eclectic.

e·clec·tic  (-klktk) adj.

1. Selecting or employing individual elements from a variety of sources, systems, or styles: an eclectic taste in music; an eclectic approach to managing the economy.

2. Made up of or combining elements from a variety of sources.

chic.
+ mixy.
+ artsy.
+ soothing.
+ surprising.
+ playful.
+ cozy.
+ coordinated.
+ organized.
+ practical.
+ joyful.
+ welcoming.
+ homey.
+ cute.
+ beautiful.
these are adjectives I try to keep in mind when arranging my personal living space.

Add 'em up and they spell e-c-l-e-c-t-i-c.

Decades ago, the two words I favored for home decor were Japanese + Simplicity.

Living in a new suburban house in a California subdivision with hubby, two kids, several pets and no extra 'mad money' made that aesthetic all but impossible to achieve. It wasn't long before I accepted that the long dreamed about dining area comprised of a simple, large, low, smooth, shiny, black lacquer table set upon thick and fragrant tatami mats in an otherwise empty room with sliding Shoji screen walls - was not to be my reality. Minimalism was not in the home decor cards for this gal and her brood.

Plus, truth be known - I like 'stuff'.
As much as I can appreciate plain lines and very few knickknacks, severe minimalism isn't 'me'.

From the early years of a-home-in-the-making, eclectic started as, then began to define, my version of decor. In styling our various abodes over the years - found objects, hand-me-downs, poor choices in the purchase of new furnishings, acquisitions of previously abused used this and that - eventually led to a mixed decorative bag. To date, much of the old stuff has been replaced, yet things have remained decidedly mixed though not quite matched - which happened accidentally on purpose.

My hope now is to achieve a status of home that is a sanctuary of traditional, whimsy, artfulness and welcome.
A cute environment that is fun to be in. Cute and Fun are not typical buzz words when it comes to making a house a home. I ask myself 'Is this cute?' 'Is this fun?' Moreover, 'Will potential buyers be turned off by this look when it comes time to sell and move again?!?'

Much excitement can be derived from looking at a website like the one above. In the less obvious areas of a photographed room setting, inspiration lurks. Glimpses of a tabletop or wall-hung vignette of items can trigger decorating ideas with one's own stuff in mind. I truly become excited when I see an unusual set-up of books, or dishes stored in unexpected ways. I also get antsy to rearrange things when I spot beds, sofas, chairs and desks placed at interesting angles to the space. My preference is not the predictable grouping of everyday objects, but something beyond the usual, leaning a tad towards the unorthodox. Perhaps a bit more --- artful?

Such imagery is surprising, and often provides better indication of the homeowner's personality than would copying, 'verbatim' (in the case of the physical, item per item), the decor as laid out on the pages of a home decor magazine.

Spaces created with an emphasis on the dweller's unique world view best tell the stories of those who occupy that space. Much can be ascertained from placement of furnishings, choice of embellishments, the importance given to treasured items and how they are arranged.

Rooms can serve as fanciful shadow boxes, reflecting ideas, wishes and musings.
For those of us who enjoy taking note of individuals in their home environment, seeking out decorative clues that reflect a persona makes for a fascinating study indeed. It fairly tickles my aesthetic sense to do so.

What holds the greatest appeal for me are groupings of personal, practical and pleasing pieces, chosen purposefully and set together with the elements of design in mind. Conversely, an all-pervasive approach to decorating in the usual ho-hum way and applied to an entire home is much too predictable. It does not inspire me in the least.

Big Yawn on Solidly Seriously Staid!

Huzzah Huzzah for Exhilaratingly Excitingly Eclectic!

Photo-Play: going going gone

 

 

~ 1977 ~

MIA: a veggie garden

Missing in action: a veggie garden.
Aka: The continuing saga of The Forest Dweller With No Damn Decent Place to Set Down Some Roots.

... It sure would be nice to plant these seeds if they even sprout, now that they are a bit old, since I bought them last year in time for a fine springtime veggie garden ...

what is 'iffy' is that the area designated last year to be the new veggie garden may or may not be ready by planting time ...

HubbyDear started work on it in early spring 2010 (I said HURRY PLEASE!) and got this far by mid-summer ...

... note the deer prancing by, probably also wondering when this rumored garden was going to be offering the first of its tender shoots for nibbling on.

Hmmmmm.
It was August, and there were two raised beds.
No soil.
No back fence to enclose the space.
No gate.
It was not ready.

Hurrrumph.

To satisfy my desire for home-grown veggies, I ran out in haste (mid-summer, remember?) to the local garden center and purchased one of the last few patio tomato seedlings left on the shelves. As late in the season as it was, this was a pretty substantial little plant. As far as seedlings go, sturdy and full of promise. Several vines even sported tiny, hard green tomatoes at this late point in time. The thing fairly ached for a transplant into more dirt, water, sun and a bit of TLC. I was encouraged to think that, within a week or two of ideal conditions, I could coax from this plant a bit of a yield. I transplanted the lush little seedling into a good-sized pot, topping it off with nutrient rich garden soil. The pot was set on our back deck, where adequate sunshine would be certain to shine upon it ...

... that night or early the next morning, my poor defenseless tomato seedling was immediately chomped on by some foraging forest critter. It could have been a deer. Or a hare. Or ....

... Whatever it was boldly tromped onto the deck sometime between when I planted and the following morning when I looked outside to admire the greenery (and to imagine sweet vine-ripened tomatoes in my near future, even if two or three in number) - only to find that some voracious woodland creature done munched my lovely tomato seedling to a pitiful little stump of a stick ...

... save for left one small hard green tomato ... with a nasty bite in it.

Gee, thanks.

In any case, it turned out to be a disappointing year all around for home grown tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes did fine, and were being harvested in buckets, if not a peck or bushel. Yet, even by late summer, full grown tomatoes were still green on everyone's vines. Instead of the usual relentless overbearing heat of July and August, temps stayed relatively cool throughout the season. Across the board, home harvests were delayed, and a bit skimpy - from what I could surmise from the talk circulating amongst my buddies. They who swore to me each time I asked 'Any tomatoes to spare?' - that they had nary a love apple harvest worth boasting about, much less sharing - just yet.

So -
a 2011 veggie garden here at the humble abode? Will there be one? Who knows?
You will be kept posted, either with a rave and lotsa pix, or a curmudgeonly Bah! Humbug VeggieGarden!! post or two. Lord knows, I can write me a fairly novella-length curmudgeon post now and again. And what better topic, than the ongoing saga of the MIA veggie garden, eh?

IF the garden space is actually completed in time for planting fun, I will certainly show a photo or two of tomatoes or bitter melon on the vine. News of which will be nothing altogether too exciting for those of you who have generous amounts of both space and sun, of course - with lush gardens to show for it each year. Some, like me - live in the forest, with dense trees all around, with the strongest and most consistent sunlight occurring for a minimum of hours (typically between 11AM and 1PM most summer days). Hardly worth the effort of putting time and energy into a Victory Garden, but we get our cheap thrills where and when we can.

Since moving to the woods, gardening for us has never produced the most satisfying of results, but hey - if I yield a few good veggies as well as some play-in-the-dirt pleasure from any meager plantings, it will be a satisfying project. News of which I will strain your reading eyes, if not bend your ears - with tales of.

If not - oh bother.
I'll go back to buying my bitter melon from a stall in Chinatown ...

 ... and photographs will be of ready made Chinatown dim sum lunches I partake in during those supposed produce shopping sprees.

code

fust code uv 2011.
eechee troat.
coff.
dwippy dose.
cungessjun.

dwag.

2011: NOT a Resolution

As a rule, I don't make New Year Resolutions.
Hey - did I already state that last year or the year before?
Perhaps in saying that I don't - I do.
Hmmmmmm.
So early into a new year and already I am toying with dichotomies. Is it yes? Is it no? Is it both yes and no? Acccccch. Let's move on, shall we? For you will, I have no doubt - wish to get through this one rather quickly...

Not a Resolution #1: I do expect, if not resolve, to be extra feisty and contemptuous this year. Why the heck not? More caution to the wind, I say. 2011 marks for me almost 60 years before the mast. That in itself is cause for celebration and extra ornery-ness. Take it or leave it. Some ladies wear more purple as they get older. Others just get more bitchy. Others more loving and still others - less so. What say I wear a bit more color and hone the bitchiness to a fine art? Oh yes, that does sound good.

Anecdote ----- I did at one time, and only once - make a resolution at the start of a spankin' brand new year - that was maintained - and for over seven months, at that. Allow me a moment of digression from today's primary topic of NOT a Resolution to amuse you with The Resolution That Kept (at least for awhile)...
To be sure, it was silly in nature and frankly, a bit scatological to boot. Funky resolutions concerning impolite habits are simple to make. They are also the easiest to keep from breaking within the first fragile hours/days/weeks of a fresh year. F'rinstance, I will not blow my nose into my shirt...I will shower at least once a month...I will stop licking all the dessert spoons after everyone is done eating ice cream...


So - what exactly was the one-line mantra that someone as weak-willed as 'b' might have resolved to do - or not to do? What unholy ruling could she have possibly entertained being confident of keeping for the whole of - 12 months?


It was, my friends (if you dare to read on and I to risk your judgmental declaration of OMG!, b!) - this:
I had resolved .... when in a small enclosed space with a few other people .... post the natural and very human bodily function known in polite circles as flatulence has been enacted ... I promise not to ask ....

'WHO FARTED?!?'

Ahem.

Because, Dear Readers - once a pass has been made - it matters not who the culprit be. Really it doesn't. For what good does it do for someone to take credit? Moreover, what good does it do others than have an opportunity to make admonishments? It won't serve to change what has taken place, nor does any good except to embarrass the perpetrator, who is already at a loss as to how to cover the faux pas of letting loose in a public place. Life is short. If someone uncontrollably (perhaps purposely) passes gas in your presence, you may, at will, remove yourself from proximity. So there.


This was the most well intentioned of any and all resolutions I'd even thought of making (but didn't) over the years. Resolving to lose weight, be a kinder person, read more books, do more art, volunteer for a charitable cause, be less over-sensitive, grow only organic veggies, knit less - or more --- these things would not hold for me. Not for a day, much less a fortnight or longer. But not to ask 'Who farted?!?' Hey - this would, ultimately and surprisingly - prove doable. I adhered to my resolution for 7 whole months - ignoring any and all odiferous passes in my presence - successfully avoiding temptation to identify and/or berate any one person when it did occur. Then, one day - I inexplicably, and without very much prompting, uttered the un-untterable.  With that, I failed the 12 month resolve.

That was the end of Accusatory Sobriety Concerning Public Flatulence. Lasted 7 whole months, and I deserve credit. One for the record books.

Not a Resolution #2:  More of a lifestyle change, really. Here goes:
I am not going to 'multi-task' as I used to. That is to say, multi-tasking will no longer be a much anticipated approach to my days.

(the humor of this cartoon is applicable 

only if one attempts to juggle 

while at the same time scratching one's ear real fast with one's foot)

Not so long ago, I discovered that multi-tasking is not altogether so productive a conduct as it is purported. More of an exercise in futility than not. Take the duo acts of walking and chewing gum at the same time, or washing dishes whilst listening to a book on tape --- duo or multi-tasking in this manner is not unreasonable. For me, however, taking on multiple duties has always meant more. I perform one concentrated task right up against another one of equal significance. This usually proves to be counter-productive. More often than not, simultaneously working on projects that each, in their own - require full attentiveness - results in spontaneous combustion. One can almost detect an audible 'poof into destructive roaring flames' of the desired results.

Visualize me multi-tasking --- studying French while watching a streaming Netflix movie on the computer would be an example. Neither gets my focus so I do both poorly. Sewing and baking cookies. Granted, there is wait time with baking, but one must still be attentive to the task at hand - and a sewing project can certainly distract from being mindful of a batch of cookies in the oven. Blogging while chatting on the phone with a friend - also not the best idea. I put little concentration on blog content, neither is much attention paid to lively banter of conversation. Definitely a lose-lose situation.

The manner in which I multi-task makes for one thing that does not serve the other. Rather, it takes away from. Such 'multi' activities is what I resolve to wean from. In due course.

Mind you, this is NOT a Resolution for the New Year 2011.
What it is, is working towards management of a proposed lifestyle change. There is no official start or stop time frame. Success or failure depends largely on a concerted effort to make a change.

When is a resolution not a resolution, then?
Simple. When I say so, of course.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Play time with semantics. Ya gotta love it.

roll down/roll up

'It's hot in this car, roll down the windows'.

''Looks like there's sand blasting up ahead, roll up the (car) windows, will ya?'

Today I'm pondering the use of the verb 'roll' in regard to car windows. Isn't it fast becoming outdated? Most cars now have power-windows which go up or down by way of a .... what would you call it .... lever? button? switch?
The automatic control is certainly not a handle, and the action required to raise or lower the window is no longer a 'rolling'. Was it ever, though? Rolling a window up or down requires that one take hold of a handle, crank it it in one direction or the opposite direction - with a rotating action. That's what it always meant to 'roll the window' up or down. Though I now wonder if that action really qualifies as a 'roll'.

Hmmmmmmmm.
This could boggle the mind - if there weren't already so many other things in life that serve to boggle, which all of us could/should be more concerned with than this .... but since we're already on the subject....

Now that the majority of vehicles have electrically powered windows, has the mechanism remained the same? It appears that is so, and the only difference is whether the operation of raising and lowering the car window is done manually or via electricity ('push of the button'). If the mysterious inner workings of raising or lowering the panel of tempered glass hasn't changed, would it still be accurate (if it ever really was) to stay with 'roll the window'? If not, what should we be saying instead? 

When I was a kid in the 1950's - 60's, my Mom used to call our refrigerator - the 'icebox'. Indeed - in her youth (Mom was born in 1918), cold storage space in the kitchen was, very simply, a box that contained food, kept cold by ice. This was before electrically run refrigerators became widely available to the masses. Keeping foods cold in an icebox required that from time to time, a huge block of ice be placed into it to keep things cold. When the ice gradually melted away, it was replaced by another big block of ice. Hence, the ice-man would cometh.

Even after she'd been enjoying electrically run refrigerators for a number of years, Mom continued to call the kitchen cold storage unit aka our fridge - the 'icebox'. Though decades have passed, my memory remains vivid and clear of Mom instructing my brothers and me to 'Put the leftovers in the icebox'.

'Roll down / roll up' ----- food for thought on a cold n' rainy December morn.

While our thinking caps are choogling along on the topic of rolling up/down - it's time for me to head to the kitchen to forage for lunch fixins' - in the icebox...

[car window crank image from: http://www.mustangproject.com/Catalog.aspx?category=0e4a35c1-13d3-4f45-bc14-04f1809ec9ac&sub=cd5a65df-9d5d-4bf4-9c02-7eb1f5682720]

round and round and round it goes

where it stops - is down around my feet - and in a relatively short time from start to finish.

Last weekend, I bought myself a Hula Hoop.
Thought it might motivate me to move/exercise a wee bit. At the very least, 'something to do whilst watching TV'. Yeah, right.

It's not a for real brand name Wham-O Hula Hoop, but a wannabe.
The color is hot pink. It makes a whirring (aka wannabe 'shoop shoop') sound when it goes 'round. The sticky can't get it off too easily price label makes claim that the hoop is supposed to smell like bubble gum, but I don't smell nuthin'. Perhaps this hoop was too long for the warehouse.

Anyways - the bright pink plastic hoop thingy cost me only a little more than $3.

$3. Less than a cuppa $tarbuck$ fancydancysuperduperventimochachiccachicca coffee.
A bit more long lasting too. And a heck of a lot more fun. Granted, I don't hula-hoop (forgive my combining the two words and using it as a verb) any more the way I did as a kid, when I could shimmy both clock-wise and counter-clockwise, and for a record breaking (in my mind) number of revolutions. With no pain.

These days, at the ripe old age of .... well never mind the number ... just know that it's been quite a few decades and then some, since those kid days ... I can still manage quite a few clock-wise rotations, but it is not without stress and strain on my feet, knees and torso to do so. It didn't happen 'before', but now, hula-hooping gets me out of breath.

After the purchase of said hoop, as HubbyDear and I drove home with it in the back seat of the car - I asked him - 'Who invented the Hula Hoop, anyway?'.

His answer: 'Fred Hula'.


NOT.

Sleeping dogs

Some things are best left up to the Japanese.
And not re-made for the Western Audience.
Certain movies, f'rinstance.

Case in point: 'Hachiko: A Dog's Tale' (2009).

Perhaps American film makers should have left well enough alone with the original Japanese film from 1987 - titled 'Hachiko Monogatari'.

The story of Hachiko is a true account of a dog's loyalty to his human owner/friend/soul mate.

The 2009 movie is certainly sweet, and the re-make has its good points. First of all, it looks yummy: with pleasant photography, lighting and even a novel 'dog's POV'. It features a cast of talented actors in what seemed to be supporting roles to a beautiful Akita dog (who performed his role well by always being on his marker and jumping up on 'his people' at the appropriate moments). However, the connection between dog and humans seemed, at best - contrived. It just wasn't convincing. That, or the heart of the film was inadvertently edited out.

It was only by a stretch of MY imagination that brought the desired emotional tear jerker response to this man-loves-dog-loves-man story. It was what I struggled to see in Hachiko's sad doggy eyes as he watched for his Never Ever to Return Again Master to come through those station doors...
Even so, one shouldn't have to work so hard for the sentimental magic that should have been crashing forth in waves of emotion from the movie itself. Blame it on the direction? Editing? Acting?

The movie is only an hour and a half long, but oh - what a long hour and a half to slog through whilst awaiting 'the bond' to take hold and deliver.

Another example: The original Japanese 'Shall We Dance' (1996) ~ a charming film.
Then it got Hollywood-ized (coincidentally ??? - starring Richard Gere) and the Hollywood high-gloss polish slicked over some very subtle and beautiful points offered by the Japanese film.
Once again, something very clear and dear to the original feel of the story was lost in the re-making of it for the western audience.

Query: why not just allow for the original Japanese versions of films to stand alone on their own merit? Only a very special few can make the grade when re-made, y'know.

Perhaps my expectations were too high for 'Hachiko: A Dog's Tale'.
Whatever.
My one word movie review, then =  Zzzzzzzzzzz

[image of sleeping dogs from hellokids.com]

Pantyhose - to wear or not to wear?

That is the question.

As evidenced by the plethora of opinions found on the internet, the subject of pantyhose is not a new topic. The most popular pondering on the topic of full lower body hosiery seems to be whether or not women wearing pantyhose (of the 'nylon' variety) aka tights - is still considered stylish. Also - if donning pantyhose is as practiced as once was. To go bare-legged is one fashion statement. To wear hose is another. The former is most often considered chic/young/free. The latter has been deemed one of two extremes: SexySleek (depending on the type of hose) or Old-Lady (more in keeping with what's in my closet).

I've yet to address the subject of pantyhose on b's blog. It is fashion after all, and we occasionally speak of wearables here, and so it goes. Those who are not interested may click away. Now. Here's a little not-about-pantyhose vid to send you on your merry way.

Here then, is my missive on the might and right of the humble pantyhose. On a personal note, this may not be a question of 'to wear or not to wear'. Rather, this may be a thinly disguised conversation with self about my ongoing quandary of 'keep'' or 'do away with?' superfluous stuff. With little doubt, it's a re-organizational query. No matter. Onward.

This morning, as I was putting some freshly laundered, air-dried and neatly folded socks (hand-knitted, BTW) away in my sock storage area, I had to - once again - shift a virtual mountain of pantyhose over to make room.

Having to shove a 2' high pile of folded pantyhose over to make room for precious hand-knitted socks has become a source of irritation to me. This may seem trite, and it is - but everyone knows how the little things add up to become major irritations, grouchiness, bitchiness and et cetera.

In speaking of pantyhose, do understand that I'm not addressing fun, pretty leg coverings to wear when one feels like being a hottie. Not going down the lacy garter belt, seamed and patterned super sheer hosiery route. We're talking about practical, regulation nylon pantyhose with cotton crotch and full spandex panty-like top. Full length lower body stretchy clingy hosiery. Thin to thickish knit elastic - at the same time - delicate to the point of easy breakage...

To keep or not to keep? To wear or not to wear?

Here are my facts:
(1) the substantial stack of still-new-in-the-packages (truth be known, these were probably purchased over a decade ago!) as well as slightly worn (then laundered) pantyhose (the last time worn might have been 5 or more years ago) in my possession has been kept clean/stacked beside my ever growing sock (did I already make mention that they are hand-knitted?) collection.

(2) I possess pantyhose in 'nude and suntan' tones, as well as in colors (gray-purple, black, navy, brown and I even have a muted green) are still being stored away with my accessories wardrobe for the sheer (obvious, but acceptable pun?) reason that I may someday wear them again.

To be sure ...

(3) I hate wearing pantyhose. Always have. Always will. The elasticized or snug fit waistband works itself into the creases of my muffin top belly. The intersection where the legs are attached to the 'panty part' pinches. Pantyhose will, and this is inevitable - get snagged on things - causing runs and holes - which ruin a pair of hose immediately. Especially when wearing brand new pantyhose, the wearer must be very wary to keep safe distance from jumping dogs, kitties (even for a cute stretch, they extend their claws), the edges of old wood coffee tables, woven baskets and other rough edged or pointed objects. Suffice it to say that it would be unwise to sit on a rustic wooden bench if you have a new pair of pantyhose on, with exposed legs peeping out from under skirt or dress. Even crossing one's legs may mean the pantyhose fabric grazing against one's own shoes - which can easily cause a snag. Snags = the bane of existence for the wearer of pantyhose. Sometimes I'll punch a hole in a brand new pair with thumb or forefinger - in the simple act of pulling pantyhose on. Arrrggh.

Points 1, 2 and 3 thus stated --- pantyhose, or better yet - the thicker weave of knit leg coverings that Americans differentiate from pantyhose by calling 'tights' - can actually be excellent leg coverings when worn for cooler weather, when bare legs need a bit of warmth under skirts. Legs are protected from cold fall and winter drafts. Keeps ya cozy. Yet, for me - there's still the problem of that strangulating elastic waist band digging into my mid-section.

I feel everything on my clothing. Tags, folds, loose nylon threads, fibers with any itchiness.
I also don't like dressing in layers. Pantyhose add one more layer to the dressing mix.
Wearing it can feel like a sausage casing for some of us who are sensitive to every shift of fabric as it tries to bind itself onto another fabric.
Yes, though relatively thick-skinned and indelicate (I really relate to my Southern Chinese Cantonese Farmer ancestry) -- I do have a little Princess & the Pea thing going here.

Given a choice, I'd live on a tropical island.
Wear a wonderfully loose fitting muu-muu type shift every day. The fewer layers the better.
Go bare-legged.

Well.
I guess that more or less settles the questions of both to wear or not to wear as well as to keep or get rid of.
Goodbye to the many practical, nude to deep brown to black colored nylon pantyhose in my sock storage area.

I don't need you no more.
Been there. Done that. Wore it. Sooooo over it.

(Ssshhhhhhhh - still keeping a couple pair of the warmer tights....)
(Just in case)

[pantyhose photo from treehugger.com]

(New Label) > Photo-Play

Introducing a new label (not that I keep up so well with categorizing past posts that it justifies adding another label...). I'm calling this one Photo-Play.

At times I find myself high and dry and at quite a loss to create a brand new chatty blog post. When this happens, I'll typically post a music or movie vid, courtesy of youtube, Hulu or the like. Otherwise, I am silent. Consequently, days and weeks go by without a post. Bloggers with big gaps between posts start to lose touch with their blogs. Loyal readership wanes. Few bloggers, including myself, don't want either to happen.

Although blog concepts may be few and far between on occasion, there's still likely inspiration (of the visual variety) to be found in my ever increasing stockpile of new/old photographs. These pictures are all over the place. Most prints are stored in boxes on the closet shelf. The digital ones are scattered about, hopelessly unorganized, in my computer. Even so, it's still possible to pull together a couple/few images that qualify as 'playful' (or poignant) and share them here. My goal with photo-playing is to create a wee vignette of two or more pix that has meaning to me. If it prompts a smile from you, or idea jumping-off-point for you, so much the better.

Aside from this lengthy intro, for future Photo-Play posts, pix will appear sans explanation.

This first Photo-Play essay is titled 'Kids in Kar Seats'.

Enjoy.

Kid in Kar Seat, 1977

 

Kid in Kar Seat, 1982

Kid in Kar Seat, 2010

Jacks

Jacks.
Jump Rope.
Marbles.
Dodge Ball.
4 Square aka ABC.
Hop Scotch.
Red Rover Red Rover.
Chinese Jump Rope (always with a homemade 'rope' of rubber bands)
Tag.
Roller skating. 
Hide n' Seek.

This is the short list of street and playground games I used to play as an elementary school kid, growing up in the North Beach/ Chinatown/Nob Hill district of San Francisco. The backyard of our rented flat was small, yet sufficient in size for roller skating in an oval configuration, or to stage mini versions of Big League Baseball games. Urban playgrounds were few, far between and small in size as well. But life was simple and we didn't require much to have fun. We just went out - and played. Every day.

Times have changed, but have the games?

How do children play on the playgrounds/streets of SF today?
Are they still exercising both small and large motor skills with the simplest of props/toys? Practicing solo, as well as interacting with their buddies?

Or -
are kids, even when in the company of their peers, 'clicked' into a self-imposed solitary confinement via their iPhones or mp3 players?

[ image of jacks and ball is from http://www.zazzle.com/tokyo_jacks_pop_art_poster-228906404180477513 ]

Bonus pic/caption:

Oh, how I miss my roller skates (circa 1950's), which were metal clamp-on style Union brand, with leather straps padded with plaid-design foam strips and ball-bearing wheels (a fascinating study in and of themselves when they fell apart, with ball bearings spilled everywhere). They came with a skate key to tighten the nuts. I wore the key on a string 'round my neck.

snot

OK, this may not be the most appetizing of blog topics. 
Odd pic too, isn't it? But there's a good reason for me to choose it. Read on.

Allow me to proceed with a mini missive on the subject of snot. Please. It may serve to enlighten you, as it did me.

It is especially timely to write of snot because it appears in such generous quantities at this time of year.
Explanation: Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we are experiencing our summer morphing into fall, which typically brings with it the onset of the cold and flu season. Bugs out of the woodwork, as it were. Because of the many environmental factors contributing to how germs grow and thrive, quite a number of you out there will succumb, like I recently have - to one or another of the many viral meanies out there.

Lest I change my mind about this questionable blog topic, let's proceed with haste...

I should preface any further discussion of snot by stating that I've been suffering from a terrible head cold for almost a week. DollinkGranddaughterLB very generously passed on some pre-school germies to me when I babysat her a week ago. I would talk more now about how brilliant/beautiful this little one is, but that is another post for another day...

So, let's get back to the subject at hand - or - rather - nose.

Ahem.
I suppose this would be a good time to sub in the word 'mucus' for the more street-worthy, and therefore decidedly more offensive term - 'snot'.

Next, a brief description of my mucus activity of last week, quickly followed by a link. Yes, I'm trying to keep this post relatively short. Stay with me now.

For 6 days and nights now, I've been blowing my poor drippy nose into facial tissues. Used up a box of (real deal) Kleenex, then another. Switched to using a roll of ultra soft toilet paper. I've been getting the 'mega rolls', so there's a lot in each one. It seemed the more economical thing to do. Until I quickly used up two rolls. blowing the endless mucus. On my third roll at present.

Staying home from any of my normal activities, I had not much else to do these last days but nap, read a bit, play on the computer (roll of TP, and a trash can nearby), watch a lot of television and - of course - more blowing of the nose. So much blowing that dee awea awound by noze started to get weally wed.

I wondered when I'd be feeling better. Upon awakening each morn, I'd find more mucus awaiting in my sinuses, draining to my nose - and eventually moving down to my chest (bad news for a newly diagnosed asthmatic).

I got to wondering...

Where oh where does the endless supply of mucus come from? When, if ever - is the over- production of mucus ever going to cease? I'm so sick of being sick. When oh when will I actually feel normal better again?

Another thought came to mind: I'm overdue to write a blog post. Can't keep my fans waiting and wondering what the 'ell happened to me and where the 'ell I've been. But what topic should I post about? I sat here at the keyboard, toilet paper in hand, a hot cuppa herbal infusion laced with lemon and honey on the computer table, contemplating snot mucus. Could not keep my fingers from typing into the blog title space: snot.

So there you have it.
Without further ado, right below is that link I promised, too many words later (OK, I lied again about being brief).

I wish to thank the good people at eHow for this very simple and satisfying explanation.

Moral of story: Mucus be our friend.
So dry up awreddy.

dusty computer monitor

and a couple of other trivial things to ponder today.

Dust on and around computers and televisions.
... I only ever use an LCD monitor cleaner + a microfiber cloth to apply the cleaner with.
But am willing to try a dryer sheet around the base of the computer. Maybe.

The shape of a woman's lipstick.
My tube of lipstick tends to take on the shape of something between a #2 and a #3.

Walking barefoot in public or only indoors/at home?
I'm an OBI (Only Barefoot Indoors) kinda gal.

Ted talks - so listen up!

Ted Talks.

Entertaining. Smart. Inspiring.
Super cooooooooooooooool.
What's not to love?
I have far too many favourite Ted talks to list here, but here is one to whet your appetite to seek out more to devour:

Old Mac

Don't be fooled.
This really isn't meant to be an Old MacDonald singalong.
(Though the follow-the-bouncing cow is a cute touch, don't you think?)

This post is actually about Old Macintosh computers.
More specifically - MY old Mac computers.

Here's the thing,
I generally use a computer for MANY YEARS before replacing it with a new one.

Typical life span of a computer in my home is ---- 6 years - sometimes longer. By the time I upgrade myself to a new machine, several generations of Macs have already come - and gone. How smart is Apple to keep those freshly re-designed machines a-comin'?!? Apple counts on the fact that rabid fans of Mac look to keep a-buyin whatever the next best thing that appears on the Mac horizon. $$$

Unlike generations of human families, which cycle 'round every 20 years or so, a generation in the world of Mac is relatively short. Within 6 months of buying a new computer, that machine is already considered yesterday's model. By the time another 6 months go by, the one you 'just got' is just about obsolete - replaced by the latest greatest newest reincarnation.

The newer computers strive to be bigger but slimmer/ or smaller and therefore more portable, but still incredibly efficient. Each gen is speedier than its predecessor. Smoother and sleeker is part n' parcel of the latest packaging. Every new version of the Mac machine is more bee-yoo-tee-full than the last. Sure, some terrific bells and whistles go missing, but you can count on them being replaced with even more amazingly heart-stopping, breath stealing features.

OMG.

I can't keep up - and don't try - and make it a point never to step foot into an Apple Store for a peek at the latest offerings. Those places are techno magnets of the most heavenly variety. Liken a visit to one as 'just going to LOOK at the irresistible newborn puppies'.

Replacing technics every year or two is far too costly a hobby for my pocketbook, and anyway -
that is not my concern today - and certainly not the reason for this blog post.
Though it may seem so.

My bigger problem has to do with what happens after the acquisition of a new machine. Following the anxiety ridden decision-making and figuring how best to finance the new 'puter - I am left with what to do with the 'other one' - aka Old Mac.

Put simply, I do not know how to dispose of the previous model of Mac that I've just been using. Or the one before that.

At this writing, there are currently three, no - four - Macs coexisting on or about The Homestead. The newest machine, a desktop, occupies the place of honor on my desk. The previous one has been passed along to HD (HubbyDear) for his periodic perusal of the internet. Because he's on the computer infrequently (preferring to park himself in front of another monitor - the TV screen), HD doesn't need the speedier machine. Or so I have determined. There's a very old Mac (hint: it's lime green, and so is its matching printer) in the garage that I'm trying to get rid of. along with any and all peripherals - besides the matching printer, there is a flat bed scanner, as well as downloaded and purchased manuals and how-to-use books. The fourth is an old laptop Mac, passed along to me via the DollinkDaughters. I do believe it's well over 6 years old - but darn it - the thing still works, albeit a bit slow to pick up my router's signal/ load pages/ respond to my many demands.

Three Old Macs.
I can't get rid of them.
Just thinking of doing so makes me feel traitorous. 

I refuse to do the casual heartless throw away, can't bring myself to take them to the dump for landfill, or even to tech recycle. Tossing away an Old Mac. It just seems so wrong.

I have often wondered if anyone else felt this way about their Old Macs.

But it seems there are.
Fairly recently, I saw a documentary about Macintosh computers and the crazy wonderful smart eclectic creative and fun people who buy and use them. Part of the film was devoted to those who keep personal Mac Museums, which seems like an intriguing enough hobby to indulge in. However, most of these museums consist of little more than a dusty collection of Old Mac stuff, belonging to these 'collectors' as well as to other people. Some of the old computers still work. Most are broken, unusable pieces. All are - outdated. The museums are housed in spare bedrooms, storerooms, garages.

So it's true. Many an Old Mac does not simply die and get added to the top of a recycle tech pile. They just get moved to a shelf in the garage. To collect dust. And stay the happy memories.

Fact: Mac users do LOVE their Macs. It's a bit of a sickness, rooted in an appreciation of aesthetics and invention. I relate to this warped affection for the marvelous tech tools made by Apple, because I too fall under the spell and become enamored of every aspect of a new Mac. The look of it, the ease of running it. Though for me - being so low tech, all of computering is a challenge. Yet...Mac is so damn user friendly. Plus, calling for help under the warranty puts you in touch with tech help who are so darn friendly/cute.

My love for Mac has already proven possessive to the point where it is near impossible to let go the old relationship when time comes for a new one to begin. How can I possibly completely give up all connection to my Old Mac when the New Mac comes along?

Oooooh - I just felt a twinge. An ache. That which I recognize as the pain of a Mac enthusiast who is not able to 'let go'.

I don't believe PC people have this - uh - er - issue. I've never heard a PC owner bemoan having to move the old PC on to make way for a new PC.
I should think they merely toss their old PCs into the trash. I picture them happily flinging the darn thing right onto the top of the heap.

So - bottom line of my dilemma is that I've got 4 Macs in what should essentially be a one and a half two Mac house.
What to do what to do.

Perhaps I'll sing a few bars of Old MacDonald (with the bouncing cow) as I wait on an epiphany...

JCVD

a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie in its entirety.
Until today.

Oh, maybe I've seen a few minutes of one.
Once.
A long time ago.

In JCVD,  Jean-Claude Van Damme serves as executive producer. And get this - he's in the starring role, and plays none other than  ---- Jean-Claude Van Damme.

The film is a huge departure (as advertised) from standard 1980's Van-Damme fare. The 90 minutes was easy to watch, save for one of the supporting bad guy roles - whose rather unattractive character I found to be rather a boring stereotype.
(SPOILER ALERT!! Boy, was I glad when that pisspot was killed off)
 
The featured monologue by JCVD (which is what first brought my attention to the film) alone is worth the price of admission renting the movie.

In my humble, 'Older Van Damme' is certainly worth a damn.

One word movie review: 'Aware'

A Single Man

Colin Firth, is that YOU?

Julianne Moore, You ROCK big time!

Matthew Goode, so goshdurn PRETTY.

Tom Ford, go to the HEAD of the class, Mr. Fashion.

One word movie review: Stylin'

how to buy a nylon basting spoon

Don't buy this one by Farberware, or any other Farberware basting spoon that looks like it.
Why not this one? It is poorly designed. The weight of the comfy, cushy attractive handle throws the tool off-balance. When this spoon is used to stir something in a shallow cooking pan, then set to the side of that pan (with or without food in the spoon part) - the tool flips right out of the pan, due to the weight of the handle. Food everywhere and the basting spoon ends up on the floor.
No good.

When you go to choose a nylon basting spoon for your cooking needs, check the weight of the tool by balancing the center of it on your palm, as if it were a seesaw.

I got rid of this bothersome spoon and bought one for $1.44 at Target.
Good.

belated birthday wishes

to Little Ringo.

I was a bit distracted with thisthatandtheother when July 7th rolled around this year.

(This vid was chosen for a Happy Birthday to Ringo post because high on my 'List' is still - to 'dance with Ringo'.)

A.W.O.L.

Apologies.
I've been Absent With Out Leave for a while, so nibble on a little T.o.P. for a bit and I'll be right back - with some GOOD STUFF.