What I Do is What I Do. A Day in the Life of an Empty Nester.

(With a very obscure tip of the hat to Solzhenitsyn.)

This isn’t typical of when my tugboat man’s here, and most definitely not the fabric of my waking hours when I was a SAHM; rather, this is an especially bland and Seinfeld-ish day. 
_____________________________________________________________________________

My day commences abruptly at 6:00 a.m.

Sleep to instant wakefulness at the hoarse, screaming kee-eeee-arr of a red-tailed hawk.

Over and over again. Ear-piercing screams.

I get up, find my glasses (I’m extremely myopic, can’t see a thing), locate hub’s extra binoculars, and discover two hawks in the eucalyptus tree. They’re sitting on the same branch and they’re facing each other, having an early morning conversation or a duet, probably courtship time.

6:15 a.m…Grind beans, Trader Joes‘s French Roast, make coffee, simultaneously grab the remote to turn on the news and pop open my laptop. News is depressing. Problems in Syria, fires in Yosemite, a SWAT standoff in La Mesa; time to turn it off. After checking to see if my tugboat man emailed me (he didn’t),  I turn to WordPress.  A few comments necessitate responses (not as many as I’d like), a few likes (not as many as I thought my brilliant post deserved), and then I switch over to Facebook. In the beginning of FB, or at least my experience with FB, it was all about connecting with new and old friends, sarcastic and funny observations, cats, dogs, mainly cute animal pics. Now it’s all about supporting “friends” in their sponsored posts, marketing and promoting for their sponsors. I don’t begrudge anyone who can generate income; it’s just that some blogs start to feel really corporate and inauthentic after they become “affiliates” or “brand ambassadors”. It’s a newer version of Tupperware or jewelry parties where you get all your friends to show up and buy your stuff.

Of course I’d love to monetize — I’ve even had one sponsored post — and I want my book to be published and make a truckload of money so that my tugboat man wouldn’t have to go out to sea anymore, but I don’t think I have the personality to push products or pull people to my site –which is funny ‘cos I have a background in public relations and marketing — but I’m more of a soft sell, not the jackhammer-type.

I’m more like “Hey, I’d love for you to come by if you have the time and no pressure or anything. No worries if you can’t, I understand.”

I check Twitter too, but it’s kinda lost its appeal for me at the moment.

7:00 a.m…Paid a couple of bills online; mortgage and credit card. Checked TMZ but it’s all Kardashian-this, Kardashian-that, and I’m sooo over it. I hear the squawk of our resident scrub jays, throw a few raw nuts on the deck and watch them eat.scrubjay

7:20 a.m….After a couple cups of black coffee (the only way I drink it),  I start to get ready for the gym, but first I make the bed and wash whatever dishes I didn’t do the previous evening. I don’t eat breakfast on a regular basis; sometimes I’ll have a little protein drink, or a couple bites of toast, but I don’t really like to eat in the morning, unlike hub, who’s up and chewing before his eyes are completely open.

7:35 a.m…Check email again. Yay, a brief message from hub. All the last minute work was completed on the tug, they’re underway and are offshore. Everything is going fine, which is good to hear. I write him back and tell him about my boring weekend without him; how I went for a six-mile walk to the beach and back, gardened, washed the windows, boring, boring, boring, oh, but I heard a coyote and an owl, so there’s that.

7:55 a.m…Get dressed; black workout pants, yellow Zella top. Brush teeth, use Clarisonic to wash my face, apply light makeup — just eyebrows, liner, lipstick, spray perfume –Chance by Chanel (of course). Fill a water bottle, grab an apple for after Boot Camp.

8:30 a.m…Publish the post I wrote the previous evening. I try to stay one or two days ahead.

8:35 a.m…Head out. Water a few plants near the front door; take the trash cans out to the street (something else I have to do when hub is gone).

8:45 a.m…The 24-Hour Fitness I go to is about three miles away, but up a huge and long incline or I’d ride my bicycle. Sometimes I get lucky and get all green lights; today was one of those days, yay!

10:10 a.m…Back in my car after a strenuous workout with a zillion tabatas to exhaustion. Squats, lunges, box jumps, weights, jumping jacks. I still can’t do any real weight bearing exercises, so no pushups yet or plank. If I wear my cast/brace, I can lift five pounds in my left hand while I lift ten with my right. Eat the apple, need nourishment for a little retail therapy hee hee. Oh NO! I almost forgot I had an 11:15 a.m. physical therapy appointment for my almost healed broken wrist. No time to shop now, darn. I’ll have to run home and shower.

11:00 a.m…Made a fast smoothie including yogurt, banana, chia seed, wheat grass, protein powder, and frozen loquats and mulberries from the garden. Showered, threw on a maxi dress, and out the door to Encinitas. Hope there’s no traffic or I’ll be late.

12:30 p.m…Where to go after PT? I drive up Encinitas Blvd. to El Camino Real and you know about Speed Dating? This is speed shopping. I stop at HomeGoods, TJMaxx, Pier One Imports, Anthropologie, Victoria’s Secret, White House, Black Market, and even H&M. This was more of a browsing mission. Nothing really caught my eye; nothing I couldn’t live without, so I came away empty. Plus, I’m out of water and thirsty. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow :)

3:00 p.m…Back home, and NOW I’m starving. Time for hummus with Ak-Mak crackers and a veggie wrap. (Lettuce, tomato, feta cheese, cucumber, raisins rolled up in a tortilla.) Plus ginger tea and a fat-free fig cookie.

3:30 p.m…Check email, WordPress, FB, Twitter. All pretty quiet. No new Miley Cyrus outrageous behavior. Best news of all, the Daily Show’s Jon Stewart is back. Yippee!

4:00 p.m…Work out in the garden since it’s cooled off a bit. Our summer garden was HORRIBLE this year. I’m not sure what caused it, but I pulled everything out and will allow it lay fallow for a bit. I’ll need hub to get more mushroom compost when he returns; in the meantime, I’ll work compost in. Mowed the lawns, front and back. Another job I must do while my tugboat man is away. Take the trash cans back from the street. Had a chat with a nice neighbor who keeps an eye on me while hub’s away.

5:30 p.m…Back in the house, checked email again; this time I discover a message from my tugboat man, letting me know that plans have changed and he won’t be making a port stop in San Diego after all, and he’ll call to explain when he gets in cell range. Oh DARN! I was really looking forward to seeing him, even for only a brief moment. I’m disappointed, but not overly so, things change all the time; I’m inured — accustomed –to fluid situations.
There’s always the possibility things will change back again; I’m a hopeful, glass half full kinda girl.

6:15 p.m…I got so dirty working outside I’ll need to take another shower and wash my hair this time which takes forever — curly hair needs a lot of love…

6:45 p.m…It’s no fun at all preparing and eating food for just me. One really is the loneliest number! I decide to make quinoa and add broccoli so it all cooks together. It’s ready in fifteen minutes, delicious with a dash of Mae Ploy, sweet red chili sauce.

7:30 p.m…Turn on Jeopardy and keep the TV on, mostly not watching it, while I write the next day’s blog and work on my book (yes, I too am writing a novel.)

9:30 p.m. – 10:00 p.m. – ish…Get ready for bed, slather my face with a few layers of anti-aging creams; Retin-A, glycolic acid, brush teeth, pop in my retainer, read for a bit, and fall asleep. Goodnight, y’all.

2:00 a.m…awakened by the plaintive voice of a coyote. It seems very close; just one lonely howl. As long as I’m awake, I might as well use the bathroom and I’m back to sleep in just a few minutes.

That’s my very empty nest day.

Wordless Wednesday — Moose Tracks — Don’t Murder Animals

Is it really Wednesday already? On my way to a Pilates class, here’s my contribution:

Moose Resting in Tall Grass in Grand Tetons.

moose

He didn’t move all day. He was about ten feet from the trail when we began our hike and four hours later, he was still there. We watched him for a while, admiring his rack (ha ha) and wondered how anyone could kill such a beautiful creature and mount the antlers on a wall for decoration. 

It hurt our heart and soul to think that if this lovely animal wandered off the protected lands of Grand Tetons National Park, he’d be slaughtered.

If I was anti-hunting before this trip, I have become (if possible) even more militantly against animal murder.

At the risk of offending anyone, I’d like to suggest that hunters have sociopathic tendencies. That opinion was derived from an animal rights group and it resonates with me. 

I guess this wasn’t so wordless after all.

Hiking in Julian with Princess Rosebud and Her Tugboat Man

Broken wrist notwithstanding, it was time for a back-to-nature adventure; this time a seven plus-mile, four-hour walk.

We drove up to our local mountain to the beautiful and historic town of Julian to hike the Santa Ysabel Open Space Preserve, East End. The Cedar Fire in 2003 caused some damage that’s visible in a few burnt out trees, but most of it was spared.

Santa Ysabel East End Open Space PreserveTo get to the starting point from Julian, drive two miles north on Farmer Road to Wynola Road, jog briefly right, and turn left to remain on Farmer Road. Continue 1.2 miles north to the Santa Ysabel Open Space Preserve staging area on the left.

Start heading west, alongside the upper reaches of Santa Ysabel Creek, on the Kanaka Loop Trail. This part of the trail doubles as a segment of the unfinished Coast to Crest Trail, which will ultimately stretch all the way to the coast at Del Mar. It would be so cool to hike that one day.

Right away you’ll notice cattle — as in COWS — grazing on the grassy hillsides overlooking the creek. Another not-quite-natural occurrence is the appearance of large flocks of wild turkeys. The 20,000 or so turkeys now roaming the Julian-Cuyamaca area descended from an initial population of about 300 that hunting enthusiasts  animal murderers introduced in 1993.

I forgot my camera in the car, so here’s my embarassingly poor rendering of the cows and turkeys we saw.

Don't I draw like I'm five-years-old?

Artist: Princess Rosebud …Don’t I draw like I’m five-years-old? Obviously, both sides of my brain are not evolved equally.  It’s a good thing I don’t shop like I draw.

We saw sycamores, black oaks, and blackberry thickets. It’s a very active site for mountain lions – prints were everywhere along with a lot of coyote and mule deer scat.

The cows have an amazing playground; why they chose to sit in the middle of the trail along the entire route and either give us dirty looks or cause us to walk into the brush to get out of their way or in one case, CHASE US, I have no idea. They are VERY large and appear malevolent as if they know how big they are and were laughing with each other at my FEARFUL screams of “Go away, go away, shoo, shoo, get out of here, you stupid Cow!”

Geez, we don’t even eat meat, so they should have been extra nice to us, don’t you agree?

If I had my camera, I would have taken pics like this…

Kanaka Loop

Other people’s pics

It was a beautiful hike, not too strenuous for my still-healing broken wrist, and we decided to drive the few miles into Julian and walk around like tourists. Julian is an old mining town and is quaint and cute. We went into a one hundred year old soda shop and had a yummy sarsaparilla.

Now I have my camera again.

We gave this guy a few dollars for his animal rescue, ‘cos his little mini-pony was adorable. 

minipony

Carriage ride
Julian realty
Our fun day ended with a stop at a farm stand. Twenty-five avocados for $5.00. Yay! Guess who’s making guacamole?
avocados

Deja F***ing Vu — Hello and Goodbye

Welcome to my world…

smelltugGuess who’s leaving again? You win! Easy to figure this one out. Yup. Another captain got sick and had to be flown home, so the company just called my tugboat man and off he goes on Wednesday.

I don’t think that’s very funny; I hadn’t planned for this — he was supposed to be home for at least a month — however, since I’m a glass half full kinda gal, I found a couple of tugboat jokes and a poem to share.

I hope you get a chuckle out of the jokes, even if they are a bit lame.

Tug humor, gotta love it.

Tugboat Joke #1

Once upon a time there was a famous sea captain. This captain was very successful at what he did; for years he guided merchant ships all over the world. Never did stormy seas or pirates get the best of him. He was admired by his crew and fellow captains.

However, there was one thing different about this captain. Every morning he went through a strange ritual. He would lock himself in his quarters and open a small safe. In the safe was an envelope with a piece of paper inside. He would stare at
the paper for a minute,then lock it back up. Afterwards, he would go about his daily duties.

For years this went on, and his crew became very curious. Was it a treasure map? Was it a letter from a long lost love? Everyone speculated about the contents of the strange envelope. One day the captain died at sea. After laying the captain’s body to rest, the first mate led the entire crew into the captains quarters.

He opened the safe, got the envelope, opened it and… The first mate turned pale and showed the paper to the others. Four words were on the paper; two lines with two words each:

Port Left
Starboard Right

Tugboat Joke #2

Way down the Mississippi River, two tugboat captains who had been friends for years, would always cry, “Aye!” and blow their whistles whenever they passed each other. A new crewman asked his boat’s mate, “What do they do that for?”

The mate looked surprised and replied, “You mean that you’ve never heard of an aye for an aye and a toot for a toot?”

 …and a poem

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song

and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call

that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way
where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick’s over.

John Masefield, 1878-1967

tugboat

640px-Tugboat_diagram-en_edit1a

Bang Bang, that awful sound

(I’m sorry you received two posts from me. The other one was a draft that wasn’t supposed to be published–in fact, my WordPress dashboard does not show that it was published at all, so I can’t explain it…)

“Bang bang, he shot me down
Bang bang, I hit the ground
Bang bang, that awful sound
Bang bang, my baby shot me down…” [Nancy Sinatra]

Newtown happened. We wept. Nothing changed.

For some reason that makes no absolutely no sense to me, it’s OK to have a weapon that can spray dozens of bullets at once. A killing machine.

For those who scream about the second amendment and our right to keep and bear arms, get real, would you? Hey guys, it was adopted in December 15, 1791 and one thing I know for sure is that they weren’t talking about assault rifles.

From the Colombia Law School Constitution Society’s blog, http://columbiaacs.blogspot.com/2007/11/right-to-bear-ye-olde-arms.html

“Let’s look at arms – specifically, guns – as they existed at the time of the ratification.

Guns in 1791 WOULD

Guns in 1791 WOULD NOT

Courts can’t wish the Second Amendment away, but they can construe it in a manner that works in today’s society.”

This “new” gun debate is nothing new.

Whether or not to have a gun in the house for protection was the subject of the 1975 Good Times Season 3-Episode 2.

Apparently, crime had been at an all time high in the neighborhood, which caused the Evans family to install extra locks on their doors. However, James took a step that Florida and the kids weren’t ready for, he bought a gun. Later, when the gun disappeared, all hell broke loose, as James tore the apartment apart looking for it. Same old story, 1975-style.

kids-gun-playI can say with certainty that I never used my hand like a gun to shoot anyone; my mom, my dad, or my brother. Toy guns and pretend gunplay were verboten in our home. I grew up in Detroit. My dad was an attorney and my mom was a nurse before she became a SAHM. We went to the ballet and to the symphony. Books were important to us; guns not at all.

My older brother feels the need to have guns for protection. I don’t know how we grew up to think so differently about this.

We don’t have any guns in our home.

My one and only experience with guns 

A few years ago, hubs and I thought it would be a good idea for us to learn how to shoot and buy a gun “just in case”, especially since his work takes him away from home for such a long time.

We even went to a local shooting range for a practice session. It was difficult to find a gun that fit me, so they gave me a junior-sized rifle.

The employee handed us ear and eye protection and asked us to choose a paper TARGET– human or animal.

It was right around this time that I started to feel a little anxious.

Somehow I had never associated the shooing of a gun with any purpose. Maybe in my mind I thought we were going to shoot at cans or a bullseye target like in darts. Definitely not an animal. I’m a vegetarian. I don’t believe in eating animals or murdering them.

Seeing the human form brought it to another level–my anxiety ramped up another notch. I picked the one that was just a target that wouldn’t emulate the killing or wounding of a living, breathing creature, human or animal.

The next thing I knew, he loaded bullets into the chamber and gave us a speech about safety, but I wasn’t really listening.

When the door opened to the actual range, and I heard the staccato pop pop pop sounds of dozens of guns shooting at the same time, I freaked out.  I mean, I REALLY freaked out.

I tore off the ear protection and goggles, shoved my rifle in the direction of the gun range employee, and ran out the door.

I felt rather than saw everyone looking at me, but I couldn’t stop running. I had never before heard the sound of a gun.

I ran out toward our car in the parking lot, and sat on the ground, hyperventilating and shaking.

I panicked; I had an uncontrollable visceral reaction to the sound of a gun. My husband followed me out and comforted me. He said he never saw me move so fast nor appear so agitated.

I dropped my handbag when I bolted. When I walked back in, everyone was very sympathetic and said they saw reactions like that every so often — guns have that effect on some people. I tried to make a little joke to cover my embarrassment about how I must have been really frightened out of my mind because I left behind my Louis Vuitton handbag and that’s something I’d never do if I was in control of my faculties.

We’ve never tried that again, although I sometimes wonder if it’s a fear I should try to overcome. The truth is that we live in a violent world. Do I think we have a right to defend and protect ourselves? I do, but I’m not sure I’m going to be able to ever pull the trigger.

Now if only I could stop a crime with my snark and sarcasm, I’d feel so safe… 

Happiness is a Warm GunJohn Lennon [Beatles]

Smooth sailing? Not always.

The Continuing Saga of Princess Rosebud and her Tugboat Man

Day 30…thirty days and thirty long nights since my tugboat man has been away.

He’s on the move–closer to land–and his cell works! He called last night. Other than the five minute satellite telephone call on our anniversary a couple weeks ago, this was the only time we’ve spoken. It was so unexpected. What a surprise to see his name pop up on my screen!

I always ask the same thing, “When are you coming home?” The answer this time was the answer he usually gives me; he doesn’t know, it could be now or in a month. “…you’ll be the first to know.” Dry humor.

The unpredictable life of a mariner

Some mariners have a regular schedule: three weeks on, three weeks off or two weeks on and two weeks off or even a month on and a month off. In the world of ocean-going tugs, there is no such certainty. One of my captain’s recent assignments was estimated to last  two months and it dragged on for a full four months due to several factors–including weather related issues.

Weather

There’s always weather. Right now, the project he’s on has had a lot of weather delays. If there are storms, high winds, and high seas, it’s neither prudent nor safe for a tug to proceed, and that entails a wait or what they call “on standby” until it clears.

What do you think about that? Do you think that uncertainty is a relationship hardship?

Things weren’t always so idyllic for us.

Did you think it was?

Before we met (at the company where we both worked), the captain had plotted a career move to Hawaii. His goal; good surf and work, probably in that order. Our company was setting up operations in Hawaii and he was tapped to head up that division.

Guess what? A year later, he left. He did. He really did.

I do kinda still hate him for that sometimes…wouldn’t you?

I took him to the dock and had to say goodbye. I mean a real goodbye, maybe a forever goodbye; he had packed up all his belongings and they were on the boat with him.

It was horrible at the time and it makes me sad now thinking about how I felt that day…so alone and bereft.

Us–we–it didn’t end. Over the course of several months, we visited back and forth a half dozen times. I was unhappy with the whole situation–I had done my work, made my list, and he was IT. Hawaii’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, who doesn’t love paradise–but that wasn’t part of MY plan.

Oh yes, he was IT for me but I couldn’t figure out how to persuade him to move back and allow our relationship to blossom. I was running out of options.

What if he met someone else?

One day I had just had enough. I was sick and tired of having a sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not boyfriend. It wasn’t what I wanted. And do you know what I did?

I changed my telephone number.

That’s just the way I roll. My home number was a landline and I called the telephone company and changed it. I figured that when he called, he’d get the recorded voice saying, “The number has been disconnected and there is no forwarding number” and he’d become so distraught when he couldn’t reach me that it would be the catalyst he needed to come running back to me!

MotorolaPager

I didn’t have a cell phone. I had a beeper, a pager–remember those things? Now I think only drug dealers use them LOL. He had one, too.

I waited for him to beep me. I waited all day. I was DYING to know if he had TRIED to call. This was 1992-ish; email was in its infancy–I don’t believe we even had a home computer, and the computers at work didn’t have internet access.

This is the funny part.

I started power paging him; over and over again. I mean, like twenty times, thirty times.

WITH MY NEW NUMBER.

I went to so much trouble to change my phone number and I couldn’t wait twenty-four hours. When he called, I asked him if he had tried to call the old number and he said he had (still not sure of that) and asked why I did something crazy like that. I can’t remember my response–I WAS crazy at that point.

[The quick end to that story is that I flew to Hawaii the following weekend and from there we went to Kauai and he said that I had wasted my time changing my number because he had already come to the conclusion that he couldn't live without me and he didn't want to live without me and he proposed and came home for good two months later and we were married nine months after that.]

Fast forward to yesterday’s phone call.

After we said our initial hellos and all that, I asked him,  “Do you ever get worried that I”ll change the number again and you won’t be able to reach me? Like when you’ve been gone a really long time and I’m getting tired of it? Like NOW?”

Him: (Laughing) “Not really, or if you did, you’d just call me right away to give me the new number like you did before.”

HA HA.

Now he’s turned into a sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not HUSBAND. The difference is that he always comes home–to me. Oh, and his paychecks come here even when he’s not. Hee Hee.

Final Words

It cracks me up when I hear “Somebody That I Used to Know“.  Gotye sings, “No you didn’t have to stoop so low. Have your friends collect your records and then change your number“…

Dear Jonathan Stuart Leibowitz

Or, as the world knows you, Jon Stewart, lord and master of The Daily Show.

Shabbat Shalom to you, my Jewish prince.

Four nights a week I watch your wit and candor and passion and rage and humor.

Most of the time I agree with you and LOL (laugh out loud) ‘cos you’re so darn funny.

I love most of the skits and sketches and some of the interviews.

To be perfectly honest with you, I fast forward through a lot of interviews (snooze) to get to Your Moment Of Zen.

I’m not writing to boost your ego, get show tickets, or a fake signed picture of you for my bedroom wall (although I wouldn’t turn it down!)

NO, I feel the need to take pen to paper fire up my MacAir to shake my fist at you, Mr. Lee-boh-vitz!

I take umbrage, sir!

Umbrage I take!

How dare you mock the millions of us who are Etsy creators. HOW DARE YOU!

This is a verbatim quote from The Daily Show, January 23, 2013:

“…it’s all–we get it, you have a glue gun, okay!”

http://archive.org/details/COMW_20130124_070000_The_Daily_Show_With_Jon_Stewart#start/381/end/411

Look at it this way–those of us who are Etsy devotees create beautiful and practical items in a much too harsh and ugly world.

I proudly wield my glue gun and embellish as many things possible with seashells, rocks, and beach glass. From toilets to walls to my front door, there’s a seashell wherever you go. Want a mirror surrounded by seashells? I’ve got several to choose from and I’ll give you a great price, you know, us both being Jewish and all. (Come see me after the show.)

This is a call to arms! Glue gun enthusiasts UNITE! We need to organize and hire a lobbyist and storm the White House and Congress and raise awareness for the plight of the glue gunners. We need some appropriations–we NEED laws protecting our right to bear glue guns.

You really hurt my feelings with your scoffing and derision of Etsy. I think you and I need to sit down and glue a few seashells on a picture frame and you’ll see it from a whole different perspective. Whadddya say?

You could make it all better by inviting me to appear on The Daily Show with my glue gun(s) and a selection of my creative wares–and we’re not talking only gluing here–my tugboat captain husband is an expert in marlinspike seamanship. On long journeys across the oceans he weaves magnificent jewelry and covered bottles and picture frames. 

I’m looking at my schedule right now–I’m free just about anytime.
So…I’ll be waiting for your call.

Yours very truly,
Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife

10 reasons why seashells are enchanted

I’m still in the throes of harnessing my inner beeyotch (the lady who slammed on her brakes and made a u-turn in front of me got a taste of that new me) but I took a teensy break to ponder the oft-asked question: Why do I love seashells?

1. Just like snowflakes, no two are exactly alike. Some are almost perfect twins, but there’s always an individual characteristic if you look close enough.

2. Unlike a snowflake, they don’t disappear.

3. They are all beautiful in color and shape and size.What a treasure!

4. Shells can be worn as jewelry.Abalone necklace with rope work, earrings, pearl bracelet, necklace of polished shell pieces

4. There is appeal in their symmetry and asymmetry.fairshells

5. For me, seashells impart a tangible tactile and visual state of bliss.

6. Shells give birth to episodes of intense creative passions. This is my most recent seashell bouquet; an organic interpretation inspired by a froggy vase acquired at a local thrift shop that helps victims of domestic abuse.newfrogvase

7. Once upon a time, a seashell housed a living creature.

8. Cowry shells were used as currency in China.cowry shell

9. If you love to collect dust, start collecting seashells! They are a dust magnet, prolly their only negative trait.

10. A small grain of sand–a foreign body–inside a seashell grows into a magnificent pearl.  A pearl is an annoyance to the shell,  just exactly like the way I am oftentimes an annoyance to the captain!white-pearl-in-oyster     

Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain's Wife:

While I’m doing a zillion loads of laundry from our camping trip (why so much??), downloading photos, and organizing my thoughts to post “The Princess Guide to Camping”, I thought I’d tempt you with a little old post from a few months ago. Seashells is my name, seashells are my game…just a reminder that it’s not always all about Chanel!

Originally posted on Enchanted Seashells...Confessions of a Tugboat Captain's Wife:

Today is super hot and humid but I went to Pilates anyway, and saw a friend of mine who’s a nurse and she always has a handful of non-latex gloves or figs from her tree for me and I trade her tomatoes and cucumbers and clary sage seedlings, so it’s a win-win for both of us.

I’m really excited about all my clary sage seedlings; I have about 100 of ‘em that look very healthy but will have to wait for the weather to cool down to put them in the ground. Here in So Cal, October is our spring, and that’s the best time I have found to plant natives.

So I have all these seashells, right?  Prolly thousands of them, collected by me or presented as gifts, and I’m not super creative like everyone on Etsy and Pinterest, but I do like to embellish almost everything with…

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