Desert Magnolia

There are bad weeks. We all have them. There are good weeks. We all appreciate them. Particularly after a bad week. And then there are those weeks that flay you raw emotionally and make you wish for bigger lungs so you can get more air. Because no matter how much you try, you just can't seem to get enough in to keep you lucid and focused. This, this is one of those. My little cousin, a beautiful, vibrant, funny, intelligent 32 year old passed away. Unexpectedly. In a bizarre accident. She leaves behind two small children, children who will have to learn to navigate life without their birth mother from this point forward. She leaves behind a cousin with whom she shared a birth date, which was always cool. Our personalities were similar in many ways, it's true. Little Cousin worked hard at this life, and knew if she kept on asking the hard questions and doing the hard work she'd eventually be closer to where she wanted to be-in a stable, happy life with a partne...

Our weather changes quickly, and often drastically. Especially if there's a storm system nearby. Something about a weather phenom created by the 10,000 foot mountain next to the city (5,000 ft. a.g.l.). If you live here, you should know about this. I've lived here all but two years of my life, so I know this. Or I should. So Saturday I was all, 'Hey, I have some energy, I've made a dent in my Saturday To Do list and it's currently not snowing, so I'll go out for a run. It'll be great! Maybe a little wet, but hey, I've been rained on, hailed on, mudded, blown nearly off the trail and baked by Mother Nature during runs in the past, so not  much will stop me! I'm a Nature Girl. Rugged. It'll be good for me.' I wore layers. I'm not stupid. And a hat, and sunglasses, and sweats. And lip balm 'cuz I hate chapped lips. And I hit the trail. Note: There were visible clouds in the area when I left the house, but it appeared to be ...

So, before when I addressed this thorny state of being about which we females avoid conversation whenever possible due to its impossibly simple elements but improbably deep impact on our lives, I didn't really explain as much as I should. Leave it to me to hash, rehash, then revisit the reenhashment. A friend of mine (who shall remain nameless-it's her right right now) suggested I go ahead and touch on that... It goes a little like this: I firmly believe there are times to expect oneself to be lucid, focused, humorous, gentle to oneself, etc., but the week before our period, not so much. That is not the week to a: enter into a new relationship, b: sign contracts, c: attempt to learn new brain skills like Sudoku or Physics, or, d:buy jeans. NEVER try on jeans when you're PMSing or you'll be looking for a stungun to paralyze either a: the person who talked you into this knowing your state of mind or b: yourself, or c: the salesperson who suggested the lowrise ...

This has been a weird weather week, supposedly due to an enhanced El Nino effect. (local media loves El Nino...) We're between storms right now, and it's downright balmy out. Balmy. With a bit of a breeze. There appears to be a nasty, threatening, dark cloud bank north of us, but it's just sitting there looking ominous. Turns out we're due for a series of storms through the weekend, some rainier some snowier, but moisture, precip and general weather pandemonium are promised. My friend JL went to the library today to stock up on her reading selection. She picked up some beach-y stuff as well as some cuisine-y stuff (ok oenophilic, actually). She's ready for a day 'in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket, animals close by, and simply enjoying the weather madness and reading quietly...' Can't beat that image. But I might add a beverage to the mix, just to round it out. Wish for snow. Lots of it. We need it, we deserve it, and hey it is WAY too ...

When I wrote about those charming people who suck the emotional energy out of us, I couldn't use names. For obvious reasons. Well, last night, as I was watching Grey's Anatomy, then Private Practice (they lured me into watching Private Practice because some of the story lines were actively crossing over...they're very clever that way), and my friend JL was texting me periodically to comment on the ridiculousness going on with our favorite characters, she made a really great observation. Mark Sloan, aka Mc Steamy, is an energy vamp. Big time. He's gorgeous. He's smart. He's compelling. He's manipulative, and, as his colleague characterized him, 'he's like a Dachsund'..which was NOT a compliment. Being a Golden Lab, that would have been a compliment. But you get my drift. Right on JL. You nailed it. And, you gave me a great way to provide an example to my windy energy vamp post. Even better. :-)

Time for a little housekeeping a little sprucing up, and yes, my friend LP has created another awesome image for my blog header! Thank you LP! I love your style...and thank you for sharing it with me!!

Where there is black, there must be white. Where there is dark, there must be light. These are universal constants. Balance in all things, and all that. Which, I guess, is why there are people out there who manage to suck the energy out of a room, exhaust us by simply being in the same space with us at any given moment and make us wonder how on earth we ever befriended them in the first place. Often, they're beautiful, or charismatic, or compelling. Sometimes they're all three. We find ourselves attracted by forces we may not consciously identify. We, in spite of being cognizant of the strange chemistry at work, persist, we spend inordinate amounts of energy simply being friends,  find ourselves yearning for a tactful and kind way to simply discontinue the relationship in order to preserve our own energy stores, but somehow never manage to quite muster the stuff required to end it. If we're fully energized prior to a meeting with one of these charming vampires, ...

For some reason Hubby has been nostalgically wasting our Netflix choices choosing older movies, some of which are enjoyable to watch (ie, The Milagro Beanfield War) but many of which are, just, What??? Why??? They were mediocre the first time, and years between first viewing and now aren't helping their quality even a little bit. Last night, The Long Kiss Goodnight was added to the mediocre list. I never saw it the first time it came around, and am now wondering why on earth I sat through the entire thing after enjoying a perfectly wonderful dinner of grilled rosemary pork chops, a big salad with a citrusy dressing and avo, and a seasoned brown rice, all accompanied by a pretty good Merlot. (If you know me, you know I prefer cabs and deep zins. I just do, so whenever I talk about merlot I usually have a slightly strained look. I can't help it. ) I must have been languishing in a post-pork, post-Merlot stupor to have suppressed the urge to get up off the couch and find so...

My gynecologist is a man. An over 50 man. He's a very good doc. He's been caring for me and my parts for 23 years now, and given that everything still functions as it should, I'd have to say he knows his stuff. He humors me, puts me at ease with petty concerns over aging, and generally keeps me on an even keel with regard to all things gynecological. The one thing he doesn't get, and won't ever get, is being a woman. He's got the science and medical part down cold. He can identify/treat/resolve any fertility or gynecological issue that might arise. And they do arise from time to time. He can throw procedures and medication around like nobody's business. But when you tell him, 'Dr. F., I'm just feeling odd.  There's nothing amiss, medically. My life isn't in turmoil, I'm just feeling odd. Kind of emotional, you know?' This will elicit from him a knowing frown, he'll rub his chin, look in my eyes (no doubt ensuring bo...

If you haven't already been forced to watch seen this movie, I wouldn't bother if you've seen anything remotely resembling a decent heist movie in the past decade. Morgan Freeman, Antonio Banderas and Radha Mitchell star in this. They try really hard to make it work, but in spite of Freeman's decent acting, and Banderas' and Mitchell's contrived chemistry, it doesn't work. It's charming at times, but usually bordering on forced. It has a couple of fairly steamy sex scenes, which feel strained, though if you're into butts, Banderas and Mitchell should both be proud-they show 'em off and clearly personal trainers have earned their money. My favorite line from the movie? Freeman's character: Some people were born to compose music. Others to split the atom. I was born to steal shit.    Overall, it felt to me like a watered down version of Entrapment and The Italian Job, without the real chemistry between characters (emotional and sexual...

So, I bought 'em. They're better than I'd hoped they'd be. They're comfy. They're warm. They're understated. No shiny red tasseled hoochie cowgirl boots for me. No sirree. And, they're mine. :-) Yay me.

It's a new year. Hope springs up as the clock strikes midnight on the 31st of December. 2009 sucked for a lot of reasons. 2009 wasn't so bad for a lot of reasons. It sucked because: The economy was mostly in the toilet and we held our collective breaths for the entire year hoping against hope that we'd hit bottom. The prospect of falling any further was incomprehensible. Fear accompanied the sucky economy and stressed us all beyond belief. Preoccupation with negative 'what if's' prevailed,  jobs were lost, sleep was a distant dream and confidence faltered everywhere it could possibly falter. Daughter hurt her knee. It actually wasn't all bad because: I work for a young, energetic company steered by a man with cojones of steel and an absolute vision for our baby company. Thank goodness. Hubby is a teacher, albeit at a private school, but he's pretty secure in his job so long as the school continues to fund technology/yearbook. Son expe...