Hidden In France

Feeling strange?

People are strange from Denis Fongue on Vimeo.

Sandrine Herlin strikes again

I told you about Sandrine Herlin before here, here and here.  (I must like her creations.) She just sent me some of her newer pieces.  I'm charmed by her work.  Two hands, one heart and looks at what she produces:

Sandrine Herlin's creations are for sale here: 

Dazzled

After two image-less lengthy posts, here are images from Jane Schouten's home.  (of All the Luck in the World) Do you remember, she is the woman with winning christmas tree.  Saying I am dazzled by her style does not begin to cover it.  Made By Girl posted about her the other day, and I thought it was interesting the changes that Jane made to her house compared to this post here from a year ago. 

I'm thinking, here is an interior that is recession-proof.  Ingenuity, creativity and my guess is a touch of scavenging.  I want to be more like Jane.

Many of those marvels you can find here. 

this is the lovely first page of All the Luck in the World website:

And check out the prices: 

The (skinny) Domino Lady has sung

Things do feel like they are crumbling down just a little bit.  So the fat lady has sung for Domino and I'm wondering what to think.  Am I mad or glad or sad?

I have a love hate relationship with Domino and all those gorgeous magazines.  Of course there is the obvious.  I love the feel of my fingers on those glossy images. Part of me wonders how i will survive in dentists's waiting rooms (did I mention I had five cavities?  Don't be like me:  floss.) But another part of me  is sick of paying 4 bucks for an arm-full of advertisements where airbrushed creatures who no longer look human sell products I neither need nor want in exchange for the token article that is beautifully written, styled or  photographed.   The system is broken.  Magazines in order to get subscriptions have no choice but to take as little risks as possible so they can appeal to the widest audience.

And then there is the low and petty part of me who likes to see the establishment bleed just a little.  Do you know how near impossible it is for a writer to get an article published in a magazines? But the point is that--besides talent-- it takes a huge measure of luck and shmoozing for a writer to get articles in. Sure most of us don't get paid to write on our blogs, but at least we now have a voice.  No glamorous editor decides if we are worthy of publication. We are published every time we hit the publish button, yes we are.  

In the end reporting might become more a niche thing.  People might come to this blog for white floors, pink and ruffles, and go to another blog for animal prints, art deco or zen style.  

Blogs might not define trends like magazines do now.  the fading away of  magazines might allow for each of us not to be defined only by what magazines decide is acceptable, in, or cool in terms of decor, writing, opinion, body image or clothing style.  Let's not forget that the media is in the hands of a very few, and is focused almost exclusively on the bottom line. Whereas blogs are cheap to make and to run.  Bogs are out of anyone's control but their creators.  Blogs are disobedient, unrestrained and uncensored like little children let loose on the play yard.  How can this not be good? Maybe we're on a path to greater freedom. Maybe this is the dawn of an era when become less manipulated, less treated and behaving like sheeps.

Ah the loss of jobs you say, and that is true.  There will be the blow to the printing and paper industry, but I think that talented designers, writers, models, decorators, or photographers will go on to thrive elsewhere, in another medium. A medium where there might be less editors, publishers and rain makers perhaps. What is that medium?  Not sure.  I hope Obama can figure that one out for me.

It's the end of an era and the beginning of something else.. but what. What do you think?

What the body knows

I am typing this with crippling arthritis-like feelings in my fingers.  Every letter typed is a little ouch. aïe. ouch. ow!  

Isn't it ironic for a writer?  Oh but it isn't really. 

I consider myself an agnostic, but I have bizarre beliefs in all kinds of invented fields.  Like signs.  I believe in signs and find meaning and guidance in all kinds of apparently disjointed physical manifestations. (and she worries about arthritis when she's obviously psychotic you say.) 

 For example, I have a particular faith is in the human body's ability to understand what the mind cannot.  I'm prone to unexplained pains that no doctor can diagnose, and that simply vanish along with an exterior problem i might not even be aware of until later.  

After my father died, i could hardly take a step without the feeling that needles were poked into the soles of my feet.  He died and i literally lost the ability to walk on my own two feet. I went to three doctors and two acupuncturists and was diagnosed with fibromyalgia (the savant's way of calling unexplained pain.) This lasted about two years during which I wore nothing but gag-inducing orthopedic soles and shoes, and then, one day, almost overnight, the pain vanished so entirely that i wondered if I had not imagined the whole thing.

Before that, examples abound.  Years of depression came with acute, unexplained back pain.  I was indeed carrying the world on my shoulders.

For the first two years of living in the United States, i was homesick.  And sick i was.  I was so sick to my stomach I should have turned a nice shade of pink for the gallons of pepto bismol i ingested.

And what about that odd 'friable cervix' (ew) issue when I was doubting my marriage?

And don't even get me started with migraines.  

I'm older now, and I know it's all in the head, at least in my head. When I am in pain or sick, i look around me as opposed to within me.

Now I believe my body is trying to tell me something about self-expression.  The finger pain started about a month and a half ago.  I thought it was the humidity at first, or old age.  Then I realized I am only forty three and live in arid southern california. But the onset of the pain did coincide with a feud with my mother and one of my sisters who had violently reacted to something i had expressed in writing on this blog.  Now my mother says she has no idea why I'm mad. (Oh, really.) And I'm finding it incredibly difficult to express a response to that maddening statement.  I was shunned by my own family, called a liar for my ideas and thoughts.  What am I supposed to do now, hope that expressing myself more will bear a different result?

So my fingers, are in effect being frozen into silence lately.  Well, not complete silence, but my body is telling me what I had not always understood while blogging gleefully:  that self expression comes at ouch. aïe. ouchy. cost.

Crochet lampshades

Waiting for my sister to come over for dinner with her family.  I'm making lemon infused roasted chicken, (basically roasted chiken and squeezed lemon juice, but it is the word infused--which must be used casually in the conversation-- that makes it sound like I know what I'm doing in the kitchen.) Also tomato and zucchini tian and a berry cobbler. I don't feel berry good today by the way. Sore muscles, PMS and either a broken finger or arteritis. Nothing loads of food and a visit from my brand new nephew won't cure.

 I might just have time to posts about two loves:

1- the daily visual treat Daisy Pink Cupcake.  

2- the crochet lampshades she featured here. from Etsy seller Nice.

Aren't those dainty?

rain and nostalgia

It's raining in L.A. today.  The rain never ceases to give me pangs of nostalgia for France. Growing up in Paris and its vicinities i had to endure rain 380 days out of the year. Our only assurance of experiencing sunshine was to take a month-long vacation in the south, usually in Cannes which holds particularly lovely memories for me. 

Interesting now that rains, which i hated so much, makes me the most home sick.  You'll have to detect a certain contradiction there.

Speaking of nostalgia, I found this via El Beso:

Marie Claire Maison has an article about a young French couple's home.  Now when I imagine a young couple, I don't usually visualize this: 

See, some young couples have their shit together more than others.  We had generally horrid junk generously given to us because the Salvation Army driver had turn it down. And the worst part is we still use some of it, mainly because every time I try to give it to salvation Army, they laugh at me.  (Do you know they will not accept the type of ikea furniture that has been assembled, such as desks and bookshelves?) 

You think I am exaggerating don't you?  I tried to give away, GIVE away! Ikea chairs during a garage sale and no one took them.  People would pay a quarter for a single worn work boot before they took my free chairs. They're sill in my garage to this day (the chairs not the people.)  I have great dreams that they (the chairs not the people) will one day become antiques, and a young couple of the future like the one above, will see the beauty in them. 

Here it is!!!!

So it is true?!!!!!

And am I the only one to think that Rham Emanuel is a cutie in a badass way? 

Image courtesy of the Huffington Post.

still light headed

When will my acute case of Obama-mania die down?  Hopefully soon so that i can finally get something accomplished. I can't get enough of the Commander in Chief, the First Lady, the First Children and every minute details of yesterday.  What I'm really craving to see is a picture of him sitting at his desk in the oval office.  Only then will it feel real.

Sheesh.. I haven't felt this star-struck since Madonna.

Here, since i'm not doing anything, i'm discovering that my camera can do macro.

What I got out of President Obama's speech

Hmm... that felt good.. President Obama! Yeahhh! I wept freely this morning, just from witnessing the energy and love emanating from the crowd.

I have a confession to make: Call me a masochist but the raging liberal that I am enjoys listening to Rush Limbaugh on occasion.  I find it interesting to hear what he will come up with. How else would I find out what propaganda is shoved down half the country's gullet on a daily basis (and to think that making foie gras is considered inhumane.) 

I also delight in listening to Limbaugh on days when things look very good for liberals, or very bad for conservatives.  I like it when he spews toads and you can practically smell the putrid stuff coming from his innards. A day like today for example:  he was outraged.  OUTRAGED that the people who see themselves as green voting for a green president came in private jets, yes private JETS.  Oh the hypocrisy of the liberal agenda.

Ha!  I thought. Obviously, Limbaugh didn't get the memo about chilling the political bickering in order to put the country back on track. That is so typical of the conservatives, the...the...

 Wait a minute.

Before Bush Jr, I felt no animosity towards conservatives.  I felt animosity towards closed-minded bigots but when did I start to associate conservatives with bigots? 

Listening to Obama's speech it downed on me that he wasn't just addressing the rest of the population.  He was actually speaking to me.  He was asking me to move forward, to burry the hatchet, to unite, to be tolerant, to work together with those who think differently than I do. 

Have 8 years of Bush turned me into the female-liberal equivalent of Limbaugh? 

If someone as intelligent (and good looking) as our new president can be magnanimous, shouldn't I try and learn from him?

I guess it's much easier to feel maganimous now. 

Well... not entirely magnanimous just yet. One last good laugh via the Huffinton Post

A pool of tears and snot

I'm getting more emotional by the minute, listening to Martin Luther King Jr. on Youtube. His speeches now charged with added meaning and beauty.

Obama is  asking for action today, and that's what I would give him if my head wasn't jammed inside a Jumbo size box of Kleenexes due to a big fat cold.  This morning, while others noticed what beautiful summer day this was, all i could see was fog.

The good news is, it's not a man cold, which my husband and teenage son just survived.  If you don't know what a man cold is:

So between the cold of today, the dreams of yesterday, the anticipation of tomorrow and the elation that is palpable in the blogosphere and at home, there is a lot of nose blowing going on.  The skin of my nose is crimson, paper-thin PAINFUL as a fother mucker, but I care not if my nose falls off:  Bush is GONE and has  already moved out of the white house AND we're getting a new president that has integrity, brain and a cute tush. 

Global cooling

Can you feel it in the air?  The buzz of anticipation, the excitement.  It feels like the dawn of a new day. Sexy black men are becoming presidents, planes are gently landing on water, there are cease-fires all over the place. I will go as far as saying, judging by the insanely low temperatures, that the planet is experiencing global cooling (okay, i'm kidding about that.) Still, I can't help believing that things are going to get good, very, very good and that we're at the tipping point of America's new consciousness.  

Either that or i'm going through a manic phase.

Other reasons to rejoice: car möbel via  ninas drops. And of course, white floors,

Friendship 101

Or should have I titled this post friendship 911?

There really is NO time in my life for new blogs.  There is no time in my life for anything new. Even new friends.  Do I have time for that?  After all, shouldn't my existing neglected friends come first?

But then I discover a new blog (actually, I think she first found me)  Shelly Beson's and it strikes me how the discovery of her blog helped me deal with a current struggle of mine. Friendships. 

See, lately I've had the nagging feeling that I suck at friendships.  I feel I have been promising too much and not delivering enough. Recently I have been scolded for my lack of attention by a great woman I met this summer but failed to keep in touch with, as well as by old friends I don't seem to call or see enough.

It would suck to have to present myself with a disclaimer; something to the tune of: 'You have my undying attention as long as we're together, but I'm not sure when i will call you.' And when I meet someone new, should I say " I'm smitten by you and under other circumstances i think we could have become something special, but at the moment i really don't have the time.' Or should I start the relationship by promptly saying 'I think we need to see other people?' 

Should i stop sending available signals when really I am already taken? 

Shelly Beson posted this video and it struck a chord.  First of all it had me thinking that it won't be possible to say no to More.  Not to Blogs, not to discoveries, not to people, not to ideas. Every chance meeting is a chance for growth and discovery. 

Also, the video had me reflect on  how extraordinarly important my friends are to me, how much I depend on them for support and sanity.  How much they have saved my life over the years, perhaps not literally, but in the sense that without them, the rich, wonderful life I have now would simply not exist. 

But at the same time, girls, really, am I taking you for granted by not telling you I love you?

Claire and Isabelle are like forgiving mothers to me.  They have watched my antics with patience and benevolence.  Over the last 15 years they have put up with A LOT.  But they have stayed when others got scared away. They have raised me in a way by showing me how women could be 100% trustworthy and reliable, something I had not known to be possible.

Lenora and Robyn have become huge in my life.  They are the women who fire up my neurons, the women who question me, push me, ask from me, not for themselves, but to further me on the path of personal growth. They are the women who see me not as the limited woman I see myself to be, but as the boundless woman I'm capable of being.  

And to my little sister Ariane, a beautiful gem in my life in every way. Did i ever tell you I love you? 

So here is the video, for all of you. Grab your hankies.

I'm thinking now that it doesn't matter.  I will continue meeting new women, getting very excited about them.  And I will continue being flaky to some extent. I will disappoint some, and others will understand. I'm afraid I must go on promising more than i can give. Sorry, but i don't want to miss out on any of you.

Cavities, Premiere and making it through the day.

Bhahr!  I just wrote a long post and the application quit before i could save it.  I'm disgusted.  Oh well, Inshallah! it was a lame-o post anyway.  

And you know what sucks too? The fact that I found out yesterday that I have five cavities no less, and that it will cost me $1600 to fix them.  I knew i had a potty mouth, I just didn't know to which extent.

Quick, to take your mind off that loathsome visual, some pretty pictures by photographer Trine Bukh via desire to inspire. 

I'm totally into Christian imagery these days. It's the rage.

I don't know much about these images but I love'em.

Oh, about the Premiere I went to.  I wore skinny jeans (from target) and a sexy top and impossibly high heels and still was the mousiest and shortest person there. But I was brave to go and felt like thumping my chest like a gorilla when it was all over.

I saw a lot of pretty people but the one that stood out for me was Bo Derek.  Even up close she is the most flawless creature.  She looked so young I thought it couldn't possibly be her. Then I came home and checked her out on Wikipedia. Either she has fabulous genes and/or I want the address of her dermatologist.

Thank you all for your sartorial advice, and for the lovely compliments that had me blushing in front of my computer.  One day I need to write a post about body image.  Oh boy do I need to write that post.

Hilarious game stop commercial

This is a pretty daring commercial as American commercials go. And best of all, my friend Lenora (YEAHHH LENORA!!!) plays the mom. 

As a mom of a teen, I shudder. Ghaaahhhhh.....

How to look like an idiot for a Premiere.

So my husband works in 'the business', which in L.A signifies the one and only business: The Entertainment Business.

For twenty years I have avoided Hollywood parties. I have gone to enough of them to say that i don't particularly enjoy standing next to him smiling uneasily like the trembling wallflower that I am, especially now that the wallflower looks more like a fading begonia than a dewy rose bud if you know what I mean.  

And there is The Look. My husband doesn't have to worry about aging or clothing, never has. Men wear their wrinkles with a suit or a tux and basta.  Women... oh my.  See Vera Wang always forgets to bring me a selection of dresses before the event.  I'm entirely on my own. The only designer label in my closet is Moschino, but that's only since he started producing for Target, God bless him.

But one of my good resolution for 2009 is to become more of a yes woman. So I accepted to attend a premiere tonight. After all, I'm pretty sure i have survived premieres before. Also BECAUSE I'm getting older and those parties are brimming with unbeliveably good looking nymphets and starlets, wouldnt it be wiser of me to keep an eye on my man at all time, even if that means arriving, as he seriously suggested this morning when I wailed and pointed to the content of my closet, 'dressed cute, kind of like Annie Hall'.

Rhaaahhh... What to wear what to wear????  I'm too old to show skin and it's never been my thing. I'm too young to layer artsy shawl and peruvian beads. I'm too shy to wear feathers and fishnet, too proud to disappear entirely. I'm too fat to wear skinny, too skinny to wear baggy. 

See, I'm not expected to open my mouth, but I'm only interesting when I open my mouth. But then I become WAY too interesting, especially after a glass and a half of Pinot. I need to look good and interesting enough not to embarrass him, but not so good or interesting that people actually come and talk to me.

So as i wait for fantastic clothes to miraculously appear into my life sometime between now and 5:45, or better yet! a natural catastrophe -- oh, nothing too horrible, just bad enough to shut down all the streets between my house and the gosh-dang place--I write to you, which only postpones the inevitable. And the inevitable is that I will be Annie Hall to my husband's Woody Allen tonight again, and hopefully people will politely look away.

DIY versus interior decorator

I used to salivate in front of home magazines and blogs, now I only read decor magazines when I'm in a doctor's waiting room and zip through my deco blog RSS feed in five minutes without getting that little jolt of excitement once. 

At first I though this might be low-grade depression.  Now I suspect it has more to do with the recession.

Of course I have my own color preferences, but it's when i see an interior that is inventive rather than decorated that I get excited.  For example, the rug in the stairwell above was made sewing Ikea rugs together. When an interior is decorated with more imagination than money, it feels like a more attainable dream.

I found the images on this post reading the beautiful blog So Lovely.  Read So lovely for the story, and Living Etc. for more detail about the house and its owner Chrissie Probert-Jones, co-founder of Stitch designworks.  

How cute is that wall?

By the way: I had a double take when I saw the bedroom below.  Precisely the same floor plan as Lisa Whatmouth's bedroom I posted about here.  Here is one: 

.. and here is the other. Ain't it weird?

Now the architecture of this home is fabulous, but see how the decorating seem to involve more love than dough.  A bit of Tricia Guild vibe with the wall paper, books presented in reverse, (sorry Google won't tell me what to call the opposite of the binding) Ikea shelving, bright expanses of fabric, an unframed painting, and the touch of blue that tricks you into thinking that this all came together by accident.

The little girl in me will always dream of a round bed.  They have it at Ikea and I always look at it dazzled, then shake my head no and walk away.

Hope you're having a rollicking sunday and you're not just reading blogs like I am.

Bloggies here i come!

(note: the kittens and puppies, taken off google,  are irrelevant to this post and are a not so subtle ploy to a- get your attention and b- ingratiate myself with future voters.)

Here was my personal stand on blogging awards as of 2008.  I didn't pay attention to them, and felt that pursuing them was immodest bordering on narcissistic.   I certainly didn't want to see myself as a narcissistic blogger because it was pleonastic, like 'safe heaven' and 'tuna fish'. 

But that was yesterday.  That was the past. Today i've had a change of heart brought on by Liberty Post's puzzling idea to nominate Hidden in France as a contender for best writing in the 2009 Bloggies.

Do I believe in awards now?  I sure do!  Do I see them as narcissistic?  Unfortunately yes, but oh well. 

The hard part is to come to term with asking for your vote.  I find it embarrassing.  Oh it would be easier to burry the whole thing.  After all, my blog stands no chance:  Dooce is my competition, also fantastic well-established writers from across the web.  But I do think that modesty, though a beautiful Christian quality, as brought me nothing of value in this life, so why not try something different in 2009, heh?

So if you want to vote for me, click here.  That's what I'll be doing for the next three days. Am I the only one to see major, ridiculous loophole for bloggers to be able to vote for themselves again and again.  Hee, hee.  This will in effect make the winners certifiable cheaters.

And while you're voting, Liberty Post (who has my undying gratitude) definitely got my click for best Canadian blog, though I feel that the category is too limiting for her.  The woman cannot be boxed in, she is so much, much more; they need to come up with a category for all that she is.

Thank you Liberty girl.  And thank you for those of you who will vote for me.  

We love wars

I wish I had been wise and witty enough to write this article in the Los Angeles Times. Rosa Brooks gives us a lesson in perfecting stupidity and managed to make me laugh about war. She goes on about" How to be stupid Hamas style", then "How to be stupid Israeli style", "Bush style", and so on.

But is it really about stupidity?  Put a fingers in an electric plug often enough and the dumbest among us will figure he or she better stop to make the pain end.  Those who don't stop just love being electrocuted. It's clear to me that mankind must absolutely love war to go on like this for thousands of years, one tit for tat with everyone from Brave Soldiers to Innocent Children' falling in pools of blood. 

War gives people who have nothing a reason to live.  And when they have lost everything and don't have a reason to live then they'll settle for a reason to die.  I also think that children who have never experienced anything but war are by essence traumatized beyond repair.  They are born of the war and it becomes the very fabric of their existence. Sadly, they cannot imagine peace.

Also, when a people is at war it is kept unable to see further than the next day and since there will always be purveyors of wars, those for whom it is in the best interest for war to thrive so that they themselves thrive or at least maintain their power, there will always be wars.

I always thought womankind was different, but now I'm not so sure as I see women just as engaged in feverishly taking sides on the issue of the present horror taking place in Gaza.

Oh we can have all kinds of opinions as who is to blame, but until we stop taking side, until we educate ourselves about the immense complexity of the situation, then what we do is polarize the issue, move the war to our own living rooms, hearts and souls, and in essence become active participants in the war.

That's all I want to say about this. For now.

What do you think?

Sophie Cuvelier's garlands

The work of French textile artist Sophie Cuvelier has been sprouting all over France and has me wanting to get rid of everything in the house to replace it with garlands. 

You can buy hers here.

So simple and charming.  So time consuming. The website had a beautiful slide show (click on diaporama) where you can see the tinting process.  Those are hand tinted, hand cut and hand made in France.

Barack and I, body surfing

I’ve been working on a fancy borrowed computer, and I feel disoriented as though I were made to live in someone else’s beautiful apartment.  Perfect in every way, but not mine. I still don’t have my bookmarks, and therefore my collection of images I wanted to share with you.  So I’ll show you my latest goof off instead.

I designed this and asked my sixteen year old to do his Photoshop magic. The original card contains the rest of the family but I won’t post pix of my kids, a compromise with my husband;a very private person who shares the aborigines belief that pictures can steal your soul.

So here it is:

Pretty cool no?  This is the proof that you can never believe pictures these days, which is too bad. On the bright side my son might have a career in forgery, or counterfeiting.

 Peace out.

Is this reasonable, or is it hubris?

I am giddy to have recovered all my missing family pictures! So I'll illustrating this post with photos I took on the island of Kauai last summer, I think I've posted them before but oh well.

This is a LONG post about a subject I didn't know existed 24 hours ago but that has me scratching my head.  And I apologize in advance if I sound judgmental.  If I do, it's because I is :-)

 

So here is the subject: Steve Palina is a personal development blogger, and a well known one. His New Year resolution, he announced, is to switch his love relationship from Monogamy to Polyamory. 

As he notes, polygamy is illegal in the United states, yet polyamory is perfectly legal.

 

This is not cheating, oh no.  This is poly amour!  Très different. In France, we have something similar, called ‘prendre une maitresse’, literary ‘take a mistress.”  Or for a woman ‘prendre un amant.”  The spouse closes his or her eyes, and usually his or her permission isn’t required.  This polyamor concept, however, seems to involve the agreement of the spouse.  And the beauty of it is that it is, I repeat, perfectly legal.

This isn't swinging either,(also legal) which would permit both spouses to have fun. No, the only one doing the polyamory bizwax here is the blogger.

To paraphrase: the blogger is deeply in love and commited to his wife of fifteen years, they have two children under ten and have no desire to divorce or separate.  What the blogger feels, however, is that he has too much love that he wants to give and experience (what we in the business call P.H or Permanently Horny) to narrow himself to one woman. He has put an enormous deal of thought and research into this, he has studied, weighted, analyzed the pros and cons and decided to go with it.   His wife has agreed to the great polyamorous resolution of 2009 and tells us why here.

As preposterous, as it might sound, when I read the post, I was thinking, heh, why not.

And then I woke up drenched and came to my senses.  

Now this is someone just out of a 31 day juice fast, an ordeal I followed with growing bafflement. To me this Polyamory bit is simply another very bad idea on his part.  He said he noticed a ‘boost in his intuitive abilities” following the fast. Personally  I start suspecting I might be Jesus on a single thimble of raw beet juice, so I saw wowwww.. sloww down...wait a minute. I have questions: 

1- Did he think of ingesting some protein, or a handful of almonds before pulling his new years resolution out of his rear end? Things might have turned out differently. For example, he could have resolved to paint the basement instead.

2- Shouldn’t a new year resolution be limited to the person who makes it?

3- How did he tell his wife?  Did he said, 'guess, what Honey, good news!"  Did he wait for the pot of soup to cool off just in case she poured it over his head.

4- Before he told his wife, did he investigated the existence of the perfect polyamory candidate, a woman willing to live on love alone to the exclusion of all other commitment?

3- Is he absolutely sure to be good in bed? The juice fasting indicates the kind of person who wears socks with sandals.  Can men in socks and sandal be good in bed?  If you have information on the subject, please share.  And if he isn’t, go back to #2 and you’ve got a problem.

4- His wife has already put up with the juice fasting, (flatulence, mood swings, excruciating body odor) the socks and sandal deal and now this. Has he thought of having her canonized?

Joking aside, to me this isn’t about right or wrong, it’s not about the bible, it’s not about judgement, it’s not about being a feminist or a man hater, it’s not about society, and it might not even be about sandals and socks.  It’s about human nature. It’s simply that it’s never going to work.  Humans are jealous, even the most evolved, the most well-meaning humans among us are. His wife will soon feel betrayed and rejected at some core level.  If he loves her as he says he does, this is not something he should put her through, in actions or even in discussions. And then have her benediction?  Oh pleuaheeze! And putting a Latin root to one’s screwing around? Double pleuaheeze. 

All this talking about Polyamor makes me want to sing.  Do you want to sing along?

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie

That's poly-amo-ry

When the world seems to shine like you've had too much soup

That's poly-amo-ry

Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling

And you'll sing "Vita Bella"

Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay

And you’ll sleep on the couch like the dope that you are 

That's poly-amooooo-ry"

Please read the whole post, it's long and smells of something not unlike manure but it's really worth it.  To the question of selfishness, his response is: "I feel inspired by my current level of giving, and I want to expand upon that. This is a journey that I believe will be wonderful to share… on multiple levels."

Yeah right.

Hope this post doesn't attract all kinds of spams. If it does I'll have to delete it.  It's been happening a lot.

new year, same internal conflict

Following the death of my computer and the overly enthusiastic post ‘good bye imac, hello life', I did embrace life for a brief moment.  Now that that folly is behind me I find myself cozily back at my desk where I belong.  

At my desk, but not at MY computer. I’m writing today from my husband's fancy laptop, which I find suspiciously foreign and unnaturally thin.  How could any decent writing be born on such an unsubstantial machine?   

My old keyboard, a chunky and very dirty antique from back in 2003 when they still made them that way, made me feel safe.  On it my fingers danced or rather, by the sound of it, hammered one word after another into immortality.  On the laptop, I can neither hear nor feel the letters as they’re being typed and the keyboard is so minuscule it makes my fingers feel cumbersome and sausagy.  Hate that. Today I am picking up the remains of my computer, years of work miraculously transferred into a separate drive.  I’ll get a new computer soon, but for all intents and purposes I’m back.

Hmm… that was a long paragraph to say nothing worthwhile.  Yes, I’m back indeed.

Before I get into the New Year resolution bit, I want to tell you about the images on this post. They’re paintings by the often forgotten Maynard Dixon.  I use to find his work garish, the colors too saturated.  Now it’s the opposite, his work makes my American spirit soars as high as the old bold eagle.   On our way from Palms Spring to Idyllwild a few days ago I was astounded by the beauty of the changing landscape. We drove on route 74, which meanders and goes up rapidly in elevation. In a little over an hour we went from the austere beauty of the desert, crazy rock formation, yuccas and saguaro cactus to the alpine forest, giant redwoods and mountain peaks thick with snow (a record for December.) The sky was that fantastic blue that is so particular of California in the winter. It made me want to paint.  Then I thought better of it and brought you Maynard Dixon instead, leave it to the pros.

So my resolutions for the New Year:  druuumrollllll:

*Become more of a YES woman.  That’s going to be so frigging hard to do.

*Spend more time living life, less time writing about it.  (Aka blogging.)

*Simplify everything:  thinking, (especially thinking!) relationships, consumption, activities.

*Wean the family off meat.  That's basically irrational thinking, I'm so carnivorous i could practically eat raw ground beef in the meat isle of the supermarket like others munch on candy or cereal. Yet I know meat is gross and wrong and brings me GUILT and probably is probably rotting our inside with Creutzfeldt-Jacob.  (By the way, how come we don't hear of mad cow anymore?  Could it be that we have bigger, much, much bigger problems on our hands now.  Hah, i feel kinda nostalgic of those mad-cow times.)

*Feel less guilt.

*Learn to live on less: (not a resolution per se, more of an injunction from the upper echelon.)

Hmmm... I can't help but detect giant flaws in my plan. How can I resolve to become a yes woman and yet focus on all the things I need to say no to. I'm just a conflicted person. 

Some of you have already posted your resolutions, but if you want to I’d love to read about them.