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.

what I did not manage to accomplish for Christmas

Christmas cut out sugar cookies.

Chocolate chip cookies with red & green M&Ms.

Raspberry thumb print cookies.

Pot of gumbo.

Fresh cranberry garland for the Christmas tree.

Cranberry bread.

What I did manage to accomplish:

Two days on the couch with a heating pad under my neck.

My neck seized while I was engaged in the complicated arm pretzel yoga pose known as "brushing hair into a downward bun." Crick in the neck sounds deceptively minor, doesn't it?

The other thing I accomplished, which was quite wonderful, was to curl up on the playroom pull out couch with my twin-daughters-as-book-ends watching Brittany Murphy in Love and Other Disasters. Cute, cute, cute movie.

Also? My daughters taught me how to watch my Netflix instant queue on the big screen TV via the Wii. Now there are three words I hadn't heard of back when my girlies were born.

Hope you are all enjoying a very Merry, very restful and very pain free Christmas day!

magical memories of christmas eve

Sneaking out of bed on Christmas eve, sliding behind the living room sofa, hiding and waiting to see Santa come down the chimney. Lucky for me I was lying on a hardwood floor beneath a window with a down draft. I climbed back in bed to get warm and fell asleep. Santa was safe for another few years.

Watching my aunt, who was visiting from the south, make footprints out of fireplace ash so that my younger brother and sister would see proof that Santa had come down the chimney. I loved the almost grown up feeling of being behind the curtain. And I loved my aunt and my grandmother. I was so glad they came to spend the holidays with us.

My brothers and I begging and begging our mom to let us open just one present, please, please, please and her finally giving in. Testing each present, trying to decide which one would be the most fun.

Driving home from midnight mass. We lived in the country and passed miles of flat fields and farmland. We were listening to the radio and heard the announcer say that Santa was officially in flight. I remember looking out of the car window, up at the dark sky, hoping to catch a glimpse. I saw a shooting star. I just knew that was a spark from Santa's sleigh.

How about you, readers? What are your magical holiday memories?

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a wonderful New Year.

the diagnosis is in

The evaluation is complete. The tests interpreted. The diagnosis is in.

The One Hundred Twelfth United States Congress suffers from TCTDDD (Tax Cut Trickle Down Delusional Disorder).

Haldol, anyone?

"Yes! Extending the existing tax cuts will create jobs. Because the only way out of this mess is to keep things exactly as they are." -Stephen Colbert

p.s. Great minds think alike.

empty lip balm appreciation day

I'm one of those people who needs to join Lip Balm Anonymous. I keep a tube of lip balm (or three) in my car, a tube (or two) in my purse, a tube in my desk, a tube in my jeans pocket, and an ever-changing number of tubes in my kitchen medicine cabinet depending on how many of my kids nab one as they leave for school.

The tube in car door well is nearly empty. Or empty to the point where I can no longer swipe my lips across the top and get comfortably balmed. Instead I have to use the tip of my pinky finger to dip, swipe and wipe. This isn't a very satisfying experience but it beats scraping my lips across the top of the plastic rim to the point of chafing my already chapped lips.

You might think an empty tube of lip balm is something to feel sad about. Or bereft, depending on the state of your chapped lips. But not for me.

I am thrilled.

Damn close to deliriously happy.

Why?

Because it means

Same goes for an empty container of

This past summer I emptied one. I'm pretty sure it was the first bottle of sunscreen I managed to hang onto the entire summer and not lose it to someone else's beach bag.

Here are a few more things I haven't emptied but look forward to celebrating when I do:

Because it dries up to a petrified crust after the fourth use.

Because I mainly keep this around for my Louisiana native friends.

And,

Because when I change purses, I always manage to leave a few loose pennies, a wadded up tissue, a stick of gum that's dried-stuck to it's foil wrapper, and a stray tube of

This post is dedicated to the real Aunt Bee in my life. Love you Aunt Bee!

faux news or fauxing stupid?

Ever have one of those bad blogger days when you realize you've misspelled a word in your post or mixed up a metaphor and hope your readers don't realize you really are an idiot in the disguise of a wannabe writer?

Well, fear not, friends. Whatever your bloggulous blunder, your metaphorical misstep, it shrinks to a mere speck on the ass of a gnat that lands on the wing of a cow by comparison to a boneheaded missive posted at Fox Nation.

If you blinked for a few days lifetimes like I did, you missed it. But the masterinvestigators at mediate were keeping watch on The Fox Nation with their eyes wide shut and their minds wide shocked when Fox Nation reposted an Obama-bashing article from The Onion. Reposted it without mentioning the fact that The Onion is satire.

You really have to read this mediate post for yourself or this Talking Points Memo recap if you want the full on delightfully incredulous effect.

You can't read the original Fox News post because they've taken it down. I've already checked --no horse stall too full of manure for this blogger to wade her wellingtons through in order to track down the origin of an internet story.

In other words, Oops Confirmed.

Or was it? We presume the author of this repost was asleep at the blogwheel. But then there are the editors who are more discerning. Right? Or was this an effort to mislead by design, hoping nobody would call them on it?

have a potentially life altering thanksgiving

I made a potentially life altering decision yesterday. One that may lead my husband to divorce me and my children to file for legal emancipation.

Our Thanksgiving meal, for the first time in 19 years, will include the turkey stuffed with oranges but will not include these:

You know, those tired, store-brand white parker dinner rolls that come on a waxy cardboard tray. Or the ones that are shaped like a chef hat. But whatever shape, they've got an unforgiving bake time: three seconds too late and they go from soft and doughy to dry and tough. They were always on the Thanksgiving table at my and my husband's houses growing up despite the fact that my family was East coast and his was Gulf coast.

Everyone in my family loves them but me. Every year I try to leave them off the menu but Sam manages to come through the door last minute, "Don't worry. I bought the rolls!"

But so far the lack of rolls has gone unnoticed or at least unmentioned. If the table manages to get loaded up with food and the rolls aren't there? I will need every form of positive thought, strength vibe or remnant of the last harmonic convergence to get through the meal without dodging spit balls of cornbread stuffing

So readers, what's not on your menu this year?

and I was told Aggies never cheat

nor tolerate those who do.

Last night the Fightin' Texas Aggies beat #9 Nebraska. If you watched the game you saw this scene: Husker, Ben Cotton, drawing two consecutive 15 yard penalties after this pile up. The video clip gives a whole new understanding of that Cotton kicking Cornhusker.

I hear this kinda thing goes on all the time in football pile ups but I sure don't like to see it, least of all from the Aggies.

Onward to Thursday:

Gig 'em Aggies.

Saw varsity's horns off!

(Minus the butt pinching.)

friday fill-ins

1. Why doesn't everyone believe in quality health care for all Americans?

2. Sailing on a luxury yacht would be a great way to see the world.

3. Thank you for reading my blog.

4. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because we get to watch the Aggies beat the hell outta t.u.

5. I am SO grateful for the good health of my family.

6. We can only be as happy as we make up our minds to be.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to eating a big fat hamburger, tomorrow my plans include celebrating my anniversary with my husband and Sunday, I want to skip stones on my favorite spring fed river!

wisdom gained from a former president

Wisdom doesn't necessarily come with age.

Sometimes age just shows up all by itself. -Tom Wilson.

Most people complain about aging: the wrinkles, the gray hair, the aches, the pains. I, on the other hand, like to focus on all of the good things aging brings.

Wisdom, for example. Wisdom in the form of an ever expanding vocabulary. Not a week goes by that I don't add at least one new word to my tenuous grasp of the English language.

This week has been a good example. A bonus week, in fact, thanks to our 43rd President, George W. Bush.

Mr. Bush gave several interviews this week as promo for his new memoir, Decision Points. In the ABC Matt Lauer interview I listened to words spoken by the former President that I had never heard before. Words so cutting edge that I can't find them in the dictionary. Words so multi-syllabled and tongue-twistery that I can't pronounce them.

So help me readers, if you can. Let me share them with you and see if you comprehend the wisdom imparted by Mr. Bush.

In the Matt Lauer interview, speaking of the days following our nation's greatest civilian tragedy here's what Mr. Bush had to say:

"...it's hard for people to remember that right after 9/11 we were inyuandated (in-you-un-dated) with threats." (16:55)

And on election night 2000:

"It was an amazing night. A night in which I had been declared the loser. It turns out that the exit polls were wrong (and I) had been declared the winner, which created a sense of exhilieration (ex-hill-ee-or-ation)." (15:15)

In the Greta Van Susteren interview, speaking of the media's representation of his relationship with his dad, Mr. Bush said:

"...there's a lot of psycho-bible out there about how he and I compete..." (05:23)

In addition to vocabulary growth, another benefit of aging is the new clinical insights gained over the years from some of the most unexpected sources: Fox News, in this case.

Here's Bush with Van Susteren again, speaking on how sobriety changed the course of his life and how he hopes his sobriety will inspire others to quit drinking:

"I wouldn't be shitting here as a former president had I not quit drinking." (7:25)

I'm not sure how shitting during a televised interview provides inspiration to the drunks out there, exactly. It's my understanding that active alcoholics are more likely to shit themselves. But again, everyday is an opportunity to learn something new.

So I hope you can help me out, readers. Either way, cheers to the years!

time for another segment of let's ridicule riddle

She's at it again. Debbie Riddle, un-esteemed State Rep. (R) from Tomball, Texas, won't be shamed out of her relentless pursuit of anchor babies and terror babies in this here grand state. Apparently Texas can't let Arizona beat it at making racist headlines.

Intent on proving everything is not only bigger but also stupider in Texas, Riddle camped out all night at the Texas Capitol on Sunday so she could be first to pre-file her clone of Arizona's racial profiling immigration law for the upcoming legislative session.

In her words the bill, “gives law enforcement officers additional tools, if they have the reasonable suspicion that there is a violation of a law, to inquire into an individual’s immigration status.”

She is that serious because terror babies are that big of a threat, yawl.

I used to think it was really odd that the Texas legislature met only once every two years. With legislators like Riddle, I now think it's a godsend.

I had this same thought

but it took Steve Martin to come up with the song.

election hangover

Ok, American voters, if this is the way you want things to keep going, you might just get your way now that you've sent a Republican controlled congress back to Washington.

In our great country, the one that stands for equality, the bottom 80% (wage and salary owners) own only 7% of the financial wealth. The top 1 percent (upper class) own 43% of the wealth.

Another way of putting this, " ...just 10% of the people own the United States of America."

You can read more, here.

As for me, I'm taking two aspirin and will call you back in two years.