I did it again. Almost exactly one year ago, I wrote about the silliness of starting and committing to a blog in the midst of holiday season. Insanity, I said, would be doing it again next year. http://mauramusing.blogspot.com/2011/01/insanity-is.html
Oops.
But it made me wonder whether something about the winter solstice (or doldrums, for me) precipitates writing. It's not the approaching New Year as I intend to neither reflect nor resolve. My life still pivots with the school calendar, so January is a continuation not a true beginning. My musing knows no season. My devices facilitate mobile posting - from beaches or tennis courts.
Which leaves . . . coincidence? Six months from my last post took me to late December. Six months from that June piece hubby finally noticed the new dining room chandelier that inspired the post. Six months . . . put me in the holiday season. Insane, I know.
What crazy things do you take on?
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Cheap Thrill
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Another Injeanious Idea, Not
Pajama jeans for men. You know, those pajamas that look like jeans for the super-lazy-can't-be-bothered-to-button-my-pants crowd (as distinguished from the trendy jeggings bunch). A version is now available for men. Oy.
It took me years to get hubby out of the ubiquitous "dad jeans" and into "designer denim." He was attached to his cheap, baggy, faded Old Navy/Levis/Gap/Target/insert-name-here jeans. Convincing him to part with more than $100+ for dark straight jeans that look great with a blazer, was an uphill battle. And I won. As long as they weren't too low, too tight, too straight, too distressed, button fly (as opposed to button with zipper) and really too expensive. It was difficult but I found a pair or two. He looked good. Other wives noticed my success with envy.
With my kids, I've insisted that "pants must cover boxers and not hang below" and "pants cannot look like leggings." I guess I must add another for hubby: pants must have button/snap/zipper. Or they're not pants.
http://www.glamour.com/fashion/blogs/slaves-to-fashion/2011/12/alert-your-dude-or-um-dont-paj.html
It took me years to get hubby out of the ubiquitous "dad jeans" and into "designer denim." He was attached to his cheap, baggy, faded Old Navy/Levis/Gap/Target/insert-name-here jeans. Convincing him to part with more than $100+ for dark straight jeans that look great with a blazer, was an uphill battle. And I won. As long as they weren't too low, too tight, too straight, too distressed, button fly (as opposed to button with zipper) and really too expensive. It was difficult but I found a pair or two. He looked good. Other wives noticed my success with envy.
With my kids, I've insisted that "pants must cover boxers and not hang below" and "pants cannot look like leggings." I guess I must add another for hubby: pants must have button/snap/zipper. Or they're not pants.
http://www.glamour.com/fashion/blogs/slaves-to-fashion/2011/12/alert-your-dude-or-um-dont-paj.html
Pro-propofol
Yesterday I had that certain middle-aged procedure with the yucky prep which shall go unnamed, and I was put out with propofol. Conrad Murray was not on the premises. I asked. Twice. The pre-op nurse laughed and said he wasn't there. The anesthesiologist took it more seriously; Murray wasn't qualified to administer propofol. Fortunately, he was.
The nerves hit me as I was wheeled into the "procedure room.". It looked like a small hospital operating room. The anesthiologist waited for my doctor to finish an urgent call before loading my iv. I was watching some monitor as I felt a little chill in my vein. And then, I didn't.
Some time later - could have been two minutes or two years - I gently awakened in another room. No nausea. No grogginess. No disorientation. Peaceful.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Derailed By A Lost Train
Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It's been six months since my last post. It was not for lack of desire. Nor was I devoid of thoughts. Certainly, like most, I've been busy. Life interfered with my best intentions. But something else happened: my lost train.
On June 15, as I often do, I wrote myself a note regarding a future post: "Not intended to be the maudlin musings of a middle-aged mom". Nice alliteration. Perhaps even
insightful. But, we'll never know. When I returned to write, the thought was gone. My own words no longer held any meaning. Frustrated that my great idea was gone, my blog went off the rails. It was hard to climb back aboard.
But, I miss the writing. And it strikes me now that my lost train could indeed be maudlin musings of middle age: the ideas that come and go may be stand-ins for the dreams and ideals that once were. Who I want to be is anchored by who I already am. Maybe my thought was flawed from the outset. Matter-of-fact replaces maudlin. Acceptance is closer. Is it possible I've grown up? Or maybe I just forgot. Either way, I'm back. I hope.
On June 15, as I often do, I wrote myself a note regarding a future post: "Not intended to be the maudlin musings of a middle-aged mom". Nice alliteration. Perhaps even
insightful. But, we'll never know. When I returned to write, the thought was gone. My own words no longer held any meaning. Frustrated that my great idea was gone, my blog went off the rails. It was hard to climb back aboard.
But, I miss the writing. And it strikes me now that my lost train could indeed be maudlin musings of middle age: the ideas that come and go may be stand-ins for the dreams and ideals that once were. Who I want to be is anchored by who I already am. Maybe my thought was flawed from the outset. Matter-of-fact replaces maudlin. Acceptance is closer. Is it possible I've grown up? Or maybe I just forgot. Either way, I'm back. I hope.
Friday, June 24, 2011
SIght Unseen
It's been a month since I replaced my dining room chandelier. Seventeen years later I still wonder how I picked that rococo brass monstrosity with carved faces. But now, it's gone; replaced by a beautiful, understated, modern crystal one. Or so I think. Hubby apparently has a different view.
He has not yet noticed. Despite four weeks of the shimmering illumination of work papers that clutter the dining table (don't get me started on that), despite the credit card bill that included the not-insubstantial purchase, hubby has said nothing. No "wow." No "where did that come from." No "why'd you waste that money." Nothing.
However, he recently lamented the placement of a storage pod on a lawn a couple of blocks away. It has been there at least a year. I guess he has 11 more months on the light.
He has not yet noticed. Despite four weeks of the shimmering illumination of work papers that clutter the dining table (don't get me started on that), despite the credit card bill that included the not-insubstantial purchase, hubby has said nothing. No "wow." No "where did that come from." No "why'd you waste that money." Nothing.
However, he recently lamented the placement of a storage pod on a lawn a couple of blocks away. It has been there at least a year. I guess he has 11 more months on the light.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Message to My Sons . . .
(and to a few prominent men). I realize I may be stating the obvious, but given recent news events, it apparently needs to be said:
First, you will get caught. Second, if you don't want it on the front page of the NY Times, don't do it, say it, email it, post it or tweet it.
I've been preaching some version of this to my children practically since birth. You can't expect much privacy, especially now that the world has gone digital. Even if you're just the average Joe/Jane, your nose-picking on the train may be filmed, your drunken stupor posted for your boss to see and that red light you accidentally ran, well, you'll probably still be ticketed.
Your emails and photos can be forwarded to anyone and everyone. Posts and tweets never really go away. Virtually everything is findable by google search. Even before or without technology, anyone who saw you do it or heard you say it, can talk about it to anyone and everyone. Expect your actions to be a front page headline.
And if you're a public figure, oh say, hypothetically, a Congressman from NY with a funny name thinking of running for NYC Mayor, you should know better. It's one thing to be a kid whose teenage sexts end up on his virtual resume, or whose petty crimes on tape lands him in jail. But a grown man, an elected official, a leader, etc. Where is the judgment? And common sense?
When the Governator's son with the family housekeeper became public knowledge, the most intriguing part of the story was "how did Arnold keep the secret so long?" Surely, he didn't want the world, let alone his wife, to know, and it ended up on the front pages anyway. And although he succeeded for awhile, the primary principle that you will be caught, still prevailed.
And how can I not mention my favorite goat, John Edwards, now charged with a crime related to covering up his campaign-time affair with his baby-mama and now fiancee, while his wife lay dying. I believe he thought he'd escape detection for a completely different, though more loathsome reason: he expected to be widowed sooner than he was. I suspect his plan was to marry Rielle and raise the child together and Elizabeth's long-survival crimped his style. That he proposed to Hunter shortly after the funeral seemed the nail in the coffin.
So my sons, live honorably, embrace discretion, learn from mistakes and know that the world is watching. Don't be stupid. And always remember, you will be caught.
First, you will get caught. Second, if you don't want it on the front page of the NY Times, don't do it, say it, email it, post it or tweet it.
I've been preaching some version of this to my children practically since birth. You can't expect much privacy, especially now that the world has gone digital. Even if you're just the average Joe/Jane, your nose-picking on the train may be filmed, your drunken stupor posted for your boss to see and that red light you accidentally ran, well, you'll probably still be ticketed.
Your emails and photos can be forwarded to anyone and everyone. Posts and tweets never really go away. Virtually everything is findable by google search. Even before or without technology, anyone who saw you do it or heard you say it, can talk about it to anyone and everyone. Expect your actions to be a front page headline.
And if you're a public figure, oh say, hypothetically, a Congressman from NY with a funny name thinking of running for NYC Mayor, you should know better. It's one thing to be a kid whose teenage sexts end up on his virtual resume, or whose petty crimes on tape lands him in jail. But a grown man, an elected official, a leader, etc. Where is the judgment? And common sense?
When the Governator's son with the family housekeeper became public knowledge, the most intriguing part of the story was "how did Arnold keep the secret so long?" Surely, he didn't want the world, let alone his wife, to know, and it ended up on the front pages anyway. And although he succeeded for awhile, the primary principle that you will be caught, still prevailed.
And how can I not mention my favorite goat, John Edwards, now charged with a crime related to covering up his campaign-time affair with his baby-mama and now fiancee, while his wife lay dying. I believe he thought he'd escape detection for a completely different, though more loathsome reason: he expected to be widowed sooner than he was. I suspect his plan was to marry Rielle and raise the child together and Elizabeth's long-survival crimped his style. That he proposed to Hunter shortly after the funeral seemed the nail in the coffin.
So my sons, live honorably, embrace discretion, learn from mistakes and know that the world is watching. Don't be stupid. And always remember, you will be caught.
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