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?
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 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!)
Very strange, I think to myself.
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 Americans, 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, some 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.
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.
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.
Happy Saturday!
(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.
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.
I can see snow! It was hazy today but that’s definitely snow.
Bright red toyon berries.
Coyote scat and my awesome new hikers!
Power plant off in the distance.
New cairns have arisen.
I bet a lot of locals know where this is. Do YOU?
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…
If I took a poll, I surmise that most females will agree that there’s trial and error in learning how to walk in high heels. A learning curve. I realize that not everyone likes to wear stilettos; some may even feel that it’s another indication of how we women are oppressed and repressed, and I can certainly understand that point of view.
But not for me.
I swear, and my mom would agree if she were still alive, that I begged and begged for my first set of heels when I was three years old.
Santa Claus brought them for me (we celebrate Christmas AND Hannukah lol) The little high heels arrived as a set with a faux mink stole and tiara, but it was the shoes(OK, I admit it, and the tiara) that became as natural to my persona as my curly hair and snarky repartee.
Yes, I was an extreme girly girl. I mean, did you ever stop to think of why I refer to myself as Princess Rosebud? My dad first started calling me Rosebud cos it’s similar to my IRL name, and after the tiara became part of my daily fashion accessories, it was only a matter of time before I became royalty. I’d always felt that I was born into the wrong family and this was all the proof I needed.
I really wish I hadn’t lost the tiara…I could still rock a sparkly rhinestone tiara, I know I could.
But here’s my dilemma.
I can walk for hours in heels and I don’t care if they hurt my feet, either.
But I can’t for the life of me, walk in flats. I’ve tried, I really have, but I don’t know what to do! It’s such a quandry.
I’ve practiced…but HOW? Do you shuffle? Kind of like shuffling bare feet through sand at the beach to avoid a jellyfish sting? Is it a heel/toe movement? Do you bend your knees? When? I just don’t get it at all. I feel very awkward in flats.
Even cute ones like the vegan Tory Burch’s. The Jimmy Choos are the worst. I mean, they’re super cute, but it’s impossible to figure out how to walk gracefully. It’s not a pretty sight, trust me. Even the less expensive ones don’t work right. They’re comfortable, that’s for sure, but I am definitely challenged. I keep buying more and more shoes in case I find the magic formula, but I haven’t found them yet.
There are many YouTube instructional videos–“How to Watch in Heels and Stilettos” –but nothing for flats. I guess I’ll have to only wear heels or suffer the embarrassment of lumbering and shambling down the street.
Ladies, what’s the trick? Help me!
(To fellow WP bloggers, this is the weirdest thing. Apparently this post did not publish, or it published in a draft format that was not at all what my final result looked like to me, and that’s why I’ve reposted it. Strange limbo zone!!)
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Do you smell the smoke?
It’s a rainy SoCal day and I was in a state of cleaning bliss, dusting and polishing and organizing.
I lit dried sage from the garden to smudge in a metal bowl on top of a mirror on my bedside table to bring a little pungent sagey/outdoorsy fragrance.
It seemed safe, right? Metal bowl placed not directly on wood, but on a mirror to protect it.
Apparently NOT safe.
I continued cleaning the other rooms, enjoying the sagey perfume. After a while, I thought that it seemed to be smoking for much much longer than the amount of leaves in the bowl and as I walked toward my bedroom, I was engulfed in smoke!
A MAJOR smudge haha.
I ran over to the window which was closed ‘cos of the rain, and slid it completely open, then to my beside table where I could see the mirror had cracked and the metal bowl had fused to the wood and was too hot to touch.
The table was literally seconds away from going up in flames!
The smoke was no longer from the sage; the antique and very dry wood was burning.
Oh, and somehow the carpet had a few burn holes too.
Now there’s a nasty burn mark on my mom’s antique bedside table,
It took about an hour for the smoke to dissipate. There’s not a smoke alarm in my bedroom and it hadn’t yet reached the dining room area where there are TWO smoke alarms, so that’s why I was oblivious.
Well, one reason why I was oblivious.
The other reason is that cleaning puts me into a Zen-like trance and I was lost in my own little world.
Moral of the story? DO NOT put sage in a metal bowl on top of a mirror on top of a wooden surface. EVER.
I repainted this room recently, and noticed that it no longer reeks of fresh paint, so there’s a sort of silver lining???
Okie dokie.
What did you think about my recent post about finding a local source for Chanel and other high end designer goods?
Loved it? Don’t really care? First world problems? Entitlement issues?
Angst. I suffer. Truly I do.
On the same day I purchased my new Chanel sunnies, I was still riding the sweet endorphin rush and made a beeline to Rite Aid to see what was on clearance as a way to detox myself.
Here’s where you’ll get to know the real me. To walk in my stilettos for a brief moment; to feel compassion for the crazy that I am, and which I fully OWN, by the way.
This is complicated, so follow closely.
Do you see these three bottles of nail polish?
(I’m assuming you are all nodding your heads.)
It’s a low end brand but that doesn’t mean low quality. The polish lasts quite a while and doesn’t chip-while it’s not $10 Opi or Essie quality, it’s perfectly acceptable especially if you’re quirky like me and change your colors on a whim. One day I’m sparkly and the next day I’m red hot.
You get the picture…
But that’s not this story NOR my dilemma.
Bear in mind that I JUST spent a small fortune on new sunnies and the price tag didn’t make me flinch. Notwithstanding THAT, I am really very thrifty. Frugal, even.
The nail polish brand must have been discontinued because there were signs offering a deal. If you purchased two at the regular price of 99 cents, the third one was 24 cents.
So random. 24 CENTS? Honestly, who came up with THAT number?
But my convoluted thought process was working overtime. Do I NEED three new colors? NOT REALLY.
But how can I pass this deal up? I did a quick calculation and discovered the price would be $2.22 for all of them.
You prob think this is a no brainer, right?
NOPE. Not for me.
I agonized for a good ten minutes, talking to myself (in my head, not OUT LOUD, sheesh) about the necessity and/or waste of $2.22 when I really only wanted ONE color, and then I asked myself (again, IN MY HEAD) whether or not I could walk away from a deal like that and might I not find a use for the other two colors at some point in the coming months.
It was excruciatingly painful to be in my orbitofrontal cortex, anterior cingulate cortex, the striatum, and my thalamus at that moment. You wouldn’t want to be in there, trust me.
All the odd OCD synapses were firing at the same time.
I mean, do you see the insanity? How can I explain it to anyone when it makes no sense to myself?
If you move the decimal point over a bit, you can figure out about how much I spent on new sunnies. (Well, more, but who’s counting.)
I had less angst over THAT amount of money than I did with the $2.22.
What did I do?
Holding your breath?
I bought all three.
NOT SO FAST.
Actually, I first decided not to, and was walking to the shelf to put them back, and then I thought I was being BEYOND mental and completely ridiculous, so I changed my mind.
Whew.
I’ve had some tough decisions to make in my life but this ranks right up there with the most insane waste of time about virtually nothing significant. (Like the time I stressed about driving twenty miles to take back a $2 ball of twine. Which I eventually kept. Read all about it here.)
I told you I suffer from angst. I really really do.
Believe it.
