Sucker!

I bought this last week:

Starbuck's: nothing new.

Yoga Bread:  because I am a sucker.  I am a good one though.  It was delicious.  Sure you slap a label on cardboard with cranberries and I'd buy it if it said "Yoga".  This loaf was special.  (That's what he said about the sucker.)  Really yummy whole, raw ingredients.  Rush to Whole Foods and suck you some.  You'll be glad you did.

Earrings:  Because I have long holes.  I love my double pierced ears but  Irarely insert posts in my first holes.  They are over-used from the Jody Whatley days of HUGE LONG HEAVY ear bobbles.

Also, from Whole Foods this love discs make me very happy.  AND they help starving children from Kenya.  These are not ...

.... starving children in Africa.  They are two of my three souls.  God, am I grateful.  I think I'll go celebrate:

Wine and Yoga bread.  Out of the way, Starbuck's.  Jesus did it.

What are you doing this Thanksgiving?



Hooters, head and marathons

What the...?

Nick:  Mom, guess where we are going for our end of the season (baseball) party?
Me:  (making dinner not really paying attention) I don't know, son - where?
Nick:  Hooters.
Me:  (astonished)

Am I being ridiculous?  I am not a prude.  But, please... twelve-year-old boys at an establishment where boobs are the draw (it is NOT the wings), men are the main target audience, and beer flows.  I love boobs when they aren't exploited.  I love men when they aren't oogling at boobs.  I don't love beer but I can drink me some wine.

I am open to being ridiculous.  Let me know what you think.

Onto to some head.  I got my stitches removed yesterday from my latest round of Moh's Surgery.  That's 4 in 20 months.  Do they give some kind of award for this?  Here's the progress.

I think it looks pretty good.  I am psyched because I am getting my left eyelid lifted for the droopiness from a prior surgery AND I get dermabrasion across my whole forehead to restore my former pre-skin cancer beauty.  I will look great from the eyebrows up.  Maybe they'll hire me at HOOTERS.  OOOPS, they start at the navel and go north when looking at resumes, my bad.

And now for marathons...

My amazing sister ran her first marathon on Saturday.  I am so proud of her.  She is my rockstar.  Did I mention she has varicose veins and five children?  She trained with a smile and sailed across the finish line strategizing for her next.  Living fully with her heart and her mind, body and soul.

Ever been to Hooters?





Boulder Holder

Two funerals and one (more) surgery within 10 days validates therapy in my mind.  I am a big proponent of therapy in general so I mean no disrespect when I present you my $38 session:

I haven't bought a bra in 10+ years.  On November 13, 2000 I had breast reduction surgery and since then I have relied on the generosity of others for over my shoulder boulder holders.  That and my sports bras since I spend a lot of time in workoutwear.  My supply had gotten so pathetic I was wearing no pec slings at all if I could possibly get away with it.  I need therapy just for not taking care of my basic needs but I heard about PROFESSIONAL BRA FITTINGS and decided I needed one.  I had spent most of my life since puberty hating my chest.  Ten years ago - I got a new upper body and a new lease on life but old habits die hard and buying bras continued to be a hassle, something I avoided at all costs.  Then I met Tasha.  The kindest angel ever who made me feel like I had the body of a pole dancer and I should be proud of whatever I got packing - not matter what.  The trick was to pack it well.  And she knew how.  There was French lace in her department for north of 3digits but I needn't such a luxury.  This brand- Moderna is perfect.  I felt like I was wearing nothing but I was lifted, supported, cozy and ready for anything pitched my way.  Now that I have one that fits and does its job - maybe I'll get all saucy and what not. 

I am continuing my early morning spinning classes on Monday and Wednesday.  Here's my traverse back into my neigborhood on Monday.  My free therapy:

And so I had more Moh's surgery yesterday. 

That's not a marshmallow stuck to my forhead.  It's a pressure pack.  I feel pretty good.  I took a walk with my children and two dogs today after spending a quiet day at home.  My dear friend, Megan brought me a latte from SB for a morning treat then my sister brought dinner so I wouldn't have to cook.  I finished my Yoga Teacher Training homework caught up on a bunch of stuff and did it all in a bra that fits.  My therapy worked.  Life really is grand even though we need therapy at times to remind us.  

How was your day?

My King and I

RIP King James

I lost a dear friend this week.  Herbert L. James died very suddenly in a way we might all hope.  Mr. James, 81 shared a lovely meal with his wonderful son and most elegant daughter-in-law and settled in the den of their cozy home to watch a little news before bed.  He complimented Miss Charlotte on her divine fixins', fussed at his son for not hopping-to-it to clear the table.  After tidying up, he sat in his favorite chair.  Mr. James coughed, signaled to his son that he needed just a moment to collect himself and died.  Like his bright light was simply blown out. Easily, gently but with a deafening finality that weighs on my  heart like a cement block.

My friendship with Mr. James was an unusual one.  I met him about 6 or 7 years ago when his daughter-in-law, a lady I love dearly and I became friends.  He was a gentleman's gentleman and reminded me of all things stately and kind - paternal and grand paternal and friendly like we were connected from another time.  Mr. James dressed down in a button down and wouldn't ever be caught in God's house without a suit.  He had his military haircut sharpened once a week and drove himself in his mini-van to visit family and friends and live his very active life.  I love that burgundy caravan.  You might expect someone like me getting out of it with a gaggle of children instead of a 81-year-old fella with a twinkle brighter than Orion. 

I lost my Dad about the time  I met Mr. James.  They shared many qualities - reverence for their wives (both deceased), deep love for their families, manners and sharp blue eyes. 

My Mom had been gone for about 8 years when I met Charlotte who's beauty and grace remind me so much of dear Kathleen. 

A coincidence?  I think not.

I just saw Mr. James a week ago when we said good-bye to one of his grandsons, young Adam.  Though at a very sad event, I was uplifted to see my Mr. James looking so well and quite vibrant.  Like the true gentleman he was, he offered me his arm and escorted me around the reception like I was his queen.  I have never felt so honored.  When I got the call from Charlotte a few days later she said, "Clair, I'm afraid we've lost one of your biggest fans."  I think not.  I was his.

Rest in peace my dear friend, King James.  Say hello to my parents.  I miss you all.

Buck, baby

I left my house at 5:30 this morning to catch a 5:45 spinning class at the Y.  I had my doggie pj's on over my bike shorts because it was cold I don't have any sweats that aren't running tights.  Not very exciting but that little tidbit lends to my falsely perceived notion of the  activity level at the gym at that ungodly hour.  I figured only crazies or police officers or my friend Ann (who is training for an Ironman and teaches the class) workout in pre-dawn hours.  She wouldn't mind the pj's.

As I was leaving my neighborhood I saw a Big Buck galloping through open space.  He looked so majestic and sure of himself and yet so fragile to me since I am married to an animal-loving hunter who believes in population-control and humane demise (i.e. quick shot vs. splat into the grill of an Escalade).  The hunting debate aside - and yes I respect many views - This buck was BUCK chiseled,  handsome and if I were a doe he'd be my boyfriend.

 

The Urban Dictionary defines Buck as a slang term for wild, ridiculous, extreme.  Used to describe something so amazingly fierce, it's almost not possible - in a good way.

At 5:40 in the morning the Y was Buck Wild.  Busy, buzzing with fitness minded  maniacs and I thought it was cool.  I forgot I had on my pajama bottoms but those nut bags didn't even notice.  I took my pj pants off and climbed on the saddle of that bike got busy.  Way fun.


Nothing like bucking in the early morning. 

Did I just say that?