Difficult Rite of Passage

It was two weekends ago that Biscuit, Husband and I went boating and camping in Cumberland. This was a big trip, not only did we camp, we brought Sammy, AND it was our first time taking the boat out without Padre. We might have taken on too much.

In between the laughter, swimming, cooking and eating, there were definitely arguments and tension. Luckily there weren't too many people around as I tried to back the trailer into the water for the first time. Husband was screaming directions, I was telling him to shut up and Biscuit was on the verge of an anxiety attack because of it all. Once we got her safely in the water, we were all ready for a cigarette and a stiff drink. 

The whole trip was a rite of passage that Biscuit and I took very seriously, titling our trip "Women's Empowerment Weekend". We didn't tell Husband this until we were already there. He didn't like that too much...

We had a great time but I think Sammy had the most fun. She slept for a week straight afterwards.

A Little Lift

I love shoes, but mostly I love heels. Slip on a new pair and step out the door to take on the world. But they don’t have to be new. The old standby’s make me just as giddy. There is nothing like the flood of femininity stirred together with power and confidence.
Heels make me taller, giving me a new perspective on the world. I look down on things that used to be eye level. I also am brought up to eye level with those that I want to challenge, Husband for one. Times like this I love being a woman–Three inches closer to the top and STYLISH.

Oh the style choices… You can go from princess to rocker chick with just the change of shoes. There are shoes to fit almost any mood, summer wedges and strappy sandals, powerful pumps to red stilettos, boots and Mary Jane's, preppy to sexy….

Then there is the fit. They always fit, despite how long it has been since I’ve seen the gym. I pull out a 6 ½ and the shoe fits like a glove. If it’s too tight, I grab a 7. No thought to why I need a bigger size, did I eat too much pizza. They make me feel sexy without size making a difference. Having a fat day? Step up a couple inches and voila, diva coming ‘atcha.

Then there is the price. My happiness doesn’t cost me a fortune. The Sex And The City-so-deep-in-debt-you-need-3 inches-to-see-over-the-credit-card-bills type of heels are too impractical for me. I’m smarter than that. I don’t need to spend a small fortune to love my shoes and have them fit my style. I’m sure fashionistas would argue this point, but I can still get my lift from the discount rack – thank you DSW! Besides, I’d be too nervous to really wear the shoes if they cost me more than my monthly mortgage payment.

So ladies, If you have the same love affair as I do, don your favorite pair this weekend,relish the satisfaction of being a little taller, celebrate your femininity and show off your style.

The inspiration for this post came from The Good Cook, who asked what makes us happy. Thanks!

My Father's Daughter

As a rule, I usually stay away from political/topical/polarizing topics because the passion behind it can cause arguments that register on the Richter scale. The oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is now an environmental nightmare and I'm breaking my rule.  

While following the series of events in the news, I’ve also been following a parody twitter account @BPGlobalPR. This rouge character claims to work for BP’s PR department. The 140 character tweets are satirical jabs at BP’s attempts to keep the angry public at bay.

Put aside for a moment how I feel about the spill, the company's attempt to maintain its brand persona or the anonymous tweeter, I think the whole parody is a cultural reflection of how today’s savvy consumers expect more from a global corporation and that expectation gets attention.

These cynical consumers have lived through enough Enron's, Goldman Sachs’ and corrupt lenders to know better. They expect more from a global corporation. They expect transparency and honesty. While BP may think they are being transparent and honest, actions, like ensuring their workers sign confidentiality agreements, speak louder than words. 

The person behind this rouge twitter account has gotten so much attention that he/she/they recently release a blog post to explain why they are doing this. You may not agree, but I think it is an interesting perspective and an even better lesson on how communication is changing.

You can read it here

I would love to hear your thoughts...

I promise I'll be back to flowers, sunshine and puppies next week.

We bought sammy a lifejacket.

-- Sent from my Palm Pre

Emerald City

Following two straight weeks of Seattle-esque gray rainy weather, we’ve finally been blessed with almost a week straight of sun. It may be a little hotter than a typical May, but I will be the last one to complain. My beloved summer has returned to me. Let the celebration commence.

This was one of the nice surprises I found last weekend in the lilac bush. The momma was squawking up a storm as I tried to take this picture...



My peonies have been exploding like the fourth of July. Because their glory is so short lived, I’ve cut stems and transplanted them all over the house. Once I felt like enough of the outside was inspiring me inside, I moved on to sow seeds for a bountiful summer. Look at the peaches already growing on Burt!



Last year I underestimated the space I’d need for my vegetable bed. This year I doubled it. I love yard work, tilling the dark wet soil, the sun warming my shoulders, and my puppy lounging in the shade nearby. Sammy even had a new neighbor dog to keep her company.

Meet Maggie - isn't she cute.


When the soil was loose and it was time to relocate my seedlings, I realized my ambition at the store was more than my new vegetable garden could contain. I had the following:
2 heirloom tomato plants
3 varieties of peppers (golden bell, chili and jalapeno)
3 broccoli
3 cucumbers
1 zucchini
1 strawberry

The end result is that the tomatoes peppers and broccoli plants ended up in the bed. The zucchini, cucumbers and strawberries will be my first attempt at container gardening.
With the initial hard work completed, I can focus on relaxing on the deck with a glass of wine.

If my harvest yields like I expect it to, I plan on cooking up many good things. I might even try my hand at pickles to make some of it last until winter (just typing the word makes me shiver – yuck winter)

Book Review

I love to read. I love to read so much that sometimes I avoid starting a new book. I know the minute the spine cracks, I’ve just abandoned every other responsibility for the opportunity to escape. There is something so intimate about a book. While the author may intend a specific interpretation, the reader can take from the text what is most meaningful to them. The relationship between the words written and the takeaway is infinitely dynamic and therefore curious to me.


My most recent escape was being sucked back in time to Jackson, Mississippi. The Help, by Kathryn Stockett was a birthday gift that I just recently allowed myself to indulge in. I was surprised with how quickly this book took me away. The story is of three women, deep in the south during the civil rights movement. Two of the characters are black women, working as the help in Jackson, Mississippi. The third character is wealthy young white woman, struggling to find her way as a writer. The fictional setting was easy to be consumed into considering how far the concept is from my reality.

I was most inspired by the risks that the young writer took to tell a story no one wanted her to write. Also how she discovered her talents and true path, despite it alienating herself from those closest. I also was caught up in the nurturing nature of the two black women, their fierce loyalty to the children they raised and how that translated to the lives they had become accustomed to. Throw into the story a bunch of catty Southern socialites and this book was just the right mix of entertainment and insightful.

It was a great book and it only whet my appetite for summer indulgences. My next treat, Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall.

Oh and I found a new nifty tool that takes you right to amazon to purchase the same books if you so desire. Enjoy...

When Pigs Fly

I recall with a certain clarity all the times Monkers has said to me, ”I can’t run”. I can also recall with similar clarity, the times I responded “If I can do it, ANYONE can”.

I’m not sure I remember when she decided to give it a try, but now you might as well call her Forrest Gump. The weekend before last, she completed her fist Marathon. This wasn’t just any marathon; it was the Flying Pig Marathon, which is known for its un-relenting, gravity-defying, ankle-breaking inclines.

Despite the downpour, the whole family was there to cheer her on. I mean if she can RUN in the rain, the least we can do is endure STANDIND in it.

As with all things, my family took on the challenge of supporting our runner with all the gusto we posses. We were adorned with custom “Run Meg Run” t-shirts, purple helium balloons and one pink pig-shaped balloon. There were signs, route maps and caravans.



It was a true family adventure, meeting up at our designated spot at 6:00 AM. OK maybe 6:30 is a more accurate report. We parked, shared some coffee under the ONE umbrella, handed out balloons and departed to mile marker 5. We fought the rain for the first 10 minutes. The rain won, and we resigned to be wet, but enthusiastic.



We almost missed her at mile marker 5, but she saw us. She ran through the racers to give Jack a hug, and we all shared an explosion of screaming and cheering. That got the adrenaline going. The group was off to mile marker 11.

I’ll leave out the part about getting lost and looking for a bathroom... We arrived at the next point in time to meet up with an even bigger group of Monker supporters. After about 15 mins we see her again - two more minutes of screaming, cheering and excitement. It was beginning to feel like a scavenger hunt, the payoff being the quick burst of excitement each time we saw her.



We were off to mile marker 21, but not before consulting the map AND finding a proper bathroom (more proper than the side of I-71 that is A-hem).

We made it to the next location quickly, which ment a longer wait for the payoff. Lucklily we positioned ourselves under an overpass so we could stay relatively dry. By this point my feet were buckets of water, my jeans had sucking the moisture up to my knees.

We waited. We saw her. We cheered, giddy with excitement.


We moved on to the finish line.


I wish I could say I have an amazing picture of her crossing the finish line, but there were too many people milling about.
SHE DID IT. SHE WAS AMAZING, Come to find out, she had a hurt ankle to boot.
We all went back to her house (that had been readily decorated with aforementioned purple balloons) and celebrated.
So proud of you Monkers!
It all inspires me to get back into running – if I can find the time.