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Oh Adele, we could have had it all… but then Monday joined the party

“There’s a fire starting…”

The last snooze timed out and Adele’s ‘Rolling in the Deep’ jolted me out of doze mode. The beat found me under the covers and grabbed me by the foot. Next thing I knew I was rocking out an impromptu Rolling Stone photo shoot. I went for it with full-on Lindsay Lohan abandon – sheets flying back arching hair tossing lips pouting hands on hips…etc. For my glorious finale I swept back my hair, flashed a dashing smile to the invisible camera, and swung my legs (toes pointed) gracefully over the side of the bed – my left ankle bone lining up perfectly with the corner of the bedside table…

<SMACK>”… you played it to the beat…”

I spent the last few bars of the song curled up in fetal position nursing my injury. Thank you Monday, thank you very much.

What do you do when Monday steals your glamour? You take it back! When I got to work I found Adele’s song online, shut my office door, and proceeded to rock out hard core, with full-on Cymbria abandon – arms flailing hips swinging hair flying knees bobbing face grinning…etc. Even tethered to the computer by headphones, I gave it my all. Was anyone watching from behind the half-closed retirement home blinds outside my window? Who cares! You know what, I hope they were watching! And I hope they felt my joy. We only get one life, may as well live it dancing!

Balancing (on) the popsicle stick tower… the writing life

Words stretch
Fold crumple

Sticks and stones
Break bones

Build your words
over Scaffolding

Your life
Your strength

Popsicle sticks
And glue

When it falls
Bones may break

But the words
Will stand

After eight years of marriage… caught in the act!

Oh the shame. I know we all do it. It’s natural, oh so satisfying, and perfectly healthy. But I managed to go eight long years before my husband ever caught me in the act. I could have sworn I heard the door shut after him on his way to work. I was so sure I was alone…

Then the shower curtain tweaked open and there was his rosy cheeked face looking up at me all innocent and questioning, as if seeing me for the very first time…

“Were you…?” he asked, his smile gleeful as he peeled back the last layer of his wife’s nakedness. “Were you really singing in the shower?”

Ray Bradbury’s three – brutally honest – rules for writers…

“Work is the only answer. I have three rules to live by. One, get your work done. If that doesn’t work, shut up and drink your gin. And when all else fails, run like hell!” – Ray Bradbury, The Art of Fiction No. 203, The Paris Review

And people wonder why I wear my sneakers year round…

Public washroom cell phone etiquette – Lesson #1

RIIIIING~ RIIIIING~ RIIIIING~The woman answered her cell mid-flush. I listened in on the short conversation from the next stall – because you know the one thing classier than answering a phone on the toilet is eavesdropping in a Walmart public washroom.

After telling the caller she’d phone him/her back, she hung up and started carping to her real-time companion on the other side of my monkey-in-the-middle stall:

“I hate answering my phone when I’m on the can!”

“Ya, me too,” agreed the friend. “Who was that anyway?”

“I have no idea.”

Maybe I’m a luddite, or just a stubborn hold-out when it comes to that quaint little concept of personal privacy, but I can’t help wondering why any phone HAS to be answered the moment it starts ringing. I suppose, like new mothers, we’re all programmed to respond to the wailings of the people who need us, but what about the mystery? The anticipation? At least wait out the flush, people. At least the flush!

Born in a Walmart parking lot… The Urban Yoke

Ever notice how a shopping cart is almost exactly the size of a car’s trunk? Both can comfortably fit a body and/or the spoils of a Sunday morning mission to Walmart. This revelation came too late for yours truly, who recently found herself stranded in the middle of a snowy Walmart parking lot with a cart’s worth pile of loot heaped at her feet, but no car, no trunk, and no options – and stubbornness can only take a girl so far.

Just then, a small sedan pulled up out of nowhere. The driver opened his door and leaned out. “Are you ok? Do you need a hand there?”

Now, I’m a great believer in chivalry; I take an opened door with all due grace and appreciation. But I draw the line at accepting rides – however fortuitous – from strange men in Walmart parking lots, men who quite possibly spend their Sunday mornings trolling said parking lots for bodies to fit snugly into their trunks.

“No thanks,” I said, with all due grace and appreciation, “I’m fine. It’s just a question of logistics.”


Now, I’m also a great believer in creative problem solving. I took a fresh look at all my available resources (excluding the man who gave me a weird look before driving off). Eureka! And the ‘Urban Yoke’ was born! Note toilet paper back padding. After a joyous stroll home (ok I’ll be honest here, it was still one heck of a trudge) I pulled the hubby out of bed to come take a picture of my genius. He also gave me a weird look, especially when I described my vision for an ergonomically molded, carbon fiber version for Mountain Equipment Coop. I guess some of us are just ahead of our time….and other people don’t buy more than they can carry, sigh.

Super Easy Super Bowl Nacho Feast – With Guacamole and Pico de Gallo

I ran a practice play on this feast for the semi-finals and it scored a game saving munchdown!

Football’s grand and all, but there are only two things that can take the edge off spending up to four straight hours watching men crouching, running, jumping, crouching, running…  sweet sweet spandex, and a fabulous plate full of flavours!

Nachos
– 1 large bag tortilla chips (I used Tostitos restaurant style)
– ½ red onion
– 1 green pepper
– 1 red pepper
– 3 jalapeños (you can go as hot as you want here)
– 4 green onions
– ½ rotisserie chicken shredded
(or send in a sub. with the equivalent amount of ground beef)
– 1 package taco seasoning (those magical little envelopes of flavour)
– grated mound of your fave cheese

***Strip that chicken down, grab a sauce pan and prepare meat according to taco package instructions. Chop all veggies and set aside (keeping green onion for garnish). Grate cheese. Layer chips, veggies, meat, and cheese in a large casserole dish. Cook in a preheated 400 degree oven for 10 minutes or until cheese is bubbling. Serve with sour cream and your fave salsa. Munchdown!

Pico de Gallo
(I was aiming to recreate the flavours in Wendy’s Baja Salad Pico de Gallo)
– ½ red onion
– 2 small tomatoes
– ¼ cup chopped parsley
– 1 lime (lemon juice will work)
– salt to taste
***Chop onion and tomatoes, add parsley, a good squeeze of lime juice, and salt.

Guacamole
– 2 fork mashed avocados
– ½ white onion
– 1 small tomato
– 1 lime
– salt to taste
***Add finely chopped onion and tomato to avocado, squeeze in lime juice and a sprinkle of salt. Post game confession time: While the nachos and pico de gallo are Saving Cymbria originals, I used this excellent recipe to get the guac started (but left out the garlic due to a certain personal trauma).

Who says Groundhog Day is a corny holiday?

I was rooting through my stalk of picks (and apparently puns), looking for the photo I’d taken to accent a vaguely philosophical post about a shower curtain (don’t ask), when I came face to cob with ultimate summer bliss. Suddenly, I was aching for spring… aching. Groundhog Day may not be the most noble of holidays, but is it so wrong to want a little bit of hope? Even if it’s from a rodent? Even if said rodent lives in a place called Gobbler’s Knob? Who needs dignity when the today’s prediction tasted so darn gooood.

The fallibility of statistics when applied to housework and husbands

I came home to find that I had won our latest Mexican Standoff. The dishes were done (sweet joy!), but there was a small debris pile on the counter by the stove.

“Dude!” I called to hubby from the kitchen (after thanking the man for backing down first – of course). “You can’t have broken two cups doing the dishes once. That’s a statistical impossibility!”

“Not when you drop one cup on the other one. Oh, and we need new dish gloves too – one of the fingers ripped open.”

Sound logic, sure, but the man had no explanation for his forth casualty; discovered the next day, when I was only three inches away from slicing my lip open on its splintered glass rim.

Well, I suppose I now know why it’s always the bull in the china shop, and never the steer – statistically speaking…

The dangers of reading over other people’s shoulders

It’s 7:54AM and the bus is packed. I’m squished in by the back doors, trying not to make eye and/or backpack contact with any of my fellow sufferers. The plump, mousy haired, maternal archetype in the seat in front of me is engrossed in a thick novel. I’ve always been jealous of those lucky people whose stomachs let them read on transit. I sneak a peak, anything to keep from thinking about how late we all are. Etiquette aside, what’s the harm in sharing a sentence?

“She sits down and offers Mandy a breast.”

Wowsers! (a term I never use lightly) This woman, lost in her own private world of forbidden lusts – and so early in the morning too! – blows apart my first impression. I look around… so many books, so many secrets. Who are you when you think nobody’s looking? I can’t resist a second sentence…

“The baby latches on…”

Sigh.

Harvard Medical School’s FIVE Keys To Happiness

What’s your New Year’s resolution? Whether you’re determined to shed that extra turkey weight or change careers, the end goal is always the same… to increase your happiness. One current scientific theory, substantiated by reams of research, is that we are all born with a genetic happiness ‘set point’. But just because you were a gnarly teen, or mopey twentysomething, it doesn’t mean you’re condemned to live out the rest of your life in emo purgatory. According to Ronald D. Siegel, Psy.D., assistant clinical professor of psychology at Harvard Medical School, there are five key lifestyle tweaks we all can make to maximize our happiness:

1. Practice using our strengths, particularly our virtues (ie: curiousity, compassion)

2. Practice internal and external gratitude for what we have, and towards the people who show us love and generousity

3. Savour the moment by practicing mindfulness (seriously, have you ever truly experienced an orange? Its intricacies of form and flavour will blow your mind)

4. Engage in the process (ie: feeling ‘in the zone’ while writing, or heck, even knitting)

5. Live meaningfully by serving others rather than our own egos (my own ego is pouting in a corner over this one, but no amount of whining can refute the piles of evidence supporting #5)

So go forth and be happy! Not buying it? Ok, ok, so go forth and be happier! I just can’t believe that Harvard hasn’t caught on to #6. But whatever path or key you choose, don’t forget that the rollercoaster is what drives the magic. So go forth and click out of this embarrassingly Oprah-atic post and get back to surfing this grand ol’ distraction from mortality we call the web. I suggest Youtube, because you never know when you’ll click your way into a wee spot of wisdom.

Two mischievous Christmas jokes courtesy of Canada’s most brilliant poet

What do you call it when a Martha Stewart brand string of Christmas lights catches on fire?

-A Controlled Burn

What do you call it when Mrs. Claus does the Rumba?

-Pole Dancing

I’d like to thank my favorite Canadian poet for these two gems!

Ok, so maybe I took ‘Casual Friday’ a bit too far…

In my mad rush this morning, I completely forgot to reset the alarm for dear hubby. I changed the time for him, even put the clock up on the mattress so he would hear it when it went off, but never flicked the switch to ‘on’. Thankfully, while I was bustling about, he regained just enough consciousness to catch the slip. But there was something else I forgot to do…

I raced out into the hallway to grab my winter jacket, complaining, “Man, it’s cold this morning,” to the still cozy, still comatose thing in the bedroom. It was cold… too cold. As I reached for my jacket, I looked down… I’d remembered my socks – impressive any day of the week – but had totally forgotten to put on pants!

Sigh… mornings.

(image source)

How to turn road rage into a byline

Like Clint Eastwood strolling into an Ol’ West Town, squint-eyed and growling, I stand tall – in slush soaked sneakers – against Calgary’s cowboy drivers. Every morning I face off against Broncos and Rams who rush (and even race!) us poor pedestrians across our Wild West downtown crosswalks. But after finding this bit of business in last week’s Calgary Sun, I was compelled to take our duel off the streets and onto the page. After all, the pen is mightier than the…
When I strolled into the office yesterday morning, squint-eyed and growling, I found my letter to the editor (a retort written at high-noon last Friday) beaming up at me from the Comments page. Needless to say, my Monday grumblings quickly switched to a very un-Eastwood squeal of glee. Now all of Calgary could see who fired the winning shot!

But then just this morning, I was revved at rudely to hurry up when I still had the light, by a greasy (apparently illiterate) maniac in a beige 90’s Toyota who didn’t want to wait his turn. I didn’t have a six-shooter, a lasso, or even a pen, but, dear readers, I did wave my non-fat-french-vanilla-yogurt-cup at him most menacingly indeed.

A sure sign it’s time to do the dishes…

“Can you get me a plate?” called hubby from the living room.

“Um… there are no plates,” I answered from the kitchen.

He didn’t skip a beat. “Or something plate-like then?”

With all due pomp and circumstance, I presented my man with a Tupperware lid.

In the years since the renegotiation of THE (infamous) DEAL – a politically charged, highly controversial, bit of newlywed legislation – we’ve held a long running Mexican Standoff over the dishes. And, much like the World War II era housewives who fashioned ball gowns out of mattress ticking, we weather each long siege (before the inevitable dish soap blitz) with resourcefulness and creativity. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but in our Calgary apartment, invention’s maternal grandparents go by the names ‘stubbornness’ and ‘procrastination’.

Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Update V)

Ok Mother Nature, you win this round

After all my highfalutin’ about spectrums and experimentation, ol’ Mother Nature has offered up a rather poignant reminder of how much influence our environment, be it cultural, political, or meteorological, has over our outward expression of self. However, we must not allow these restrictions to thwart us in our personal style journey – note jaunty angle of scarf. From hemmed school kilts to stylish hijabs, there is always room for personalization. Plus, fogged glasses grant a person total freedom from outside judgment – although it might be nice to bloody well see where I’m going!

Need to catch up on this Saving Cymbria blog serial?

Nothing says Canadian glam like socks over pants

Comforting the dreaded pedestrian ‘Walk of Shame’

“BE CAREFUL!” yelled an irate driver through his open passenger window, rolled down, I assume, for the express purpose of berating my curb-mate. The unlucky fellow had stepped into the crosswalk prematurely, trying to beat the light, and had nearly been mowed down at 7:50am on a Friday – what a way to start the weekend!

But the driver who balled him out was three cars behind the action. He had no reason to get involved, and I felt for the poor victim. Calgary drivers aren’t so careful themselves, and I’ve reamed out more than a few while hiking this concrete jungle. But while it’s easy to slink away unknown in your glassed-in Cavalier, it’s much harder to keep your head up when you have to walk down the street step-in-step with the witness to your humiliation.

He was a small man, with scuffed shoes and a shabby, beat-up briefcase. His shoulders slumped down further after the attack. He hung his head as we crossed the street together. My heart went out to him and I tried to think of something to say to ease his embarrassment. But, really, what can you say?

So instead, I did something. I gave him a knowing half-smile, then made a jaywalker’s mad dash across all four lanes of 7th Avenue.

There are many ways to let a man know that he is not alone.

(image source)

Concerning eyeglasses, mortality, and the miracles worked by a George Foreman Grill

George Foreman: boxer, spokesman, quiet champion for immortal truths

I answered the doorbell last Sunday wearing long johns and one of my husband’s giant sweaters. The dapper couple in the doorway looked past my fashion faux-pas and proceeded to expound on ‘why war happens’ and, if that wasn’t helpful enough, ‘where I’m going after I die’ – all with the help of a colourful brochure. The man looked like he’d just stepped off Ed Sullivan’s stage with a 60’s boy band, while his partner, a lovely earnest girl, was dressed in the prerequisite knee-length skirt and ‘sensible’ shoes.

But there was something about her that didn’t quite fit the cliché…

“Awesome glasses,” I said, “those have got to be the coolest frames I’ve ever seen.”

Her face lit up and her demeanor brightened right away. The moment served as further proof that however strong our faith, our souls are still driven to justify themselves within the social/material construct of our physical world. As I writer, I itch for validation and recognition as much as the next biped. My husband, on the other hand, has always been a rebel.

“So how do you deal with the pain of your mortality?” I asked the wise man sitting next to me on the couch.

“We live… we die.” He shrugged and turned back to the TV.

He was right, of course, and – philosophical crisis averted – my body relaxed into the warm beige faux-suede beside him. Though, I do think much of his Zen frame of mind could be attributed to the disturbingly huge slab of juicy grilled beef he’d just devoured. George Foreman may have been beaten by Mohammad Ali in 1974, but yesterday, in Calgary, Canada, the ex-boxer took on mortality itself – and knocked it flat.

(image source)

A 21st century pirate’s perfect pet

I went searching for the remote control last night and found it perched on my husband’s shoulder, the rubber buttons gripping the fabric of his T-shirt like tiny clawed toes.

“Awww cute,” I teased. “It’s like a pirate’s little parrot.”

However, the cuteness quickly faded when I discovered my pirate had shipwrecked us on Sportsnet.

Note: My apologies for the frightening composite. The cuteness of the idea faded quicker than Randy Moss’s 2010 contract with the Vikings…

Is it possible to embarrass yourself when no one is watching?

Proof: I was walking into the kitchen while mumbling to myself in a pretentious New England accent (don’t ask, I’m embarrassed already) “let us contemplate the inherent…” when my left big toe caught in the hem of the opposite polar bear pajama pant leg and I pitched headlong into the door frame. As I hauled myself up and rubbed my bruised shoulder, I could feel my cheeks getting red hot…

Conclusion A: Yes. Without a doubt!
Conclusion B: Those who cannot multitask should keep their pant legs rolled up!

Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Part Seven)

This Halloween's 'Canadian Girl' costume also included: knee-high lumberjack socks, two mini hockey sticks, one snow shovel, and one cute schoolgirl!

As 21st century women, we have the freedom to adjust our attractiveness across a broad spectrum through our choices of hairstyle, makeup, clothing, and even surgery. Our physical selves can be adapted according to our moods, purposes, funds, and expertise. There is power at both ends of the spectrum. At one end, we find a natural dominance and conspicuous, immediate, validation; at the other, we find the power of the observer, an invisibility through which knowledge and experience can filter unchallenged. Our internal attributes can exercise themselves more freely on the ‘less glam’ end, but our egos can’t help but delight in the easy gratification of turning heads and opinions at the opposite pole.

Need to catch up on this Saving Cymbria blog serial?

The danger of setting one’s baseline appearance too high on the spectrum is that as looks slowly (but surely) trade off for wisdom (we hope), many women find themselves lost, having never developed confidence in their other sources of power and identity. The resulting desperation can be as paralyzing as botox, and equally toxic. Ideally, one should settle comfortably somewhere around the middle, and travel to both poles for exciting expeditions in anthropological experimentation. For example: Halloween glamazoning and other pantless adventures.

Equally Canadian... but a little less 'glam'

Our Canadian winters encourage experimentation on the other end of the spectrum. Just yesterday, I was all bundled up (scarf, baseball cap, hair covered by hood) by the river when a pickup truck pulled up beside me.

“Hey you,” the burly driver called out, “you need a partner?”

I, still mentally dressed in my Halloween fishnets from two nights before, gave him the ol’ ‘dude, as if’ look of polite disdain.

“Hey YOU” he shouted, his enunciation brutally clear this time, “YOU THE GARDENER??”

Turning around, I saw a tall scruffy man standing directly behind me. He was nodding at the man in the truck.

I know I was just rhapsodizing about the joys of invisibility a few sentences ago, but darn it, there’s nothing rhapsodic about getting caught in between!

Top 10 ways to avoid becoming a golf widow

As another golf season draws to a close, and I welcome my man back from the front, I feel it is my duty to give other would-be-golf-widows some tips in order to avoid a lifetime of long lonely summers…

1. Buy snowpants. You will be wearing them on the golf course if you live in Canada (or get snowed in – like we did! – in Myrtle Beach).

2. Remember, nothing says true romance like lugging two sets of clubs around on public transportation – as long as it’s not on a first date!

3. Educate yourself on golf swing fundamentals, and take some lessons so you can learn to filter your man’s advice – because, like any flood, you can’t stop the deluge, only channel it away from your foundations.

4. Don’t count your score – at least not for the first 5 years of marriage, oops…I mean golf.

5. If you and your man play right handed, take the outdoor driving range mat to his right. A good Waggle can be a great asset!

6. To keep your man at home, build an indoor driving range (cut a hole in a cheap 2’/3’ entrance mat and insert a rubber tee). Note: chipped door frames and broken double-paned kitchen windows are a small price to pay (I would know).

7. When looking for your first home, always rent or buy based on ceiling height. And remember, full length mirrors aren’t just for ballet studios – they also make great swing practice aids.

8. Astroturf, available at any home improvement store, makes a great living room practice green – and its borders can be cut in elegant curves to match your décor (been there, done that).

9. Learn to love, or at least tolerate, or at least survive, watching The Champions Tour.

10. Familiarize yourself with the definition of MOI, and don’t be afraid to apply it when your man starts watching too much LPGA!

These ten tricks should help you stave off the dreaded golf widow syndrome. Remember, it doesn’t matter how low your score is; a cute outfit, some comfy golf shoes, and a patient husband are all it takes to make the game worth playing. Just make sure your husband reads <TOP FIVE – What NOT to do when golfing with a woman> first!

The dangers of chance encounters with venture capitalists in Vietnamese noodle houses

Business lunch?

Life can be so random. During a solo noodle lunch earlier this fall, I got caught engineering something odd, yet eminently practical, out of a bent wire condiment caddy and a Robert Ludlum paperback. My audience, an Über groomed businessman two tables over, was endlessly amused. I went on to tell him about a similar invention of mine involving corrugated plastic. His face went bright red with excitement at the ludicrously low material cost per unit. Plans were made, and I spent the next month perfecting and prototyping my design. Long story short, I found out the fellow’s company had filed for bankruptcy under some extremely shady circumstances – a mere two weeks after our meeting!

A corrugated cascade

This summer’s blog hiatus taught me many things about life (a subject I still know embarrassingly little about), the above fiasco being only one of countless adventures. In our over-documented lives, we have little opportunity to go off the radar and explore our deeper selves without an audience. What with Facebook and cellphones, blogs and Twitter, we risk sacrificing these precious spirit quests in favour of availability, so easily misconstrued as accountability. I come back to you rested, dear readers, and inspired. I have passed the 200 page mark on my most recent novel project, and am pursuing a patent on my corrugated design independently, on my own terms. But more importantly, these few undocumented months have awakened me to certain inexpressible truths about love and the need for honesty when it comes to honouring our deepest selves.

“Are you OK?” my husband asked, when I told him about the bankruptcy.

I sighed. “Yah. But it’s weird, I’m not half as upset as I thought I’d be.”

As he wrapped his strong bear arms around me, and I lost myself in the warmth of his hug, I knew why.

(soup pic source)

Let me introduce you to LIFE: A subject I know nothing about

Click Here to colour your own

How a gas station parking lot prevented a know-it-all teen from knowing it all

I remember the exact moment I discovered wisdom. Do you? I was thirteen years old, riding the city bus down Bank Street, back in Ottawa. Where were you? The bus stopped for a red light at Gladstone, and I watched through the window as an elderly man gave the fabric of his pant legs – just above both knees – a small tug before bending down to pick up a dropped something in a gas station parking lot. For curiosities sake, I tried it out for myself that afternoon. Sure enough, the extra slack turned out to be a revelation. It was a humbling moment. There on my knees, I was forced to admit how little I really knew about life.

So THIS is what happens when women try to do it all…

It seemed like such a great idea at the time… A quick toilet scrub while running out the door to my full-time job. In pursuit of maximum efficiency, I squirted some cleaner in the bowl and went at it with a vengeance (quite literally). I attacked the chore with such violence, I must have looked like I was plunging some horrible clog. Until…

Exploring the delicious, pine-scented back woods of Quebec, one quickly learns to walk a few paces behind a partner. No, our dear French Canadians do not subscribe to some antiquated religious diktat – although the prevalence of front yard Virgin Mary ceramics do make one wonder. The gap is simply to prevent one of those prickly, dew laden, boughs from clocking you in the nose when it whips back across the path.

We lose so much in the time-clogged rush of being a modern woman; so many of life’s most beautiful lessons are forgotten in the mania of “having to do it all.” As the brush caught on the rim, and a heavy spray of yellowish, mucky, bleachy, ‘water’ splashed up into my face, I grabbed hold of the gentle quiet of those pine-lined trails to stop from screaming. No, life is not fair (especially before 7am), but it’s nice to know there’s still enough justice, somewhere out there, to make sure I was wearing my glasses!

(image source)

Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Part Six)

Close your eyes… Go back to where you felt your most powerful, your most beautiful, your most YOU. Where are you? What are you wearing?

I go back to the darkest, most dangerous blue, the colour of my cottage lake writhing under the fury of a Quebec North wind. I am a woman most confident at the extremes, leaning head first into the blast, my toes curled into the freezing sand. Challenging the forces of nature, I channel their power through a ragged pair of Disney 101 Dalmatian pajama pants. Bits of frayed fabric blow out behind, joining the loose sleeves of a plaid Salvation Army shirt tied at my waist. My hair is my flag, and I fly it with an almost devilish pride. I throw out my arms and dare the wind to take me at my most.

Anne Bonny ~ What a dame! Pirate, feminist pioneer - such an inspiration! Although I may have to dial down the cleavage... maybe just a touch...

Need to catch up on this Saving Cymbria blog serial?

“I’ve been thinking about dressing more like a pirate.” I said, between bites of a TV supper on the couch with my husband.

Not the kind of statement you want to leave hanging. But hang it did, for a torturous 10+ seconds before the awkwardness shook itself loose. The awkwardness was all on my end, but that’s nothing new. You know you’ve got a good man (and don’t I know it!) when he can take these sorts of things in stride.

“Nothing extreme,” I continued, “just going for that sorta’ feeling.”

He nodded (a gesture of heavy meaning from the man), grunted “yah sure,” and went back to his munching. As I said, a good man. Housekeeping out of the way, I took the next logical step – COLLAGE…

I collage~you collage~we all collage! Go ahead and make your vision tangible with a personal style collage. All you need are a few fashion magazines and some scissors (oh, and glue). Snip outfits and individual pieces that connect you back to your power moment. Or, if you’re having trouble defining/refining your inspiration, simply collect images that tickle your amygdala, and wait to watch your style patterns reveal themselves in your collage. Stay tuned…

(image sources)

A blindingly yellow blond moment

I read the disclaimer at the bottom of the TV commercial with a chuckle – ‘Actor Portrayal’. Sulu’s lab coat only a prop? No… really? You’d have to be pretty spaced out to need that memo! {note deliberate foreshadowing}

As Star Trek’s original navigator waxed on about Sharp’s Aquos Quattron TVs, with their wondrous new yellow pixels, I couldn’t help feeling a little smug, even world weary, in my disgust. Is our culture really so desperate, really so lost, that screening a brighter yellow has become our definition of progress, even joy? Is a sunnier sun really worth so many extra hours’ earnings behind a desk? As if we need another excuse to hide behind a screen! How tragic… How sad… {note buildup}

Suddenly, a blindingly yellow seahorse came on screen and blew me away. Wow! Sulu wasn’t kidding! I felt a real twinge of emotion, of … dare I say it… joy? There was a simple, yet irrefutable, glory to the colour. I’d been so blind! Who am I to deny my people a touch of the sublime? Yes, a brighter yellow can make a difference – all the difference! It can be our one small push back against the darkness of a universe all too eager to swallow us whole…. {note contrast + (slight) hyperbole}

Then Sulu gently reminded us that we can’t see the new yellow on our old TVs. {note this blond turning bright red…sigh}

Cleaning In Character: Because there are ways of making life fun… even cleaning the bathroom

...because what could be more fun than sharing your struggles with a colour coordinated, early 20th century, Eastern European peasant girl?

Remember Puff The Magic Dragon? Remember how little Jackie Paper abandoned his best friend for “other toys,” and how heartbroken Puff “sadly slipped into his cave?” What a horrible lesson to teach kids! The idea that one outgrows one’s imagination is not only absurd, but cruel, and can even be crippling for certain personalities. Next time you’re in a long lineup, watch what happens… The children immediately evaluate their environment in terms of story possibilities and novel sensations, while the adults generally shuffle around getting bored and/or irritated. Which sounds like more fun to you?

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What if we could protect our imaginations the same way we now wear sunscreen to prevent (or at least stave off) wrinkles? I, for one, refuse to compromise what continues to be my most powerful tool in how I interpret and interact with the world. Globalization has exposed us to so many differing cultural worldviews; why not explore the possibility of your own unique construct? Why not make life a little more fun?

Sure, I felt a bit silly cleaning in costume, but only at first. It was incredible how much more bearable (let’s not get carried away here) my chore became after I added the story. Try it for yourself! Your imagination is a whole lot closer to the surface than you’ve been led to believe…