I’m only online to write a blog post…

Earlier today while chatting with my friend as we whiled away the hours at work we got to talking about our blogs. Which really makes complete and total sense given who I work for and what I do. Of course blogging would be a topic of conversation with my friends and coworkers. And in the course of our conversation about blogging in general and our blogs specifically a lot of things were said.

I only remember two of them. Sure I could go back and check the chat logs but the point is the only two things I remember are clearly the two important things.

  1. We use the same theme. In pink.
  2. We both need to blog more.

I used to be a prolific blogger. I blinked and fully written blog posts fell out of my tear ducts and published themselves. People begged me to post less. Seriously. But over the last several years I’ve slacked off considerably. Now it’s not that I got any less interesting. I wasn’t that interesting to begin with. It’s just that seven things led to ten others and I stopped posting.

So after glossing over the fact that we both use the same theme. In pink. I made a demand. Or maybe a promise. Or perhaps a declaration. It could have a proclamation. I stated very seriously that we both needed to put up a post. Tonight. For real.

And then we got back to work making the internet a better place for others. Because we’re good like that.  And then the day came to a close and I did the whole mom thing and there was bonding and dinner and cats. And then the kid started in on homework and I was faced with only two real possibilities.

I could clean the kitchen.


I could get online to see if my friend had posted anything on her blog in the hopes that I would be off the hook and then spend my evening window shopping polka dot dresses on-line.

Here’s something you should know about me. Cleaning the kitchen rarely wins when there is any other option. I mean I’ll always clean the kitchen at some point. But if I can possibly find something else to do so I can reasonably procrastinate I will.

And since she hadn’t posted and I was already online I totally took the time to look at dresses. And maybe answer just a couple of work pings. And catch up on the facebooks. But eventually I realized that at this point I’ve probably seen every polka dot dress that the internet has to offer. That I don’t need to work tonight. That there is no end to the facebooks. And that kitchen, it’s still waiting.

So. a blog post it is…

wishing for a green thumb…

There are few scents  more soothing and restorative to me than the perfume of Star Jasmine on a cool breeze. Growing up my family moved around a bit. And by a bit I mean a lot. The few people I know who moved around as much or more than I did as a kid are all military brats. But as I was entering 5th grade my family moved as a unit “just one more time” again. And that time it took. I lived in one town from my 5th grade year until the middle of my 12th grade year. In the 2nd home in which we lived in that town my parents built a front patio. And on the end of that front patio they built a lattice wall. And at the base of that lattice wall they planted Star Jasmine. My bedroom window, which led to a small section of roof, was directly above that porch and in the evenings when the world was a bit too much for my teenage self I would open the window and climb out onto the roof to sit and think and write and brood. And to inhale that sweet fresh scent as it wafted up. It was a reminder to me that the world really was a beautiful place. Even there in the suburbs that I loathed so much.

With no offense meant to my family and friends, that is what I missed the most when I moved away. The scent of Star Jasmine felt like home.

And so over the weekend while shopping for a screen door at the local hardware and garden supply superstore when I stumbled upon and awesome planter that was on sale for a reasonable price and clearly wanted to come home with us to live in my backyard, you’d think I would have automatically known what I wanted to plant in it. But it wasn’t until I walked out into the garden section to grab a bag of soil that I knew. I didn’t see the plant, but from an aisle away I picked up the soothing scent. It played on the breeze like a gentle melody and I had no choice but to wander the isles searching for the source, pluck it up, and place it into my cart.

Since the rain on Sunday was heavy and unrelenting I haven’t had the chance to plant it yet. And so it sits protected from the elements just inside my open sliding glass door. As the breeze flows through from the door to the living room where I sit working on the sofa I keep picking up the faint scent of Star Jasmine. Sadly being a houseplant in my care is like a botanical death sentence so I know better than to try to keep it indoors.

But I have hope that, left unchecked and untouched by my deadly hands,  it will become the mighty plant I know it can be. Growing big and strong. Scenting the air I breathe and making my corner of the world a bit of a better place.

Of course, if it dies I can always got back to the store for another.

what to do when you lose a contact lens. in your eye…

eyeFirst of all, don’t panic. Take a deep breath. It’s all okay. I did eventually manage to get the contact lens out of my eye. I know you were worried, you’re nice like that.

And I know the thought of a contact lens floating around in someone’s eye unanchored is a little unsettling. The ick factor here is high. I know. I lived it. But it’s cool because I’ve totally figured out how to handle it. How to get it out right away. If by right away you mean after 15+ minutes. And all it takes is 5 easy steps.

Step One

Don’t panic. I know I said it before, but I’m saying it again. Don’t panic. Focus on something else. Whatever else you happened to be doing when the lens went astray probably deserves your full attention. Driving? You should totally be paying attention to what you’re doing out that other eye, the one in which the contact lens isn’t pulling a disappearing act. On a business call, you should keep listening. Keep talking. Focus on the goal of the meeting not the fact that you can feel that little piece of flexible plastic rolled up on the top curve of your eye making its way back toward your brain.

Step Two

Wrap it up. Whatever it is it’s time to end it. Ignore what I said before. Whatever it is you’re doing is significantly less important than what is happening in your body. I mean your contact lens is just floating around in your eye socket. That’s so gross. I mean, what is going on?! Is it folded in the shape of an origami swan? You can’t drive like that. You can’t talk. You need to focus. Pull over to the side of the road. Excuse yourself from your meeting. End your call. THERE IS A PIECE OF PLASTIC LOOSE IN YOUR HEAD! It’s okay to take a moment.

Step Three

Panic. Burn the world down with fire. Rub your eye furiously. DON’T TOUCH YOUR EYE YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE. Text your boyfriend and tell him you think you are going to die from this loose contact lens. What if it makes its way to your brain? Choke a little on the thought that you might throw up and choke on your own vomit. Pace around. STOP WALKING. Lie down on the couch and don’t move a muscle. Slowly roll your eye with the lid closed. STOP MOVING YOUR EYE YOU’RE MAKING THIS WORSE. Stop breathing. Or breathe into a paper bag. Isn’t that what they do in the movies? Rub your eye to see if you can dislodge it. STOP RUBBING YOUR EYE!

Step Four

Have a moment of clarity. Why would you text your boyfriend to find out how to get the contact out? He wears hard lenses, not soft. Also he’s not a doctor of any kind at all. That may also rule out your parents and most of your friends. So where did you get those lenses to begin with? Ah yes. Take a deep breath, close the affected eye, pick up your phone with intent. Intent to call your eye doctor.

Step Five

Blink. If your experience is anything like mine, your lens probably came right out. Feel it there in the corner of your eye? Yeah just swipe at that little thing with your finger. Doesn’t that feel better? Oh look, it’s folded up into a little triangle. Kind of like a napkin. Phew. I’m glad that’s done.

So how did I get the damn thing lost in my eye in the first place? I shove a flimsy piece of plastic onto my eye every morning. This kind of thing was bound to happen eventually.

And a big ol apology to the person with whom I was meeting if I seemed a little distracted at the end of our call. It wasn’t you. It was my fricking contact lens. Sorry.

meeting Bert and Ernie…

A few months ago on one of our neighborhood walkabouts the kid and I stopped in at a favorite little shop to browse. Tilde is one of those shops that really doesn’t have anything you would need but tends to have a lot of stuff that you want. Really really want. They curate a great minimal selection of cards, a few twee home items, fantastic well crafted purses and wallets, airy scarves, the odd hat, some miscellaneous gift items, and stock the rest of the store with jewelry that is a feast for the eyes. Usually I stop in when I need a card or have a strong desire to part with my money and for a new pair of earrings.

On this particular day I wasn’t even planning to go into the store. We were walking past. We were on a mission. I don’t remember what that mission was. It was probably just a mission not to go in there. But as I was pretending not to look in the window of the shop but totally looking in the window of the shop something caught my eye. A bag. A black leather bag. A bag that I can best describe as looking like an origami version of a doctor’s bag.

All other thought stopped.

matt_-_nat-vegan-leather-doctor-bag-black-9d484572_lI stopped my kid from taking those next 10 steps that would lead to the coffee shop and we ducked into the store. There was some eye rolling. We don’t share a love of bags and shoes. That’s a me thing. So the fact that I walked inside and made a beeline to the most beautiful bag that ever there was caused a lot of sighs and there may have been a reminder about how I just got rid of a bunch of purses and you know what, that’s right!! I had just gotten rid of a bunch of purses. To clean things out. To purge. To make room for something new, better, perfect. A black leather origami style doctor’s bag. Okay a black vegan-leather origami style doctor’s bag.

We walked out of the store without purchasing the bag, strolled over to the coffee shop next door, ordered some tea, and as we were leaving the store just as my kid went to turn left I turned right and marched right back into the store, picked up the purse, placed it on the counter, and gleefully handed over money to take home the best damn purse in the world. That very day I named him Bert and we’ve been together ever since.

Sure sure. Sometimes I have to switch to a backpack or laptop bag, but that’s to be expected. Most of the time it’s me and Bert.

And yes, I was thinking of that Bert when I named him. That grouchy lovable felt guy was a huge part of my childhood. And yes, now that you mention it, it is a little sad that Bert the bag didn’t have an Ernie.

IMG_4364-3And so yes, yesterday when I walked into the back room (affectionately known as the shoe room) of a favorite local consignment store and found the PERFECT little black shoes with all leather uppers in my exact size that had never been worn and looked like they could keep my feet relatively comfortable for hours but be adorable with dresses for sale at a hugely discounted price, yes I did snatch them up, call them Ernie, and bring them home so Bert could meet his soul mate.

Look out world, Bert and Ernie have never been more fashionable. And my kid has never been more embarrassed by my naming of inanimate objects.