What’s Your Inspo?

Friday thoughts…

(inspo = something or someone that serves as inspiration or motivation.)

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I’m a forever child, never to grow up, still talking like the perpetual thirteen-year-old that I was/am, and sometimes a fairy princess in an enchanted forest with flowers in my hair surrounded by gentle creatures.

It used to irk my son when I’d repeat key phrases from South Park or Beavis and Butthead that were sooo INAPPROPRIATE, but now he laughs with me. A snarky chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless.

One day when he was in graduate school, we were eating lunch with a few of his friends and he put me on the spot and made me imitate Towlie from South Park. “Wanna get high?” in that Towlie voice. Good sports, we all laughed. I knew they were laughing AT me, but it wasn’t in a mean way. I laughed at myself, too. The jokes on them though, ‘cos whatever I did as a mom inspired my son to become a professor. HAHAHA.

Here’s Towlie in case you didn’t have a teenage son in the 90s…

NEVER GROW UP, that’s my mantra. (A girly Peter Pan without leaving all the narcissistic destruction in my wake.)

Just now at the ATT store I noticed that I was the ONLY one who was enthralled with two little starlings who walked all around me in a circle, not a care in the world with regard to humans and cars, and then I looked up and saw a gigantic White Egret. There was a UPS man parked right next to me and he followed my gaze as I was looking up, so I said, “Look at the beautiful white egret!” Nothing. “It’s a BIRD.” Nothing. “It’s really special!” Nothing. He continued with his stressed and frenzied pace to get those packages delivered and delivered and delivered. He looked at me like I was slightly off center but I wanted to tell him that he’d have a better day if he stopped just for a minute to BREATHE and LOOK UP.

There are miracles all around to be seen and heard. The simple things are the greatest bringers of joy and gratitude. It’s also true a Chanel handbag can bring its own kind of joy, as much as a seashell. Same.

Back to inspo

What’s MY inspo? Now it’s mostly Theo and Charlotte, and always my original Angel Boy, that’s a given.

I’m putting the finishing touches on Theo’s half birthday gift, another one of my personalized books with photos and beginner words that I write just for him.

Yes, we celebrate half birthdays around here. It’s a tradition started by my mom, the original Charlotte. Hee hee. Not only did I get presents on my dad’s birthday, I received gifts and HALF a cake on my half birthday in November. The same was done for AB and now his kids. I think it’s an awesome tradition.

When my son turned twenty-one, I embarrassed him (yet again) in front of his friends with my speech about my love for every breath he’s ever taken and then gave him a gift of a star that I named for him because he was and will always be my entire universe. Check it out: International Star Registry, Scutum RA18h 47m 46d D-12′ 24′

Do you celebrate half birthdays?

What’s your inspo?

Aquafaba. Not Awkwafina and definitely not Paso Fino

NOT Awkwafina, one of my fave actors and comedians from one of my all-time fave films, Crazy Rich Asians.Awkwafina has a scene-stealing role as Constance Wu's old college roommate in "Crazy Rich Asians."

And not a beautiful Paso Fino, either. I had never heard of that breed as I’m not a very horsey person but I met one while hiking at the Daley Ranch and fell totally in love. He was the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen and I couldn’t stop petting him. He was all dressed up in a shiny silver bridle. I’m mostly afraid of horses because they’re so big but this guy was gentle and affectionate.(This isn’t the horse I met; this pic is from Wiki.)

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No, what I’m talking about is AQUAFABA. I don’t know how it is that I’ve never heard of it, but that’s the truth. It slipped right by me, like the noxious slime that it is.

Up until now, I thought that the viscous liquid in cans of garbanzo beans was vile and slippery and I drain them IMMEDIATELY before making hummus or veggie burgers.

Who knew that some brilliant person must have thought to herself, “Hmm, what if I whip this shit up into a frothy mass and use it as a vegan replacement for egg wihites?”

And who came up with the NAME??? Aquafaba

I(t reminds me of that stuff I put on my lips ‘cos it’s so dry in SoCal: Aquaphor…)

I would really like to have a chitchat with that person because my unimaginative brain does NOT work that way.

My brain is more like “EWW, gross.”

I promise to try it in a recipe and post the results. I’d like to see how it compares to egg whites in a lemon meringue pie or a chocolate mousse or marshmallows. Apparently, it’s virtually calorie-free, so that’s a plus.

Try this site for some great recipe ideas: https://www.vegansociety.com/news/blog/20-amazing-things-you-can-do-aquafaba

Let me know in the comments if you’ve ever worked with aquafaba.

My New Best Friend

This little guy visits me every single time i’m outside. He’s easy to identify because of the dark spot on the top of his head. I’m not sure if it’s a wound or an injury, but he seems healthy. I pet him with a little stick; he also enjoys a back massage.

I see nothing wrong with having an alligator lizard as a bestie, do you?

“Hey, man.” Convo with the brilliant one.

No one can pinpoint the etymology of this phrase with regard to our extremely precocious almost 4.5 year-old, but yesterday was the first time I heard it.

We were FaceTiming so he could tell me about their week-long camping trip. He was regaling me with how much fun he had and how he went surfing and how his baby sister enjoyed her first time living on the feral, as we say.

As an aside, he started referring to his almost one-year-old sister as “Missy” and when I asked him who he was talking about, Mom took the phone and said he started calling her that after I sent an Amelia Bedelia book where the child she babysits for is called “Missy.” T has a very active imagination.

As, we’re chatting and he shows me some new crystals he got at a yard sale–green and purple, his two favorite colors–I heard Dad in the background say, “Tell Grandma about the lake we went to this morning.”

“Oh yeah, hey man, I jumped all the way in from really high, you would have been too scared, little Grandma!”

I said, “What lake?” and “What did you just say?”

And he replied, “Let me ask Daddy.”

He walks over to where Dad is sitting on the sofa (I’m dragged along on FaceTIme) and says, “Hey, man, what was the name of the lake we went to?”

My son started snickering and said. “It was Kachess Lake”.

T said, “Hey man, it was Kachess Lake”.

I replied, “Oh, I saw the pictures and thought it was Green Lake.”

He corrected me, “No, man, it was Kachess Lake. Hey man, did you see me jump?”

“I did. You are a brave boy. Hand the phone to Dad for a minute, please.”

“Hey J-boy. What’s up, man? Where did he get that?”

*snickering again*

“We have no idea; he must have heard it somewhere or maybe on Sesame Street, that’s all we can think of, but literally EVERY other word out of his mouth is ‘man this or man that’.”

“Hey man, I’m gonna hit the red button now. Is that OK, Grandma?”

“Yeah, man, that’s cool. Catch you later. Bye, Angel Boy.”

Have you ever heard a little one use that term in the proper context? He sounds so grown up, so sophisticated. SOOOO precocious. Heaven help us when he’s an actual teenager.

What does a shiny green beetle, pennies, and a lizard on my bed have in common?

What does a shiny green beetles, pennies, and a lizard on my bed have in common?

Probably nothing, but that’s the puzzle.

Yesterday, I found a baby lizard on my bed–on top of the comforter, apparently hanging out. It didn’t look confused or lost, but as much as I love animals, I don’t really want to share my bed with an alligator lizard so I ran in the kitchen, grabbed an empty hummus container, and RAN back in the bedroom, hoping he was still chilling out and hadn’t moved. Thank goodness, he was in the same spot. As fast as I could, I scooped him up into the container, slapped on the lid and released him/her outside in the garden. How strange is that? I know we live in SoCal and there are lizards everywhere, sometimes in the garage, but rarely ever in the house. I don’t have pics, but you can believe me. It happened.

(Here’s a photo I just took of either the same baby lizard or a cousin, catching some rays on the sprinkler. Stay outside, little one!)

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Very strange, I think to myself.

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Early this morning while I transplanted a few baby herbs, I found an old scruffy penny. As I looked around in another part of the garden for something else to fill up more empty spots,  I found another penny.

Hmm…that’s odd, I think to myself.

A couple seconds later, I spied something shiny and green on the lawn. When I got close to check it out, I saw it was a dead beetle which I’ll save to show AB 2.0 at some point in the future.

Hmm…that’s odd AND strange,  I think to myself.

So what’s going on at Casa de Enchanted Seashells?

I have no idea, but a little research revealed this:

Finding a lizard on your bed implies that you are losing control or authority over someone or somebody. Okie dokie. Not sure about that, but I’ll consider it. This is better…The ability of the lizard to drop its tail, and grow it back has led to it being a symbol of growth, regeneration, and survival. To many Native American tribes, the lizard survivability has made it an important symbol especially when it comes to the birth of a male child. Many cultures see lizards as protectors and guards. This is particularly true when you consider many native American cultures. For instance, any Plains Native American tribes revered lizards for their ability to survive. Umbilical cords were sewn into amulets that resembled lizards as this ensured the health, masculinity, and strength of baby boys.  (https://www.snaketracks.com/lizards-symbolism/)

The beetle is a Cotinis mutabilis, also known as the figeater beetle (also green fruit beetle or fig beetle), and is a member of the scarab beetle family. I don’t have any fig trees…Symbolically, if you see a beetle of a green color, it’s the symbol of good health and prosperity, The beetle is often seen (in many cultures) as a lucky charm. Some even use it as an amulet. … Beetles are also associated with change, balance, and consistency.

Regarding found money, the most common thought is that coins are a sign from a departed loved one sending you their love and support. Ok, I get that, but I wish my mom or dad had left a couple million dollars buried in the garden, not two copper pennies. I’m GRATEFUL for the message, but still. Ya know? Oh well. Thanks, guys.

And it’s not even 10am here. I wonder what the rest of today will bring.

 

Shadow play and fairy gardens

Picture this.

I was on the phone yesterday evening, talking to my littlest Angel Boy who was beyond excited that the box of fairy garden bits and pieces had arrived.

There are fairy gardens all over his neighborhood and he’s fascinated exactly the same way I am.

A long while back, pre-Covid, I had gotten a lot of things from my local Dollar Tree to make a fairy garden here at Casa de Enchanted Seashells, but the trip they had scheduled to visit me had to be cancelled, so that’s why I sent them.

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As I was chatting with him, watching him place the little gnomes and owls and house and bridge in a corner of his front yard, I looked up and saw the most amazing shadows on the wall.

They’re some of the fifteen windchimes that line the house on the deck. The sea turtle swimming across the wall made me smile.

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Happy Saturday!

A rant about disagreeable people

(Because I’m not sure WordPress allows us to use the word “assholes” in a post title.)

A little slice of life from SoCal, and a reminder that sometimes the best course of action is to stay away from other humans.

While it was still relatively cool with a marine layer and an onshore breeze, I decided to take a walk.

I usually walk anywhere between four to ten miles, and today I thought I’d walk around the lagoon and a bit more, probably four miles or so, ‘cos I have a lot to do later on.

It’s a beautiful day, the birds are out, families are walking, and we were all respectful of social distancing.

Well, ALMOST all of us.

I swear, I don’t know what the hell is wrong with some older post-.menopausal white women with short blonde (to cover the gray) hair.

I’m not shaming them, as I sorta fit the description myself apart from the short hair and wheat belly Trumpian bitterness. (Inside joke for my local peeps,)

I decided to take the long way home and detoured to a public path that winds around a subdivision that once upon a time was a gorgeous habitat for a lot of coyotes and bobcats and even deer and mountain lions. It WAS spectacular. All that’s left as mitigation is this path.

Whenever I encountered another human, we waved hello and each moved to the opposite side of the approximately six foot wide trail, to respect the state-mandated distancing.

Then this happened.

An older couple approached. He was a nondescript white man; she was the person I previously described. I tried to anticipate which side of the path they would move to and I moved to the opposite. Then, in sync, they moved to the other side, so I moved away, thinking we had a silent communication glitch.

THEN, the woman stood in the middle of the path facing me with her arms outstretched, as if to block my way, and they demonically laughed.

I AM NOT KIDDING.

They OBVIOUSLY must not have realized that despite my tiny size, I’m a fire-breathing dragon with the cussing ability of a merchant mariner–and possess zero filter.

I said, “That’s really fucked up.”

He said, “Then don’t walk around here.”

I said, “What. the. fuck. I’ve lived here for thirty-five years.”

Like a toddler, he responded,  “We’ve been here for forty.”

I said, “You are full of shit.”

…snd I kept walking before the incident escalated. I wish I had thought to take a pic of them, but I just shook my head at their abject stupidity.

Who would think it funny to deliberately defy the guidelines to keep everyone safe from this virus? (While I’m not even sure what Covid IS and how it got here, I’ll play along for the greater good.)

Why bother being such assholes for no apparent reason? My hair was in a ponytail and I wore a hat so I can’t even think it was because they hate curly hair.

In the old days, an encounter like that would have ruined my day, but now I realize it’s their problem and not mine, and I don’t take on their negative energy.

However, I confess that it felt really really good to breathe a little fire, hee hee.

 

 

 

“All roads lead home”

Not necessarily true in all scenarios, but it’s a lovely thought–especially when it’s a text from the original Angel Boy.

Here’s the backstory:

I didn’t want to go the gym ‘cos it seems like everyone is sniffing, sneezing, or coughing, and I don’t want to get sick.

It was a beautiful sunny SoCal morning,  so I thought it’d be fun to try out my new hiking boots, spend a few hours out in nature and soak up the new growth sage-y fragrance blooming after our recent rains.

It is a fact that I have hiked this hill at least a hundred times. It is also a fact that when I go solo, I get lost 100% of the time. I don’t know why or how it happens, but I start out with a solid plan and by the time a couple hours has passed, I’m all turned around and can’t figure out where I am, how I got there, or how to get out.

One time I was lost until dark. I wouldn’t call for help and stubbornly walked until civilization emerged. However, I was fully prepared to sleep with my coyote family if necessary.

I don’t panic anymore. In my head, I say, “Well, Princess, it looks like we’re lost again. Let’s just enjoy the journey.” And then I laugh crazily to myself.

True to form, I got lost. Knowing that my DIL added me to the tracking GPS on her phone, she could be counted on for support if I was in real danger.

I texted my son, “Guess what, I’m lost again.”

He texts back, “All roads lead to home.”

Which wasn’t really helpful in my current dilemma, but it was awfully prosaic of him. (And snarky.)

After a couple of hours wandering around in an aimless pattern, I spotted two young boys riding their bikes. I asked them if they could point me in the right direction to get back where I started. They very kindly did (super nice that they didn’t start laughing at me) and I proceeded to follow their accurate directions.

Love my new hiking shoes, loved the hike, but glad to be back at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.

Apparently, all of MY roads DO lead home. My Angel Boy is a genius.

Who can guess where I was? It’s embarrassing to admit how often I’m clueless up here.

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I can see snow! It was hazy today but that’s definitely snow.

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Bright red toyon berries.

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Coyote scat and my awesome new hikers!

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Power plant off in the distance.IMG_8593

New cairns have arisen.

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I bet a lot of locals know where this is. Do YOU?

 

 

 

A Tale of Two Dresses

Do you ever take a moment or two out of your busy day or before you close your eyes at night and wonder who in the hell Princess Rosebud really is?

So do I, my friend, so do I.

Toward that goal, ponder upon this for a while. The following might give you (and me) some valuable insights into my intimate gray matter. (Not Fifty Shades of Gray, maybe only about three or four.) Or not. You decide.

I bought two dresses. I love them equally. I hung them side by side to admire them and I’m looking at them right now and I’m loving so much about each of them for their individual intrinsic qualities.

One is a Lilly Pulitzer. a tried and true real designer brand that I could wear anywhere and be appropriately attired. I love the sleeves and the sassy outrageous bright colors and the dynamic print. It speaks of shiny happiness to me. I also love that it’s XXS, which soothes my poor body image issues. In my convoluted and distorted mind, I feel that IF I fit into an extra extra small size and it’s loose on me, then no matter what or how I feel on the inside, I can’t be ginormous, right? (Not that I’m body shaming anyone as this is my own personal issue.) With a spiky highhigh heel or summer-y espadrille, this is a sexysexy dress cos it’s super short, too.

The other dress is a treasure I picked up at the Buffalo Exchange in Ballard when I visited Angel Boy 2.0. It’s Forever 21 (which is EXACTLY how I feel on the inside. Arrested development and all that…) I love everything about this dress too: the muted burgundy and black/tan colors, the print, the little buttons, the tassels, and the vaguely Elizabethan/hippie empire cut with the billowy long sleeves. With leggings and adorable boots, I can’t WAIT for autumn.

One dress cost ten dollars; the other was on sale and cost less than one hundred dollars. Equal love. Money didn’t factor into the love.

Two shades of Princess Rosebud. There are a few more shades to my personality, but none of them are too extreme unless you start counting the number of seashells adorning the walls and shelves of each and every surface. Hence the title of my blog…

On another totally unrelated subject, many thanks to whomever sent me the package of thongs! I don’t normally wear Calvin Klein underwear cos I love silky things next to my skin, but they are super cute. A mystery gift giver, how awesome! Or…stalky. Hmm…

Conversations with a human #578. Chicken Butts.

My little three-year-old guy, the one I refer to as Angel Boy 2.0, needed to tell me something so he grabbed the phone away from his dad.

“Dad, I need to tell Grandma something right now.”

“What is it, T-man?”

“No, I’ll tell her. Give me the phone.”

“Grandma, look! My dad made a work space in the garage!”

“Wow, that’s pretty awesome, are you helping him?”

“I have my own tools, Dad’s are really really sharp. See?”

“Grandma! I’m coming to your house next Wednesday!”

“That’s right, T! Good job remembering the days of the week.”

“Theosaurus, I need to ask you a very important question, OK? Can you listen really hard?”

“OK Grandma.”

“Do you have anything special you want me to bake or make for you and Daddy to eat when you come? Muffins or dinner or anything you choose.”

I thought he’d choose oatmeal cookies or apple pie or a blueberry cake, but I wasn’t ready for what he said next…

“Hmmm. Let me think. Grandma? Can you make chicken butts?”

“Uh, how do you make chicken butts?”

“You do something and then put them in the oven and then they’re chicken butts.”

“No, T, I will not make chicken butts. Not ever. Choose something else, please!”

“Can you make popsicles?”

“Yes. I can make popsicles but I will not make chicken butts.”

“OK Grandma. Can I press the red button now?”

“Yes, T and then take the phone back to Daddy. See you soon! Bye.”

Chicken butts. Nope. Just nope.

He’ll have to be happy with an apple pie.