Lazy W Marie

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

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Monday Morning

   We woke up this morning to a dark, misty farm.  The clouds that had been pouring out that sweet, much anticipated rain all weekend are still here; they are just resting for a bit.  Hopefully gathering more water for Oklahoma.  Outside it feels like a thick, gray comforter has been pulled up to our chins and the curtains have been drawn tight against the sun.  
   A pickup truck drives past the front gate, ball cap-wearing driver leaning slightly to his left, sleepy, holding in his right had the biggest insulated mug I have ever seen.  Only some of the chickens are geese are awake, and they wearily signal an ambiguous dawn.   The buffalo is in one of his sandy wallows, folded up into himself, big head bowing low, beard and mane flattened out and dripping from the watery air.  The horses are still asleep too, back ankles cocked up in that vulnerable, adorable pose they know.
   Handsome is off to the salt mines.  Off to save the world in his own way.  Making me proud.  
   People we love dearly are grieving hard today, and so we grieve with them, for them.  Their hearts are wrenched and pinned against excruciating pain, and they have little recourse.  I see my parents in a new light, one that makes them shine, but it’s something I never wanted to see, not for this reason.  They are so strong and so loving.  So instinctive and generous of heart.
   I am grateful beyond words for my family.  Wishing comfort and mercy to pour over them just like the rain on this parched land.

My Wednesday Morning Foray into Yoga

   Yoga has held my attention from a safe distance for some time now.  But for some reason I always thought that to do it properly I’d have to trade coffee for green tea, start making my own granola, and possibly buy a Prius.  Or at least a Subaru.  And I like my Camaro you guys, A-N-D my coffee, in case you hadn’t noticed.  Oh, for the record, I blame Liz Gilbert for this and a few other misconceptions.

   Then the universe intervened.

   My ten-four-good-buddy M Half encouraged her readers to explore Yoga for the month of October, and I was thrilled.  Coupled with my October-long study of Proverbs 31, I am now due for total physical-spiritual rejuvenation by November One.  R-A-D.  No, I never exaggerate, why?

I'm writing a series on this

   Anyhoo, I dove in, reading every word M offered the first few days, then finally trying a yoga session myself yesterday.  I’d been meaning to do this for months already, and she provided me just the right boost!  
   
   Theeeennn she invited me to guest post on her blog to describe my experience as a Yoga Firsttimer, so join me right over here.

Marinating in Listerine

   About six million years ago when I was in retail banking, I went through a lot of training, mostly for sales.  And in the course of that training a handful of psychological concepts took root in my brain.  Some worthwhile, others not so much.  Among them was something called, “The Listerine Effect.”  A few of my old banking buddies might remember this.
   You use mouthwash, right?
   It burns, right?
   But that’s how you know it’s working, right?
   Despite the burn, you use it because it is working for you.
   Right?
 
   Perhaps you already see where this is going.
   In sales, the Listerine Effect is the practice of deliberately laying out a product’s worst features, its least appealing qualities, first, ahead of explaining its benefits.  Then you get to comfort your client with the good news.  It’s sort of all uphill from there.  You get to prattle on about the bells and whistles because you have no downside to hide.  You’ve already delivered the blow.

   You kind of say it like a parent, “I know this is gonna be hard to swallow, but it’s gonna be so good for you…”
   Example:  “Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Debttoratio, this home equity line of credit does have an annual fee.  It is a gazillion dollars.  However, your rate will never be more than half a point above prime!  Isn’t that fantabuoluous?  Doesn’t that make it worth every penny?”
   I got really, really, scary good at this you guys.  I sold a lot of bankish stuff using this technique, I believe for two reasons:
   A)  The Listerine Effect makes people surprisingly comfortable.  We all expect to hear a downside in the retail world, so once we do, we relax a little.
   B)  The speech patterns of this technique come super naturally to me.  Self criticism is in my bones.

   Here’s the thing.
   This can be a slippery slope.
   It’s a great sales tactic, but allowing this Listerine to spill out into your personal life not only erodes your self esteem; it affects how others see you.  A-N-D it potentially makes them quite uncomfortable.
    Example:  “I never bother cleaning up the house, I am so sorry it’s messy when you’re here.”
   Another example:  “I could never pull that off, it looks so much better on her…”
   You, like me, might feel that by criticizing yourself upfront you are getting the obvious out of the way.  Maybe if you admit your flaws and failures then no one else can possibly lay claim on them.
   If I punish myself enough for everybody, 
then all that is left is acceptance, right?  Right?
   You could be flat wrong.
   You’ve not only drawn a spotlight to your perceived problem; you’ve sneakily obligated your companions to either agree with you or reassure you.
    A-W-K-W-A-R-D.
   This is often taken as fishing for a compliment, even if it’s truly not your intention.  And it can build resentents and low opinions quickly.  Once you start marinating in Listerine, that is the environment for which you become known.  People get used to playing the cheer her up game when you’re around.  Trust me.
   
   This is a habit worth breaking, folks.  Maya Angelou is often quoted to have said something I adore:

   “Surviving is important.  Thriving is elegant.”

   Side note, personal opinion:  I used to think that with regard to how a woman presents herself, the only alternative to this weird subservience was arrogance.  I have had my fill of arrogant women for one lifetime, so I just never bothered trying.  What a mistake!
   None of us is perfect, and none of us is worthless.  We  need to hover somewhere away from both extremes, you know?  Honor humanity in ourselves and each other without getting wrapped up in either extreme of pride.

 

   If only for the comfort of your friends and colleagues, 
stop with the Listerine.
xoxoxo

 

 

Summer 2011 Goals Recap

   Since this weekend we officially welcomed Fall 2011, I decided to grab a few minutes to review the goals and best intentions I set forth for myself at the onset of Summer 2011 and see how well things went.  

   Even before walking through the list and analyzing things, though, I feel like it was a pretty good season, all things considered.  Filled with lots of hard work and invigoration, tempered with romance, friendship, and a renewed spiritual appetite.  Yep.  I groove this summer.

   Okay.
   Item #1, Sun Protection:  Yes, I was in the sun a lot this summer, and in fact it was kind of hard for any breathing, moving person to avoid the hot sun in Oklahoma considering our freaky heat wave, but I was a good girl and wore SPF 15, 30, 45, and sometimes even 50.  Every day.  Even though it gave me weird skin.  And even hats and sunglasses.  Not a single dad-gum pink or red sunburn, and that says a lot for someone who falls asleep reading outside.  Regularly.  Success.  10/10 points
   Item #2, Carpe Diem:  Every week was different from the others.  Every day within those weeks was different from its peers.  I have to look back on my calendar, our extensive photo files, or this blog to really absorb all that happened between the end of May and right now, so I know that the summer was filled with variety.  And I am deliciously free of that horrible feeling of frustration that a person gets when the flow has not been went with, so Diems were most likely definitely Carpeied.  10/10 points

Here is our gorgeous youngest nephew visiting the farm in late June.
This was exactly his first taste in his whole life of watermelon.
Look at his clear blue eyes, gazing at nothing while he studies this new flavor.
His smooth pink skin, absorbing every vitamin from that sweet, crispy, mushy fruit.
Please note that Nephew, too, grooves sun protection.
Or at least his awesome mom does.
The glorious, mysterious tasting moment could not have been planned, 
and I am so grateful to have been there when it happened.
Carpe Diem.

   Item #3, Contact with My Chickens, Sans Pressure or Bitterness:  I could have done much better here.  I am deeply happy and grateful for every minute we shared in the flesh, over the phone, and electronically (texting with your teens is an unexpected pleasure).  I was able to reign in my plaguing questions and maternal expectations, leaving room (I think) for easier conversation and affectionate moments.  That much I can definitely celebrate.  And I have a stack of crafty mementos and a long list of memories from this summer with each of the girls that can fuel Handsome and me for a long time with out them.  I can only hope they feel as good or better.
   Where I could have done better (much better) was with gifts and spontaneity.  I know, I know, that sounds shallow on one hand, but it’s not.  Something quiet and persistent is reminding me that it’s just part of the teenager’s language, especially when we’re not under the same roof for those daily shows of love to pervade the atmosphere.
   I need to learn how to overcome my fear of buying the wrong styles or sizes, etc, and just try.  If the gifts are wrong, then at least I have tried.  More importantly, at least they know I have tried.  If anyone has experience in this weird arena, it is one area of life where I am happy to listen to suggestions.
   Perhaps the best news here is that my bitterness is beginning to fade.  A renewed spiritual appetite is bringing to the surface lots of forgotten lessons, old wisdom, and timeless strength.  I feel hope.  5//10 points

   Item #4, Family Not Taken for Granted:  I am broken hearted and ashamed to admit that I allowed the summer stay too busy and too farm-centered to go visiting far-flung family as much as I would have liked.  There were a few “reasons,” of course. but in the hot light of honesty they boil down to excuses.  And compared to the intense love I feel for those I didn’t see enough, the reasons and excuses are pitiful.  I hope to make up for this in the coming cooler months.  Cozy up our hearts with treasured family members.  Cozy up theirs with appreciation for their love and patience.   1/10 points.

My results for Item #3 and Item #4 have me singing 
that Harry Chapin song, Cat’s in the Cradle.

   Item #5, Entertain Lushly Without Gaining Weight:  Umm, more or less…  I stayed the course.  I did not make any progress, which is weird considering how much time I spend on the elliptical machine and doing Pilates videos, but the farm was full full full of friends and loved ones nearly every week and weekend throughout the summer.  This means lots and lots and lots of amazing recipes and then indulgent leftovers for lunch several times a week.  Plus I kind of temporarily got myself hooked on heavy cream in my coffee instead of milk, so to end summer on a strong and healthy note is more than a small success.  9/10 points


From left to right, a fraction of one party’s spread:
Melissa’s Coconut-Lime Cake 
(under the plastic dome in this shot, which is a pity because it is BEAUTIFUL)
Tabbouleh Salad (addictive) and Tina’s Mexican Casserole (WOW).

   Item #6, Tenth Wedding Anniversary:  It was amazing.  Just lovely, both in terms of worldly adventure and emotional, intimate celebration.  Handsome and I have weathered a lot of storms in our time as a couple, some of our own making and others definitely not, and I expect there will be many more in the future.  That’s life.  But this milestone anniversary was one for the record books, and I was ready for our trip early.  EARLY.  I had the house clean, my bags packed, my phone calls made, and my hair washed and combed BEFORE time to go.  I was even wearing deodorant.  He nearly fainted from the shock.  10/10 points



You are so welcome, groom of mine, 
for beckoning that Mariachi band over to our seaside table
and then urging you with my eyebrows to tip him 
generously for their anniversary serenade,
knowing you had no small bills in your wallet.
And knowing how much you loathe Mariachi bands.
I love you so.


   Item #7, Writing Regularly:  If you are a writer of anything and you too feel the physical need to write, then you can identify with the cleansing sensation you enjoy when you abide that craving.  You can also appreciate the clogginess that comes from NOT writing.  I am happy to report that this summer I spent more time churning out words than I have in years.  The funny thing is that by writing I felt motvated to do everything else in life better and more passionately.  My mind was more alert; I had better ideas (some would call them GENIUS), and I could focus and spend time more joyfully,  having already satisfied that weird itch.  10/10 points

   Item #8, Farm Contributions:  This one is tricky to evaluate, but I am going to go with ” marginal success” because of one very particular afternoon in July when Handsome got down-to-brass-tacks-confetti-worthy A-N-G-R-Y at me for lifting a truck bed full of horse grain into the feed bins.  It is NOT a difficult job; it sounds a lot harder than it actually is.  But let’s just say that I could have done that one job and no other work all summer long and he STILL would have been chagrined.  9/10 points


For the record, Chunk-Hi and I are the only farm residents 
who fully appreciate the random joy of confetti.
It’s always a party, but it’s a quiet party.
Just the two of us, crusted in paper bits and enjoying life.

   Item #9, Not Cheating at Book Club:  Despite the fact that last-page glimpsing is a healthy life practice, I did not cheat and pre-read the end of any of our books.  Not even once.  I read them all in the normal front-to-back fashion, with the excepotion of The Shack, which I didn’t finish at all.  
   The day of that particular Book Club discussion dinner, I was trying to skim and cram in the remaining pages as the ladies were arriving, setting out their beautiful sweets and savories and colorful bottled drinks.  But the material proved to be too rocky for me then.  Oh well.  Book Club is fantastic, and I am so glad to have these women and this practice in my life right now!  More on that soon!  8/10 points



   Item #10, Self Loathing:  UGH.  It’s been a learning curve.  My life is amazing.  Truly.  Even the hardest parts are brimming with learning opportunities, mercy, and happy surprises.  I do not deserve all of these blessings, but I am working on making the most of it all and trying not to mess everything up.  Wish me some luck.  10/10 points

   So, overall, I am 82% to goal for Summer 2011.  
Funny, because my heart feels a lot better 
than just eighty-two percent full.  
xoxoxoxoxo

The Neglected Chef Foibles: Part Two

  Caleb picked at his stitches, trying to chase away the itchiness by scratching only the outer edges of raw, swollen flesh.  That never works for more than three seconds.  The palm of his hand was puffy and a bit tight, almost hard right at the wound.  Ugly black nylon stitches jutted angrily out of his hand like stiff whiskers of a scurvy pirate. 

   What a dull turn this story had taken.  He swallowed another antibiotic pill with the remains of his glass of warm, flat Sprite, shoveled some Dorito crumbs into his mouth, and settled back into the couch for some channel surfing.

   Last week his Mom had attended a Pampered Chef party.  She was only gone for a few hours, but that was long enough to leave the family at home dependent on pizza delivery for dinner.  Afterwards he had overheard her describing to Dad all of the elaborate sales tactics used by the demonstrator.  Together they had ridiculed the way people try to frighten each other into making unnecessary purchases.  If you don’t order this, something terrible will surely happen.  If you don’t order that, you will be wasting your time using traditional cooking methods.  If you don’t host a party, you may as well resign yourself to financial destruction, etc, etc.
   In particular, Mom had commented on the strong push being heaved behind a can opener that was supposed to leave smooth edges on your cans and lids.  The importance of such a product had completely eluded his shopper-savvy mother, despite the dramatic finger-swiping demonstrations at the party. 
   “It’s not like they’re walking on red hot coals or a pile of broken glass!”  Caleb’s parents had chortled together like playground bullies.
   “Sheep,” they were fond of muttering in such conversations, adult eyes rolling in cool condescension.
   Sitting on the couch now, watching Nickelodeon reruns and feasting on remnants of pantry junk food instead of skateboarding with his friends, Caleb reflected on the cruel sense of humor being displayed by the universe. 
   Exactly one day after the Pampered Chef party, his Mom had spent an entire afternoon in the kitchen making Hello Dolly cookie bars.  A gathering of culinary friends always put her in the mood to whip up something yummy and old fashioned.  For this recipe she needed lots of special ingredients, including a can of sweetened, condensed milk, which she had opened with her old, hand crank steel can opener. 
   This would become a fated decision.
   She surely would have disposed of the can and its now free hanging, rough edged lid in the trash can.  Nothing unusual about this, of course, but it’s funny how the otherwise mundane details of a fated event become overly sharp and focused in retrospect.
   Like always, at the end of the evening Caleb’s job was to take the kitchen trash to the blue bin outside.  He often needed prodding, and this night was no exception.  Mom was finishing up the day’s dishes, hands submerged almost up to her elbows in sudsy water, when she called him into the kitchen.
   He dragged himself stubbornly away from the computer and limped like Frankenstein’s monster into the kitchen.
   Before tending to the garbage, he peeled away one more warm, gooey Hello Dolly from the glass pan.  (Also not a Pampered Chef product, it bears mentioning.)  Still washing dishes, Mom playfully scolded him for this theft and demanded a kiss on her cheek as payment.  He leaned in and sort of kissed her limply, sort of groaned at the silliness, and swallowed the sweet treat whole.
   Then he turned his attention to the trash can.
   It glowed with strange color, almost pulsing, an eery light of doom and warning.
   He did his best to shake off the bad feeling, silently wondering if it’s true that he watches too many scary movies.
   Caleb took three steps to the lidded silver trash can and felt doom course cold and fast through his veins.  He removed the lid, gathered up the edges of the plastic liner, and heaved it out of the can.  Everything seemed to be normal so he just let the stinky burden of garbage spin in the air, thereby twisting the bag shut and earnign him one more scolding from Mom.
   “That stinks!  Stop playing with that and get it outside!”  Despite the barking words, she smiled.
    Rolling his eyes just as he had learned from his parents, the teenaged boy slumped his way out of the kitchen and into the night.  He made his way towards the blue trash bin where his plastic delivery was destined to land.  Upon lifting it to drop it, something swiped his opposite hand sharp and swift.
   “OUUWWWCH!!!  What the…?!”  He dropped the vanilla-scented trash bag, and the contents spilled out chaotically onto the brick pathway.  He strained in the dark to see what had happened.  The palm of his hand felt an incredible stinging pain immediately, and in the moonlight he could see that a long, curved line of blood was beginning to seep through his white flesh.
   He howled and screamed for his Mom, who was already running outside, drying her hands on a cotton tea towel.  “Caleb, oh my God, what happened?”
   “Something cut me!  I’m bleeding!”
   “Let me see, are you alright?”  She grabbed his forearm and inspected his hand with a mix of a mother’s love and a physician’s expertise.  “What cut you?  You’re bleeding!”
    More eye rolling.
   She was about to lead her son, already three inches taller than her at the age of fourteen, back into the house for first aid attention and possibly a hand transplant right there in the dining room.  But something caught her eye and froze her in her steps.
   A gleaming disk of steel had been kicked free from the garbage pile and now shimmered in the silver light and spun its way to a resting spot on the brick path before them.  Cicadas and owls stopped their night songs to listen to the metallic noise.
   It was the lid from her sweetened condensed milk.  All color drained from her face as the string of relevant events flashed in her mind like a taunting slideshow of maternal failure.  I didn’t buy the smooth edge can opener.  I made fun of the woman for trying to entice me.  I baked that dessert with pride, not love.  I scold my son too much.  My thighs are touching.  Now Caleb will need stitches and maybe a hand transplant because of me.  Am I out of Scentsy?  He’s gonna need a tetanus shot for sure.

   “Mom!  This really hurts!”  Her son’s panicky voice snapped her out of the downward spiraling reverie, and she  sprinted to action.
   The rest of the night had been spent at the emergency room, evaluating and cleaning the wound, getting a tetanus shot, and enduring stitches from a nurse who clearly did not want to be at work.  Caleb was prescribed antibiotics and sent home with instructions to keep his hand clean, leave the stitches alone, and return in a week for further evaluation.  
   So far a transplant was not in order.  But as he fumbled through getting himself ready for bed that night, Caleb had overheard his mother placing a telephone order for a Pampered Chef smooth edge can opener.

   She had never been a woman to make the same mistake twice.

   I wonder what’s on HBO today.