No lie. This baby was lying at the curb down the block from my house today. If you are a regular reader, you know I have an affection for things left at the curb. I am not sure if my neighborhood is simply ripe with refuse, or if all neighborhoods are like this but people just don’t notice. Or they notice but don’t document. My garbage posting has gotten to a point where I am thinking of starting a garbage blog. Thoughts?
So this item was found outside a house that has new residents. The previous homeowners predate my family and we have been here 24 years (how can that be, this was my starter house). I am thinking that I am falling in love with these new neighbors before I have even met them.
If you are having trouble making out what this is, it would be a very large metal sculpture of a giraffe; one that looks as if it was hit by a car. This sucker was huge. I would say certainly the size of an actual baby giraffe. Here is a shot of just the face. I simply love the eyelash detail.
So, my dear readers, I put this question out to you, was this an item that the new owners found in the house, or was this something they moved with and then decided they no longer wanted? Or perhaps they had all intentions of using it as a lawn ornament but the movers destroyed it. It’s been a while since we took a poll, so let’s put it out there. All you lurkers who don’t like to comment, go ahead and vote, it’s anonymous.
So, I see this posted on Facebook today and seeing that we are big Zombie fans in this house I sent it to my business partner. Because, you know, we were insanely busy today with too many deadlines and I wanted my projects to get out first and make her look bad to lighten things up a bit and make her laugh. I just thought this was funny until she clued me on on the horrific story in the news about the guy in Miami found naked and chewing another guys face. (How did I miss this story? Shame on me!) Apparently he was high on bath salts, the latest designer drug of choice… for zombie types, I suppose. This is simply too crazy to fathom.
Of course I posted this on my wall because it was just too insane and then I received a post on my timeline from an old friend about this lunatic in New Jersey (is that redundant?) who stabbed himself and then threw his skin and intestines at the cops trying to help him from self harm.
People, I am convinced that we should all consider a quick refresher course on zombie preparedness ASAP.
Honeysuckle! This has to be the quintessential sign of summer. My mom used to have a honeysuckle bush right outside the kitchen door. The smell of it still makes me feel like a little kid. I remember picking the flowers and pulling out the tiny filament in the center to release the tiny droplet of sweet nectar on my tongue. It was one of those fascinations that I have never tired of.
This mass of honeysuckle is on my morning walk. I could not resist but to pick a flower and taste that sweet flavor again. It did not disappoint.
The memorial day weekend – with its unofficial start to summer – did not disappoint either. It was filled with all the things I love about this season. I will never take these glory days for granted; when being in the basement is out of the question and there is more to do than hours in the day.
I hope you all enjoyed yourselves and just think… a four day work week, not so bad.
Wishing you all a very happy start to the best season of the year.
Take off your shoes, paint your toes any color your heart desires, go to the beach, do a little gardening, surf, sail, bike, play golf, tennis or whatever endorphin inducing pastime you can think of, BBQ, put the top down, play the music real loud, eat outside, unplug, read paper, play with your kids, your dog, your cat, your sloth (for you American Idol watchers) drink a little too much, sleep late, eat ice cream, turn on the sprinkler (not just for the kids) and most of all…
Happy Memorial Day and may you wear white pants with a clear conscience.
If you have ever owned Labrador Retriever puppy you already started laughing at the title of this post. My last lab was a chewer as a pup as well, but it was so long ago my memory has faded. I am pretty sure that Iko is way worse. To give you an idea, here is a list of what she has chewed or eaten in the past few weeks:
A leather flip flop (see above, she did quite a nice job on this one)
2 pairs of vintage prescription sunglasses and a nice bite out of the lens of a brand new pair (yes, I know, stop leaving them on the counter)
2 plastic bins that we kept her toys in (BTW,red plastic comes out exactly how it went in)
A few indestructible dog toys from manufacturers with claims that they cannot be destroyed (they have not met Psycho Iko)
A couple of mouthfuls of Biotone (this is a garden fertilizer and required an emergency trip to the vet with the bag and a call to poison control. They told us it is not toxic and she will just violently projectile vomit… um, that is how we knew she ate it, but thanks.)
A ballpoint pen (leaving a blue birthmark on the side of her face)
A client’s check (perhaps she ate the pen to forge my signature on the check)
Countless sticks, flowers and terra cotta pots (she loves the garden)
Shall I go on? I guess you get the picture. Hey anyone want to dogsit this weekend?
This one always kills me. It is halfway through Tuesday and I realize that I have not posted my most sacred post of the week. I have been blogging for four years now (crazy, right?) and Tuesdays have always been the days I stop and smell the roses, the coffee, or maybe even the not so clean sponge that I can smell from the garage as I walk in the house. It is the day I have vowed to myself to always take stock and find something that touches me. A little break in the crazy week that makes me present.
And here I am, at 1PM on Tuesday and I realize I forgot to do this last night.
So today’s post is about time. And how we get caught up in how important we are. How our to-do list is sometimes magnified to the point of absurdity. When you break your own rule for taking a moment, it is not the end of the world for anyone else but yourself.
Better late than never; here is my list of things that made me grateful this week. The things that made me feel like me:
1. My very first peony of the season. When I left the house that morning it was a bud, when I came home it was in full bloom. And it was the only one in the gar den.
2. Planting for my mom. This was a bittersweet task because as much as she loved me doing it she wished she could do it herself. She told me she remembered doing it for her mom and I told her I was screwed because Jana did not like to garden.
3. Puppy on the beach. You can never beat this one, even after she chewed THREE pair of prescription sunglasses in one week.
4. Son home for 36 hours. Hopefully when he returns from his little post-finals excursion we will get a little more of him. A lot more would be asking the impossible.
5. Full house Sunday dinner with dear friends and all 4 of our kids… a true rarity and a gift indeed.
With the holiday weekend marking the unofficial start of summer, I vow to try to chill when I can.
This was sitting on the credenza in the conference room of a colleague when I arrived for a meeting the other day.
It was early, around 1PM, and I felt perhaps it was not really appropriate to have a buzz on for the meeting. But – there it was – this blatant directive. Would I offend by not complying? Would it appear rude? I was a little confused by the ‘No Disease’ tag up in the corner. And the hand sanitizer bottle.
I decided the only thing to do was to take a picture and text it to the principal of the company who I heard on the phone in the next office along with the word “Really?”
His response: “Did you have a drink? This is advertising baby”
I answered the only way I knew how, “I was looking for the Koolaid.”
Ok, so maybe I do have some fun when I am working.
Did you get that? You know, Beep Ditty Beep Beep (Beep Beep) That hideously annoying pattern is the car horn of a man who lovingly picks up his wife from the same commuter train that my daughter arrives on each evening.
I am pretty sure it is just a matter of days before sweet Jana unloads the misery of her entire work day upon this psycho spouse for beeping this pattern not once, not twice, but three times when he picks his wife up at the station. As if she does not see his car, front and center in the parking lot. As if he is not there in the same place EVERY day. As if they do not have a make and model that no one else in the lot has.
Here’s the thing; commuting is a pattern. There are basically the same people on each train, give or take, and you get to recognize the ebb and flow of their task of going to work. There is a sort of sedated routine respect that everyone falls into. Every morning we see tie not tied yet guy. And we see freshly curled hair woman. We love the familiarity of the groundhog’s day way they pass in front of our car. It is comforting to know that if we leave the house just after the school bus passes on the :39 we will comfortably make the :45 (unless of course the garbage truck is in the station lot blocking our way – can’t THEY figure out to come 4 minutes later and not disrupt the commuters?). We know we are cool if we pass the auto body shop before the gate is opened. And the second turn is better than the first because there is no traffic light.
Now I am sure that Mr. Beep Ditty is practicing this same kind of routine with his lovely wife. It is probably something that he has been doing forever and she finds it sweet and sort of cute. Or not and one day SHE will unload the misery of her day on him. But he has to stop and think for one moment that perhaps this might get on the last nerve of the other people getting off that train.
The thing is, I would normally advise Jana to just roll with it. But I am sort of into witnessing her haul off and shout “Are you KIDDING me?” just once.
Back when I was in college there was an iris farm not far from where we lived. Going to school in the snow belt of upstate New York, things like The Lilac Festival and iris farms were one step more magical than they would normally be for their juxtaposition to the brutal snow dumping of the long winters. It was always so hard to reconcile all that color after living in a gray and white world of visual deprivation for such a long period of time.
An odd place to go to art school, indeed.
Growing up in the more populated west end of Long Island, iris farms were not something I had ever seen. One late spring morning I came across one and had to pull over. It was like a floral candy store; rows and rows of the these elegant multi-colored flowers. On some level a flower farm seemed comical. You know, being downstate suburban jaded and all. But it was also enchanting. Every year after that I made sure to stop by this farm for the sheer joy of walking down rows of blooming irises.
A simple pleasure.
The other morning on my walk I realized that all the irises in the neighborhood were starting to bloom at once. This particular solitary flower took my breath away and gave me a strong flashback of the upstate iris farm. From the angle of the shot it looks like I had fallen down and was shooting from the ground. No worries, I was upright. (for those who know me that is not too far-fetched) Dog leash in hand, I was still able to capture this one perfectly. I love the color of the house behind it as a backdrop.
The point of this post? I guess it is the same as the point of my morning walk everyday. To stop and take pictures of the flowers. Wait isn’t that stop and smell the roses? No, it is wake up and smell the coffee.
This beauty is wedged in the window of a local pharmacy that just happens to be next to a bar. Two vodkas to the wind and I spot this baby as we are saying goodbye to our friends. By some freak of forgetfulness I did not have a phone or a camera. A big thanks to Joyce for lending me hers.
So let’s take a look at this in detail. Well, why not, we did just that standing outside the bar last night. Might as well share. First, that is one pretty generous sized supporter on top, wouldn’t you say. Has sort of a diaper-like quality to it.
Our favorite parts:
1. Well, “Bub” of course.
2. Will outlast 2 low price supporters. Which 3? Does not commit
3. Will outlaunder (is that a word?) any 3 low priced supporters.
4. Genuine surgical elastic. Because, you know, you need to cradle the boys in something sterile.
5. The NAME: Duribilknit. How would you pronounce that?
I am thinking this place may want to consider updating their window. You know, like once every 50 years or so. I want to go in and tell them they might want to consider it. And of course let them know I can take this baby off their hands. Don’t you think it would look great in a shadow box frame in the new office?