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Showing posts from October, 2006

Holy Basil: The Update

I started the Holy Basil almost a month ago; I first mentioned it in my Old Gray Mare post. I am currently using the SC Holy Basil by New Chapter . They offer two types: 1. SC Holy Basil™ Uplift, Calm, and Balance Available in 60 and 120 hexane-free softgel capsules * Supports normal cortisol, blood sugar, and insulin metabolism already in normal ranges* * Elevates spirit* * Protects healthy cells from radiation damage* and 2. Holy Basil Ocimum Sanctum Available in 90 Vcap® (400 mg) size * Reduces stress and cortisol* * Promotes a healthy inflammation response* * Increases physical and emotional endurance* (I actually love the New Chapter products. The Host Defense and Every Woman's One Daily is good stuff, man.) I didn't make an informed choice between the two. I got the one my health food store has, which was the SC version. I believe I still get points 2 and 3 that the regular Holy Basil has with the SC version. So here I am

Swiper NO SWIPING!

So Bitacle has scraped every last one of my entries for oh...about the last few months. Hey Bitacle SUCKS! I won't say that name one more time since I don't want to garner any more press for that bastard organization. So from now on the web site that shall not be named shall instead be called that bastard organization aka BO, which fits since they STINK! I've found a few of my pieces of art lifted off my site without permission, but with credit...and since people were saying nice things and linking back to me, I overlooked the slight swipy nature of it and instead felt all warm and fuzzy and even have been known to send a little thank you note. That's how desperate I am for attention: I thank people who notice me and am slavishly grateful (at least in my head). It's easy to be like this since hmm about ten people read this blog. On the upside only two of them are related to me so there are at least 8 other people in the world (and yes world since now and again

Working all the live long day

My husband has been working twelve hour days, seven day weeks. He's had some big projects, with important deadlines. His employer is fortunate in him because he'll work the hours he must in order to meet deadlines, and produce quality work. His family is fortunate that he is a good worker who provides for us. Somehow, though, each of us in the family feels unfortunate because we miss him. He misses us. He feels compelled to work these hours---as do many American workers---because they are not just expected, but are required. But these employees, the ones I know...they aren't terribly happy. The delight in their work is diffused by: * guilt --- not putting enough of themselves into the rest of their life * resentment --- not able to put enough of themselves into the rest of their lives * stress and fatigue --- unbalanced life, too much pressure, too much work, not enough downtime, or true downtime (time without worrying about the work not getting done) So how is this a

Pretty little death machine

Patience is four years old. She's a scientist with a neverending curiosity about how things work (a favorite program), how stuff is made (another favorite program) and is never afraid to get dirty in a quest to learn something (Dirty Jobs, another favorite). But what really wows me is her attempts to grasp complex concepts that many adults struggle with, and bring them down to earth in concrete terms. This by no means removes the mystery. Lately she has been struggling with God and Death. Who doesn't? Which world-class philosopher hasn't endeavored to explore the divine, and reason? And here is my four year old, struggling with it too. Her brain capacity to explore concepts exceeds her mental maturity and her vocabulary, which is huge by any stretch, but still inadequate to explain how this all unfolds to her. Her brain is active, very active, even at night. She builds neural pathways in light and dark, no matter. Sometimes, at night she walks and talks in her sleep

Guilty guilt

I was sitting here getting vertigo from my mind spinning and I wondered, do other people do this? Do you constantly sit there and think about what you need to do, should do, must do, can't do, will do, and want to do? Always always always <----I do this. In any given moment there is: What I am doing What I should be doing. What I actually want to be doing. And my husband---my darling "we're in our fourteenth year of marriage" wonderful husband---adds to it with non-helpful comments like, "Have you taken care of the such-and-so yet?" or "We really need to get around to doing this and that." Take this morning. On Friday we received notice that some library books I'd checked out for Patience were due. Inexplicably she's all into the Sabrina, The Teenage Witch chapter books. She checked out three of those, and I added in a couple of Trixie Beldens and Beverly Clearys to I don't know offset the influence of I don't know

Ten Things I Hate About You

Josette? Josette of Halushki fame? Josette are you reading? I hope so because I want you to hear ten things I hate about you. And I want all fifteen of my readers to know this too. So they truly, really, madly and deeply understand why once again I am linking to an entry of yours. I want them to understand the depth of emotion here that drives me to tell them that they absolutely must go and read your blog, and see just what it is that I hate about you the very, very most. 10. Your voice. Unlike my girlish and high-pitched squeak, your voice is the soothing and mature warmth of a homemade cup of hot chocolate. Color me lime green jealous. People listen to your voice because it is like warm honey to the ears, and then you slay them with the wise and hilarious words. It's not fair. People hear my voice and check for a DDDD rack and a driver's license that reads Bambi. When they don't find it, they never forgive me the disappointment. 9. Your location. You still live in t

Whirling dervish

This is Persistence, my younger. She moves this fast all the time. In fact, most of my photos of her look like this, although at least this is the front of her head and not the side or back. When I look back on this time of her life---and I suspect it is a heady portent---it will all seem like this photo: a huge blur. I joke that she is cut from the Tasmanian Devil cloth. I spend most of my time running, or collapsing into a chair, exhausted, trying to defend myself from her incessant onslaught of demands. One evening I was in the collapsed position and she climbed up on the coffee table and leapt halfway across the room to land THUD on my chest. Her endless quest for height and flight in this case stunned me and left me near shivering in panicked fear and fury. I want to write about this and make it funny but sometimes it really isn't so much funny as it is simply draining. After I calmed down, and reassured myself that neither of us had a collapsed lung or internal blee

The Old Gray Mare...she ain't what she used to be

The thing about getting older is...you are actually all new again. You heard me. When I passed into my 30s some undisclosed number of years ago, I found myself expanding as a person. I still acted the same but I started noticing how I acted, if that makes any sense at all, and I started giving myself, and others, a little more slack. Now that I am facing my 40s, I feel like I am a teenager once more. It's true. Honest Abe. (And why Abe, and not George? Isn't George the Honesty Parable one?) First off, I find myself being completely horrid about the opposite sex, especially Younger Men. I blame hormones, which are finally back in play after so many years of pregnancies and nursing. I also blame the military, which has a nasty habit of recruiting yummy young men and drilling them physically into even yummier specimen. These yummy young men---who happen to be, I know for a fact, not just hot but also braniacs---have a sadistic habit of jogging in very small shorts that let