I had a serious buzz going and this beautifully prety boy asked me if he could kiss my lips. Inches from my face. And I couldn't speak. No thought was necessary, however, because I could think of nothing more pleasant than having Jamie kiss my lips. I gave a slight nod and closed my eyes as I felt Jamie's hands slide in through my hair, cradling my head gently, drawing my lips closer to his. I stopped breathing when his lips brushed mine and he kissed me. Longingly. Passionately. Gently. Softly.
We stood there kissing for what seemed an eternity. Then suddenly I heard three more beers being cracked open and placed on the table in the kitchen. Wendy was gently nudging us toward lunch. I could breathe again and treasured the feeling of my heart racing in my chest.
Jammie and I joined Wendy in the kitchen and sat down for lunch. I think at this point, it was a very good thing to be geting some substantial food into my system. We ate in relative silence, totally focused on the food in front of us. The salad was cool and crisp and the ribs were moist and tender, falling off the bone just as your teeth sunk into them. The silence was shattered by Wendy's simple declaration to the joy of Thursday. "I love Thursday." I later learned that I was taking part in a weekly ritual. Thursday is for ribs. Every Thursday for the past 3 years, since Sandy got the house. Sandy is the woman who made the ribs. Sandy is Jamie's sister and works as a nurse at the hospital in the next town over. Sandy bowls with my mother. Connections were suddenly made in my mind putting some pieces of the puzzle together.
Lunch was done and Wendy was doing the few remaining dishes. Jamie and I were seated back in front of the fire and he was asking me something about his hair. I was distracted with thoughts of how to be sure he would be kissing me again. "I said, where do you think is the best place to cut my hair?"
Jamie's question registered and I found myself automatically explaining that the bathroom is generally best because there is usually good light, and sitting on the toilet made for easy enough turning to facilitate the cutting process.
When Wendy heard the conversation turn toward cutting, she went out to her car to collect my scissors. I had them with clips, a comb, and a cutting cape in an old styrofoam six pack cooler. It was old and falling apart, but functional. As she came back into the house, naturally stopping at the beer fridge, Jamie stood up and took my hand leading me toward the bathroom.
"How do you want me?" Blush crept up my cheeks and I felt like I was on fire. Jamie saw it and kissed me again leaving me breathless. I told him if he wanted a haircut, he would have to suspend his random kissing of my lips. He reached up and pressed play on the cassette player on the shelf over the toilet. The bathroom was suddenly filled with the sounds of the Rolling Stones singing "Time Is On My Side" and Jamie was singing right along with them, his answer to my request that he suspend his kisses.
Jamie was in some way being totally sincere and serious, but regardless, it brought on a fit of giggles. Once I could control myself enough, I told him I would need his hair Thoroughly wet again before I could begin. With no thought to modesty, Jamie dropped his sweats and jumped into the shower. As that happened I started giggling again and told him I was excusing myself until he was again toweled off and dressed.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
A boy I once knew...part two
The Hippie Commune was at one time a house belonging to what can only be described as old money. Even WaySmallTowns have old money real estate. I think that the owner of the house received it when a grandparent died and the will, bypassed the parent in a spiteful sort of way. That's what I remember about it, though at the time, I didn't know who the owner was.
The outside of the house was totally kept up. There was a garden out back that was maintained by residents as was the landscaping. The house sat on about 3 acres. Once I had been around the place for a while, it became clear that anyone who lived there just pitched in and did what needed to be done. There was a blackboard in the kitchen that had a running to-do list on it. I remember that there was always someone canning something, whether from the commune garden or some other source.
There was no reason, looking at the house from the outside, to think it was anything different than what it ever was, a family homestead. Crossing the threshold to the inside presented quite another picture.
On the porch through which we entered the house, the refrigerator was the only thing even slightly out of sorts. There was charming wicker furniture with the plushest of cushions which was totally inviting and artfully designed. Conversation areas abounded. Crossing into the living room through the front door revealed another design ethic that can only be described as the original shabby chic. The room was bordered by couches, 6 in all strung end to end as if built in. I later learned each couch was basically a bed.
Even though it was late spring, there was a fire going in the firplace and Jamie led me over to sit with him in the chairs arranged facing it. He tucked his still dripping hair behind his ear, and I could suddenly see his unobscured face. He was beautiful. Jamie went on to tell me how Wendy had given him one of the conditioner packets I had given her and that she couldn't stop talking about the excellent hair cut she had just gotten. He told me how he hadn't had a haircut in a few years because he was sick of no-one being able to deal with his curly hair. We talked a bit longer, and Wendy brought around another beer for us all.
Jaime thought that for the moment, he'd like to keep his hair longer, but he totally had faith in me and told me to just have at it. But first, to ensure peak creativity, some weed. I wasn't about to argue, but it did occur to me just how surreal this situation was. I was in this house with strangers, really, but felt totally at ease, the only exception to that being the fact I was about to tackle this boy's hair and it was only my second experience with such a mane. But I was young. And bold. And he was sexy. Nearly naked. And I was beginning to feel creative.
We drank and smoked until about three in the afternoon. By that time, a few more people had come and gone. Wendy still hadn't spoken another word. Ribs were cooking on the barbeque. A fresh salad was on the table in the kitchen.
I remember at one point having the wherewithal to call home. I explained to my mom that I was still cutting hair. "Is Wendy still with you?" She was. Sort of. But I just said yes, and I let my mom know she would make sure I got home safely. "By eleven." That's all my mom had said before hanging up. I couldn't believe the freedom I was suddenly being granted, and all because I was with the daughter of one of my dad's friends.
A woman came in from the back yard and put a platter of ribs on the table. She picked up a purse and keys, and then leaned in to give first Wendy and then Jamie a kiss. As if seeing me for the first time, she asked if I was Barbara's daughter. I nodded having recently caught Wendy's silence as my own. She turned to Jamie saying "I'm off to work. Be. Careful." Her words were very clipped and deliberate. Her hand brushed Jamie's cheek very tenderly, and then she turned and left the way we had come in.
Time seemed to be standing still. I noticed that Jamie's hair was now dry, that he was now wearing some old comfy sweats but nothing else, but I don't remember him ever being out of my sight.
After the woman left, I told Jamie that I thought he was too pretty, and maybe I shouldn't cut his hair. Maybe it was perfect already. Yes, I actually said pretty. He thanked me for the compliment, took my hand and brought me to standing. Our faces were inches apart. He spoke very softly, words for only me to hear. "You will cut my hair as you see fit. But first, lunch awaits us in the kitchen. Would it be okay if I kissed your lips?"
The outside of the house was totally kept up. There was a garden out back that was maintained by residents as was the landscaping. The house sat on about 3 acres. Once I had been around the place for a while, it became clear that anyone who lived there just pitched in and did what needed to be done. There was a blackboard in the kitchen that had a running to-do list on it. I remember that there was always someone canning something, whether from the commune garden or some other source.
There was no reason, looking at the house from the outside, to think it was anything different than what it ever was, a family homestead. Crossing the threshold to the inside presented quite another picture.
On the porch through which we entered the house, the refrigerator was the only thing even slightly out of sorts. There was charming wicker furniture with the plushest of cushions which was totally inviting and artfully designed. Conversation areas abounded. Crossing into the living room through the front door revealed another design ethic that can only be described as the original shabby chic. The room was bordered by couches, 6 in all strung end to end as if built in. I later learned each couch was basically a bed.
Even though it was late spring, there was a fire going in the firplace and Jamie led me over to sit with him in the chairs arranged facing it. He tucked his still dripping hair behind his ear, and I could suddenly see his unobscured face. He was beautiful. Jamie went on to tell me how Wendy had given him one of the conditioner packets I had given her and that she couldn't stop talking about the excellent hair cut she had just gotten. He told me how he hadn't had a haircut in a few years because he was sick of no-one being able to deal with his curly hair. We talked a bit longer, and Wendy brought around another beer for us all.
Jaime thought that for the moment, he'd like to keep his hair longer, but he totally had faith in me and told me to just have at it. But first, to ensure peak creativity, some weed. I wasn't about to argue, but it did occur to me just how surreal this situation was. I was in this house with strangers, really, but felt totally at ease, the only exception to that being the fact I was about to tackle this boy's hair and it was only my second experience with such a mane. But I was young. And bold. And he was sexy. Nearly naked. And I was beginning to feel creative.
We drank and smoked until about three in the afternoon. By that time, a few more people had come and gone. Wendy still hadn't spoken another word. Ribs were cooking on the barbeque. A fresh salad was on the table in the kitchen.
I remember at one point having the wherewithal to call home. I explained to my mom that I was still cutting hair. "Is Wendy still with you?" She was. Sort of. But I just said yes, and I let my mom know she would make sure I got home safely. "By eleven." That's all my mom had said before hanging up. I couldn't believe the freedom I was suddenly being granted, and all because I was with the daughter of one of my dad's friends.
A woman came in from the back yard and put a platter of ribs on the table. She picked up a purse and keys, and then leaned in to give first Wendy and then Jamie a kiss. As if seeing me for the first time, she asked if I was Barbara's daughter. I nodded having recently caught Wendy's silence as my own. She turned to Jamie saying "I'm off to work. Be. Careful." Her words were very clipped and deliberate. Her hand brushed Jamie's cheek very tenderly, and then she turned and left the way we had come in.
Time seemed to be standing still. I noticed that Jamie's hair was now dry, that he was now wearing some old comfy sweats but nothing else, but I don't remember him ever being out of my sight.
After the woman left, I told Jamie that I thought he was too pretty, and maybe I shouldn't cut his hair. Maybe it was perfect already. Yes, I actually said pretty. He thanked me for the compliment, took my hand and brought me to standing. Our faces were inches apart. He spoke very softly, words for only me to hear. "You will cut my hair as you see fit. But first, lunch awaits us in the kitchen. Would it be okay if I kissed your lips?"
Thursday, April 17, 2008
A boy I once knew...part one
Okay, maybe technically it should be a man I once knew, but I was but 17, and now that I am 43, I sorta feel like he was a boy, even though at the time I think he was about 25.
His name? That's sort of the reason for this post, it totally escapes me. It truly feels like an Oldzheimer's (spelling courtesy Arnold)moment because I can remember every minute detail surrounding this boyman...except his fucking name. Perhaps it will come to me by the end of this post, but, umm, no...not likely.
It all started with my friend Wendy, who wasn't really my friend at all. I knew her from riding the same school bus. I think she graduated high school when I was in 8th grade, so we shared a bus for three years, but really, I never really was friends with her. She had a brother who was a year ahead of me, Doug, and I was somewhat friendly with him, but more in a we had common friends sort of way. When your graduating class is 69 kids (and considered a big class), you sort of know everyone in the school. This is especially true of those who live outside of the town the school is actually in and have to ride the same bus half an hour each way daily.
Add to the mix that my father, is the town justice. This means everyone knows who I am, moreso than I know who they are. Also add to the mix that I am going to beauty school! And, hey, Max can cut your hair for practice! She's good! Look at my hair!
It's true, I was always good at cutting hair from the very first time I picked up my scissors. I have natural talent. My beauty school class took a field trip to a working salon in the city and had a sort of hands on seminar type of day. We got goody bags stuffed full of samples and industry literature, and frankly, we couldn't get enough of it. It was a glorious day.
About a week later, I had occasion to go to the dump with my father on a Thursday. Thursday was always the day he would go target shooting (at the dump) with Bill. Bill is Wendy's father. Wendy went shooting with her dad on this particular day and after we both ceremoniously out shot our fathers, we all went for coffee at the corner restaurant(think local pub sans beer, nowhere else to hang out in WaySmallTown, USA). Conversation came around to my dad needing a hair cut and we all went back to our place and Bill and Wendy both got hair cuts, too. My dad and Bill? Short men's hair cuts. Wendy? Long, curly, unruly hair that I had never before experienced with scissors in my hand. Fake it til you make it. Even back then, that was my motto concerning the unknown.
About a week later, I saw Wendy again at the shooting range. She had asked my dad if I could go with her, she had a friend who wanted a hair cut. More long curly hair. That was all I knew, but I always had my scissors with me back in the day, so away with Wendy I went.
Amazingly enough, we were at her friend's house in about two minutes. We went around the corner and before crossing the bridge, hung a left that nearly had us up on two wheels. Wendy was fast becoming what I can only refer to as one of the cool people you can't believe live in your way small town. Remember I was 17 and Wendy was about 21. The drinking age at the time was 18, and by way small town standards, Wendy, who had already been away to college, was rather worldly and mysterious.
As we approached said friend's house, all I could smell was weed. There was a fridge out on the screened in porch and as we passed it, Wendy opened it and passed me a beer. LaBatt's Blue. Ice cold and sweating the instant it was cracked open. I think it was about 10:30 in the morning. Damn, but that beer was good.
When we walked into the living room, we could hear the shower running because the bathroom door, directly opposite us, was wide open. Wemdy walked over to the bathroom doorway and leaned in for what seemed a kiss. All I heard was the shower and a mumbled "It's just us," from Wendy.
For some reason, it seems to me at this point that her friend's name might have been Jamie. I am not sure why that just popped into my head, but it did, and I think for the sake of ease in continuing, we'll go with it. If it wasn't Jamie, I apologize in advance. But the liklihood of him or Wendy ever reading this to correct me is mighty slim. And if his name wasn't Jamie, it is entirely likely that it is another name that could be presumed belongs to a girl friend and not a boy friend, because until he walked out with a towel barely concealing his ass, I thought Jamie was a girl friend.
His face was totally obscured by dripping wet hair. Long curly hair. Think Slash. Or John Oates. Long. Curly. Hair. Way sexy for a WaySmallTown girl of 17. And let's not forget, he was dripping wet from the shower with a towel barely covering anything.
"Oh. You must be the hair dresser." As he said this, Wendy handed him a beer and he dropped his towel to shake my hand. Ahem. Never one for formalities, Wendy handed him the towel and asked him where the weed was. Jamie gave her the I thought you said she was the judge's daughter look to which Wendy replied, "Hey, she's cool."
I think that was the last thing Wendy said that night.
The house I was in was interesting to me. Many years later, my mother referred to it as "That hippie commune house that Sue and Jon know someone from."
His name? That's sort of the reason for this post, it totally escapes me. It truly feels like an Oldzheimer's (spelling courtesy Arnold)moment because I can remember every minute detail surrounding this boyman...except his fucking name. Perhaps it will come to me by the end of this post, but, umm, no...not likely.
It all started with my friend Wendy, who wasn't really my friend at all. I knew her from riding the same school bus. I think she graduated high school when I was in 8th grade, so we shared a bus for three years, but really, I never really was friends with her. She had a brother who was a year ahead of me, Doug, and I was somewhat friendly with him, but more in a we had common friends sort of way. When your graduating class is 69 kids (and considered a big class), you sort of know everyone in the school. This is especially true of those who live outside of the town the school is actually in and have to ride the same bus half an hour each way daily.
Add to the mix that my father, is the town justice. This means everyone knows who I am, moreso than I know who they are. Also add to the mix that I am going to beauty school! And, hey, Max can cut your hair for practice! She's good! Look at my hair!
It's true, I was always good at cutting hair from the very first time I picked up my scissors. I have natural talent. My beauty school class took a field trip to a working salon in the city and had a sort of hands on seminar type of day. We got goody bags stuffed full of samples and industry literature, and frankly, we couldn't get enough of it. It was a glorious day.
About a week later, I had occasion to go to the dump with my father on a Thursday. Thursday was always the day he would go target shooting (at the dump) with Bill. Bill is Wendy's father. Wendy went shooting with her dad on this particular day and after we both ceremoniously out shot our fathers, we all went for coffee at the corner restaurant(think local pub sans beer, nowhere else to hang out in WaySmallTown, USA). Conversation came around to my dad needing a hair cut and we all went back to our place and Bill and Wendy both got hair cuts, too. My dad and Bill? Short men's hair cuts. Wendy? Long, curly, unruly hair that I had never before experienced with scissors in my hand. Fake it til you make it. Even back then, that was my motto concerning the unknown.
About a week later, I saw Wendy again at the shooting range. She had asked my dad if I could go with her, she had a friend who wanted a hair cut. More long curly hair. That was all I knew, but I always had my scissors with me back in the day, so away with Wendy I went.
Amazingly enough, we were at her friend's house in about two minutes. We went around the corner and before crossing the bridge, hung a left that nearly had us up on two wheels. Wendy was fast becoming what I can only refer to as one of the cool people you can't believe live in your way small town. Remember I was 17 and Wendy was about 21. The drinking age at the time was 18, and by way small town standards, Wendy, who had already been away to college, was rather worldly and mysterious.
As we approached said friend's house, all I could smell was weed. There was a fridge out on the screened in porch and as we passed it, Wendy opened it and passed me a beer. LaBatt's Blue. Ice cold and sweating the instant it was cracked open. I think it was about 10:30 in the morning. Damn, but that beer was good.
When we walked into the living room, we could hear the shower running because the bathroom door, directly opposite us, was wide open. Wemdy walked over to the bathroom doorway and leaned in for what seemed a kiss. All I heard was the shower and a mumbled "It's just us," from Wendy.
For some reason, it seems to me at this point that her friend's name might have been Jamie. I am not sure why that just popped into my head, but it did, and I think for the sake of ease in continuing, we'll go with it. If it wasn't Jamie, I apologize in advance. But the liklihood of him or Wendy ever reading this to correct me is mighty slim. And if his name wasn't Jamie, it is entirely likely that it is another name that could be presumed belongs to a girl friend and not a boy friend, because until he walked out with a towel barely concealing his ass, I thought Jamie was a girl friend.
His face was totally obscured by dripping wet hair. Long curly hair. Think Slash. Or John Oates. Long. Curly. Hair. Way sexy for a WaySmallTown girl of 17. And let's not forget, he was dripping wet from the shower with a towel barely covering anything.
"Oh. You must be the hair dresser." As he said this, Wendy handed him a beer and he dropped his towel to shake my hand. Ahem. Never one for formalities, Wendy handed him the towel and asked him where the weed was. Jamie gave her the I thought you said she was the judge's daughter look to which Wendy replied, "Hey, she's cool."
I think that was the last thing Wendy said that night.
The house I was in was interesting to me. Many years later, my mother referred to it as "That hippie commune house that Sue and Jon know someone from."
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thank the little baby jesus, it's a miracle.
Help files. while wordy and not always clear, are a thing of beauty. I learned three new things today regarding Adobe products and it is a nice way to end the week.
Last month, I received a file that had been :cleaned up a bit for you" abd thought that would be a good thing. When I imported the file into my magazine, I also imported about 60 style sheets that were, ummm, excess baggage. Totally unwarranted. Anything but "cleaned up".
They really aren't a total hinderance, but when I am formatting text, they were a huge pain in the ass because my style sheet palette would scroll to the bottom and I was working with the top 6 (of the now 60 or so) style sheets. Some internet weirdness also prevented me from deleting them properly.
So this month, before I import anything new, I was determined to have a clean palette. The Help file! Yes! It took about 5 minutes total. Delight.
This was all in InDesign. My success took a left turn in my brain and distracted me with finding a way to make contact sheets in Photoshop. Surely a program designed for professional use would be able to make contact sheets, but I have been looking for months and not found it(key: think submenu). Today I was determined that if I couldn't find it, I could at the very least figure out a way to make my own contact sheet.
The Help file! Yes!
I immediately came across a way to make set sheets which gives you a choice of 1 8x10, 2 5x7s, 9 wallets, etc. It also lets you take the wallets and switch in different pics. I was delighted.
In an effort to recreate what I had just done, in a flash, it caught my eye. In the same submenu as the set sheets, there it was...contact blahx3
woohoo.................
Last month, I received a file that had been :cleaned up a bit for you" abd thought that would be a good thing. When I imported the file into my magazine, I also imported about 60 style sheets that were, ummm, excess baggage. Totally unwarranted. Anything but "cleaned up".
They really aren't a total hinderance, but when I am formatting text, they were a huge pain in the ass because my style sheet palette would scroll to the bottom and I was working with the top 6 (of the now 60 or so) style sheets. Some internet weirdness also prevented me from deleting them properly.
So this month, before I import anything new, I was determined to have a clean palette. The Help file! Yes! It took about 5 minutes total. Delight.
This was all in InDesign. My success took a left turn in my brain and distracted me with finding a way to make contact sheets in Photoshop. Surely a program designed for professional use would be able to make contact sheets, but I have been looking for months and not found it(key: think submenu). Today I was determined that if I couldn't find it, I could at the very least figure out a way to make my own contact sheet.
The Help file! Yes!
I immediately came across a way to make set sheets which gives you a choice of 1 8x10, 2 5x7s, 9 wallets, etc. It also lets you take the wallets and switch in different pics. I was delighted.
In an effort to recreate what I had just done, in a flash, it caught my eye. In the same submenu as the set sheets, there it was...contact blahx3
woohoo.................
Monday, April 07, 2008
Get it much?
In viewing some new scans of my dad's pics, I came across a tie that asks that very question. I found that particularly amusing.
Then I found one that reminds me of Ben Stein.
Finally, RIP Stella Podharsky. I tried googling her but came up empty.
Then I found one that reminds me of Ben Stein.
Finally, RIP Stella Podharsky. I tried googling her but came up empty.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Today we add a new healing therapy. Moxibustion!
I am just in from my sixth visit to the new doc. On Monday, it was 22 needles and I thought today would be 24, but no, it stayed at 22. The one between my brows, as well as the ones on my hand and stomache all seemed to be pushed in a little further. Tweak!
The herb potion has been slightly modified, but is basically the same, and there is an herbal pill supplement added last week. I have gotten accustomed to the flavor so much that at dinner at Empire earlier this week, my tea tasted 'funny'. I realized it wasn't my potion and that I missed it. Who'dathunkit?
So today, the doc sent me home with Artemisia Vulgaris in a stick form. It looks like a fat crayon but is very hard. The tip is lit until it glows and then eb will swirl it in circles, hovering about an inch above the kidney and spleen meridians, That's five minutes each on four spots on my back. This will fire up my Yang.
I will continue with my potion, pills, and Moxa and see the doc for accupuncture again on the 21st.
In other news, I finished Water For Elephants yesterday. What a brilliant book. I thoroughly enjoyed it and am looking forward to discussing it with some knitting readers tomorrow at Catalina, a fairly new Houston coffee house. Sara Gruen got me with a surprise twist ending about 3 pages form the last. Impressive.
One of my current knitting obsessions is with
this bag. I am half way through the bootom and am using black and bright green. No delusions about it being done for the cruise, but maybe.
Yesterday I had a deep cleansing breath to the last scan of my dad's negatives from the 50s. number 479. Then I remembered a few we had used with Emerald Pillows that I hadn't seen. EB reminded me that when I first took posession, I was putting the negatives in archive safe sleeves that I picked up at the camera co-op and storing them in a binder. Last night I retrieved the forgotten binder from the shelf, only to discover about 500 more negatives to scan. My labor of love. My dad is thoroughly enjoying looking at these as I send them to him and printing and sending them to his living sibs. He remembers some of them better than he remembers me calling him last night.
Off to work.
The herb potion has been slightly modified, but is basically the same, and there is an herbal pill supplement added last week. I have gotten accustomed to the flavor so much that at dinner at Empire earlier this week, my tea tasted 'funny'. I realized it wasn't my potion and that I missed it. Who'dathunkit?
So today, the doc sent me home with Artemisia Vulgaris in a stick form. It looks like a fat crayon but is very hard. The tip is lit until it glows and then eb will swirl it in circles, hovering about an inch above the kidney and spleen meridians, That's five minutes each on four spots on my back. This will fire up my Yang.
I will continue with my potion, pills, and Moxa and see the doc for accupuncture again on the 21st.
In other news, I finished Water For Elephants yesterday. What a brilliant book. I thoroughly enjoyed it and am looking forward to discussing it with some knitting readers tomorrow at Catalina, a fairly new Houston coffee house. Sara Gruen got me with a surprise twist ending about 3 pages form the last. Impressive.
One of my current knitting obsessions is with
this bag. I am half way through the bootom and am using black and bright green. No delusions about it being done for the cruise, but maybe.
Yesterday I had a deep cleansing breath to the last scan of my dad's negatives from the 50s. number 479. Then I remembered a few we had used with Emerald Pillows that I hadn't seen. EB reminded me that when I first took posession, I was putting the negatives in archive safe sleeves that I picked up at the camera co-op and storing them in a binder. Last night I retrieved the forgotten binder from the shelf, only to discover about 500 more negatives to scan. My labor of love. My dad is thoroughly enjoying looking at these as I send them to him and printing and sending them to his living sibs. He remembers some of them better than he remembers me calling him last night.
Off to work.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Accupuncture Week Two and Prize Knitting
Week two of accupuncture and Herbs began yesterday. My second visit was last Thursday and that was a 16 needle day. Yesterday (my third visit) was an 18 needle day. I am not sure why the obsession of counting the needles, maybe to avert my attention from ever seeing them, but count them I do, maybe just so I can report.
And then there are herbs. I have been drinking my herbs like a good girl. I have seen more improvement in the last week than I ever had with traditional medicine. For three years, it has been trial and error with the docs, mostly error in relation to my new Eastern therapies. It's working. That's all I need to know. I am meeting up with my lady accupuncturist to get some new herbs this afternoon and I will see her again on Thursday.
To spare you the loveliness of accupuncture pics (besides not having any), I have included the current knitting race. These are pics of the Vagina Brackets prize. I started knitting it last night while watching and listening to Eckhart Tolle on the "A New Earth" web class he is doing with Oprah. We have been doing this with some fellow bloggers, and find it is easier to listen while being otherwise creative with the hands.
So the prize scarf has been started. EB has me making some backup CDs at work and each one takes about half an hour. There is noone else in the office today (we should be eeking) and I can't really do anything else while the CDs are collecting and burning, so I brought some knitting in to pass the time. I am about a third done with it, so it should be finished by the weekend at the latest. Any one brazen enough to claim it today?
I scanned the scarf and adjusted the color a bit in Photoshop and I my monitor the colors look pretty close, perhaps just a tad bit brighter than the scarf is, but close. Now that I have seen them on the blog, they look a bit dark, but not something i am going to stress over, when You win it and receive it in the mail, you'll get a closer approximation I suppose.
Time to knit some more.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
14 needles later...
I had my first visit with my accupuncturist yesterday morning. There was a pretty thorough intake interview with her. It was very easy to talk to her because I have known her a few years personally. We met her and her partner through Good Friend Beth and have seen them socially over the years. They were at our wedding. Incidentally, GFB will be in town this weekend and we will all play some sort of meetup tag.
So I am up on the table and remaining relatively calm. I hear the needles being dropped onto their holding dish. This is where my eyes close. I want to know about the process, but I don't, at this point, want to be seeing and ginormous needles.
She began by rolling my pants up to my knees, all the while maintaining a soft and gentle contact and conversation. The first 4 needles went into my legs below the knee. And really, not at all bad, almost an invisible sort of intrusion. I had opened my eyes again as she was working lower legs ad I couldn't see what was going on down there.
There is a gentle swabbing of alcohol on the area preceding the next stick. A couple needles in or near each wrist. Then, the alcohol is swabbed between my eyes. Abruptly, my eyes were closed again because hey, I really don't need to see these needles yet.
There was next swabbing on the crown of my head and I didn't even feel that needle (needles?) I easily could have gotten these out of order, All I know is where they were going, and I was rather focused on counting how many because my curiosity was raised, but also because it let me not focus on needles of any sort sticking me.
The last few needles? 2 in each ear. This immediately took me back about 18 years. I was eoither still pregnant with Connor or I had just had him, a young naive 25 (right...), and wussy as all get out about even the slightest discomfort.
I had a terrible ear infection and in order to place a drainage tube, the doc needed to numb my ear. I don't think novacaine works on ears. I had nine shots in my ear that day and I screamed like a banshee for each one. Blood curdling screams that disturbed the entire hospital at LAFB, and brought my wasband running from the waiting room. He knew it was me.
The first three shots were within my ear like three points of a triangle. They were as far out and apart as they could be and still be within my ear.. 15 minutes later, three more came somewhat closer in and no, the first three did nothing to alleviate the pain of the second three or to lessen my screams. Then 15 minutes, later, three more closer in to the center of my ear. More of the same screaming and my wasband was holding me down on the table. He challenged the doc, his superior in the technical sense, because the doc wanted to restrain me or have a couple orderlies holding me down which Steven flat out declined insiting he could hold me still. He could, but he couldn't do that *and* cover my mouth, so the screaming ensued. He later told me he thought he might have permanent hearing damage from being so close, but that was long enough after, when we could joke about it.
So I had that mini-trauma while I was up on the accupuncture table and it was enough to distract me from the needles entering my ear. Those were a subtle pinch, but nothing more. And I didn't scream. But it was weird having thought about something so long ago that had little been thought about since.
The needles took about 5 minutes to set up, and then I was to stay put and relax for 20 minutes for them to start doing there thing. The table is heated and I was very relaxed.
As is my involuntary habit, at one point I flexed my foot slightly, or rather tried to (involuntarily). I do it unconsciously all the time, because my ankles and feet constantly need to crack. I am always pointing and flexing my feet. As my foot moved, I was brought a little out of my relaxation. I could feel tha path of the needles. I was the rest of the time telling myself "Don't flex your feet...don't flex your feet..."
It was really weird to feel the path connecting the needles that were so far apart on my body.
part two of my treatment is herbs. That dissolve in boiling water. That I then have to drink as "tea". We all know that tea whore that I am, these herbs do not make real tea. Nope. And, I was warned that it might be pretty awful.
This morning I started my herbal tea regimen. Two packets of Bai Shao, and one each of the following; Bai Zhu, Zhi Gan Cao, Dang Gui, Rou Dou Kou, Rou Gui, Dang Shen, He Zi, and Mu Xiang. The 10 little packets are blented together in a bowl and then boiling water, about 1 1/2 quarts, is added to make some yummy herbal tea. One of the packets translates to cinnamon, so I had hope. Elizabeth hollering "What's that smell?" wasn't terribly helpful. (okay, she didn't yell it and she didn't smell it until her nose was right over the bottle, but I did make her smell it first, and she gave a nice ewww.)
I am to make the tea in the morning and then divide it to have a portion after each meal. I did my duty and got it ready thid morning and drank the first dose when I got to work. If I have to find a word to describe it, it's a bit nutty. Sort of like drinking tea I thought I might like but was terribly wrong about it, but drinking it anyway. Not pleasant, but not even close to dreadful either. Of course that I have to drink it a few times a day might change my opinion of it.
So the new journey toward wellness has begin and I have hope. Time to drink some herb tea and google some herbs.
So I am up on the table and remaining relatively calm. I hear the needles being dropped onto their holding dish. This is where my eyes close. I want to know about the process, but I don't, at this point, want to be seeing and ginormous needles.
She began by rolling my pants up to my knees, all the while maintaining a soft and gentle contact and conversation. The first 4 needles went into my legs below the knee. And really, not at all bad, almost an invisible sort of intrusion. I had opened my eyes again as she was working lower legs ad I couldn't see what was going on down there.
There is a gentle swabbing of alcohol on the area preceding the next stick. A couple needles in or near each wrist. Then, the alcohol is swabbed between my eyes. Abruptly, my eyes were closed again because hey, I really don't need to see these needles yet.
There was next swabbing on the crown of my head and I didn't even feel that needle (needles?) I easily could have gotten these out of order, All I know is where they were going, and I was rather focused on counting how many because my curiosity was raised, but also because it let me not focus on needles of any sort sticking me.
The last few needles? 2 in each ear. This immediately took me back about 18 years. I was eoither still pregnant with Connor or I had just had him, a young naive 25 (right...), and wussy as all get out about even the slightest discomfort.
I had a terrible ear infection and in order to place a drainage tube, the doc needed to numb my ear. I don't think novacaine works on ears. I had nine shots in my ear that day and I screamed like a banshee for each one. Blood curdling screams that disturbed the entire hospital at LAFB, and brought my wasband running from the waiting room. He knew it was me.
The first three shots were within my ear like three points of a triangle. They were as far out and apart as they could be and still be within my ear.. 15 minutes later, three more came somewhat closer in and no, the first three did nothing to alleviate the pain of the second three or to lessen my screams. Then 15 minutes, later, three more closer in to the center of my ear. More of the same screaming and my wasband was holding me down on the table. He challenged the doc, his superior in the technical sense, because the doc wanted to restrain me or have a couple orderlies holding me down which Steven flat out declined insiting he could hold me still. He could, but he couldn't do that *and* cover my mouth, so the screaming ensued. He later told me he thought he might have permanent hearing damage from being so close, but that was long enough after, when we could joke about it.
So I had that mini-trauma while I was up on the accupuncture table and it was enough to distract me from the needles entering my ear. Those were a subtle pinch, but nothing more. And I didn't scream. But it was weird having thought about something so long ago that had little been thought about since.
The needles took about 5 minutes to set up, and then I was to stay put and relax for 20 minutes for them to start doing there thing. The table is heated and I was very relaxed.
As is my involuntary habit, at one point I flexed my foot slightly, or rather tried to (involuntarily). I do it unconsciously all the time, because my ankles and feet constantly need to crack. I am always pointing and flexing my feet. As my foot moved, I was brought a little out of my relaxation. I could feel tha path of the needles. I was the rest of the time telling myself "Don't flex your feet...don't flex your feet..."
It was really weird to feel the path connecting the needles that were so far apart on my body.
part two of my treatment is herbs. That dissolve in boiling water. That I then have to drink as "tea". We all know that tea whore that I am, these herbs do not make real tea. Nope. And, I was warned that it might be pretty awful.
This morning I started my herbal tea regimen. Two packets of Bai Shao, and one each of the following; Bai Zhu, Zhi Gan Cao, Dang Gui, Rou Dou Kou, Rou Gui, Dang Shen, He Zi, and Mu Xiang. The 10 little packets are blented together in a bowl and then boiling water, about 1 1/2 quarts, is added to make some yummy herbal tea. One of the packets translates to cinnamon, so I had hope. Elizabeth hollering "What's that smell?" wasn't terribly helpful. (okay, she didn't yell it and she didn't smell it until her nose was right over the bottle, but I did make her smell it first, and she gave a nice ewww.)
I am to make the tea in the morning and then divide it to have a portion after each meal. I did my duty and got it ready thid morning and drank the first dose when I got to work. If I have to find a word to describe it, it's a bit nutty. Sort of like drinking tea I thought I might like but was terribly wrong about it, but drinking it anyway. Not pleasant, but not even close to dreadful either. Of course that I have to drink it a few times a day might change my opinion of it.
So the new journey toward wellness has begin and I have hope. Time to drink some herb tea and google some herbs.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Yes, we'd like a tankful of travel karma. puhlease.
I really thought we topped off the tank when we did the Atlanta trip a few weeks ago, and really, in retrospect, this wasn't quite as bad. We surely have an overflow at the moment and this is a good thing as the knitting anniversary cruise is right around the corner.
The first leg of travel yesterday required some fellow bloggers to drive us to the airport on their own way home. That was smooth as silk. Nice weather. Pleasant conversation mixed in with closed eyes (not the driver's) and little traffic. Smooth.
We were dropped at LaGuardia ahead of schedule and experienced a very short, just two parties, but also slow line at check in. We found our gate and left on time. It's all good. It should be said that on the way to the Northeast, we flew through O'Hare with zero delay. In the winter. This was an area of concern but all was smooth.)
When we got to the Big D, we arrived at gate C21. We had been told our next flight was at C36. Farther than I want to walk? Yes. Insurmountable? No. We trekked down to C36 only to see that we had been rerouted to C8. Insert a medium and everforth increasing sigh.
To get to C8 you need to take the Inter Terminal Train(ITT) as the section of terminal we were in began with C21. We find the train around the corner. It's still all good at this point.
As we arrive at gate C8, we hear the announcement and the comedy begins. We have now been delayed about half an hour, a good thing because the announcement routes us back to gate C29 via ITT. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee...
We arrive at gate C29, and the monitor at the gate says we are to go to D15. I am not exaggeratin her for a second. Not even a teeny stretch of my imagination. The string of monitors showing departures still says C29. What to do?
There was an airport kiosk stafed by the Airport Ambassadors, retired volunteers. Sandy was most helpful (and I am betting a snarky older wiser lesbian with her Indiana Jones dykish hat on and maybe a qat somewhere on her person) and called the automated airport system which confirmed D15. At this point hear the clearly audible sigh and color eb and I a little resigned that we are getting home l.a.t.e. "Get over it," said Sandy, "it's good for you!"
Off we went to D15. The silver lining was that there was to be a further short delay and eb got to sip a lovely Malbec while we crunched on some bagel chips(not from Trader Joe's) and pine nut hummus. The international terminal (Why D in the Big D, of course) has all the good restaurants.
Once we arrived back in H-town, a mere 42 minutes after take off, it was again smooth sailing.
Blogfest? Awesome.
Good friends? Way awesome.
Tankful of travel karma? Priceless.
The first leg of travel yesterday required some fellow bloggers to drive us to the airport on their own way home. That was smooth as silk. Nice weather. Pleasant conversation mixed in with closed eyes (not the driver's) and little traffic. Smooth.
We were dropped at LaGuardia ahead of schedule and experienced a very short, just two parties, but also slow line at check in. We found our gate and left on time. It's all good. It should be said that on the way to the Northeast, we flew through O'Hare with zero delay. In the winter. This was an area of concern but all was smooth.)
When we got to the Big D, we arrived at gate C21. We had been told our next flight was at C36. Farther than I want to walk? Yes. Insurmountable? No. We trekked down to C36 only to see that we had been rerouted to C8. Insert a medium and everforth increasing sigh.
To get to C8 you need to take the Inter Terminal Train(ITT) as the section of terminal we were in began with C21. We find the train around the corner. It's still all good at this point.
As we arrive at gate C8, we hear the announcement and the comedy begins. We have now been delayed about half an hour, a good thing because the announcement routes us back to gate C29 via ITT. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee...
We arrive at gate C29, and the monitor at the gate says we are to go to D15. I am not exaggeratin her for a second. Not even a teeny stretch of my imagination. The string of monitors showing departures still says C29. What to do?
There was an airport kiosk stafed by the Airport Ambassadors, retired volunteers. Sandy was most helpful (and I am betting a snarky older wiser lesbian with her Indiana Jones dykish hat on and maybe a qat somewhere on her person) and called the automated airport system which confirmed D15. At this point hear the clearly audible sigh and color eb and I a little resigned that we are getting home l.a.t.e. "Get over it," said Sandy, "it's good for you!"
Off we went to D15. The silver lining was that there was to be a further short delay and eb got to sip a lovely Malbec while we crunched on some bagel chips(not from Trader Joe's) and pine nut hummus. The international terminal (Why D in the Big D, of course) has all the good restaurants.
Once we arrived back in H-town, a mere 42 minutes after take off, it was again smooth sailing.
Blogfest? Awesome.
Good friends? Way awesome.
Tankful of travel karma? Priceless.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Not. Quite. Right.
I just resized about 35 photos in Photoshop for the March issue of EB's magazine. I was on oh, maybe the 32nd one, and I had a weird sense of time revolving around me. I can't really describe it beyond something not being quite right. It wouldn't surprise me at all if EB goes to use these(hopefully not at the last minute), and she says to me, "Baby? Exactly what the fuck happened to all these lovely construction photos? Do them again. Please"
As I am typing my hands are a little shaky. Like the fingers aren't mine and they don't quite know what to do beyond hovering over a key my brain wants them to land on. It is a slow motion sort of thing where deliberate concentration is required for my brain to think each letter on its own rather than think in words. Disconnect.
Must be time for a vacation. I predict I will be better in exactly two days.
As I am typing my hands are a little shaky. Like the fingers aren't mine and they don't quite know what to do beyond hovering over a key my brain wants them to land on. It is a slow motion sort of thing where deliberate concentration is required for my brain to think each letter on its own rather than think in words. Disconnect.
Must be time for a vacation. I predict I will be better in exactly two days.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Final selections for the Great Lesbian Book Purge
Herein lies the final selections of the Lesbian Fiction portion of the book purge. Any not claimed by Wednesday at 4pm are going, going, gone.
Brooke, Gun...Sheridan's Fate
Maddison, Lauren...Deceptions
Mickelbury, Penny…Keeping Secrets
Mildon, Marsha…Fighting For Air
Miller, Carlene...Killing At The Cat
Miller, Carlene...Mayhem At The Marina
Miller, Carlene...Death Off Stage
Miller, Carlene...Reporter on the Run
Miner, Valerie...Range Of Light
Miner, Valerie...Blood Sisters
Minns, Karen Marie Christa…Virago (a lesbian vampire tale)
Moore, Maureen…Fieldwork
Morell, Mary...Final Rest
Murphy, Patricia A…Searching For Spring
Newman, Leslea…Girls Will Be Girls
Nonas, Elizabeth…For Keeps
Nonas, Elizabeth…A Room Full Of Women
O'Brien, Meghan...Infinite Loop
Obejas, Achy…We Came All The Way From Cuba So You Could Dress Like This?
Otto, Whitney…The Passion Dream Book
Pass, Gail…Zoë’s Book
Pass, Gail…Surviving Sisters
Pena, Terri De La…Margins
Perry, Roz…Rose Penski
Pincus, Elizabeth…The Two-bit Tango
Powell, Deborah…Houston Town
Powell, Deborah…Bayou City Secrets
Ravenwolf, Silver…Murder At Witches’ Bluff
Redding, Maggie…The Life and Times of Daffodil Mulligan
Richardson, Tracey...Last Rites
Richardson, Tracey...Over The Line
Richardson, Tracey...Double Take Out
Ross, M.E...The Best Laid Plans
Rule, Jane…The Young In One Another’s Arms
Rule, Jane…This Is Not For You
Rule, Jane…Outlander
Sackville-West, Vita…All Passion Spent
Sanders, Lauren...With or Without You
Sarton, May…The Small Room
Saxton, Carmen Mercedes…Conversations in the Dark
Schulman, Sarah…Shimmer
Schulman, Sarah…After Delores
Schulman, Sarah...Girls, Visions and Everything
Scofield, Sandra…More Than Allies
Scoppettone, Sandra…Gonna Take A Homicidal Journey
Scott, Claudia…Lesbian Writer: Claudia Scott
Scott, Melissa…Dreaming Metal
Scott, Rosie…Glory Days
Shacklady, Helen...The Lacquered Box
Shapiro, Lisa…Sea To Shining Sea
Sien, Bettianne Shoney…Lizards/Los Padres
Sims, Elizabeth...Holy Hell
Sims, Elizabeth...Damn Straight
Sims, Elizabeth...Easy Street
Smith, Shelley…The Pearls
Smith, Shelley...Edge of Passion
Sommers, Robbi…Kiss & Tell
Sommers, Robbi…Behind Closed Doors
Sommers, Robbi...Getting There
Sommers, Robbi...Pleasures
Stewart, Jean…Emerald City Blues
Stone, Lauren...Bait
Stores, Theresa…Getting To The Point
Sumner, Penny…The End Of April
Swallow, Jean...A Woman Determined
Taylor, Sheila Ortiz…Faultline
Taylor, Sheila Ortiz…Southbound
Taylor, Sheila Ortiz…Spring Forward/Fall Back
Taylor, Jena...The Last of Her Lies
Tomaso, Carla…The House of Real Love
Tulchinsky, Karen X…In Her Nature
Vole, Zenobia…Osten’s Bay
Warren, Patricia Nell...The Beauty Queen
Watts, Julia…Phases Of The Moon
Welsh, Lindsay…The Best Of Lindsay Welsh
Wiese, Deborah…Hodag Winter
Wilhelm, Gale…We Too Are Drifting
Wings, Mary…She Came By The Book
Wings, Mary…She Came In A Flash
Wings, Mary…She Came Too Late
Wings, Ocala…Singin’ The Sun Up
Zaremba, Eve…Beyond Hope
Zaremba, Eve…Uneasy Lies
Zaremba, Eve...White Noise
Brooke, Gun...Sheridan's Fate
Maddison, Lauren...Deceptions
Mickelbury, Penny…Keeping Secrets
Mildon, Marsha…Fighting For Air
Miller, Carlene...Killing At The Cat
Miller, Carlene...Mayhem At The Marina
Miller, Carlene...Death Off Stage
Miller, Carlene...Reporter on the Run
Miner, Valerie...Range Of Light
Miner, Valerie...Blood Sisters
Minns, Karen Marie Christa…Virago (a lesbian vampire tale)
Moore, Maureen…Fieldwork
Morell, Mary...Final Rest
Murphy, Patricia A…Searching For Spring
Newman, Leslea…Girls Will Be Girls
Nonas, Elizabeth…For Keeps
Nonas, Elizabeth…A Room Full Of Women
O'Brien, Meghan...Infinite Loop
Obejas, Achy…We Came All The Way From Cuba So You Could Dress Like This?
Otto, Whitney…The Passion Dream Book
Pass, Gail…Zoë’s Book
Pass, Gail…Surviving Sisters
Pena, Terri De La…Margins
Perry, Roz…Rose Penski
Pincus, Elizabeth…The Two-bit Tango
Powell, Deborah…Houston Town
Powell, Deborah…Bayou City Secrets
Ravenwolf, Silver…Murder At Witches’ Bluff
Redding, Maggie…The Life and Times of Daffodil Mulligan
Richardson, Tracey...Last Rites
Richardson, Tracey...Over The Line
Richardson, Tracey...Double Take Out
Ross, M.E...The Best Laid Plans
Rule, Jane…The Young In One Another’s Arms
Rule, Jane…This Is Not For You
Rule, Jane…Outlander
Sackville-West, Vita…All Passion Spent
Sanders, Lauren...With or Without You
Sarton, May…The Small Room
Saxton, Carmen Mercedes…Conversations in the Dark
Schulman, Sarah…Shimmer
Schulman, Sarah…After Delores
Schulman, Sarah...Girls, Visions and Everything
Scofield, Sandra…More Than Allies
Scoppettone, Sandra…Gonna Take A Homicidal Journey
Scott, Claudia…Lesbian Writer: Claudia Scott
Scott, Melissa…Dreaming Metal
Scott, Rosie…Glory Days
Shacklady, Helen...The Lacquered Box
Shapiro, Lisa…Sea To Shining Sea
Sien, Bettianne Shoney…Lizards/Los Padres
Sims, Elizabeth...Holy Hell
Sims, Elizabeth...Damn Straight
Sims, Elizabeth...Easy Street
Smith, Shelley…The Pearls
Smith, Shelley...Edge of Passion
Sommers, Robbi…Kiss & Tell
Sommers, Robbi…Behind Closed Doors
Sommers, Robbi...Getting There
Sommers, Robbi...Pleasures
Stewart, Jean…Emerald City Blues
Stone, Lauren...Bait
Stores, Theresa…Getting To The Point
Sumner, Penny…The End Of April
Swallow, Jean...A Woman Determined
Taylor, Sheila Ortiz…Faultline
Taylor, Sheila Ortiz…Southbound
Taylor, Sheila Ortiz…Spring Forward/Fall Back
Taylor, Jena...The Last of Her Lies
Tomaso, Carla…The House of Real Love
Tulchinsky, Karen X…In Her Nature
Vole, Zenobia…Osten’s Bay
Warren, Patricia Nell...The Beauty Queen
Watts, Julia…Phases Of The Moon
Welsh, Lindsay…The Best Of Lindsay Welsh
Wiese, Deborah…Hodag Winter
Wilhelm, Gale…We Too Are Drifting
Wings, Mary…She Came By The Book
Wings, Mary…She Came In A Flash
Wings, Mary…She Came Too Late
Wings, Ocala…Singin’ The Sun Up
Zaremba, Eve…Beyond Hope
Zaremba, Eve…Uneasy Lies
Zaremba, Eve...White Noise
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Friday, February 08, 2008
2 pics for Friday
I am still sifting through my father's negatives of 50 or so years ago, and today, these two brought a chuckle. What is that woman thinking as she helps her *friend* with her garter? Is it a woman? Drag, anyone? Don't you just covet that sweet suthahn belle hat? (Weese, you know you want the whole ensembele!)I am glad the woman in the chair is wearing a solid color, because any pattern competing with that chair, even though I want it, might make me have to sit down. And put my hand on my hip doing so.
Woo.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
book purge...part deux
It will be next weekend before these are gone. I decided that rather than deal with ebay, I am taking them to a local used bookstore and I will be happy with whatever I get. I went through and pulled ones I think I might actually read again, or ones I am partial to and not ready to purge yet. Suzanne and Ann get first crack at them because they commented an interest, and because I will see them this month so shipping is not an issue.
Grae, Camarin…The Secret In The Bird
Grae, Camarin…The Winged Dancer
Grae, Camarin…Wednesday Nights
Griffith, Nicola…The Blue Place
Guess, Carol…Seeing Dell
Haddock, Lisa...Edited Out
Haddock, Lisa...Final Cut
Hartman, Melissa…The Sure Thing
Haslund, Ebba...Nothing Happened
Hayes, Penny…Grassy Flats
Helms, Kristie...Dish It Up, Baby!
Hill, Linda…Class Reunion
Hodgman, Helen...Waiting For Matindi
Hoffman, Lauran…Bar Girls
Horn, Phyllis…The Chesapeake Project
Horn, Phyllis…Lodestar
Hull…Last September
Johnson, Barbara…Strangers In The Night
Johnston…Gullibles Travels
Jones, Frankie J…Captive Heart
Kallmaker, Karin…Paperback Romance
Kallmaker, Karin…Car Pool
Kallmaker, Karin…Touchwood
Kallmaker, Karin… Painted Moon
Kallmaker, Karin...Making Up For Lost Time
Kallmaker, Karin...In Every Port
Knight, Phyllis...Switching The Odds
Knight, Phyllis...Shattered Rhythms
Koertge, Noretta…Valley Of The Amazons
Lambert, Mercedes…Soultown
Lang, Elizabeth…Anna’s Country
Lipman, Elinor…Into Love And Out Again
Logue, Mary…Still Explosion
MacGregor, KG...The House on Sandstone
Maiman, Jaye…Crazy For Loving
Maiman, Jaye…Under My Skin
Maiman, Jaye…Someone To Watch
Maiman, Jaye…Baby, It’s Cold
Maiman, Jaye…Old Black Magic
Maiman, Jaye…Every Time We Say Goodbye
Maiman, Jaye…I Left My Heart
Maney, Mabel…The Case Of The Good-for-nothing Girlfriend
Marcy, Jean…Cemetery Murders
Martin, Valerie...A Recent Martyr
Martinac, Paula…Home Movies
Martinac, Paula…Chicken
McCarthy…Cast A Cold Eye
McConnell, Vicki...Mrs. Porter’s Letters
McConnell, Vicki…Double Daughter
McDaniel, Judith…Yes I Said, Yes I Will
McDermid, Val...The Last Temptation
McKay, Claudia...The Kali Connection
Grae, Camarin…The Secret In The Bird
Grae, Camarin…The Winged Dancer
Grae, Camarin…Wednesday Nights
Griffith, Nicola…The Blue Place
Guess, Carol…Seeing Dell
Haddock, Lisa...Edited Out
Haddock, Lisa...Final Cut
Hartman, Melissa…The Sure Thing
Haslund, Ebba...Nothing Happened
Hayes, Penny…Grassy Flats
Helms, Kristie...Dish It Up, Baby!
Hill, Linda…Class Reunion
Hodgman, Helen...Waiting For Matindi
Hoffman, Lauran…Bar Girls
Horn, Phyllis…The Chesapeake Project
Horn, Phyllis…Lodestar
Hull…Last September
Johnson, Barbara…Strangers In The Night
Johnston…Gullibles Travels
Jones, Frankie J…Captive Heart
Kallmaker, Karin…Paperback Romance
Kallmaker, Karin…Car Pool
Kallmaker, Karin…Touchwood
Kallmaker, Karin… Painted Moon
Kallmaker, Karin...Making Up For Lost Time
Kallmaker, Karin...In Every Port
Knight, Phyllis...Switching The Odds
Knight, Phyllis...Shattered Rhythms
Koertge, Noretta…Valley Of The Amazons
Lambert, Mercedes…Soultown
Lang, Elizabeth…Anna’s Country
Lipman, Elinor…Into Love And Out Again
Logue, Mary…Still Explosion
MacGregor, KG...The House on Sandstone
Maiman, Jaye…Crazy For Loving
Maiman, Jaye…Under My Skin
Maiman, Jaye…Someone To Watch
Maiman, Jaye…Baby, It’s Cold
Maiman, Jaye…Old Black Magic
Maiman, Jaye…Every Time We Say Goodbye
Maiman, Jaye…I Left My Heart
Maney, Mabel…The Case Of The Good-for-nothing Girlfriend
Marcy, Jean…Cemetery Murders
Martin, Valerie...A Recent Martyr
Martinac, Paula…Home Movies
Martinac, Paula…Chicken
McCarthy…Cast A Cold Eye
McConnell, Vicki...Mrs. Porter’s Letters
McConnell, Vicki…Double Daughter
McDaniel, Judith…Yes I Said, Yes I Will
McDermid, Val...The Last Temptation
McKay, Claudia...The Kali Connection
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Needles and Herbs
Yay, we just got airfare for the cruise!! Whoopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
Long time no blog. It's so sad. Last week I had to rush off to Atlanta to save the day for my company. On the flight home we had to sit on the runway in Atlanta for 3 hours only to be let back into the terminal for an hour, only to sit on the runway for another hour before our measly 2 hour flight home. Can you say germs?
In general, I don't get sick. My disease aside, I am fortunate to have relative good health. There was a terribly insidious bug on that plane. As we sat there breathing the anything but pure germ infested air, I could feel my throat getting dryer by the minute and before the end of it, it was on fire.
Thursday was lost to travel. I tried to work on Friday but was battling a high fever that Tylenol was having a hard tiome maintaining. I couldn't concentrate and after an hour or so I went home and stayed in bed all day with Nikita (EB totally unserstands). On Saturday I worked at JCP for 4 hours and it wore me out. My fever was still hanging around, but Tylenol every 3.75 hours took care of it.
On Sunday, I felt better, but if I did anything more than walk to the couch from the bed, I was unable to catch my breath. I had the good fortune to look at two DSW coupons ($10 each that could be used together!)to see they expired when? Not the 10th, but the 3rd. I took my skankhobralessputabaseballcapon ass to DSW to use my xmas gift card before those coupons expired. I got 3 new pair o shoes and spent less than $15. Gotta love gift cards. And coupons.
I'm here to tell you about it, so yes, I lived, but that trip to the shoe store just about wiped me out. All in all with this bug, I was even too sick to knit. That's just shy of requiring hospitalization, y'know?
Now back to my disease for a minute. I have been dealing with the niceties of Crohn's (or *just* IBD or UC depending on the doc) for about 3 years now and I am beginning to get a bit put out with it all. Various meds that after insurance still come in at about $100 a month just aren't cutting it. For $100 a month I want better results dammit.
So we have a friend who has gone to school for Traditional Chinese Medicine. I asked her some questions, she sent me some links...I am almost ready for the needles and herbs. Do any of you have any direct experience with this? Talk to me people!
Long time no blog. It's so sad. Last week I had to rush off to Atlanta to save the day for my company. On the flight home we had to sit on the runway in Atlanta for 3 hours only to be let back into the terminal for an hour, only to sit on the runway for another hour before our measly 2 hour flight home. Can you say germs?
In general, I don't get sick. My disease aside, I am fortunate to have relative good health. There was a terribly insidious bug on that plane. As we sat there breathing the anything but pure germ infested air, I could feel my throat getting dryer by the minute and before the end of it, it was on fire.
Thursday was lost to travel. I tried to work on Friday but was battling a high fever that Tylenol was having a hard tiome maintaining. I couldn't concentrate and after an hour or so I went home and stayed in bed all day with Nikita (EB totally unserstands). On Saturday I worked at JCP for 4 hours and it wore me out. My fever was still hanging around, but Tylenol every 3.75 hours took care of it.
On Sunday, I felt better, but if I did anything more than walk to the couch from the bed, I was unable to catch my breath. I had the good fortune to look at two DSW coupons ($10 each that could be used together!)to see they expired when? Not the 10th, but the 3rd. I took my skankhobralessputabaseballcapon ass to DSW to use my xmas gift card before those coupons expired. I got 3 new pair o shoes and spent less than $15. Gotta love gift cards. And coupons.
I'm here to tell you about it, so yes, I lived, but that trip to the shoe store just about wiped me out. All in all with this bug, I was even too sick to knit. That's just shy of requiring hospitalization, y'know?
Now back to my disease for a minute. I have been dealing with the niceties of Crohn's (or *just* IBD or UC depending on the doc) for about 3 years now and I am beginning to get a bit put out with it all. Various meds that after insurance still come in at about $100 a month just aren't cutting it. For $100 a month I want better results dammit.
So we have a friend who has gone to school for Traditional Chinese Medicine. I asked her some questions, she sent me some links...I am almost ready for the needles and herbs. Do any of you have any direct experience with this? Talk to me people!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
The first book purge A-G
It will be next weekend before these are gone. I decided that rather than deal with ebay, I am taking them to a local used bookstore and I will be happy with whatever I get. I went through and pulled ones I think I might actually read again, or ones I am partial to and not ready to purge yet. Suzanne and Ann get first crack at them because they commented an interest, and because I will see them next month so shipping is not an issue.
If something interess you, make an offer. The bookstore I take them to usually offers 25% of the cover price.
Albarella, Joan…Agenda For Murder
Aldridge, Sarah…Keep To Me Stranger
Allison, Dorothy…Trash
Alther, Lisa…Kin-flicks
Alther, Lisa…Five Minutes In Heaven
Anshaw, Carol…Seven Moves
Arnold, June…The Cook and the Carpenter: a novel by the carpenter
Ascher, Carol…The Flood
Atwood, Margaret…Cat’s Eye
Baker, Nikki...The Ultimate Exit Strategy
Gone to A...Baldwin, Kim...Whitewater Rendezvous
Gone to L...Bannon, Ann…Journey To A Woman
Gone to L...Bannon, Ann…Beebo Brinker
Gone to L...Bannon, Ann…Women in the Shadows
Gone to A...Barr, Nevada…Bittersweet
Beal, M.F…Angel Dance
Gone to qp...Beecham Rose…Introducing Amanda Valentine
Gone to qp...Beecham, Rose…Second Guess
Gone to qp...Beecham, Rose…Fair Play
Gone to qp...Beecham, Rose...Grave Silence
Bennett, Saxon…A Question Of Love
Bepko, Claudia…The Heart’s Progress
Borgstrorm…Short Rides
Boutilier, Nancy...According To Her Contours
Brooke, Gun...Coffee Sonata
Brooke, Gun...Course of Action
Brooke, Gun...Protector of the Realm(Book one Supreme Constellations)
Brown, Rita Mae...Plain Brown Rapper
Brown, Rita Mae...Rubyfruit Jungle
Brown, Rita Mae...Venus Envy
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Wish You Were Here
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Rest In Pieces
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Pay Dirt
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Murder, She Meowed
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Cat On The Scent
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Pawing Through The Past
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Catch As Cat Can
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae…Murder On The Prowl
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Sour Puss
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...The Tail of the Tip-Off
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Cat's Eyewitness
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Claws and Effect
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Whisker of Evil
Kris Bruyer...Out of the Night
Gone to A...Calhoun, Jackie...Sticks and Stones
Gone to A...Calhoun, Jackie...Birds of a Feather
Gone to A...Calhoun, Jackie...Second Chance
Calhoun, Jackie...Tamarack Creek
Calhoun, Jackie...Seasons of the Heart
Calhoun, Jackie...Lifestyles
Calhoun, Jackie...Outside the Flock
Calloway, Kate...1st Impressions
Calloway, Kate...2nd Fiddle
Calloway, Kate...3rd Degree
Gone to qp...Calloway, Kate...6th Sense
Gone to qp...Calloway, Kate...7th Heaven
Gone to qp...Calloway, Kate...8th Day
Casavant, Jessica...Twist Of Fate
Caschetta, Mary Beth…Lucy On The West Coast
Clausen, Jan…Mother, Sister, Daughter, Lover
Clausen, Jan…The Prosperine Papers
Conn, Nicole…Passion’s Shadow
Darling, Julia...Crocodile Soup
Davis, Kaye…Devil’s Leg Crossing
D’Erasmo, Stacey…Tea
Gone to A...Denison, Lyn…The Wild One
Donnelly, Nisa…The Bar Stories
Gone to A...Dreher, Sarah…Stoner McTavish
Dreher, Sarah…Other World
Drury, Joan...Closed In Silence
Emerson, Pat…Raging Mother Mountain
Ennis, Catherine…To The Lightning
Erhart, Margaret…Unusual Company
Erhart, Margaret…Old Love
Farrell, Maud…Skid
Fleming, Kathleen…Lovers in the Present Afternoon
Fulton, Jennifer…True Love
Gone to A...Fulton, Jennifer...Greener Than Grass
Gone to A...Furtado, Anna...The Heart's Desire
Galloway, Janice…Foreign Parts
Gambill, Sue…Heartscape
Garden, Nancy...Nora And Liz
Gayle, Marilyn…Free Ride
If something interess you, make an offer. The bookstore I take them to usually offers 25% of the cover price.
Albarella, Joan…Agenda For Murder
Aldridge, Sarah…Keep To Me Stranger
Allison, Dorothy…Trash
Alther, Lisa…Kin-flicks
Alther, Lisa…Five Minutes In Heaven
Anshaw, Carol…Seven Moves
Arnold, June…The Cook and the Carpenter: a novel by the carpenter
Ascher, Carol…The Flood
Atwood, Margaret…Cat’s Eye
Baker, Nikki...The Ultimate Exit Strategy
Gone to A...Baldwin, Kim...Whitewater Rendezvous
Gone to L...Bannon, Ann…Journey To A Woman
Gone to L...Bannon, Ann…Beebo Brinker
Gone to L...Bannon, Ann…Women in the Shadows
Gone to A...Barr, Nevada…Bittersweet
Beal, M.F…Angel Dance
Gone to qp...Beecham Rose…Introducing Amanda Valentine
Gone to qp...Beecham, Rose…Second Guess
Gone to qp...Beecham, Rose…Fair Play
Gone to qp...Beecham, Rose...Grave Silence
Bennett, Saxon…A Question Of Love
Bepko, Claudia…The Heart’s Progress
Borgstrorm…Short Rides
Boutilier, Nancy...According To Her Contours
Brooke, Gun...Coffee Sonata
Brooke, Gun...Course of Action
Brooke, Gun...Protector of the Realm(Book one Supreme Constellations)
Brown, Rita Mae...Plain Brown Rapper
Brown, Rita Mae...Rubyfruit Jungle
Brown, Rita Mae...Venus Envy
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Wish You Were Here
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Rest In Pieces
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Pay Dirt
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Murder, She Meowed
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Cat On The Scent
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Pawing Through The Past
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Catch As Cat Can
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae…Murder On The Prowl
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Sour Puss
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...The Tail of the Tip-Off
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Cat's Eyewitness
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Claws and Effect
Gone to S...Brown, Rita Mae...Whisker of Evil
Kris Bruyer...Out of the Night
Gone to A...Calhoun, Jackie...Sticks and Stones
Gone to A...Calhoun, Jackie...Birds of a Feather
Gone to A...Calhoun, Jackie...Second Chance
Calhoun, Jackie...Tamarack Creek
Calhoun, Jackie...Seasons of the Heart
Calhoun, Jackie...Lifestyles
Calhoun, Jackie...Outside the Flock
Calloway, Kate...1st Impressions
Calloway, Kate...2nd Fiddle
Calloway, Kate...3rd Degree
Gone to qp...Calloway, Kate...6th Sense
Gone to qp...Calloway, Kate...7th Heaven
Gone to qp...Calloway, Kate...8th Day
Casavant, Jessica...Twist Of Fate
Caschetta, Mary Beth…Lucy On The West Coast
Clausen, Jan…Mother, Sister, Daughter, Lover
Clausen, Jan…The Prosperine Papers
Conn, Nicole…Passion’s Shadow
Darling, Julia...Crocodile Soup
Davis, Kaye…Devil’s Leg Crossing
D’Erasmo, Stacey…Tea
Gone to A...Denison, Lyn…The Wild One
Donnelly, Nisa…The Bar Stories
Gone to A...Dreher, Sarah…Stoner McTavish
Dreher, Sarah…Other World
Drury, Joan...Closed In Silence
Emerson, Pat…Raging Mother Mountain
Ennis, Catherine…To The Lightning
Erhart, Margaret…Unusual Company
Erhart, Margaret…Old Love
Farrell, Maud…Skid
Fleming, Kathleen…Lovers in the Present Afternoon
Fulton, Jennifer…True Love
Gone to A...Fulton, Jennifer...Greener Than Grass
Gone to A...Furtado, Anna...The Heart's Desire
Galloway, Janice…Foreign Parts
Gambill, Sue…Heartscape
Garden, Nancy...Nora And Liz
Gayle, Marilyn…Free Ride
Friday, January 18, 2008
Can you claim knowledge of any of these children?
I love technology. Really. I do. But sometimes, I am so absolutely taken with one of my dad's photos that it makes me a little crcazy to not know who the people in the photos are. Like this one. I might try to knit it. How's that for crazy?
Friday, January 11, 2008
My mother is not right.
By not right, I don't necessarily mean that she is wrong, but that she is off. Twisted. She's just. Not. Right.
My dad just sent me a new digital camera to play with. He has a collection of cameras going back about 70 years, and it is a hobby he will never put down. Sometimes I am surprised he has gone digital. I asked him if he had an extra cheapy digital camera because I wanted something I could throw in my bag for yarnporn pics on the fly. I figured if I was lucky and he was willing to part with a camera, any camera, I might get his oldest low rent dicital. The one he sent is 6.3 megapixel. Sweet!
Of course my mom had to customize the box with a blast from the past photo. I am pretty sure I made that skirt and matching vest ensemble. And since my dad is wearing his good sweater that was likely an Easter Sunday shot because back in the day, his non-practicing Jewish ass didn't otherwise go to church. I'm estimating Easter 1978 or 9.
Most recently the pics she has sent have been more of the baby variety. I like those. I like this one, too, because if you can't laugh at yourself you're in serious trouble. Sifting through high school photos is a laugh a minute. I still say she's not right.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Sometimes a good cookie is just that
I find it very disturbing that I just cracked my fortune cookie only to find it empty. this has never happened in my numerous years consuming Chinese take out. I. Am. Disturbed.
But the cookie itself was superb. I usually don't eat the entire cookie, maybe a quarter of it, but nary a crumb remains on my desk.
What does it mean? My fortune is up to me? I have no fortune? Aaaaauuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhh...
But the cookie itself was superb. I usually don't eat the entire cookie, maybe a quarter of it, but nary a crumb remains on my desk.
What does it mean? My fortune is up to me? I have no fortune? Aaaaauuuuuuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhh...
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Refining the No Sale plan
On my previous post, I was going to go on to say how the gift cards I got for xmas might now be savored as a sort of free money, an exception to the re-evaluated notion of shopping.
One of said gift cards was for Borders. Yes, I said was. It's history. I took my gift card to Borders today and shot my wad. I was going to be totally disciplined and only use it with coupons I get in email. I used a 30% off and $5 off coupon today and still shot the wad. If I hadn't bought an art magazine, I wouldn't have gone over the amount, but I only went over by a small amount. Art mags are needs, not wants, because eb and I are both working artists and we *need* inspiration. It feeds the soul, you know.
Other than Cloth, Paper, Scissors, I got 4 books, two of which were on my wish list, so I did shop discriminately after a fashion. Today's haul included "Signed, Mata Hari" by Yannick Murphy, and "The Tenth Muse" by Judith Jones, both previously on my wish list.
Not on my wish list was "The Mortal Groove" by Ellen Hart. Ellen Hart is on my short list of favorite lesbian writers and anything new by her will always be exempt from any shopping embargo. I also picked up "Zen and the Art of Knitting" by Bernadete Murphy. I have been cruising this book for quite a while.
As part of Chris' (linked as No Sale on the right)paring down, not only is nothing being bought this year, major purging is going on at her house. A few years ago, eb and I evvected a one in one out rule toward basic purchases such as clothing and shoes. For the most part, we have stuck to it rather well. I think it is time that I apply this to books. I am a bit of a book whore. Until recently, I have been a book whore particularly for mindless lesbian fiction, in particular lesbian mystery.
As I sit here in the library, I am looking at the shelves of lesbian fiction. I would guess there are somewhere between three and four hundred titles. A major weeding is upon us. I am not sure if I should put them in lots up on ebay, take them to Half Price books, or what. I recently reread my titles from Jaye Maiman, one of my favorites, and I think I might pt the lot of them on ebay and see what happens.
I have even thought of putting them on ebay as one huge lot with a reserve in the amount that the yarn for a sweater I want to knit for myself will cost. One habit funding the other. I rather like that, but I am not sure if it would be better to break them up or not. If anyone has any insightful thoughts on this, please pass them along.
One of said gift cards was for Borders. Yes, I said was. It's history. I took my gift card to Borders today and shot my wad. I was going to be totally disciplined and only use it with coupons I get in email. I used a 30% off and $5 off coupon today and still shot the wad. If I hadn't bought an art magazine, I wouldn't have gone over the amount, but I only went over by a small amount. Art mags are needs, not wants, because eb and I are both working artists and we *need* inspiration. It feeds the soul, you know.
Other than Cloth, Paper, Scissors, I got 4 books, two of which were on my wish list, so I did shop discriminately after a fashion. Today's haul included "Signed, Mata Hari" by Yannick Murphy, and "The Tenth Muse" by Judith Jones, both previously on my wish list.
Not on my wish list was "The Mortal Groove" by Ellen Hart. Ellen Hart is on my short list of favorite lesbian writers and anything new by her will always be exempt from any shopping embargo. I also picked up "Zen and the Art of Knitting" by Bernadete Murphy. I have been cruising this book for quite a while.
As part of Chris' (linked as No Sale on the right)paring down, not only is nothing being bought this year, major purging is going on at her house. A few years ago, eb and I evvected a one in one out rule toward basic purchases such as clothing and shoes. For the most part, we have stuck to it rather well. I think it is time that I apply this to books. I am a bit of a book whore. Until recently, I have been a book whore particularly for mindless lesbian fiction, in particular lesbian mystery.
As I sit here in the library, I am looking at the shelves of lesbian fiction. I would guess there are somewhere between three and four hundred titles. A major weeding is upon us. I am not sure if I should put them in lots up on ebay, take them to Half Price books, or what. I recently reread my titles from Jaye Maiman, one of my favorites, and I think I might pt the lot of them on ebay and see what happens.
I have even thought of putting them on ebay as one huge lot with a reserve in the amount that the yarn for a sweater I want to knit for myself will cost. One habit funding the other. I rather like that, but I am not sure if it would be better to break them up or not. If anyone has any insightful thoughts on this, please pass them along.
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