I'm feeling melancholy. There seems to be so many things left undone in my life, yet I lack the ability to make decisions on which way to proceed. Sadness and anxiety lurk within me. Sleep is erratic with uncomfortable dreams that are filled with difficult happenings.
My younger cousin is dying. My aunt asked me if I wanted to speak to her on the phone a couple of weeks ago and I said no. I didn't want to talk because I didn't have the the words inside me. Now I am ashamed. Each night as I try to sleep, the thoughts of death and losing loved ones crops up and fills me with feelings of fear and helplessness. Am I also worried about my own mortality? I guess so, but I always thought I was above worrying about myself. I am realizing that the need to survive is embedded and maybe even uncontrollable.
Lovey
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Why I Like Convenience Stores
Today I was asked why I like convenience stores. It just so happens that my feelings for convenience stores are layered and not as simple as one can imagine.
First of all, I have lived most of my life in a hurry. When I was a little girl I tried to finish my tests before everyone else in my classroom. I doubt anyone cared if I finished first, but to me it seemed like the thing to do. Later, I couldn't wait for my kids to eat solid food and potty train. And it has always irritated me when I have to wait on someone more than 5 minutes. There better be a really good excuse for that infraction. I don't like lines, traffic, or procrastinators, but I do I love to hear some say, "let's get it done."
The need for speed is probably a by-product of my mother's constant requirement of walking fast, not wasting time, and don't lean when you can clean attitude. If you were caught lounging at my house, you were promptly handed a dust cloth or a pair of hedge clippers. Then there was my dad. I think he invented wanderlust as I know he seldom spent much time in one place. He was constantly wanting to go somewhere - anywhere. He was gone a lot. And when he "was home" we all went a lot - fast Sunday rides, fast trips across country, and we moved often - sometimes 3-4 times a year. When we were in a car there was a clock ticking measuring how fast we would reach our destination. And not wanting to lose time we made quick stops at various conveniences stores like Toot 'n Tell, Stop 'n Go, or the 7 Eleven. The second reason we went to convenience markets is that they sold beer. Yes, I know that it is wrong to drink and drive, but it was the 50s and 60s and people weren't real smart in those days. So, with beer calling Dad's name, my brother and I would follow him in to the market like a couple of baby ducks and go on our shopping spree. I always stopped off at the comic book stand hoping Dad would ask if I wanted the latest Archie comic book. He seldom did, so I usually had to be really brave, pick one out and ask for it directly. He never turned me down, so looking back, I don't know why I worried so much about asking. My younger brother ALWAYS got a bag of chips and a bottle of pop (yes, we were originally from the midwest and said pop). When we got back in the car my brother and I would take a few sips of Pepsi and then ask Mom to hold the bottles. We were allowed to be lazy in the car. Then we were off until someone had to pee, got thirsty again, etc. etc.
Anyway, this brings me back to the convenience store. Do I just like it for nostalgic reasons? No. There is more. Because I like speed, I love that I can get in and get out. And what an array of items they have! The other day I stopped in one of the new high-tech convenience stores and had such a good experience, I told the clerk. She didn't get it. The colors were bright, the signage made me want to buy, and I was thrilled that they had everything. You may say - not everything. Well, you are wrong. At 6:00 am I could buy a hotdog and a thighmaster. And they are marketing geniuses. My dad would be ecstatic if he could look through blue tinted glass at the beer closet all iced up. Cases of cans with 5' cardboard polar bears standing by the stacks. And if you need medication, no problem. Want a cappuccino, a box of kleenex, windshield wipers, a rental movie, and a fake silk rose for a lover? It is there along with a wide assortment of t-shirts, broasted potatos, beef jerky, and spring water for the more upscale shopper. And best of all, you can be in and out in less than 5 minutes. No nasty lines or self check-out. Just some cigarette smoking, tired individual waiting to serve. It doesn't get much better for me.
Lovey
First of all, I have lived most of my life in a hurry. When I was a little girl I tried to finish my tests before everyone else in my classroom. I doubt anyone cared if I finished first, but to me it seemed like the thing to do. Later, I couldn't wait for my kids to eat solid food and potty train. And it has always irritated me when I have to wait on someone more than 5 minutes. There better be a really good excuse for that infraction. I don't like lines, traffic, or procrastinators, but I do I love to hear some say, "let's get it done."
The need for speed is probably a by-product of my mother's constant requirement of walking fast, not wasting time, and don't lean when you can clean attitude. If you were caught lounging at my house, you were promptly handed a dust cloth or a pair of hedge clippers. Then there was my dad. I think he invented wanderlust as I know he seldom spent much time in one place. He was constantly wanting to go somewhere - anywhere. He was gone a lot. And when he "was home" we all went a lot - fast Sunday rides, fast trips across country, and we moved often - sometimes 3-4 times a year. When we were in a car there was a clock ticking measuring how fast we would reach our destination. And not wanting to lose time we made quick stops at various conveniences stores like Toot 'n Tell, Stop 'n Go, or the 7 Eleven. The second reason we went to convenience markets is that they sold beer. Yes, I know that it is wrong to drink and drive, but it was the 50s and 60s and people weren't real smart in those days. So, with beer calling Dad's name, my brother and I would follow him in to the market like a couple of baby ducks and go on our shopping spree. I always stopped off at the comic book stand hoping Dad would ask if I wanted the latest Archie comic book. He seldom did, so I usually had to be really brave, pick one out and ask for it directly. He never turned me down, so looking back, I don't know why I worried so much about asking. My younger brother ALWAYS got a bag of chips and a bottle of pop (yes, we were originally from the midwest and said pop). When we got back in the car my brother and I would take a few sips of Pepsi and then ask Mom to hold the bottles. We were allowed to be lazy in the car. Then we were off until someone had to pee, got thirsty again, etc. etc.
Anyway, this brings me back to the convenience store. Do I just like it for nostalgic reasons? No. There is more. Because I like speed, I love that I can get in and get out. And what an array of items they have! The other day I stopped in one of the new high-tech convenience stores and had such a good experience, I told the clerk. She didn't get it. The colors were bright, the signage made me want to buy, and I was thrilled that they had everything. You may say - not everything. Well, you are wrong. At 6:00 am I could buy a hotdog and a thighmaster. And they are marketing geniuses. My dad would be ecstatic if he could look through blue tinted glass at the beer closet all iced up. Cases of cans with 5' cardboard polar bears standing by the stacks. And if you need medication, no problem. Want a cappuccino, a box of kleenex, windshield wipers, a rental movie, and a fake silk rose for a lover? It is there along with a wide assortment of t-shirts, broasted potatos, beef jerky, and spring water for the more upscale shopper. And best of all, you can be in and out in less than 5 minutes. No nasty lines or self check-out. Just some cigarette smoking, tired individual waiting to serve. It doesn't get much better for me.
Lovey
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Things I Really Like
Things I really like - not to be confused with things I really love.
Flat land
Cold bed pillows
Convenience stores
Stretching
Driving in the countryside
Simple jewelry
The internet
The Weather Channel
Maps
Sangria
Listening to books
Pictures of houses
Macaroni and cheese
The sound of water flowing
Lovey
Flat land
Cold bed pillows
Convenience stores
Stretching
Driving in the countryside
Simple jewelry
The internet
The Weather Channel
Maps
Sangria
Listening to books
Pictures of houses
Macaroni and cheese
The sound of water flowing
Lovey
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Little Miss Nosey
I think I have a monkey on my back. You know how some people are addicted to their computers? Some can't stop playing games, some gamble, and others like to look at what I will call "naughty" pictures. I too, am addicted. I can't stop going to www.realtracs.com and looking inside people's homes. Sometimes I spend a couple of hours doing it. What kind of cabinets do they have in their kitchen? Oh, wow, cherry. Do they have nice bedding or just some old quilt? Well, they had better not think that house is going to sell without a fresh new down comforter. Ha! Look at that pink and gray tile in the bathroom. I wonder if some nice white fluffy designer towels would make it look updated?
It is all the fault of HGTV. Decorating shows 24/7 and people constantly spending mega-bucks to get just the right look to sell their house. And then there are the cheapos like me. People totally re-building a house from the foundation up on less than $1000. The decorators on those shows can cover grand-ma's old hideaway sofa with a sheet and make it look like it was just purchased from Crate & Barrel. A couple of throw pillows made from cast off dish towels and the value of the house goes up by $25,000.
If it turns out that I have to get professional help for my little problem, I might have to put my house up for sale to cover the bills. Then people will be scanning my private domain for imperfections. That is enough to make me join Nosey People Anonymous. Imagine the thought of hordes of people seeing that I have a calendar by my desk hung up with nothing but a punch pin. And worst of all, my home has no theme and flow. I haven't even had anyone come out and check the feng shui.
I can't bear it all. Little Miss Nosey is going to start minding her own business.
Lovey
It is all the fault of HGTV. Decorating shows 24/7 and people constantly spending mega-bucks to get just the right look to sell their house. And then there are the cheapos like me. People totally re-building a house from the foundation up on less than $1000. The decorators on those shows can cover grand-ma's old hideaway sofa with a sheet and make it look like it was just purchased from Crate & Barrel. A couple of throw pillows made from cast off dish towels and the value of the house goes up by $25,000.
If it turns out that I have to get professional help for my little problem, I might have to put my house up for sale to cover the bills. Then people will be scanning my private domain for imperfections. That is enough to make me join Nosey People Anonymous. Imagine the thought of hordes of people seeing that I have a calendar by my desk hung up with nothing but a punch pin. And worst of all, my home has no theme and flow. I haven't even had anyone come out and check the feng shui.
I can't bear it all. Little Miss Nosey is going to start minding her own business.
Lovey
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Short Story
Is there anything better than a good novel? You know it is good when you hate that it must end. I was miserable when I got to the last few pages of Dr. Zhivago - was it really Lara? And Centennial beginning with the earth pouring out molten lava, the book ending centuries later - but just not enough centuries for me. I want the stories I read to go on and on. I want to languish in them. But... there is a time for brevity in story telling. More often than we sometimes realize.
How many times have you listened to someone give an account of a happening in their life and you wish they would just get on with it? Yikes. I realize that I am one of those people who goes all the way around the world before I can get to the point. Sometimes I know I'm doing it and try to cut my own self off at the pass. But other times I realize that it is too late, I've gotten myself in way too far and I must continue on or none of the story will make sense. It begins as an effort to make the account more interesting by adding little details. However, at some point the details start to become drivel and you can see in the listener's eyes that in personal story telling, the majority of the time, less is more.
Anyway, I am going to work on this. No more riveting stories such as: I was driving home from work, this guy cuts me off, kind of like when I was a child riding my tricycle and the neighbor boy pulled his wagon out in front of me, my mom was so mad when I bloodied my knee, mothers are like that you know, and finally I pull up beside the guy's car and shoot him a dirty look, wish I had used the finger, kind of like the dirty fingers I had when I was trying to dig a flower garden in 1983, or was it 1985?, not sure, anyway, the finger, oh yes I wanted to, but didn't. He might know someone I know and I can't chance people finding out that I would behave that way. Aren't those kinds of driver's annoying?
The listener is smiling at me thinking "not as annoying as you." So, I promise, today, I am swearing off the long story. It is the short story for me. This guy cuts me off and and I flip him one. The end.
Lovey
How many times have you listened to someone give an account of a happening in their life and you wish they would just get on with it? Yikes. I realize that I am one of those people who goes all the way around the world before I can get to the point. Sometimes I know I'm doing it and try to cut my own self off at the pass. But other times I realize that it is too late, I've gotten myself in way too far and I must continue on or none of the story will make sense. It begins as an effort to make the account more interesting by adding little details. However, at some point the details start to become drivel and you can see in the listener's eyes that in personal story telling, the majority of the time, less is more.
Anyway, I am going to work on this. No more riveting stories such as: I was driving home from work, this guy cuts me off, kind of like when I was a child riding my tricycle and the neighbor boy pulled his wagon out in front of me, my mom was so mad when I bloodied my knee, mothers are like that you know, and finally I pull up beside the guy's car and shoot him a dirty look, wish I had used the finger, kind of like the dirty fingers I had when I was trying to dig a flower garden in 1983, or was it 1985?, not sure, anyway, the finger, oh yes I wanted to, but didn't. He might know someone I know and I can't chance people finding out that I would behave that way. Aren't those kinds of driver's annoying?
The listener is smiling at me thinking "not as annoying as you." So, I promise, today, I am swearing off the long story. It is the short story for me. This guy cuts me off and and I flip him one. The end.
Lovey
Monday, March 10, 2008
Tired, Tired, Tired
Wow. I'm not a very good blogger. Three times and I almost called it quits. Well ... in my defense I have been out of town quite a bit the past few weeks. I made it to San Diego and drove from there up to San Juan Capistrano. A second trip a week later put me in Phoenix and then up to the Grand Canyon and Sedona. It was all so very beautiful and so very rushed as I was really traveling for work instead of pleasure. I just grabbed some pleasure as fast as I could.
We switched to daylight savings time this week-end so leaving work later than usual seemed no big deal. It didn't feel that late. I had a turkey burger with a couple of friends and got home a little after 7:00 pm. It was barely getting dark. When I got home I thought I'd exercise. After gliding on my glider for 30 minutes both feet started to go numb. How embarassing to be so out of shape that one's feet can't even glide half an hour. Afterward I sat down in my favorite chair, my computer chair, and checked the bus schedule for the 100th time in 6 months. Every week I promise to try to help save the earth and use public transit. I did ride it a few times in the fall and oh, how I bragged. But, its not that easy. To ride the bus you have to commit to a schedule and I really lack commitment to getting up earlier every morning.
Now at 9:30 after some diet pudding, I'm starting to feel really tired. It wouldn't be hard to crawl in to bed and sleep for days. Maybe part of what is making me feel so tired is that I am surrounded by things that need to be done. At work there is always plenty to do and at home I am neglecting way too much. Its so bad that I know we are getting a tax refund this year, but I just don't want to fill out the paperwork to file. And speaking of paper, shredding junk mail is costing me at least an extra hour per week. This is madness. Not only am I tired from too much to do, I'm tired from too much information. And then its my job to dispose of the information. Perhaps I shouldn't complain too much about this aggravation in my life since I work in a marketing department and we are also culprits who send out mass mailings. I'll just say, there should be some controls on us marketing people and our excuse that we are killing trees to keep the economy going.
I know the answer to part of my tiredness is accomplish a few jobs by breaking them down in to small tasks and just chipping away. The question is how small should I make the tasks and how many should I force myself to do. This week-end, do taxes. Get coats that have accumulated in back seat of car over the winter months and have them dry cleaned for next year. Take down snowman display since we finally had some snow last week. Dust, dust, dust. No - that's not a part of my plan. Its just an observation as I look around the room. Okay, dust something. That seems to be a good start for Saturday, and Sunday is a day of rest, supposedly. Well I plan to squeeze some rest out of Saturday too and sleep in. It might require cutting back on my tasks, but there is no sense overwhelming myself. It will just make me more tired.
Lovey
We switched to daylight savings time this week-end so leaving work later than usual seemed no big deal. It didn't feel that late. I had a turkey burger with a couple of friends and got home a little after 7:00 pm. It was barely getting dark. When I got home I thought I'd exercise. After gliding on my glider for 30 minutes both feet started to go numb. How embarassing to be so out of shape that one's feet can't even glide half an hour. Afterward I sat down in my favorite chair, my computer chair, and checked the bus schedule for the 100th time in 6 months. Every week I promise to try to help save the earth and use public transit. I did ride it a few times in the fall and oh, how I bragged. But, its not that easy. To ride the bus you have to commit to a schedule and I really lack commitment to getting up earlier every morning.
Now at 9:30 after some diet pudding, I'm starting to feel really tired. It wouldn't be hard to crawl in to bed and sleep for days. Maybe part of what is making me feel so tired is that I am surrounded by things that need to be done. At work there is always plenty to do and at home I am neglecting way too much. Its so bad that I know we are getting a tax refund this year, but I just don't want to fill out the paperwork to file. And speaking of paper, shredding junk mail is costing me at least an extra hour per week. This is madness. Not only am I tired from too much to do, I'm tired from too much information. And then its my job to dispose of the information. Perhaps I shouldn't complain too much about this aggravation in my life since I work in a marketing department and we are also culprits who send out mass mailings. I'll just say, there should be some controls on us marketing people and our excuse that we are killing trees to keep the economy going.
I know the answer to part of my tiredness is accomplish a few jobs by breaking them down in to small tasks and just chipping away. The question is how small should I make the tasks and how many should I force myself to do. This week-end, do taxes. Get coats that have accumulated in back seat of car over the winter months and have them dry cleaned for next year. Take down snowman display since we finally had some snow last week. Dust, dust, dust. No - that's not a part of my plan. Its just an observation as I look around the room. Okay, dust something. That seems to be a good start for Saturday, and Sunday is a day of rest, supposedly. Well I plan to squeeze some rest out of Saturday too and sleep in. It might require cutting back on my tasks, but there is no sense overwhelming myself. It will just make me more tired.
Lovey
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
On Being Average
A few days ago I posted a few paragraphs about being a jack of all trades and master of none. When I read it the next day it was a little embarrassing sounding and I deleted it. Re-reading about my attempts to find my talents started to sound like whining and was even annoying to me. Anyway, I've come back to the subject because it has been nagging at me and a couple of things happened this week that have given me new insight. Maybe being a jack of all trades and master of none can be a good thing. I don't have to be known for expertise or being special in any specific field. Being average at a variety of things is is right for many of us.
This past week-end I drove to Chattanooga with two of my friends to spend a couple of days enjoying the sights. We rented a house 10 minutes from downtown and got a chance to take a look around. What a lovely little city! The small art museum was very enjoyable and offered free admission on Sunday. We walked across the pedestrian bridge connecting the art district with some funky little shops on Frazier including All Things Groovy and a little shop that sells really fun primitive art. Unfortunately, I forgot to grab a card with the name, but it is easy to find. We drank wine at Terra Nostra and my friends bought some great shoes at Riversports Outlet. The street offered everything from Kayaks to Moon Pies and RC Cola. There was much more that we would like to see and do which will definitely warrant at least one or two more visits.
Dinner one night was at a Mexican restaurant on Broad where the entertainment included a guy throwing CDs into a player and strumming along with this guitar. What a variety of music he included in his CD repertoire - from Hank Williams to the Eagles singing "Witchy Woman." Later locals got up and sang Karaoke. We, being outsiders, really had to make an effort to get in to the spirit of the evening, but after a few sips of a margarita, it was all fun. However, it couldn't compete with Starbucks the next morning located atop Lookout Mountain. It was housed in a stone building that blended with the landscape and boasted an outdoor fireplace. It was slightly chilly and sipping coffee by the fire made the day.
Okay, what does this all have to do with my topic, On Being Average? Well, you see, it is almost impossible for three women to spend a week-end together without getting in to at least one slightly deep discussion. How did the artists in the primitive store begin creating and what makes their work art? What would it be like to own a business like "All Things Groovy"? How does one decide one has talent and/or the guts to say I've got what it takes to venture in to new horizons? What talents do we have and what talents would we like to grow?
I think about the guy who played the guitar at the Mexican restaurant. We kind of snickered at his performance, yet he was so happy to be up there and seemed to be quite pleased with his showmanship. Then there were a couple of men singing Karaoke that were really pretty good. They were just average guys who had the nerve to get up and enjoy themselves, not worrying what others were thinking.
It all comes together in my mind. Chattanooga may not have shops and restaurants like New York or Chicago, but it sure made for a great visit. The primitive art of the artists on Frazier Ave. was definitely worth viewing although it will probably never make it in to the museum across the river. And finally, there was the guitar player whose back-up band was virtual and the guy whose deep voice made us swoon a little before he stepped off stage, paid for his food, and went home with his wife and daughter. All were average by normal standards, but offered enjoyment to those around them.
So here I sit, just an average woman. But, I am beginning to realize that average can also mean well-rounded. If I enjoy doing something, what does it matter if I do not master it or if I am not the best? What I do or create is mine to own. What a freedom to allow myself to quit gauging, measuring, over-thinking and being afraid. I AM an artist, a writer, a musician, a designer, an explorer, an entrepreneur. And, if you don't agree, that's okay.
Lovey
This past week-end I drove to Chattanooga with two of my friends to spend a couple of days enjoying the sights. We rented a house 10 minutes from downtown and got a chance to take a look around. What a lovely little city! The small art museum was very enjoyable and offered free admission on Sunday. We walked across the pedestrian bridge connecting the art district with some funky little shops on Frazier including All Things Groovy and a little shop that sells really fun primitive art. Unfortunately, I forgot to grab a card with the name, but it is easy to find. We drank wine at Terra Nostra and my friends bought some great shoes at Riversports Outlet. The street offered everything from Kayaks to Moon Pies and RC Cola. There was much more that we would like to see and do which will definitely warrant at least one or two more visits.
Dinner one night was at a Mexican restaurant on Broad where the entertainment included a guy throwing CDs into a player and strumming along with this guitar. What a variety of music he included in his CD repertoire - from Hank Williams to the Eagles singing "Witchy Woman." Later locals got up and sang Karaoke. We, being outsiders, really had to make an effort to get in to the spirit of the evening, but after a few sips of a margarita, it was all fun. However, it couldn't compete with Starbucks the next morning located atop Lookout Mountain. It was housed in a stone building that blended with the landscape and boasted an outdoor fireplace. It was slightly chilly and sipping coffee by the fire made the day.
Okay, what does this all have to do with my topic, On Being Average? Well, you see, it is almost impossible for three women to spend a week-end together without getting in to at least one slightly deep discussion. How did the artists in the primitive store begin creating and what makes their work art? What would it be like to own a business like "All Things Groovy"? How does one decide one has talent and/or the guts to say I've got what it takes to venture in to new horizons? What talents do we have and what talents would we like to grow?
I think about the guy who played the guitar at the Mexican restaurant. We kind of snickered at his performance, yet he was so happy to be up there and seemed to be quite pleased with his showmanship. Then there were a couple of men singing Karaoke that were really pretty good. They were just average guys who had the nerve to get up and enjoy themselves, not worrying what others were thinking.
It all comes together in my mind. Chattanooga may not have shops and restaurants like New York or Chicago, but it sure made for a great visit. The primitive art of the artists on Frazier Ave. was definitely worth viewing although it will probably never make it in to the museum across the river. And finally, there was the guitar player whose back-up band was virtual and the guy whose deep voice made us swoon a little before he stepped off stage, paid for his food, and went home with his wife and daughter. All were average by normal standards, but offered enjoyment to those around them.
So here I sit, just an average woman. But, I am beginning to realize that average can also mean well-rounded. If I enjoy doing something, what does it matter if I do not master it or if I am not the best? What I do or create is mine to own. What a freedom to allow myself to quit gauging, measuring, over-thinking and being afraid. I AM an artist, a writer, a musician, a designer, an explorer, an entrepreneur. And, if you don't agree, that's okay.
Lovey
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Love Story
I traveled to Atlanta last week. I can't believe I am 50 years old and this is the first time I ever drove in a car for a 4 hour trip alone. I loved it!! Don't get me wrong. My husband is a good traveling companion and I like going on trips with friends, but this time the car was all mine, including the CD player.
The day before I had to leave I went to the public library and checked out a book on CD. Since I finished school I almost hate picking up a book and reading it. My eyes don't hold up well and listening is very relaxing. Anyway, I checked out a copy of "The Olive Farm," not knowing anything about the author or if I would really want to read/listen to a story subtitled "a love story." Love stories, detective novels, and science fiction just don't grab my attention. Hand me a book on different cultures, history, or a biography and I'll devour it. One thing that seems to be different about me in respect to others who love books - I can't remember an author's name to save my soul. If someone asked me who my favorite author is, I'd have to just throw out something like, Mark Twain. Who can forget him? It can be downright embarrassing to have such a problem remembering names, but the only explanation I can come up with is that I must not care much about who sat down to write. I just care about what they write.
Back to "The Olive Farm." The book is very enjoyable and the love story seems to be dual in that the main character is not only in love with her male companion, she is also in love with the farm and the life being created on the farm. Though I have never been interested in horticulture, thinking about growing those little olives and then pressing them in to oil is starting to get to me. I want an olive farm in the south of France. I want to eat bread, cheese, olives, and drink wine twice a day. I want to look out over the Mediterranean Sea from an old villa that is barely standing. And most of all, I'd like to live somewhere with enough privacy to swim alone naked in the pool. What freedom. But, as the saying goes, freedom comes with a price. The couple must take huge chances to make a purchase they cannot afford. They choose not to listen to others who say the whole thing is a mistake. They go with their gut feelings.
I'm on disc 10. It is the final disc of the book and I'm not sure how it will end. Will they lose everything? It seems to be heading that way. No matter, they lived their dream and their love story for a time.
Lovey
The day before I had to leave I went to the public library and checked out a book on CD. Since I finished school I almost hate picking up a book and reading it. My eyes don't hold up well and listening is very relaxing. Anyway, I checked out a copy of "The Olive Farm," not knowing anything about the author or if I would really want to read/listen to a story subtitled "a love story." Love stories, detective novels, and science fiction just don't grab my attention. Hand me a book on different cultures, history, or a biography and I'll devour it. One thing that seems to be different about me in respect to others who love books - I can't remember an author's name to save my soul. If someone asked me who my favorite author is, I'd have to just throw out something like, Mark Twain. Who can forget him? It can be downright embarrassing to have such a problem remembering names, but the only explanation I can come up with is that I must not care much about who sat down to write. I just care about what they write.
Back to "The Olive Farm." The book is very enjoyable and the love story seems to be dual in that the main character is not only in love with her male companion, she is also in love with the farm and the life being created on the farm. Though I have never been interested in horticulture, thinking about growing those little olives and then pressing them in to oil is starting to get to me. I want an olive farm in the south of France. I want to eat bread, cheese, olives, and drink wine twice a day. I want to look out over the Mediterranean Sea from an old villa that is barely standing. And most of all, I'd like to live somewhere with enough privacy to swim alone naked in the pool. What freedom. But, as the saying goes, freedom comes with a price. The couple must take huge chances to make a purchase they cannot afford. They choose not to listen to others who say the whole thing is a mistake. They go with their gut feelings.
I'm on disc 10. It is the final disc of the book and I'm not sure how it will end. Will they lose everything? It seems to be heading that way. No matter, they lived their dream and their love story for a time.
Lovey
Sunday, January 20, 2008
My First Time
Its my first time to ever go on line and post anything. On daily basis as part of my work at a publishing company I encourage others to blog and be open about introducing themselves to the www. Well, for some reason it isn't as simple as it sounds. Even saying hello is a little intimidating for me.
I guess I'll just go with it and begin. Lovey is my grandmother name. I didn't want to be Nana, or Grand-ma, or MeMe. No offense to all of the wonderful ladies who are known to their grandchildren by those names, but when the movie The YaYa Sisterhood came out, I decided that as I got older it might be fun to be a little different once in a while. I've been a conformist all my life and it really gets tiresome trying to do what is acceptable all of the time. Anyway, my name came to be when I was playing golf with my husband and friends (one of the 5 times I haved played in my life) and one yelled "Tee Off Lovey," She was kidding me about being like the rich lady on old TV show Gilligian's Island. Anyway, I kind of liked it and decided that was what I was going with when I became a grandmother.
A little more info... I turned 50 this year, graduated from college, got a new position at work, and have nearly felt like collapsing. I gained weight during the last 3 years as I came home from work every night to sit back down to yet another computer and study. Continuing to sit around at home is very appealing now so I am having to force myself to try to do a little exercise and not eat as much. I have a lot of dreams and ideas. However, the confidence level is low so I thought writing down my feelings would be a way to work through what is important to me and where I might discover my passions. Yes, I know everyone is doing that. Again, I'm a conformist and probably just moving with the pack.
Why am I writing this for the public to see instead of just keeping it to myself? Well, last night I was watching the TV program "How to Look Good Naked." I know that these type of reality shows are fairly staged, but the idea of getting on TV in nothing but panties and bra with the normal lumps, bumps, and inadequacies looks so freeing, I decided today that by writing about my lumps, bumps, and inadequacies I might be freed of some of my fears. If you can identify, keep reading. I'll be back.
Lovey
I guess I'll just go with it and begin. Lovey is my grandmother name. I didn't want to be Nana, or Grand-ma, or MeMe. No offense to all of the wonderful ladies who are known to their grandchildren by those names, but when the movie The YaYa Sisterhood came out, I decided that as I got older it might be fun to be a little different once in a while. I've been a conformist all my life and it really gets tiresome trying to do what is acceptable all of the time. Anyway, my name came to be when I was playing golf with my husband and friends (one of the 5 times I haved played in my life) and one yelled "Tee Off Lovey," She was kidding me about being like the rich lady on old TV show Gilligian's Island. Anyway, I kind of liked it and decided that was what I was going with when I became a grandmother.
A little more info... I turned 50 this year, graduated from college, got a new position at work, and have nearly felt like collapsing. I gained weight during the last 3 years as I came home from work every night to sit back down to yet another computer and study. Continuing to sit around at home is very appealing now so I am having to force myself to try to do a little exercise and not eat as much. I have a lot of dreams and ideas. However, the confidence level is low so I thought writing down my feelings would be a way to work through what is important to me and where I might discover my passions. Yes, I know everyone is doing that. Again, I'm a conformist and probably just moving with the pack.
Why am I writing this for the public to see instead of just keeping it to myself? Well, last night I was watching the TV program "How to Look Good Naked." I know that these type of reality shows are fairly staged, but the idea of getting on TV in nothing but panties and bra with the normal lumps, bumps, and inadequacies looks so freeing, I decided today that by writing about my lumps, bumps, and inadequacies I might be freed of some of my fears. If you can identify, keep reading. I'll be back.
Lovey
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