Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

there’s no crying in blogging!!

It has been brought to my attention that so many of my posts lately are, however appreciated or readable, so sad that a very special person in my life can no longer read them at work for fear of crying at her desk. So I am dedicating this post entirely to her, and it will contain only funny stuff. Three stories.

Also. She and I are embarking on a new book, reading in tandem The Radium Girls by Kate Moore. We will explore these 400 pages across time zones and while juggling very different lifestyles. I can’t wait to discuss it with her! And I will post a review when we finish.

Okay. Three short stories, all painfully true:

  1. False Alarm: After a good speed workout at my favorite four-mile loop, that one at a nearby reservoir that is so well patrolled by both local police and the sheriff’s department, I was stretching near my car. Really stretching, and actively celebrating a good run because I love my tendons and ligaments so much right now. A police officer with whom I have a hand-waving acquaintance sped over and circled up alongside my car. Kind of in a startling way. I thought for sure I was being arrested. (You know, for running too fast, ha!) He asked if I was ok, I confirmed that I was great but had I done something wrong officer, he said it looked like I was flagging him down for help. That, my friends, is some over-achieving stretch work!
  2. Zero Upper Body Strength: One afternoon this past week Handsome and I took Klaus to a nearby park to romp around and sniff things, two of his best hobbies. I spotted a small monkey bar and had no choice but to attempt an old-school penny drop. This was a staple back in childhood, something my neighborhood friends and I did from the swingset hundreds of times per day and eventually perfected so well that we often hosted backyard performances for Mom and Dad. Once they even brought popcorn and lemonade and offered us scores. It was like the Olympics! It was also the era of Mary Lou Retton, okay? We nailed all the landings back then.Well, back to 2018 and I am 44 and my penny drop days might be far behind me. Despite some recent efforts to lift a hexagon weight here and there, I could not even hoist myself up to the bar without a phenomenal, crawling and moaning, very awkward full body effort. The difficulty was stunning, especially compared to how buoyant and energetic I had felt all day. When I finally got my knees hooked over the bar, my fancy Old Navy workout pants made the whole situation so soft and slippery that my husband said something like, “Don’t break your teeth!” To which my brain added, “…again!!“SoI dismounted (that’s a gymnastics term, don’t worry about it) and aggressively scooched the purple compression fabric up over my knees, hoping some skin contact to the metal would help. It did not help, but it did summon happy memories of raw skin and summertime. Also, I am 5’8″ and the monkey bar was built for children, so once I stretched out upside down, my head almost touched the ground already.


    So I dismounted again but didn’t exactly nail the landing. Really a fantastic anticlimax. Then I spent several uncomfortable minutes working to un-scooch the compression fabric back down to my ankles. It had sort of cut off the circulation at my knees.
    A penny drop did not happen that day, but now I can’t stop thinking about it. Do I want this more than I want to beat my brother in a half marathon? Maybe.

  3. Staple Gun Drama & Marriage is Hard: Yesterday, just before the weather turned cold and ugly, I wandered outside to see what kind of protection the gardens would need overnight. So much has broken dormancy and has been growing well this month, I didn’t want to lose anything to the predicted frost and freeze. I carried to the raised veggie beds a large sheet of landscape fabric, buckets, and my husband’s staple gun. He offered to help me with the staple gun but I took such great offense to him obviously thinking I was too dumb and incapable to operate it myself that I said something sharp and refused all assistance. He went back inside, wounded a little but mostly stunned I think, and I proceeded to deal with the project at hand all by myself thank you very much.Guess what. I couldn’t load staples into the stupid staple gun. But rather than ask for help I went to my little tool cabinet and brought out a hammer and box of finishing nails instead.  I hammered that white fabric to the wooden boxes as quietly as possible, tap-tap-tap, glancing furtively over my shoulder the whole time, lest my temporary opponent might hear the banging and feel victorious.Ok, as you might have guessed, he definitely heard the hammering and also saw through the upstairs window that I had abandoned the staple gun.Later I apologized for snapping at him and explained why my feelings were hurt but that I knew he had good intentions, is only ever trying to help and obviously he knows I am a genius. Obviously. He nodded enough to satisfy me then said that, actually, he had seen that I was trying to use a broken staple gun. Apparently, we own two. The End.

Sometimes life is easy-squeezy-lemon peasy.
Sometimes it is difficult-difficult-lemon-difficult.
XOXOXOXO

super moon reflections, a month later

One Month Ago:

At 5:20 Monday morning, our south lawn was draped in stark moon shadows. Long, dramatic, angular ghosts in black and silver, jutting out to the east of every outbuilding, every oak tree, even the slender zinnias. The sight was truly stunning. I had never seen the farm so zig-zagged by shadow and light. The full moon was still lit fiercely, almost too bright to gaze at directly, and now perched high in the satiny black heavens, no longer eclipsed. I don’t remember even a stitch of a breeze that Monday morning. All the animals were asleep except the barn cats and Klaus. He was bounding around in the moonlight, swirling our ankles and celebrating a new day. A new moon phase, too, though he didn’t know it.

(photo credit to my friend Christina Kamp)
(photo credit to my friend Christina Kamp)

A Few Hours Earlier:

Sunday night before, just as the swollen moon was growing that bloody rust around her edges and the eclipse was beginning, Handsome and I sat with Klaus in the barnyard, the one where we sometimes have outdoor movie nights with friends. We were in plastic Adirondack chairs facing east, toward the Talking Tree. The sky was black and breezy.

That night I had collapsed desperately into moon gazing, feeling more physically and emotionally drained than I had in months. So much of that previous week was spent shredded and crying, angry, deeply examining and weighing everything in my life (big stuff, friends, not what color to paint my kitchen). I watched the sky and measured my internal reactions, actively hoping that the full moon would bring the end of some unwelcome intensity. Breathed deeply.

(photo credit to our friend James Menzies)
(photo credit to our friend James Menzies)

The eclipse was amazing, of course. We sat in that barnyard and watched for a long time, trading cuddles with Klaus and holding hands more cautiously than normal. We saw a shooting star at the same moment and both made wishes. Probably breaking good-luck protocol, Handsome asked me what my wish was. “For everything to return to normal,” I answered honestly. This stung him, he said, because he thought everything was normal. And wonderful. I pulled my frayed orange blanket more tightly around my arms and flinched at a sticker that had found my ankle.

For all its beauty and intensity, that previous lunar cycle was rough. It coincided with my own personal lunar cycle, and the combination was almost too much. As life goes, this cosmic intersection happened alongside some unrelated (or maybe definitely related?) life events, external stressors that became much harder to cope with under these circumstances. My energy was both drained and exploding, which is bizarre, and everything was white hot, sharp, and painfully intense. Just like the full moon in those pre-dawn moments on Monday. The heated edge cast scary shadows on every part of my life.

Today:

That was a month ago. Our Super Moon. The Blood Moon that captured everyone’s attention in so many ways. That Monday morning in September, drained of all its color and gleaming fiercely, the moon got my heart and mind all churned up. And the difficulty continued for a few more weeks.

This morning in October, as we watched the moon rise full and bright again, everything is softer, gentler. The weather is cooler but not yet cold. Our windows are open and so is my heart again, finally. My thoughts and emotions are settled now and I feel stronger with this new perspective. We are enjoying a rebuilding in this house, and it feels pretty wonderful. I got my shooting-star wish that things would return to normal, except that having walked with eyes open through that bizarre month, things are better than normal now. Deliberateness brings lots of added beauty, you know?

Did you experience anything like this leading up to the Super Blood Moon? Did you notice the crystal clear dark-before-dawn that first Monday morning after the eclipse? Had you been through an exceptionally potent week (or month) leading up to it?

Our bodies are comprised of so much water, after all. If the ocean can be pulled by the moon, why would we be exempt? I have tried to rebel against this for a long time, but finally the rhythm makes sense. Finally the purpose seems a little more clear, the swell and retreat of energy, all the variations in between. Now, as long we stay centered in Love and navigate the waters honestly, I feel safe riding the waves and plumbing the depths. Who once said that an unexamined life is not worth living?

And one last note: Other life issues aside, I personally believe the color of your kitchen is kind of a big deal. ; ) Choose wisely.

“Summer ends and autumn comes,
and he who would have it otherwise
would have high tide always and a full moon every night.”
~Hal Borland
XOXOXOXO

 

 

 

how not to fight with your loving husband if you are tapering during PMS

Or, this could be titled, “how not to fight with your loving husband if you are experiencing PMS during your taper week.” However you look at it. Is a zebra back with white stripes, or white with black stripes?

Either way, for the second year in a row, I am tapering for the marathon during the exact days my body is, shall we say, waning toward its new moon? Yes, let’s say it like that. I am about to be depleted in every conceivable way (no pun intended) (not that we’re conceiving), and if I’m not careful things could get dicey on the home front. Normally during these few days I’m not a total nightmare, but I do cry easily at Geico commercials, and here is the general sum of my personality: I am highly suspect of all politeness, assuming it must be a fearful if silent comment on what a bad mood I’m in.

Seriously, if Handsome and I ever engage in marital battle, it is almost exclusively during those few days of PMS, and it is almost always because I was so fed up with him being so careful with my feelings.

side-eye-chloe-meme-generator-could-you-freaking-not-be-so-nice-712d5f

LOL. His wife is such a peach.

So, throw some bouncy legs and an anxious mind into the mix, and we have ourselves an interesting situation. Here’s my 5-step plan to keep the peace:

  1. Eat Healthfully. No last minute extreme dieting, but also no emotional binge eating to soothe my nerves. I’m gonna eat right, stay hydrated, and continue taking iron, vitamins, and if necessary, Midol. (“Do you mean the bitchy pills, Ray?”)
  2. Gentle Exercise. Since my running (the obvious stress buster) has to be slashed down to a bare minimum, I’ll spend the next ten days walking plenty, and I’ll do it outdoors for the best mood lifting results. I’ll also spend time with my favorite yoga videos.
  3. So much reading. I am up to my splintless (thank-you-baby-jesus) shins in really good books right now, and with all this spare time on my hands (what with the not running) I plan to zen out with great food for thought. One is Sydney Portier’s spiritual memoir. Another is a new release piece of fiction by Dean Koontz (haven’t read him since probably my twenties, got a sudden craving for his language). And then there’s our book club’s current selection, which is another memoir: this one is by a female photojournalist who spent most of her career in war-torn countries. Hhmm. Okay, so maybe I’ll save that last one for after the race. Book club is exactly one week following, anyway. Plenty of time later.
  4. Reality Check. I will remind myself as often as needed that this whole situation is completely voluntary and that it was me, not him, who volunteered for it. Moreover, that along the way he has been incredibly supportive of me and brags about me constantly for no reason, so I really have no right to make him pay an even higher price for my pent up adrenaline by fighting with him. No matter how many weird little moments of rub we may experience, I am resolved to not over-thinking a single word or facial expression.

    Among other sweet gestures, he makes sure my shoes are the bomb.
    Among other sweet gestures, he makes sure my shoes are the bomb.
  5. Fingers Crossed and Dark Chocolate in the Pantry Just in Case. Because you can’t be too careful.

 

I hope this is useful to at least one other woman out there who has such similar good fortune as me to taper during PMS. It is so awesome and I really hope this happens every time I run a marathon!! Can you hear me gritting my teeth as I say that?

Now share with us your own wisdom. Have you ever tapered at an already difficult time? How did you cope? Are you local and will you come rescue my sweet, wonderful husband?

The struggle.
It’s real.
XOXOXO

Unsolicited Advice: Marital Edition. Part Three

   Oh I am so glad you keep visiting! Okay, it is a bit late (par for the course with me) but I have great excuses, as always. : ) The days are all full and busy around here. Today for your consideration… the third and final installment of Unsolicited Advice: Marital Edition. If you haven’t already done so, please read part one right here and part two right here.

   What remains are tidbits not particularly related to each other. Remember, we did no consult with each other as we wrote this advice. And I guarantee we would each have come up with more. But we stuck with twelve pearls of wisdom each for twelve years of marriage together.

   Okay! Onward.

   He Said: Work hard to have a beautiful home together. Let her express herself in every corner. Her happiness in the home will reflect her happiness in life. Even with the most modest budget, you can make beauty together.

   She Said: Try to pray together. Identify then nourish some common spiritual ground. Over twelve years, Handsome and I have fluctuated in lots of ways with regard to church and outward expressions of faith, and I imagine that will continue throughout different seasons of life; but having a basic spiritual foundation in our marriage has been a wonderful comfort at times of crisis. It provides a sense of safety and shelter that cannot come from anywhere else. I’m not telling you what to believe, just suggesting that you add this to your recipe for magic. Defining and steeling your own spiritual foundation is part of your own adventure.

   He Said:  When you fight, make up fast. Make it worth it when you do make up. Try to turn off your most awesome battling skills, even if you are pretty good with a bow staff.


   She Said: Do everything you can to make sure he knows you are proud of him. This is really easy for me, because he makes me proud daily. In every part of life.

   He Said:  Never forget to tell her just how beautiful she is to you. Trust me… everyone else is telling her… Keep your place in her heart.

   She Said: Develop your own shared history long-term and enjoy having daily rituals together, too. From big holiday celebrations to early morning habits and road trip traditions, Handsome and I have a million ways we know each other and remember each other. It feels so good.

   He Said:  Pick a girl that makes you swoon every time you see her and makes you want to listen every time you hear her.

   She Said:  For all the talking we do about togetherness and such, which is wonderful and important, I also want to suggest that you maintain a little breathing room. Not privacy exactly; just room in your calendars and energy stores to cultivate your own selves. A good friend once gave me this advice, and at first I balked at it. But now, about five years later, I see the value of her words. Speaking for myself, I know that I am most upset with others (especially my poor husband) when I am upset with myself. So starting with a full tank, so to speak, makes a lot of sense. And respecting his individuality and breathing room is healthy. I almost think you should try this especially where it’s difficult; it probably matters most in those areas.

   He Said:  Love her like your life depends on it. Because it does!

   She Said:  Part of the reason this blog entry is late is that we’ve had a rough few days. As I mentioned, life is full around here. Life is also stressful, in almost every arena. Our nerves, emotions, and tolerances grow thin at times like this, and sometimes they get the better of us. My final piece of marital advice? Manage them. Protect and honor your relationship rather than testing or doubting it. Life is cruel enough without exposing your marriage to poison. Above all, if you are prone to it, mange your jealousy. That’s all I’m gonna say on that today.

   Thanks again for joining us on this little twelve-year advice fiesta! We’ve had an eventful and overall very happy month celebrating. We feel very blessed in our life and wise about marriage only because we have learned from so many mistakes.

   Do you have any marital advice you’d like to share? How long have you been married? I’d love to know you better.

Never knew I could feel Like this
Like I’ve never seen the sky before…
Want to vanish inside your kiss
Every day I love you more and more…
Come What May
I Will Love You
Until My Dying Day
xoxoxoxo

Announcing Unsolicited Advice, Marital Edition

   You loooooovve receiving unsolicited advice, right? Especially about really important parts of life, like marriage? You love it when virtual strangers tell you what you’re doing wrong and how you can do it better, just like them, right? You basically do cartwheels when this happens? Thought so. And do I have a treat for you.

   Handsome and I are on the brink of celebrating our twelfth (FYI Margi I spelled that right the first time) wedding anniversary. And along the vein of how I celebrated my 39th birthday a few months ago, when I so generously burdened you fine souls with thirty-nine pieces of unsolicited life advice… In case you missed it, you can read Part One,  Part Two, and Part Three here… This week Handsome and I will be giving you twelve pieces of Unsolicited Marital Advice. Each. So that’s twenty-four nuggets of wisdom you didn’t even know you needed. For free.

   I know. It’s generous of us. Just hold your applause until the end, ok?

   The advice is forthcoming. In the mean time, I would just like to say in an official capacity that I desperately wish summertime would slow down. Like, seriously.

  • I want more months in the garden, just like this. 
  • I want more afternoons in the pool. 
  • I want more sunsets at nine p.m. 
  • More time with friends. 
  • More books read slowly in the hammock. 
  • More romance. 
  • More freedom. 
  • More road trips and frivolous adventures.
  • More basil. 
  • Sunburns. 
  • Blockbuster movies.
  • More of letting my hair dry naturally and then definitely not hot-rolling it. 
  • More of that smell of Handsome working on his cars in the sun. 
  • More sweaty horses. 
   I am madly in love with Summer 2013 for a million reasons. 

   Okay, fine friends. I hope you have a luscious day set up for yourselves, with a stellar weekend to follow. I hope your heartaches are manageable, your fears easily surrendered to Love. I hope you have all the energy and motivation you need to chase your dreams. Not tomorrow. Today.

   Stay tuned for Unsolicited Marital Advice!

“Be in love with your life.
 Every minute of it.”
 ~Jack Kerouac
 xoxoxoxo