morning omen

You know how when you use the last of the gallon of milk for your bowl of cereal?

And then you pour your second bowl of cereal and the Fruit Loops get a little soggy from the leftover milk?

And then you reach into the fridge and realize there is not another gallon of milk in there?

That's when you know you should just get back in bed and stay there.

making all kinds of history

Isn't it exciting? So much history in the making, right before our very eyes.

First we have Barak Obama, the first African American President of the United States.

Then we have Nancy Pelosi, the first woman Speaker of the House.

And now we have John Boehner, first African American Speaker of the House.

I mean, come on. His skin is two shades darker than President Obama's.

i'm perfect

Just the way I am.

That's right. You heard me. Everything about me is perfect, at this moment, always, all ways.

Perfect.

This was the end meditation in a yoga class after we were all stretched and relaxed. In the Savasana pose, I believe it was called. When the instructor first suggested this perfect idea, I nearly jumped out of my freshly yoga-tized skin.

What the hell kinda self talk is that, perfect?

But then I figured, I'm here. Might as well give it a wing. And, surprise surprise. I actually got there. To this foreign internal world of feeling at peace with my body, believing for a few blissful moments that yes, I am perfect. Just the way I am. In this body, in this skin, with this slightly graying head on these mildly rounded shoulders. I am perfect. I, who have been striving in one way (dieting) or another (dieting), nearly all of my life to become .... well, not perfect, but rather to maybe like myself the way I am. To like the way I feel inside my head instead of fighting unflattering views of my essential me-ness.

So after it was all said and done, perfect felt pretty damned good. A magically relaxing carpet ride it was. Peace. Acceptance. Feeling at one with myself.

After class, I headed home and vowed I would sign up for that instructor's class again (I didn't) or at least visit planet perfect on my own again (I haven't). In fact, I lost the instructor's name and she is no longer teaching at the same location. But I know perfect is there, I know the way and I'll get back there.

Update: The above is a recycled post, written about three years ago. I thought of this post the other day after talking to a yoga-devotee in my neighborhood. She was inviting me to attend Sunday morning classes with her. After talking a bit, we figured out that the instructor where she attends is none other than my perfect instructor. So rather than relying on my imperfect history of finding perfect, I'm going to find her. And that perfect me.

my gymservations

So I've joined the army of resolutionists. I admit it. A regular January warrior. I didn't plan on being one but it snuck up on me unexpectedly. In the form of my husband suggesting we start back up again. In other words, it wasn't even my idea, my resolution, as pathetic as that is.

My workouts had been flagging for months when the gym decided to do a large overhaul. The renovation left we gym rats to elipticize and treadmillerize in a space about as big as the average bathroom. Where you could smell the guy sweating five machines down. My motivation dropped to negative five and my couch attendance reached an all time high.

Now, however, we've got a shiny, new beautiful facility and it's actually a pleasure to go. Row of windows facing a vista of trees. Long row of flat screens. I usually read but tonight I watched, and listened via headphones, to American Idol. Five hundred calories burned instead of consumed. Much preferred.

So here's my gymservation for the day. There needs to be a row of mirrors situated so we machine joggers can see a rear view of our tookus in motion. I came up with this idea soon after an attractive, spandex-attired woman approached the machine in front of me. She was about my size. A little on the plump side but presentable. And then the jogging began. Ooh lawdy. The swingin' and the swayin' and the gyratin' of her booster seat illuminated by the sheen of her polyurethane was... well, my nightmare in motion.

And then I thought of my booty. I had to fight off the urge to turn around and see if the guys observing my booty-nomics had an equally horrified look on their faces.

It's probably for the best, then. The no mirrors. These fitness designers know what they're doing. If we I knew what we I looked like from that angle we I might not leave the house. Ever. And this way, in my state of denial, I'm out there workin' it.

Ten points if you can guess who's hiding her booty in the picture above.

help. I suffer from AID.

Astrological Idendity Disorder.

For more years than I care to reveal I've been solid in my ability to answer the dreaded question, "What's your sign?"

Aires has been my firm answer.

Til now.

According to experts of the astrological kind, "Due to the Earth's changing alignment in the last 3000 years" the sign I was born into is now different.

I'm now, these experts say, a Pisces.

But hold on. That's my mother's sign.

I know a little something about her sign. I used to read her forecast when I was in high school: Will Mom let me borrow her car tonight or won't she?

But now, it's me who is the Pisces. Which means not only is my face developing wrinkles in the same place as hers, my personality has become her. That life long fear of turning into my mother? Yeah. It's happening. Right before my very stars.

Whereas before I was:

- Independent

- Generous

- Optimistic

- Enthusiastic

- Courageous

Now I am:

- Compassionate

- Adaptable

- Accepting

- Devoted

- Imaginative

Not so bad. And as it turns out, Pisces is more like me. Which means my worst nightmare has come true.

I am more like my mother than I am like myself.

Here are the new signs with their new date configurations.

Capricorn: Jan. 20 - Feb. 16

Aquarius: Feb. 16 - March 11

Pisces: March 11- April 18

Aries: April 18- May 13

Taurus: May 13- June 21

Gemini: June 21- July 20

Cancer: July 20- Aug. 10

Leo: Aug. 10- Sept. 16

Virgo: Sept. 16- Oct. 30

Libra: Oct. 30- Nov. 23

Scorpio: Nov. 23- Nov. 29

Ophiuchus: Nov. 29- Dec. 17

Sagittarius: Dec. 17- Jan. 20

So now my question is, how do I answer that age-old smarmy getting-to-know-you question? Never mind that I'm not in the dating game and haven't been asked this question in over twenty years.

Although, I do recall a recent conversation at a bar with an Asian woman obviously new to this country. Trying to strike up conversation and, apparently, sound American, she asked,

"What sign you are?"

Which sounded to me like, "What's eye you are?"

To which I asked, "Pardon?"

To which she replied, "What's eye is that?"

To which I asked, "Excuse me?"

This went back and forth until a few beers questions later we finally got on track.

"Oh! I'm Aires!" I practically leaped, grateful that she wasn't both unfamilliar with the language AND mentally disturbed.

You might have noticed from the list that there's a new sign on the astrological block:

Ophiuchus (OFF-ee-YOO-kuss), which, after a few beers, might sound like "Aw fee-uck you us."

And which also means, if you are born between November 29th and Dec. 17th, you get to tell that smarmy bar fly with the 70's mustache what your sign is and to f*ck off at the same time.

What about you, reader? Are you undergoing a personality change right before your very stars?

as we walk in the woods of winter

At some point on our slow weekends there's a good chance you'll find Sam and I walking in the woods adjacent to our backyard. We're really lucky to have a mini-greenbelt behind us, protected by local environmental laws.

Here's a look at some of my favorite sights along our trail.

Nandina berries give such a bright splash of red

against their dark green leaves.

Some people cut it down. A nuisance plant that sprouts up

everywhere. But I love to see it growing in my backyard.

A grand, old oak.

A dry creek bed common in our area. The limestone bedrock immediately beneath the soil means very little rainwater soaks into the ground. I'm determined, one of these rainy days, to put on a raincoat and umbrella and see this gully gushing with rain.

An abandoned deer blind.

My guess is they they saw more of the bottom of their beer bottles than deer sightings.

But that's really the point of hunting trips, isn't it?

Pretty sure their flavor of choice was Miller High Life.

Red tipped pencil cactus.

Look but don't touch.

Pencil cactus close up.

An old lantern of sorts.

Who put that there, we always wonder?

The beer drinkers deer hunters?

Behind it we've seen evidence of what might have been a house or cabin.

Chile pequin (puh-keen) all exposed and nekkid of it's leaves.

Sam's dad used to fill a small jar with chile pequins and vinegar to make a hot sauce.

Something like this.

Bluebonnet seedlings.

They won't present their deep blue and white splendor until March or April.

Once in a very blue moon they give us a red bonnet.

I'm not sure what this is. It grows in widespread clusters and looks like

a native baby's breath, only more golden in color. I love the texture this time of year.

Like a carpet of soft and inviting tumble weed.

A few prickly pear cactus bulbs left for the picking.

And eventually, the drinking.

Tall live oak trees circled by a coven of cedar trees. I'm not sure why they grow this way. Sam says it's because the birds sit in the tree and their, uh, droppings leave seeds behind. I prefer to think they are seeking shelter from the storm.

My own personal grapevine courrier.

What might he be saying to himself, do you think?:

(A) What's she taking a picture of now?

(B) She wonders why she can't lose any weight?

(C) Look at this crazy bitch.

All three?

you know... that sensational haiku wednesday?

This week's Haiku theme at Jenn's You Know... That Blog?

Resolutions.

steps on the treadmill

or elliptical for me

burning calories

I usually try to avoid new year's resolutions. The January invitation to February guilt. But this year, in the very back recess of my brain, I heard a whispering.

Get back to the gym.

So far I'm two weeks into success.

More stepping. Less couch dwelling.

Good. Good.

a new year, a new blog

I know this guy, this oldspouse. He's a friend.

He's not all that old. He's younger than me, in other words. So of course I think that makes him a young spouse. But I suppose that doesn't make for a very good blog name.

Old or young, I happen to know he makes a very good spouse to his wife, also a friend of mine.

I also happen to know this old spouse writes some funny stuff. I hope you will take the time to stop by and welcome him to bloggyville. I think you'll be glad you did.