Why Don’t We Wise Up?

Have you noticed the plethora of products being marketed to make you happy in the new year? Things that organize your life, journaling your mindfulness, grabbing for those goals that have eluded you all your life.

First of all, my life is a mess. No organizational planner, yours or mine, will clean me up. Only supernatural power can do that and the only person who is good at it is God. He proved it at the Red Sea. That’s what it would take to part with my clutter and disasters.minimal

Second, since when is journaling a verb? It’s never been a verb, it’s always been a noun, as in keeping a journal or diary. Diary is the old fashion word, but it’s too close to dairy. Since people don’t read anymore, marketers made the switch and sent consumers into bookstores for theirs instead of dairy farms where the cows live chewing the cud.

Mindfulness. Now there’s a mouthful. To be mindful means to be observant, alert, cognizant. But now it’s been turned on its head and it’s a meditation technique with breathing exercises. Think mindless therapy.

And what makes us think we’ll nail those goals this year when we haven’t succeeded thus far? That’s crazy. Those ads and inspirational books and podcasts are meant to do one thing only – buy the course of course! Knowing full well you’ll fail. Like going to the gym. Two sweaty sessions and you’re out.

So what do we do? Try harder? Flog ourselves? Ignore the mounting evidence of sloth that has overtaken our homes and lives?

Being cognizant of the steep hill we must climb, we make a date to walk the dog, eat more fruits and green things, and enjoy the many times we fall off the wagon. That’s part of the fun.

What? You want perfect?

Calvin says, “I like walking the dog part. Stick with me. I’ll take you places that’ll expand you…I mean shrink you.”  beagle

 

 

 

Plush or Not

I’m old enough to remember my grandparents’ sleeping arrangements.

They each had separate bedrooms. It worked well for them. Neither one asked the other for a divorce.

I’m convinced it was because they got a good night’s sleep.

Life goes better with 8-9 hours a night.  photo (21)

Every morning they were happy to see each other at the breakfast table.

My parents followed suit, but not entirely. They slept in twin beds, but in the same bedroom.

They too didn’t get a divorce.

I’m beginning to wonder if it’s sleeping in the same bed that is the cause of so many busted marriages these days.

When was the last time you saw an ad for twin beds on TV?

And have you noticed the changes in mattresses lately?

Manufacturers have shaved off the width on the queen size and re-packaged it.

You can no longer flip the mattress to evenly distribute your weight on the bed.

Everything now has pillow-top-softness, but the mattress is still guaranteed to break down in 5-7 years no matter what the warranty says.

And the prices! Some kings are the price of a trip to Europe.

When did a mattress become a luxury item?

When Hollywood started featuring sexy scenes with the stars in the same bed together.

I remember Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn in separate beds and they were still funny.

Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore slept in twin beds and we still laughed.

Today everybody’s in a king-size bed and grumpy.

Calvin says, “If everyone slept in a lambskin pet bed like me they’d be delirious.” beagle

Give Mom a Kick-Butting Day

Mother’s Day is just around the corner.

That horrid one day of the year when families take mom out for brunch and fuss over her with eggs Benedict and Mimosas. Then she’s returned to the daily grind and all is forgotten.

I’m sure the restaurant industry contrived the holiday to beef up their bottom line in May.

What if mom doesn’t like eggs with a last name and orange juice spiked with bubbles? Maybe she prefers her steak grilled with a heaping plateful of shoestring potatoes and a large pitcher of sangria?

And please don’t give her a cheesy card with a sappy greeting that a computer spit out last century that you found in the greeting card aisle at the supermarket next to the artificial smelling air fresheners for the house. Definitely don’t buy one of those either.

Instead, head out to the mall and buy her an all expense paid shopping spree to her favorite shoe store. Or put her on a plane to a beach somewhere. Or give her a lifetime of body massages at the Holistic Health Clinic where Mai, the masseuse will be happy to walk all over her back.

Then install the dog in the pet hotel so she doesn’t have to walk him for a month.

Hire a private chef for the rest of the year and give her a break in the kitchen.

Oh wait. The kitchen. It needs a desperate overhaul before Wolfgang can cook there.

Maybe mom has a dream she’d like to focus on for a change. Provide her with the tools she needs. Lipstick, make-up, haircut and color, liposuction, a new wardrobe.

Singing lessons? Maybe she’s always wanted to develop her voice beyond yelling at the kids.

Calvin says, “My mom never got to develop herself. I know she had a secret nobody else knew. She always wanted to be an owner.”

Making Music

I called my friend today. She said she was having jaw problems. She said she was out of pain, but her jaw was still clicking.

“Isn’t that what it’s supposed to do?” I asked.

“Every word I say, I hear a click afterward, like a flamenco dancer’s castanet inside my head.”

“Can you make music with it?” I said.

“No, and besides I have a nodule under my right earlobe the size of a large pea that’s not going away,” she said.

“I didn’t know peas came in large sizes,” I said.

“They don’t, but mine does,” she said.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” she said.

“Can you pop it like bubble wrap?”

“No!”

“Then color it and have some fun with it,” I said.

“That’s a good idea, sorta like an earring, except a little farther down,” she said.

“I still can’t gain weight. My friends tell me there’s something wrong. I don’t know. I eat like a horse,” she said.

“You just can’t please anybody anymore. Thanks Hollywood. Those image-busters have ruined it for us. If you’re too thin, you’re not hot, if you’re too fat, you’re invisible. And if you’re just right, there are no real men out there to appreciate it anyway,” I said.

My friend laughed. “I’ve got to go now. I’m clicking, I mean shopping for face paint for my pea.”

She clicked and was gone.

Calvin says, “The day my jaw clicks my reputation as a fierce hunter is over. The rabbits would roll over laughing.”

The No-Wheat Life

I decided to go gluten-free a month ago. I thought I was going to die. The first two days I had flu-like symptoms with aches and pains all over my body. Then the migraine headache kicked in and hung on for more than 24-hours. I became so sleepy I couldn’t get off the couch. It was a good thing I decided to do this on a weekend when I would have time to indulge myself in these revolting symptoms. I was ready to tell my husband to drive me to the ER when I thought I better check the Internet first. Sure enough, everything I was experiencing was “normal” for wheat withdrawal.

Now that is downright scary.

I thought wheat was the staple of life.

That was 100 years ago when wheat was wheat. Today who knows what’s in it, like most of our food nowadays.

Do I feel better now? Honestly, it’s hard to tell. But I’m too scared to go back to wheat and feel lousy all over again.

Calvin says, “I don’t even want to think of what goes into my kibble.”