lizard my lizard . . .

yesterday, i bundled up my body, slipped into my Miata and headed for my favorite Yin yoga class.  the place was packed.  evidently i wasn't the only one suffering from cabin fever badly enough to brave the cold and rain.  we were crammed in, like proverbial sardines.  because of the chill our guru turned on the heat and started the class with a body warming inversion.  she started chatting us through the pose extolling us to feel the blood rushing down from our toes.

i felt something siding down alright but it seemed slightly more sluggish then that which my veins convey.  it was a decidedly uneasy feeling but it either ceased or i found my inner self and forgot about it.

past the full body twists into puppy pose, the stretches and finally into lizard pose, i happily followed along. 

 

until, that is, i looked down at my left thigh and saw a distortion just below my left hip.  there sitting for all the world to see was one of the saddle bags i had collected as old age settled into my body.  there under the folds of my yoga pants hung the unsightly and lumpy bulge of cellulite.  not wearing my glasses, i actually lifted one of the three supports holding me up and tentatively touched it with my right hand.  nope, it was not a shadow.  it was definitely a pile of unsightly fat which had slithered down my thigh during the heated inversion, settling in like a mattress well past its prime.  Gah.

and as everything in yoga is a matter of balance, of course we had to do the same pose on the right side.  afraid to check, yet totally fascinated, i shifted my weight so my myopic eyes could check my right thigh and yep, there is was.  a matching bulge.  mortification hung in the air.  my 65 year old body had betrayed me in front of all the size 2 bodies tucked in line, mat after mat.  now i know why teachers keep saying, 'let your body relax into the mat and into the ground below'.  little did i know they were prepping me for wishing i could fall between the cracks in the floor.

but in truth, this is yoga and nobody cares about my lumpy thighs except me.  no one pointed and tittered.  no one heehawed and convulsed into laughter.  and finally as i realized this, i knew that i really didn't give a damned either.  i can only do what i can do.

 namaste.

one little, two little, three little . . .

four little, five little, six little

 

seven little, eight little, nine little

and one bear:

yep, we went to the Native American Festive downtown yesterday, complete with alligator wrestling, tator dancing, and schlock.  

what can i say?

How To Peel a Head of Garlic in Less Than 10 Seconds

i first saw this on FaceBook and since garlic is a staple around here, i decided i would try it out.

fast forward a couple of weeks . . .  in a nod to my erratic memory banks, and tonight, since i was making garlic bread to go with the baked ziti . . . i dug around for two matching sized stainless bowls, palmed the head of garlic and went to town.


shake. shake. shake.
hum, not yet.
shake. shake. shake.
the paper is starting to peel.
shake. shake. shake.
half is bare.
shake. shake. shake.
my shoulders are starting to fall off.
shake. shake. shake.
i'm running out of air.
shake. shake. shake.

shake. shake. shake.
shake. shake. shake.
i am on the floor dieing but most of the garlic is peeled.

i think i will stick to smashing the cloves with the side of chef's knife.  much betterer.

the owl and the pussy cat . . .

yes, someone has been crocheting again.

which of course means, someone has to pose.

poor pippin!

standing proud . . .

monday morning kidlet will once again, leave for school. 

did you catch that?  should i repeat it???? 


on monday, she is set to audit a local calc class at the college.  that's my kid!

this will mark the first time in over a year that she has been strong enough to venture out.  to take a class.  to live her life outside of these walls.

inhale kidlet, you are going to rock it.

ask me why?  cuz i have huge faith in her. 

ask her how she feels?  go ahead, ask her.  she reads this and she's pretty damn honest.  and she knows herself better than anyone.

one of these things is not like the other . . .

although yoga is not solely a feminine pastime, the ratio in the classes i have taken predominantly lean that way.  we do find the occasional guy in class.  most, like the rest of us, wander in, place our mats, find our sit bones and do our thing.  yoga is not about the others in the room, it's a pretty personal thing.

but this morning, in strode one of Florida's infamous Good Old Boys.  a potty mouthed, hung over, Seminole loving, golf playing, bear of a man, who plopped himself down next to me in a spot not large enough for the parking.

how do i know he had a potty mouthed?  probably because he managed to squeeze out the same four letter word five times in as many sentences. not to say my mouth is virginal but somehow Om and Sh*t  seem juxtaposed under the circumstances and the GOB, being in his late 40's to early 50's should have known better but was in fact, so hung over from the FSU win last night, he declared his slurred happiness for all to hear.

somehow after being shocked that football was not my main interest in life, he asked where i was from and misinterpreting, decided i was from Ireland.  sigh.  he then proceeded to rattle off a check list of things needing attention at my home since i was not used to the cold.  did i cover my plants, did i bring in my pets, did i bring in my husband.  i caught joanie, who was safely ensconced on the far side of me, rolling her eyes.  i could see the two girls on the other side of the GOB scurrying their bodies and mats to slots west of their current location posthaste. 

it was not that the GOB was new to yoga . . . he actually knew his stuff . . .  it was more that he had no concept of personal space and long about the time his legs were sprawled either into my lap or that of the hapless soul who ended up on the other side of him that i finally shuddered.  but it was merely the beginning and when he started to overheat and stripped off his shirt  i actually felt myself thinking about convulsing.  fur.  there was fur everywhere.  "GOB, please put your shirt back on." i wanted to hiss.  but the GOB was happily Threading his Needle and i was left searching desperately for my 'within', pleading with the Lord to make him cover up before his fur plastered, sweat dripping, puffy body made contact with mine.

One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn't belong,
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
By the time I finish my song?

Did you guess which thing was not like the others?
Did you guess which thing just doesn't belong?
If you guessed this one is not like the others,
Then you're absolutely...right!

snort!

the sky is falling . . .

a couple of weeks ago, i heard a loud crash in the middle of the night.  since the alarm didn't go off and the cats were complacent, i decided to wait until the sun rose to seek out the cause.

it was probably mid-morning before i remembered the noise and looked around the house.  the last time this happened, bear had knocked the fake tree over in the dining room.  the tree was fine.  pippin has a history of knocking over the cactus in the corner of the kitchen.  the cactus was happy.  ninji has a tendency to sleep walk when she passes out on the back of the swivel recliner.  she will wake with a jolt and fall off onto the seat, sending the back of the chair crashing into the wall.  all was right with the lounger.  hum.

not one to waste time looking for trouble, it was a full two months later when i decided to try and tidy up the room kidlet had vacated when she moved downstairs to a room with its own bath . . . hallelujah a bathroom to myself!!!!!! 

when i opened the closet door, there was an inordinate amount of fluff on the floor.  hum.  finally i raised my eyes to the ceiling and bingo:  the culprit uncovered.

thankfully, kidlet's trophies kept the worst at bay but not only had the covering to the attic access fallen but it had taken the framing with it.  i could see the sunlight from the soffits in the eaves.  rut roh . . .    it is no longer in use . . . a new hole being required for the new and larger a/c unit two years ago, but i have to wonder, once again, who is living in my attic.

trolls.  that's my first bet.  my second is a friendly poltergeist. in actuality, i am afraid it is something more rodent like and furry, definitely furry, with long pointed nails that go scritch scratch in the night and a nose that wiffles in the wind.  so now i have to find someone to repair the mess. someone who gets along well with trolls and poltergeist and wiffling woolies.

i'm so glad kidlet grabbed my camera and captured the outside chaos while i was dancing around the kitchen with the Christmas day chicken. 

i would have hated to have missed this adventure.  "d" was one happy little kid.

don't fool with a gemini . . .

there comes a time in the life of all appliances when they deserve their finally resting spot.  some appliances just give up the ghost in one big sigh of relief, leaving you stranded with wet soapy clothes or no hot water mid-shower or a freezer drawer full of no longer frozen ice cream, meat or packaged shrimp.  sometimes however, the trek to the junk pile is much slower and more convoluted.  enter the saga of my Maytag Gemini.

for years, its right front burner had been temperamental.  either the outside ring worked or maybe the inside one worked.  sometimes they both came on, sometimes neither.  he was big on whimsy.  another burner worked on everything except high . . . that of course would be the burner i use to bring pasta to a boil and you know how big on pasta we are around here.

so earlier in december, i went stove shopping and found a lovely little KitchenAid dual oven.  so shiny and black.  but after my now decrepit gemini had been loaded onto the truck for its last ride to appliance heaven, and the new oven installed, i realized we had a problem.  the new stove looked nothing like the black beauty on-line, in fact, it looked suspiciously like a stainless steel steamroller.  mislabeled at the factory, it was hauled back onto the truck while my now not so complacent gemini, having looked forward to greener pastures and a possible future with an equally rusted but still pretty  vacuum, was roughly jerked out of his dreams and forced back into servitude.  it was not pretty.

he was not happy.  oh he let me make soup for dinner and scrambled eggs for breakfast but it was all a ruse to lure me deeper into his trap before truly venting his anger.  i should have noticed the fastidious grin as i shoved chicken lickin' . . . basking in an array of taters, onions and carrots . . . into the bottom oven last night.  i should have listened to the wanton song of his people as the heat rose, but i had been lulled deeply into the assumption that he was content to serve a few more days.

that he was not was extremely evident when i opened his door to check on the bird.  chicken lickin' was in total disarray.  one leg was burnt to a crisp and her skin was charred black yet her bottom, still wrinkled in lily white chicken bumps, was stone cold.  disaster said i.  revenge yelled gemini.

i covered chicken lickin' in tin foil, lowered the temperature and nursed her up to 185º degrees.

tonight, the crockpot is happily simmering a corned beef brisket and i am fervently hoping to receive a call that my new stove is on its way. hopefully it will not be as fickle.