Yummy Hummy Mummy

Anyone participating in World Naked Gardening Day?

No?

Well, I’m not either, that’s for sure.

I’m moving furniture, shampooing carpets, channeling Cinderella, and obsessing over the only full nest at Casa de Enchanted Seashells.

My little yummy hummy mummy is doing what most animals do naturally — be an attentive and protective mother.

enchantedseashells.com

enchantedseashells.com

In the late afternoon sunlight, I removed the screen in the dining room window and leaned all the way out to capture the iridescence.

enchantedseashells.com

enchantedseashells.com

Have you ever seen a hummingbird stay almost perfectly still for more than two minutes?

I set up the tripod and took some video of her nest sitting, blinking her little eyes, and swaying in the breeze.

There’s a bit of shake (sorry) but the tripod was in a precarious position on top of a bench in order to get the best angle.

When she first started building the nest, I waited until she flew away in order to reinforce the chimes with twine to make sure they’d support the extra weight and not fall down,

YouTube video:

(And congrats to Princess Kate for giving birth to a royal little girl! )

Advertisements

2015 #VionicWalkabout Is ON!

#vionicwalkaboutDo you love to walk as much as I do?

Then join us!

The 2015 VIONIC WALKABOUT IS ON!

We have the ability to create a movement!

Vionic Venture WalkerShare your Walkabout journey via social media using the hashtag #VionicWalkabout.

The #VionicWalkabout spotlights personal wellbeing by bringing people across the nation virtually together to walk for health.

All it takes is a simple pledge to walk 30 minutes everyday for 30 days in an effort to create healthy habits. 

This year’s Walkabout challenge is being co-sponsored by Vionic shoes spokespeople Dr. Andrew Weil and celebrity trainer Juliet Kaska, and runs during the month of February – which is national Heart Health month.

Pledgers will receive exclusive wellness insight from the world renowned Dr. Weil and fitness tips from Juliet Kaska as well as the chance to win prizes from Vionic shoes, to the grand prize of a all expense-paid trip to Napa, CA!

Make Your Pledge Today – sign up for free online: http://www.vionicshoes.com/2015-vionic-walkabout

What’s a Walkabout?
A Walkabout is an Australian journey for well-being during which one seeks to clarify his/her life purpose. The Vionic Walkabout challenge is inspired by the Aussies and aims to improve physical and mental well-being by creating healthy habits over the course of 30 days.

WALK TO WIN
By participating in Vionic Walkabout, you’ll have the chance to walk away with some seriously great prizes. Through photo and caption contests on Facebook and Instagram, we’ll give away weekly prizes such as new Vionic Shoes, Dr. Weil Cookbooks and Visa gift cards. Plus, we’ll select a Grand Prize winner to receive an all-expense paid trip to Napa, CA.

WALK TO IMPROVE YOUR HEALTH
Walking can improve physical health by helping you manage your weight, boost your immune system, lower blood pressure, strengthen your heart and much more. It can also improve your mood, ease depression and help maintain mental efficiency!

Vionic sent me these cool shoes and I’ve been walking all over my city. They’re super comfortable, lightweight, and give my heels and high arches all the support they need. As always, I’ve received product, but no compensation, and all opinions are mine.

My Neighborhood #Vionicwalkabout

A couple of feline friends who always run out to greet us and get some love.Walk1

Stopped for a picnic at Magee Park in Carlsbad.

walk12

The park was full of well-groomed collies!

walk11walk10

Hmmm…what are they trying to say?walk9 Couldn’t pass by this beautiful rose without stopping to smell…

walk8

Red berries!walk7A very primitive and mature Cycad.walk6Look at these fluorescent puffballs!walk5walk4And a popcorn sky…

walk3

 Start your #Vionicwalkabout today and be healthy!
There’s still time to start walking and win a trip to Napa!

http://www.vionicshoes.com/2015-vionic-walkabout

You Do Me and I’ll Do You, OK?

Join me in a cup of tea brought to me by my MANSLAVE (I mean husband), and let’s connect across all platforms, OK?

Yogi Tea

 

HAPPY WEDNESDAY!

 

 

if you don’t call, I think you’re dead, and that’s why I’m getting a pair of Loubies

(If you don’t know what Loubies/Louboutins are, scroll down to the end for a pic.)


We are officially at Tugboat Man Minus Two.

In other words, two more shopping days ’til I drive to the airport and pick up a man.

That’s funny, but it’s true.

I go from SASSY single girl to a coupled MARRIED woman at the whim of a flying machine.

Well, after a good amount of time ‘scaping and scraping and all that jazz.

Got a totes adorbs dress at the Banana Republic @Carlsbad Outlet today.

Fifty percent off! Kinda Pucci-like, don’t you think?bananarepublic

I’ll pair it with skinny jeans or black tights.

And those LOUBOUTINS I’m about to receive as soon as hub comes home and catches up on his lost sleep.

Sleep loss is a real health hazard of the professional mariner.

But enough about him.

Here’s why I deserve those scandalous, over-the-top, uber extravagant and gorgeous shoes.

Settle in, this is a good story, albeit a tad convoluted, but not if you follow my way of thinking about things. If you’re like me, you’ll soon nod your head in agreement.

Remember a few weeks ago I shared with you that hub got a new surfboard? Do you also recall how i was the ultra supportive wife who encouraged him to buy it (and that I figured it behooved me to be “all in” so that I could expect the same reaction when I suggested a trip to Chanel for that iconic pearl necklace?)

OK. That’s the first part.

What you don’t know is that after my 50+ year-old tugboat man acquired his new toy, there was a slight swell (that’s surfer talk), a bump in the surf — and he became OBSESSED with surfing. Surfing in the morning, surfing in the afternoon, surfing until the sun went down. Normally, I’m pretty cool with that — he loves to surf, he’s gone a lot — when he’s home, he deserves to follow his bliss, right?

Now it’s time for you to understand that I’m the type of person who thinks if I don’t hear from you, you’re dead.

A to Z, black and white, dead or alive. No gray area.

I was am that way with my son, too. If he does’t call or text or email, I get so worried that I believe the WORST POSSIBLE THING HAS HAPPENED.

At any given time, I’m THAT close to calling the police, hospitals, FBI, State Department, and boarding a plane to wherever.

With my son, it’s not as if there isn’t some history…for example, one year he rode his bicycle alone from Carlsbad to Utah and had a pretty bad accident in Moab; more recently there was his life threatening illness and life-saving surgery — oh and let’s not forget that time he was riding his bicycle home from school at Johns Hopkins (where he received one of his two Masters) and a carjacking took place RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM and the car RAN HIM DOWN and mangled his bike. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt at all. LUCKILY.

AND that one occasion DIL and I were together while Angel Boy was hiking in some godforsaken remote location. I’ll never forget and neither will she…we were eating fish tacos at Rubios prior to her flight back home (she travels more than anyone I know) and we were waiting for a CALL from Angel Boy to let us know he was off the mountain. No call; she power called him until her fingers were sore, but it went straight to voicemail. Finally, she called one of the guys he was hiking with and we learned that the rest of the group had met up at the arranged time, but not our Angel Boy. In fact, the rest of the group was becoming worried and had contacted the rangers, and there was talk about forming a search party. Can you imagine how worried we were? We’re in the car, on the way to the airport, very upset as you can imagine, when he finally called. As thankful as we both were that he was OK and now I can’t really remember the reason for his delay, we were SO MAD AT HIM. And now it’s kinda ruined Rubios for us, because it brings us right back to that place of panic.

Now’s the time you should be nodding your head in agreement that there’s some justifiable basis for the way I am. RIGHT?

Back to my tugboat man. His job is a very dangerous one, no matter that he’s the captain and is inside the wheelhouse mostly driving the boat; it’s inherently rife with danger. At any moment, I could receive a call from the company with some bad news. AT ANY TIME. So much to worry about.

And surfing is dangerous too, right? My son’s childhood friend disappeared while surfing in Hawaii, and there are always horrible surfing accidents on the news that further support my crazy.  In fact, a few years ago, through no fault of his own, hub was involved in a freak accident out in the water where he was stabbed in the lower calf by the tip of someone’s board – he drove himself home — I took one look at the injury, which was open all the way to the bone (MAJOR GROSS), and we made a trip to the ER where they sutured it.

End of story?

Nope, just the beginning. Suturing was a bad idea. The wound became horribly infected because of FILTHY OCEAN WATER; he had a fever of 105 degrees, contracted an antibiotic resistant staph infection, was in incredible pain, but LUCKILY recovered with no limbs lost — just a small divot in his calf and an ugly scar.

As you can see, I’m not ALL that crazy. Sorta cray, but not ALL the way cray.

OK, back to the present (literally). Hub’s been taking Spanish lessons when he’s home, I think mostly so that we can go to Costa Rica (to surf, duh).

Anyway, here’s where it gets hinky.

He loaded his new surfboard in the back of his truck, and said he’d MAYBE go surfing after the class was over.

Class was over at 6:00 p.m. No phone call. 6:15. No call. 6:30. No call. I started power calling his cell. No answer. 7:00 p.m.-7:30 p.m.

He NEVER doesn’t call.My almost-always-perfect hub UNDERSTANDS the importance of a two-second courtesy call or text.

On this particular day, one of the hottest in history, a call would have been especially nice if he had asked if I wanted to meet him at the beach to cool off and take pics or video of the big surf.

7:45 p.m. No call.

One by one the ingredients I had prepped for dinner were put away.

What ifs were peppering my brain.

What if he got hit with a board again? What if he cut himself on glass?

WHAT IF HE’S AN INCONSIDERATE JERK?

He rolled in a few minutes before 8:00 p.m., happy and hungry.

Me, not so much.

I proceeded to explain to him the thousands and thousands of ways he failed me as a loving husband by selfishly not caring enough to make that phone call. It’s worse ‘cos he KNOWS how crazy I get. He said he was sorry, that he thought I understood he was planning to surf…blah, blah, blah.

I tossed a couple lettuce leaves in his direction, telling him to enjoy his dinner, while I flounced off to not speak to him for the rest of his life.

The next morning I went to the gym while he went surfing AGAIN.

When I got home and pulled into the garage, there was a handwritten huge banner staring at me; “I’m very, very, very SORRY, how can I make it up to you?”

Louboutins, my friends.

Louboutins.

And don’t EVER do that again. ‘Cos I’m crazy,

And when I’m cray, YOU pay.

louboutin-black-leather-high-heels

#Louboutin #Loubies

Zemanta is Back!

WordPress bloggers, were you as saddened as I was when Zemanta disappeared from our writing template sidebar?

I know I was super disappointed. 😦

Zemanta was my FRIEND.

Zemanta

Zemanta (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I loved the personal assistance with tags, related content, links, and photos.

I depended on Zemanta especially as a beginning blogger in 2012.

Zemanata was my writing guru — I like to think he’s sitting in the living room next to me as I type —  shirtless,  gently guiding my hand to choose correct tags while he performs his squats and lunges and pushups (oh wait, my fantasy intrudes, ha ha!) …and imparting  a lot of knowledge about the mysterious world of SEO in the process.

Well, it’s BACK like MAGIC!

Just go here to Zemanta and download the version that works for you.

Zemanta is awesome, just sayin’.

(Now take off your shirt, Z,  and show me those biceps..)
heart

P.S. This is NOT a sponsored post, totally my own opinion!

Remembering: When I Got Up Close With Peter O’Toole

Peter O'Toole The Stunt ManFor a brief moment in time, I lived my life’s dream of being an actress.

I had an agent.

I even combined my love for writing with my desire to become the next Oscar winner and wrangled a real live Press Pass from the Theater Arts Guild (which I saved all these years and take out to weep on every so often as just another unrealized dream.)

One time, I interviewed Bob Hope and Connie Francis. By the way, funny as you think he was on stage, he was an absolute JERK behind the scenes. At least that’s what I observed as he demanded that his white Rolls Royce be driven underground at the Sports Arena where he was to appear with Connie Francis in a tribute to the military. There was such a small crowd that a near-panic ensued and busloads of Marines drove in to fill up the seats and save the day.

Anyhoo, I get that I was a nobody with a freshly minted press pass, but I did write for a legitimate publication and he didn’t have to be so rude and dismissive. I wrote an honest, authentic, and genuine piece, not a speck of fluff anywhere. I still have the article somewhere along with my press pass. One day I’ll rummage around in my box of broken dreams and post it.

From tiny on-screen moments on the beach in a bathing suit in Harry- O with David Janssen to my last shoot as a Costa Rican hooker in Deadly Desire with Jack Scalia, it seemed as if I had a calling. I even had a few bit parts with lines, although most of them ended up on the proverbial cutting room floor, so there’s nothing to be found on YouTube to document my star’s brief rise and fall.

Upon reflection, I’m not quite sure why I was typecast as a prostitute? Bimbo in a bikini? Oh well, another fantasy died, thanks to an abundance of wrinkles and hundreds of pockets of cellulite. Time marches on, right?

There was a time I had auditioned for a film that was shooting in San Diego, “Stuntman”, starring the great Peter O’Toole.

Stuntman

Me with Alex Rocco.Photo property of Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife

There I was, once again, a girl in a bikini, on the beach in La Jolla. (Nice abs, if I do say so myself.)

That’s where I met Peter O’Toole. Because we were right on the beach, it was a fairly egalitarian scene. It was fascinating for me to watch actors as they rehearsed their script outdoors — like Steve Railsback who kept going over his lines; “We’re losing the light, Chuck.” “Chuck, we’re losing the light” “We’re losing the damn light, Chuck!”

Photo courtesy of sandiegohistory.org

Photo courtesy of sandiegohistory.org

And then there was Mr. O’Toole as he was called, pretzeling his tall, extremely skinny body onto his special chair, one leg laconically tossed onto the arm as he half-sat, half-reclined — star power all the way —  and he raised his voice, knowing that he’d command attention in less than two syllables, ” Where’s my coffee?  I want my coffee HOT!” to all of the hovering assistants.

He was so thin that he showed us how he wore layers and layers of clothing — even in the summer — to give his body a little padding. (I heard Frank Sinatra did the same thing.)

I was way too cool to ask for an autograph; I wanted him to think of me as an equal; a fellow “actor”, not as a fawning sycophant.

All of us cute young barely clothed girls had an easy time as desired accessories around the set; we had more access to the celebrities, we watched them play chess or checkers or were even invited to eat lunch with them.

At the time, I thought that I was being singled out for my “specialness” and my acting skills; now I see that there was a darker and more exploitative side to what goes on behind the scenes. Trust me, the casting couch is alive and well in Hollywood.

But for me, it was all innocent, all good, all wholesome. I didn’t get drawn into any of the after-hours partying, didn’t make any bad choices in life or follow a destructive path.

My acting pursuits ended with the birth of the Angel Boy except for an inspiring portrayal of that Costa Rican hooker.

My very last line…”Te gusta, señor?” (“You like, Mister?”)

Act on, Mr. O’Toole. Break a leg. You are remembered and missed.

Eco-poetics, Berkeley, Spring Rain by Robert Hass, and my Angel Boy

On March 2, 1981

Thirty-two years ago I was sixty pounds heavier than I am today. I lost a lot of that weight on March 23rd when I finally gave birth, but on March 2, I was nesting, adding final touches to the nursery. Back in those days, amniocentesis and tests to determine sex weren’t the norm and I had no scientific proof — but I knew absolutely for sure —  I was going to have a boy. I knew it from the very beginning.  I had no doubt.

This isn’t my Angel Boy’s birthday tribute; that’ll happen later.

I’m just so very proud of him and all he’s accomplished and it seems like a good day for a couple of poems. Not by me, though.

UC Berkeley hosted an Eco-Poetics Conference last week and my son was invited to participate.

He got his Ph.D. last year from Yale. His dissertation also was due in March — March is an important month — his diss focuses on Goethe, Stifter, and Benjamin.  It incorporates his love for nature and philosophy.

Eco-poetics

The term ecopoetics has become increasingly important to scholars and poets alike. It is certainly a critical moment for the field and practice.

The conference addressed these topics: What is ecopoetics? What representational strategies and sociopolitical commitments might characterize this practice? How might we periodize ecopoetics and situate its modes of cultural production?

My son was lucky enough to meet Robert Hass at the conference. Hass served as Poet Laureate of the United States from 1995 to 1997. He won the 2007 National Book Award and shared the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for the collection Time and Materials: Poems 1997-2005.

Enjoy a couple poems by Robert Hass…

Spring Rain

Now the rain is falling, freshly, in the intervals between sunlight,a Pacific squall started no one knows where, drawn east as the drifts of
warm air make a channel;it moves its own way, like water or the mind,and spills this rain passing over. The Sierras will catch it as last snow
flurries before summer, observed only by the wakened marmots at ten
thousand feet,and we will come across it again as larkspur and penstemon sprouting
along a creek above Sonora Pass next August,

where the snowmelt will have trickled into Dead Man’s Creek and the
creek spilled into the Stanislaus and the Stanislaus into the San Joaquin
and the San Joaquin into the slow salt marshes of the bay.

That’s not the end of it: the gray jays of the mountains eat larkspur seeds,
which cannot propagate otherwise.

To simulate the process, you have to soak gathered seeds all night in the acids of coffee

and then score them gently with a very sharp knife before you plant them
in the garden.

You might use what was left of the coffee we drank in Lisa’s kitchen
visiting.

There were orange poppies on the table in a clear glass vase, stained
near the bottom to the color of sunrise;

the unstated theme was the blessedness of gathering and the blessing of
dispersal—

it made you glad for beauty like that, casual and intense, lasting as long
as the poppies last.

The Failure of Buffalo to Levitate 

Millard Fillmore died here.
His round body is weighted by marble angels
He lies among the great orators of the Iroquois.

Paint does not arrest the tradebook houses
In their elegant decay. They peel
Like lizards in the dying avenues of elm.

Gentle enough, night drifts
Above the yellow bursts of aspen in the park.
Something innocent and reptilian

Suffers here, cumbrously.
The souls of the wives of robber barons
Are imprisoned in the chandeliers.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org