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My Mind – Streaming

21 Mar

Happiness over the sun shining several days in a row.

Pain from a rogue migraine.

Frustration.

Enjoyment.

Thankfulness.

The mind battle over weather to eat the last scoop of ice-cream in the freezer or NOT.

Intense love.

Anger.

Isn’t it amazing all the emotions we can go through in a day?  If you’re a hormonal woman, you can run through all those emotions in five minutes.

I’m going nowhere with this…welcome to my stream of consciousness post.  Be scared, very scared.

I have damp and slightly smelly laundry hanging all over my house, because my stupid dryer stopped working.  Actually, it will work for two-minute intervals, but FringeMan said unless I want to burn down the house, I should NOT attempt to use it.  He’s declared it dead, and he fixes nearly everything, so if he says it’s ready for the grave, it’s beyond resuscitation.

Mourn with me people!

There are underwear hanging from the towel-bar in the kitchen.  Now is not a good time to stop by, but I’m sure everything will be dry by seven o’clock tonight when the ladies arrive for Bible study.  NOT.

The sun is glowing on my front porch/lawn and I am so tempted to cast my laundry out as if I were spreading grass seeds.  It would dry quickly, I am certain; however, my neighbors may never fully recover from my public display of a freshly washed load of whites.

For the past two nights my daughter has become Susie-homemaker.  She even busted out the broom and mop.  Her room nearly sparkles.  She told me that “we should do this spring cleaning every year, because it looks so nice.”

“Spring cleaning?”  I said.  “What you did is not spring cleaning, it’s just CLEANING.  You should be doing this every week.”

Stunned.  She was stunned.

I guess I’m pretty lax when it comes to my standard of clean for my kid’s rooms.  I do regularly send them to clean, but my expectations are generally low.  Even when it does get good and clean, it doesn’t last long, especially if more than one child is involved.  Messes multiply in the presence of children.  They can’t help it.  At some point, I believe they were genetically altered to create disaster from order.

Now I’m left to contemplate snowpants, more specifically whether I should chuck the beat up pair of pink ones hanging from the hook in my hallway.  It seems odd to keep out a pair of snowpants when you sent your child to school in shorts, but I’ve shoveled my way out of many April snowstorms.  I am leery of this summer weather, enjoying it fully, but leery just the same.

I’ve notice spring doesn’t really exist anymore, not in the North East anyway.  We go from snow to 80 degrees overnight.  When I was kid, we had what we called “spring jackets”.  There’s no need for them now.  One day you’re wearing a snow suit, the next day you’re wearing your bathing suit.  It’s a bit of a shock for our bodies, but I’m sure we’ll survive.  I just pray we do not go back to snow suits.

That’s it.  My brain just shut down.

You can move on the emotion that rejoices when I fall silent.

Many happy spring blessings to you.

The Day After Ugly

20 Mar

So my “ugly” post is being received about as well as bowl of poison berries.  I just felt like I had to say life is ugly.  Sometimes.  We may white-wash her, prop her up in a corner, and paint her lips, but she’s still ugly.  There are people who are hurting, who have lost everything, who need some hope.  Some days are all about washing machines leaking puddles of sudsy water all over the floor and dryers burning up.  (true story)  The blessing is hope, even in the middle of all the ugly.

Enough about that.  Maybe I should stick to words and forget about artistic expression through lousy snapshots.

Now on to more frivolous, but equally important topics…

This Sunday FringeMan and I were anchors in a tug-of-war.  We were on opposing sides in a four-way tug-of-war.  Think about that.  How much of a chance do you think I stood when pit against FringeMan.  He most certainly had an unfair advantage.  Both myself and every single unfortunate child on my team went flying through the air.  I lost my flip-flops!

I think the Awana leaders set us up for comic relief.

Then it was parents/team-leaders against kids in a game of dodge ball.  Those children don’t mess around.  It was war and we handled those dodge balls like they were live grenades.  I launched one directly at my daughter and it walloped her in the head.  Perfect shot.  It exploded on impact.  Then they told me head-shots don’t count.  In what war do head shots not count?  It’s my own kid I took down and you’re gonna give her a second shot at life?

Dang.

It was a fierce game, but they gave us ice-cream sundaes when a cease-fire was called.  Ice-cream heals many wounds.

Maybe it’s the cure for all the ugly in this world.

 

The Ugly

20 Mar

For many months I’ve had this thought in mind…do a post on the ugly.

I don’t really know why, but I feel I must share with you the ugly, because sometimes life isn’t pretty.

Usually bloggers, including myself, only photograph the lovely, the good, and the bright; however, we all live with some ugly.  At times, the ugly takes over, but don’t lose hope.  God makes all things beautiful in His time.

Maybe that’s the message I really want to bring you.

*************************************************************

FringeKid and I armed ourselves with a camera and set out for a slow stroll around the block.

Yes, this is my neighborhood I am showcasing.  In the three years I’ve lived here, we’ve had so many houses burn it’s like regularly scheduled programming, only it’s terrible.  Real people lose everything.

Some of the fires were arson, but mostly it’s just because this town is old and there’s no money in it.  People cannot afford to update the systems in their houses, so they fail.

Will you walk with us as we journey through real life?

An abandoned house, the third house to the right of my own.

This house had a fire our first fall in town.  It’s been vacant ever since.

These steps could welcome the Morticia, but others?

You can rent-to-own this gem.  Wanna be my neighbor friend?

Burned two years ago.  Arson.

Soon enough, this dumpster will smell as bad as it looks.

Are you feeling better about your ugly, whatever that means to you?

The grass isn’t always greener.  Sometimes it’s dead.

Even the flag looks tired of flying.

And just when you think all hope is lost…

a little glimmer of new life grows up and surprises you from the inside out.

He has made every thing beautiful in its time…

Ten Trivial Things I Know

15 Mar

I admittedly do not know much, but these few things I know.

My son’s room will never be truly clean.

Laundry is a constant.

In America, free speech is welcomed until it clashes with mainstream media.  Then you best be silent or grow a very thick skin.

My daughter is growing up because she wants me to do her hair every single morning.  This is a first in her ten years of life.  Now I’m watching YouTube videos and scrambling to learn how to create any other look besides bedhead.

My body needs a diet.  My mind hates that idea.  My clothes like me a few pounds slimmer.

Every year when winter melts into spring, or even when it hesitates, I buy a new pair of shoes, as seen here and here and here.  (The first pair is terribly ugly. The second two pairs are much cuter.)  Shoes seem to be my lifeline out of winter’s depression.

I really cannot think of a good reason to bungee-jump.  Ever.

My Facebook friends are very wise.  Last night I put together an advisory board and they fixed my problem in moments.  Really, we have an amazing resource called friends and family.  We ought to tap into that resource from time to time.

I am very picky about which foreign countries I would like to visit.  There are many on  my must-see list, but others tend to fall off the little “earth” I’ve created in my mind.

I don’t do “puke” well.  Just yesterday a little girl riding in the back seat of my car uttered the words, “I’m getting car-sick.”  Immediately I panicked.  “You’re not gonna throw-up – Are you gonna throw up – Tell me if you feel like throwing up – Please don’t throw up in the car!”   I scared the car-sickness right out of that poor child.

Now it’s your turn.  In this world of constant unknowns, tell me what you know.

 

The Day My Cell Phone Aged Me

15 Feb

This past weekend I lost my cell phone.  Since it was my birthday, I chalked it up to age and hoped my next mishap wasn’t losing my teeth.

Don’t worry about the cell phone.  My son found it for me.  I think children are hard-wired to locate items of modern technology.  It’s a skill similar to radar devices that detect heat-seeking missiles.

But, on Saturday, my phone was lost.

I wasn’t worried.  You see, I haven’t spent money on a phone in years.  Oh, I pay for the service, just not the telephone.  It’s my dirty little secret.  I collect, some say hoard, old cell phones and chargers.  I take all the reject phones from friends and family and put them to good use.  I like to think of myself as a recycler rather than a techno-moocher.

Saturday was my big birthday shopping excursion and I found myself in a mall that makes a football stadium seem small.  I took FringeKid and told my husband and son I’d give them a call later and we could meet up for a bite to eat in the food court.  I discovered my missing phone when hunger pangs struck.

Since I was near H&M, I figured I’d browse and then ask a clerk to use the phone.  The young men behind the counter broke out into laughter when I inquired about a phone.  Apparently a person without a cell phone is a like a person without ears, only more hysterical.

So I set out in search of an older, wiser, hopefully more helpful sales clerk.  Lord & Taylor was nearby.  Generally when I go into a store like Lord & Taylor, I am ignored.  Maybe they recognize the Target clothes on me.   I guess I look like I cannot afford their merchandise, and it’s mostly true.  My daughter usually gives us away when she picks up a price-tag and yells $298 dollars!  It’s all awe and wonder for her.  She’s only familiar with $19.99.

So I found a lovely clerk at the makeup counter, mustered my courage and asked.

“Excuse me.  I have a crazy request for you.  I seem to have misplaced my cell phone, and I am wondering if I can borrow the store phone for a quick call?”

“That’s not too crazy.”  She said.  “Believe me, I’ve had people ask for worse things.”

“Really?  Worse than asking for a store phone, because the guy with the eight inch gauged earlobes in H&M thought that was a request from some time in space, like way back in the 90′s or something.”

Stuck in an aging gloom that wrinkle cream couldn’t help, I considered all the outdated things I cling to.  I mean, I still have a VCR in my house.  I felt technologically stunted, deficient in the new ways of an ever-changing world.  I felt like my cell-phone came with an antenna.

I was aging right in front of my ten year-old baby girl, and feeling older than my usual twenty-nine until a women in Macy’s stopped me and asked for my help.

“Excuse me dear.  Do you know how to work a cell phone?”  She asked.

“Well the nineteen year-old in H&M doesn’t think so, but let me give it a try.”

She explained how she was trying to take a picture of some leopard-print stilettos for her daughter, but couldn’t get her cell-phone to cooperate.  I grabbed the phone, scrolled through the options, flipped it over in my hand and said, “I’m so sorry, but your phone doesn’t have a camera.”

In that moment, all the pieces of my old-fashioned world fell into place.  I knew there was hope for me and my outdated technology, because my lost cell-phone has a camera.  I wanted to hug that woman with the antique cell phone.  She gave me the greatest gift of all – my youth.

My Birthday Saga, Part II

14 Feb

“You better put some shoes on, it’s cold outside.”  I warned my daughter while she sat on the couch, her dangling legs swinging back and forth.

“No.  It’s ok.  I’m wearing flip-flops today.”

“It’s F-E-B-R-U-A-R-Y in New York.”  I cautioned.

“I wanna wear them.”

So I let her wear them.  I don’t know if I’m the kind of parent who understands a girl simply has to make her own fashion choices, or if I know that sometimes a ten year-old only learns to wear shoes after getting frostbite on her toes, or if I just didn’t feel like arguing over flip-flops on my birthday.  I suspect it’s the latter.  At any rate, FringeKid wore flip-flops on Saturday.   It was snowing by two o’clock in the afternoon, and it did not stop snowing until the wee hours of Monday morning.

As a surprise for my birthday, FringeMan took me to a great big wonderful mall in Syracuse and got us a hotel room for the night.  Now before your mind goes and gets all romantic, we took the children, the flip-flop wearing children.  It was a little like being on vacation, only we were still in our dreary home state.

I generally don’t vacation in places with snow, at least not while it’s on the ground, but I’m glad this weekend was an exception.  I needed nothing more than a shopping trip and a night away from the laundry and dishes.

Despite my swollen foot and the ugly paint-spattered sneakers I was forced to wear, FringeKid and I must have walked five miles.  My mission was to find a great bag.

I wanted a good bag.  I wanted leather, but I soon found out that I could only afford a tissue size purse in leather.  My internal radar zoned in on every single purse bound to the display racks with a chain.   Needless to say I didn’t walk away with one of those bags; however, I did find a lovely purse in my price range.  It’s not leather, but as a consolation, it came with a free umbrella.

So without further ado, I present to you The Yellow Bag.

Yes, I like big bags.  I carry a lot of junk.

I noticed the color in these photos is very different.  The true color is a mustard yellow.

To make my birthday complete, I found my shoes on Amazon for $20 dollars cheaper than I originally planned.  I love a bargain.

So tell me, do you like to carry a large bag filled with everything but the kitchen sink, or a small, tidy purse with only the essentials?

My Birthday Saga, Part I

13 Feb

My birthday weekend began with chocolate covered strawberries and ended with chicken parmesan.  Thanks to FringeMan, it was pretty much perfect.

In the quest to accept another number and a few more gray hairs while keeping my sanity dignity intact, I hosted a Pampered Chef party on Friday night.  There’s nothing like kitchen-ware to make a woman feel young.

So not true, but it was fun to host a little party and watch as another woman cooked white chicken chili in my house.  For a moment, I knew how it would feel to have my own personal chef – Pure Unadulterated Bliss.  I could handle not having to scrounge through the cabinets at five-thirty wondering what in the world I’m going to create for dinner.

After everyone went home and  FringeMan and I finished consuming the leftover strawberries, I sat down to remove my sock and slipper.  Yes, I did wear slippers to my party, but in my bad-fashion defense, my foot tried to put me in one of those motorized scooters before my thirty-seventh birthday.  It swelled up like a plump tomato ready to burst through its skin on a sunny day in August.  It was hot and it hurt.  Did I mention the pain I ignored until ten o’clock at night?

A lump seemed to be forming on the bone about a half-inch under my toe, but it was hard to tell.  The swelling camouflaged any specific cause.  After elevating my foot with a bag of frozen vegetables on top, FringeMan thought I should go get it get it checked out.  You see, we had plans to go away on a little overnight the next day.  For my BIRTHDAY!

So I went.

Holding my foot in his hand, the doctor ran through a list of diseases that ranged from allergic reactions to a cyst that may need to be drained.  I stopped him briefly at flesh-eating disease.  You don’t utter words that may cause my skin to drip off my bones twenty-four hours before my birthday.  I think there’s an oath about that.

In the end, the doctor said, “I don’t know what it is, but your foot seems pretty pissed off.”

A pissed off foot – my official diagnosis.  So I went home armed with ice-packs, Advil, and a prescription for antibiotics in case my flesh began melting, or eating, or any other devilish pre-birthday verb.

I know you’re wondering what my foot looks like now…the swelling is gone, but I’m left with a hard knot on the top of my foot and it still hurts.  I’ll have to call and make a doctor’s appointment, but for a few more minutes, I’m going to hope that it disappears as quickly as it came to dash my hope of buying cute shoes for my birthday.

Remember these?

Seychellis Asterisk Tan/Red

I didn’t buy them.  Yet.  I’m waiting on my foot before I send $67.99 sailing through the internet.

On Saturday, I did manage to find something fabulous though, but alas, I’ve used too many words.  You’ll have to wait for My Birthday Saga, Part II.

Thank you for all the warm birthday wishes.  I am blessed.

Forever Young (at least in heart)

10 Feb

Forever Young

Lyrics  -by Bob Dylan

May God’s bless and keep you always,
May your wishes always come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

Forever Young – The Theme Song to my birthday weekend.

Yes, my birthday is not just a day this year, it’s a weekend.

I think I’m old enough to warrant a birthday celebration longer than 24 hours.

Sunday is the official day my life flips to another year,

but this year deserves to be big.

It deserves a new pair of shoes.

I’ll be forever young.

How about you?

Sunday’s Injustice & A Moment of Silence

6 Feb

A moment of silence please for the Patriots fans.

************************moment*************************

Superbowl Sunday was a little weird for me, and that’s saying something, because let’s face it, my ‘normal’ is just little off.  If I say it’s weird, it’s weird.

Yesterday morning FringeMan wasn’t preaching anywhere, so we visited a church on recommendation from a lady at the bank.  It’s just one service, right?  Why not go?

I knew something was terribly amiss when I walked through the front doors and a lovely woman with a kind smile, shoved a clip-board into my hands and ordered me to write the names of everyone in my family.  No names = no entry to the auditorium.

I felt a little spooked.

I’m just being honest here.  If your church does the ‘throw a clipboard in the visitor’s face and ask them to sign away the lives of their children’, I’m not judging.  I’m simply saying it made my spidey-senses go on edge.

I’m ok with the visitor card thing.  At least with those, I can take the card back to my seat and decide whether I want to fill out my real name and address or my neighbors.

For the record, I’ve never really done that, but it’s not a bad idea.

Things got a mite stranger from there on out, so let’s just say, I didn’t allow my kids to drink the Kool-Aid.

Enough said.

Let’s move on to the big news of the day – GIANTS WIN THE SUPERBOWL!

Coupled with yesterday’s post, you may get the impression I’m a die-hard football fan.  First impressions can be deceiving.  I didn’t even know who was playing in the Superbowl until Saturday night.  In all reality, the only thing I find remotely attractive about Superbowl Sunday is the snacks.  I know, LOSER.

Yup.  That’s me.

L*O*S*E*R

Hang on, it totally gets worse.  By the end of this post, you’ll be shaking your heads and clicking “unsubscribe”.

I’m sure I mentioned we don’t have cable anymore.  We axed that about two years ago.  Television was sacrificed on the altar of saving money.  Did we save money, you ask?  Our lights are still on and we have heat.  Something must be working.

When the way we watched television changed a few years ago, we were promised an easy switchover.  Public television will live on, they said.  You only need a little box to bring reception to your screen, or a digital antennae for modern TV’s.

This may work for millions of Americans, but it does not work for the FringeFamily.  Last night we had the choice to watch a blank screen or use the laptop.  We set the laptop up in front of the TV and watched it stream.  All was good, except that I couldn’t see the tiny score at the bottom of the screen, even with my glasses, so I had to keep asking FringeMan the score.

I fell asleep.  Twice.  Then I got up and ate some garbage.  In desperate times tortilla chips with melted cheese do the job, probably not better than an energy drink, but I used what I had.

I did not go to bed until I heard my neighbor scream shouts of joy.

Now we all know the best part of the Superbowl is the commercials.  Guess what!  You don’t get to see the commercials when you stream the game.  I will Google them if I have the energy, but I’m warning you, it may require some more chips and cheese.

I also missed the half-time show.

I heard Madonna sang Material Girl.

Kidding.  I did watch her performance this morning, online of course.

I was totally impressed.  By her legs.  I mean, she’s like 3 days from a nursing home and she’s still got great legs.  Me – I’m years and years away from eating blended food and I walk around on tree stumps.  My library doesn’t have enough workout DVD’s to help me get legs like hers.

Ah, the injustice.

So tell me, what was your favorite commercial?

Just so you know I didn’t jump off a bridge…

25 Jan

Ok, last post was pretty depressing.  Sorry about that.  I’m taking full liberty with my calendar and blaming it on January, but I have birthday party for my son this weekend and there’s no time to be sad and moody.

This may be the most random post in the history of the fringe, but work with me people.  The last post had me giving up on life.  This has to be an improvement.

*  I’ve discovered the cure for stomach problems that have plagued me for years.  I have what they term IBS.  I won’t get into it, because it would be like discussions around a holiday table with my family.

Just know that heartburn and other issues plague me, no matter what I eat; however, I started a diet on January 2.  Don’t get excited, because I’ve only lost 4 pounds.  You can tell I cheat a lot.

image via Pinterest

My point is that on the days I’m on my diet, I eat about 6 times throughout the course of the day, but I only consume about 1400-1500 calories.  That means I eat really low-calorie, but filling things in small portions.  It totally cures my stomach ills.  The moment I over-eat or just eat 3 normal size portions, I’m sick.  It’s incredible.

Who knew I would have to become a bird after I turned thirty.  No one told me!

image via Pinterest

* I really am trying to stick to my diet, but it’s hard.  You know?  I’m more like a turkey than I am a parakeet.  FringeMan wishes I was more of a love bird, but that’s another story.

* I’m thinking all “love” posts for February.  Now don’t get panicky and jump ship (no offense Mr. Italian Captain), because I’m not going mushy for a whole month.  There’s lots to love in this world, and I’m trying to tap my elusive creative side.

* I’ve decided that I want a really cute new pair of shoes and a new bag for my birthday.  My birthday is in February, but I’ll probably shop in April or so.  That’s what happens when your birthday is after Christmas and both your children’s birthdays.  It’s all good with me though.  I think it prolongs the aging process.  I gain a few months, because a birthday isn’t a birthday until you’ve bought yourself a present.

Someone needs to write that down and claim it.

*  I don’t know where to shop for cute shoes and a bag.  I’m looking for stylin’, groovin’, chic, classy, comfortable, cute, trendy shoes.  I’m thinking Anthropologie on a Payless budget.

Help a girl out.  Suggest a few places please.

I know Payless has some cute shoes.  I’ve seen them on bloggers, but my Payless pretty much specializes in sneakers and lame-oh shoes.  Sorry Payless.  I know you purchase especially for the clientele you sell to, but there are a few of us who don’t where our pajamas grocery shopping.

Maybe that was mean, but I’ve taken to counting how many people I see in pj’s in Wal-Mart.  Is that snobby of me?

I simply have a difficult time understanding why people want to be seen in public looking like that.  I hide from mirrors in my own home when I look like that.

* I bought a box of ‘Cuties’ at the grocery store today.  Everyone’s been raving about them.  So far they live up to their name, but I haven’t eaten one yet.  I’ll let you know.

Now it’s your turn – What’s the random in your life?

And, don’t tell me if you wear pajamas to the grocery store.

Ok, you can tell me, but I’m adding another check mark to my list and you’ll end up in my total number of pj wearers.  Just a warning. ;-)

Thank you all for your kind comments yesterday.  I appreciate each of you.

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