Game of Thrones



Okay, so once again I’m late to the party. Mister and I have just started watching “Game of Thrones.” Naturally, we’ve started from the beginning. We’re only midway through the first season, so please don’t tell me anything!


I can see why folks dig it, and I’m appreciating it as well. I admit I don’t like a lot of the characters, and perhaps that is by design. I certainly don’t enjoy some of the – shall we say – family interactions. That just grosses me out. But right now I’m intrigued enough to keep watching.


On an odd tangent: Mister and I were walking around a local middle school’s Renaissance Fair over the weekend. It was, well, a middle school affair. We’d barely been there 3 minutes when a dude dressed in middle ages garb approached us to educate us about his group: The Society for Creative Anachronism, Inc. The brochure he handed us states they’re an “educational organization dedicated to the research and re-creation of medieval and Renaissance culture: arts, sciences, combat, speech, dress, and courtly manners – all areas of everyday life, from noble to peasant.” He was working the hard push, but all I could think about was how his eye glasses were an anachronism where his costume was concerned. I didn’t say that, of course, but I did struggle to actually hear him while thinking it. After a few tries, we managed to take our leave and wandered away, into the fair. That’s when Mister said he’d also thought the dude’s glasses were an anachronism. Mister then took it a step further, saying that the biggest anachronism of all was a strange middle-aged man wearing a dress – being allowed around a group of children, when he wasn’t related to any of them. Word.


Anyhoo, I’ll keep watching “Game of Thrones.” For now. Yes, I was late getting to the party. But at least I didn’t miss the bus.

These Little Earthquakes



We’ve had 2 more earthquakes in the last couple of days. And I didn’t feel either of them. I saw fixtures swinging and those around me felt the motion. No idea why I didn’t feel anything.


While recently trying to explain earthquakes to folks who don’t live here and have never experienced one, all I could come up with was rocking motion versus rolling and the duration. My descriptions failed to explain how one earthquake can differ from another. Lord knows, no two are created equally.


Anyhoo, I’m hoping terra is firma for a while. Just because I haven’t felt the last two earthquakes doesn’t mean I’m game for more. Three cheers for stillness!




Note: This post is all about current events. If you’re out of the goop-loop, good on ya, mate.


I’m currently addicted to the term “conscious uncoupling” and I can’t seem to shake it. I’m using it constantly. Like when it’s time to take out the trash, I say I’m consciously uncoupling with the garbage. If I put something in the goodwill box, I’m consciously uncoupling with it. Seriously, I can’t get that word monkey off my back, y’all.


And then there’s another version of the term that’s also stuck in my brain: unconsciously coupling. As in, maybe fewer people would need to consciously uncouple if they hadn’t unconsciously coupled in the first place. Or, I  need to put that dress in the goodwill box because I unconsciously coupled with it when I shouldn’t oughta.


I don’t mean to make light of people’s real-life drama. I’m sure it’s horrible to have to live out a crisis in the public eye. Fortunately, I don’t know what that’s like. I get to make choices, make errors and even make amends in relative privacy. But I can’t help remembering something a friend of mine once told me. She said that when she goes to someone’s perfect house, with a jillion perfect, posed photos on display, she doubts the presentation. She explained that when someone works so hard to present their life as being perfect, she suspects the reality is far more flawed. I’m not saying I agree with her assessment all the time, but I’ve witnessed a few folks who were more concerned with appearances than with appearing real. And maybe my old friend’s theory holds true in the case of all the goop that’s in the news right now.


Or maybe not. In which case, maybe I should consciously uncouple with that theory.

Minty, Minty, Mint Mint!



So Mister and I dug up a plot of our front yard for the maters. And that will surely be grand. I certainly hope so anyway.



But that left us with the poor, pitiful planter area in the backyard that had been dedicated to the tomatoes last year. They didn’t fare very well, and I have a personal theory that the soil in that area was tainted by years of cigarette ash (as the former caretaker smoked). Anyhoo, Mister got out there and cleaned the dirt, y’all. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what he did. He jazzed that dirt right up, and before I knew what had happened, he’d gone and planted himself a mini mint farm.



If you’ve never grown mint, there are a few things one should know. First, it spreads like crazy. I mean like a dread disease. If it isn’t contained (as in in a container), it knows no bounds. Also, it’s a little weed-like. If you forget to water it here and there, it doesn’t freak out on you. That’s a good thing. It also comes in about a jillion varieties. There’s the old standby spearmint, of course. There’s also peppermint. But did you know there’s chocolate mint? And Kentucky Colonel mint?



In a few months, I expect the plot to be filled with mint and you know what that means? It means Mister will start making Mojitos. You just have to trust me when I tell you he’s very, very good at it. I am totally looking forward to that fine summer day. Word.

Nobody Walks In L.A.



I was out for a nice walk the other day and it was good. Since P90-X came into our lives, I haven’t been hitting the pavement as much as I used to. I miss it. Walking is excellent exercise and my body responds well to its practice. P90-X is good, too. It just isn’t the same.


Anyhoo, as I roamed around Los Angeles, I noticed something odd: Shoes. And not a random rightie or leftie, either. No, I kept coming across complete pairs of shoes. Some were tired and shoddy. Others looked to be fairly new and in good repair. Regardless of the condition, these shoe pairs were left beside roads, on curbs and on benches. I saw no signs of the owners or their feet.


By the time my walk was finished, I had encountered 4 complete pairs of shoes in just over 3 miles of territory. I’m not sure what was going on, or why so much footwear had been abandoned. I’m not astute enough to have discerned a pattern or meaning. Like a lot of the Universe, it was probably random.


But it did make me think about how I get rid of shoes. Anything with a future is donated to a charitable organization. If a set is beyond repair or future use, it’s trash. Unless they’re sneakers of some sort. Those I take to a recycling center where they’re magically processed into playground material. (I haven’t a clue how.) That’s been my M.O. for years. Maybe it’s time I add another option to the mix. Maybe the next time I have a pair of shoes with a little life left in them, I’ll lovingly place them on a well-trafficked route for someone to find. Who knows? Maybe there’s a gal somewhere, who hoofs it along L.A. streets, just looking for a new set of kicks. Anything’s possible.

D-Squared T-Squared – Week 12



This past weekend Mister and I hooked up with our good buddy Brad el. Brad is a songwriter, performer, producer and about-a-jillion-other-things-extraordinaire. The 3 of us headed to Descanso Gardens for their annual Cherry Blossom Festival. We were all armed with cameras and footed with good walking shoes. The morning was slightly overcast and there was a chill in the air. In other words, it was all just about perfect.


Brad el was the only one of us who has actually been to Descanso before, so Mister and I had no idea what to expect. Here in L.A. there are multiple gardens one can visit, and all are not created equally. This place was so beautiful, I about flipped my lid. I can’t believe I’ve never been. Now that I have, I’ll definitely be returning.



Anyhoo, the pictures we all took turned out great. And it was remarkable to me to see that even though we traipsed through the grounds together, we all took completely different photographs. (Brad el took the above photo. Mister took the one below.) Just goes to show how differently we all see the world. Or not. Or do. Heck, I don’t know. I just love the beauty each of us captured, in our own special ways.




Like I said, I’ll definitely be heading back to Descanso Gardens in the future. Now that I know how absolutely grand it is, I can’t resist. And if you make it to Los Angeles and decide you’d like a dose of nature, consider going there yourself. Tell the Redwoods hello from me.

Too Soon



I will always think of him and his big, curious eyes. He was a good kid. I didn’t see him very often, granted, but when I did it was obvious he was a pretty easy-going child. His face was charming and though he was a boy, it was also lovely.


Mister and I saw him and his parents through their cousin, who happens to be our friend. All the way around, they’re an immensely likable family. After crossing paths with them, we often commented about how nice they are and how good it was to have talked with them.


Time inches along (or runs at breakneck speed) and sometimes we lose touch with folks. It happens. A month or so ago, when I read about young Christopher’s recent diagnosis of a rare cancer, I was shocked not only to learn of his illness, but also to see he was already 12 years old. Reading about his struggles was heartbreaking. Knowing that sweet kid added a layer of ache. I mean, no one wants to think of sick children. But they’re out there, in numbers far too great to ever make sense. And I suppose all of us have at least known a child struggling with illness. Many of you have been responsible for tucking them in at night.


I tell you all this because young Christopher lost his battle with cancer late last week. That beautiful boy is gone too soon. And there is nothing I nor anyone else who knew him can do about it. I’ve prayed, along with many, many others. I know fundraisers have taken place and I know meals have been prepared and delivered. Honestly, those are the only things we can do. And that sucks. Christopher’s family is surely appreciative, but they are also surely digging through levels of hell I cannot  imagine. They’re good people. How they’ll deal with this is beyond me.


One day at a time, I suppose. Maybe hour by hour. Remembering to breathe. Caring for their younger son, Christopher’s brother. Hopefully caring for themselves. Eventually. For right now, in the newness of this strange, unbearable loss, I imagine their bodies are simply trying to function. Hearts trying to beat and not crumble. Blood trying to flow and not harden. Souls trying to maintain and not shrink. Co-existence. That may be the goal, to co-exist with the pain of loss. Again, I don’t know. I’m only imagining.


There’s no real guide for navigating loss of this magnitude. Sure, books have been written. And maybe they help. I hope so anyway. For now, I continue to pray for Christopher’s dear family. That is, after all, the only thing I can do. And it will never be enough.

Yearly Krispy Kreme!



Happy Birthday to me! And my yearly Krispy Kreme doughnut. And coffee.


And, okay, maybe more. But for now, that doughnut is enough. I’m just a simple caveman, after all…

Weekends Were Made For – Bourbon




I don’t know if it was all the gardening, or the D2T2 adventure, but all I could muster last night was a nice drank. A bourbon and gingerale to be precise. And no mere “Jack” and Ginger, either. It was a Woodford Reserve and gingerale, thankyouverymuch.


For anyone thinking that was a waste of good bourbon, I say this: As long as it’s consumed, there is no waste of good bourbon. So there.

Tomatomania is Here!



I’ve written about Tomatomania before, and it’s worth reading if you’re a tomato freak. It’s also worth checking their site, just in case a Tomatomania event is happening in your neck of the world.


As for me, I’ll be putting our plants in the ground in a couple of days. Mister and I have been working hard to get the dirt ready. You’d think it would be fine as it is, being dirt and all, but we’ve upped the ante and that soil is now black gold. It’s beautiful!


Of course, we’re tired and digging grit from beneath our nails. And I pulled a hammie, but hey – it’s okay. Or at least it will be in a couple of months when those sweet, sweet to-mates come in.