like this and I wish for a moment that I weren't so nosy. I get all teary-eyed and try to avoid making eye contact by concentrating on my debit transaction. I say that, if I had the choice of wigs, I might go for purple or green, and she tells me that they do offer those colors and people do choose them!

So now that I know what I know, I tell her she has great taste in hair and we say goodbye.

What a cheerful, good-humored woman with a big smile and great attitude. And sadly, quite young to be going through this illness. I hope the chemo works and she recovers soon (I also not-so-secretly hope she keeps wearing the wig anyway). Her positive energy made my day.

Update, December 2011: I finally saw the cashier again this week, and she was wearing her natural hair. So, first of all, she's still with us. And second, she has apparently chosen not to keep wearing her wig. :-) I was very happy to see her.

An emergency thank you...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 25 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

I have had two ambulance rides in my life: one where I was more fascinated by the quantity of saline being poured over my legs than I was scared or in shock, and one where I cried the whole time with blood pouring down my face.

I have been a patient in the emergency room for both minor mishaps (they laughed when they saw how little I had cut off my finger) and for major physical and psychological trauma (car accident, massive panic attack).

After the trauma and drama are over, I sometimes wish I could track down the first responders, the doctors and nurses who have been there for me through these distressing events, and thank them. But I think for many of us who have experienced these kinds of emergencies, we don't really want to relive them or remember them any more than necessary. And I'm pretty sure that the EMTs and ER staff who helped me have forgotten me by the next day.

Still, I'd like to give thanks this year for the police, firefighters, EMTs, paramedics, doctors, nurses, technicians, and everyone else who has scooped me up off the street, stitched me up like Frankenstein, shot me full of sedatives and did what they had to do to put me back together, physically and mentally.

I've always appreciated the dry humor, the calm demeanor, the matter-of-fact attitude that faces me in the ER. I might be freaking out (or just out of it), but the person who meets me never is. When my head was busted open in five places, I don't recall a single ER staff person looking at me in horror. I understand the training and conditioning these people go through. And I appreciate it.

I still remember cracking jokes with the doc who sewed up my lacerations; I distinctly recall telling him I'd "always wanted a needle in my eye."

I've been a visitor with with hubby as he's experienced extremely painful kidney stones, strange dizzy spells and heart palpitations, and also a co-patient (between the two of us, we used up most of the saline supply in the ambulance -- in a ride that took two and a half blocks). They always take us seriously, but they don't make us more scared. How do they DO that?

I take comfort in living near a major hospital, and having spent so much time in its ER, I feel safe and secure as I pass by on my regular walks in the neighborhood. I know what goes on inside. I know people are there for me if I need them.

So on this Thanksgiving, six days short of the 20th anniversary of a car accident that would change my life in so many ways, let me give a resounding

THANK YOU

to all the first responders, the ER personnel, and everyone else who helped put the pieces back together again. You rock.

Yay Life IRL

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Here's the license plate that inspired this very blog! I think I must live near these people, because I frequently find myself driving behind their car or, in this case, parking next to them at Trader Joe's.

I'd love to meet the person behind this license plate!

A dino a day keeps monotony away

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 21:40:00 +0000

On my neighborhood walk, I'm constantly entertained and engaged. There's so much to see, smell and experience on a beautiful fall day in Santa Barbara. Today, for example, I encountered:

Butterflies and bees
Giant orb spiders
A single yellow leaf dropping from a branch
A sleeping Labrador
A barking Pit Bull
Shimmery snail trails
A car trunk full of groceries
Jack-o-lanterns
A woman with a camera on a tripod
Gardeners and construction workers
A double-sized, long-haired, chatty, purry gray kitty
A large story board or planning grid in a garage
Dinosaurs

Dinosaurs! Yep, this house never fails to grab my attention. In its desert-style garden, there are hidden treasures, if you take a moment to look.

There's a brawl about to happen between a stegosaurus and a little guy someone will have to identify for me; there's a brontosaurus guarding a boulder in front. And then, just when you think you're back in prehistoric times, you spot a tiny red car driving through the tableau (see it?). I might find more critters if I look more closely, which I will next time.

I can't help but think I would like the people who live in this house. Their humor and playfulness are two qualities I require in people I choose to hang out with. After all, who wants friends with no imagination or sense of fun?

Shave and a haircut -- free!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 21:37:00 +0000

Well, I didn't get a shave OR a haircut, but I did get some haircutting advice from a lovely barber whose shop I walk by now and then in between picking up drycleaning and mail.

He was standing outside when I walked by and stopped me to tell me how much he likes my haircut. I told him my husband cuts my hair, and no, he's not trained, but he's been doing it for ten years now for fun.

He asked what tools Bub uses and I said he cuts with scissors and trims the back with clippers. And that we just bought a pair of thinning shears and we're having some fun with those. I told him the only problem is that I have a big cowlick that sticks up in back that's hard for Bub to manage.

So Frank, the barber, says, "Come in," and leads me to his chair. "Sit down," he says.

And for the next five or ten minutes, he proceeds to show me how to deal with the cowlick, how to cut the top and sides so they blend better, and how to trim the back with scissors so the hair hugs the shape of my head.

He combs it straight up and says, "See how this isn't straight? It should be straight," and proceeds to mock-trim with his scissors, demonstrating how Bub should cut straight across and then notch in "like so" to make it lie properly. Of course, he's totally destroying my 'do, but I don't stop him, because I'm so amazed and grateful that Frank would give away this information for free to some woman who happens to walk by his shop on occasion.

When the lesson ended, I thanked Frank for his advice and promised to come by after my next haircut to show him the improvements. I should probably bring him cookies or something for offering up this great advice completely unsolicited.

And if you're in Santa Barbara and need a haircut, stop by Danny's Custom Styling at 3337 State Street, in Loreto Plaza, (around the corner by the travel agency), and ask for Frank!