KISA just sent me this link, asking me to check out tiger lily. If that’s the case screw the cactus. I’ll take a dozen tigers.
Love me if you dare.
Category: My Husband Rocks
Against the Grain
In the spirit of that day I bought my husband a ticket to see The Pink Floyd Experience. On the surface this looked like a bad gift of torture for my KISA. He hates cover bands and that’s exactly what PFE is. Obviously. Well, not so obvious. In college I was treated to a Pink Floyd “Light Show”. We sat slumped in a darkened auditorium, heads tilted back, watching the ceiling for strobe lights and laser beams in purple and green. They played the real deal – the entire Dark Side album. I had a stiff neck for days afterwards and walked around with my head tilted to one side as if I suffered from being constantly curious or confused. Those of us who stayed for the entire show (those who didn’t mutter, “this sucks” as they made for the nearest exit), all had the crooked look.
But, I digress. This Pink Floyd Experience was certainly an experience. Three rows back from the stage and dead center. I couldn’t have picked a better seat for myself. Right smack in front of the drummer. After the first deafening song (In the Flesh) KISA leaned over and stated matter-of-factly, “well, they don’t suck.” I have to tell you – that’s always good to hear in reference to a gift given.
As KISA & I furtively traded candies back and forth (one piece per song), the rest of the show was a mix of surprises. Starting with staring at the band members. All but one were old enough to be original members of Floyd. Water’s “character” looked like a metal rocker complete with long black hair, tight black pants and muscle tee. He kept pointing at things, showing off massive guns. I wanted to ask him which way to the gym just to see him flex. Several other members of the band looked like they belonged with the Dead. Again, we’re talking orginal line-up. The only guy who didn’t look like he stepped out of the late 60’s/early 70’s was the sax/cowbell dude. He had a metrosexual haircut and a pretty boy face. During his solos beams of light haloed his entire body, giving rock god status to an otherwise unassuming, slight figure. His coolest part was later when, umbrella in hand, he donned a suit of light bulbs ala The Delicate Sound of Thunder. So cool. In addition, we were treated to an amazing display of vocal range from Mr. Metal (my head still hurts from that), amazing bass solos, and there was even a flying pig.
The Setlist (thanks, Roadie Dude!):
1 –
- (Tigers Intro)
- In the Flesh
- Happiest Days of Our Lives
- Another Brick (pt 2)
- Shine On You Crazy Diamond #1-5 (one of my faves)
- Young Lust
- Sorrow (intro)/Have a Cigar/Sorrow (outtro)
- Sheep (I could have sworn they were going to bring out the pig at this point)
- One of These Days (video of military leaders, marching armies and war freaked me out)
2-
- Astronomy Domine
- Breathe/On the Run/Time/Breathe Reprise
- Great Gig in the Sky/Money (very green song)
- Us & Them/Any Color You Like
- Brain Damage/Eclipse
Encore
- Hey You
- Comfortably Numb
- Run Like Hell
Manchester Manic
We went to Manchester last night. Dinner ran late because of a dining dilemma. Fridays sorted it out and one of the best meals in ages was had. It’s nice not to be so manic about showing up on time to a show. Get there when we get there is cool by me. The music is getting better and better all the time, though. Drums are getting fuller and heavier. Guitar solos are becoming more complicated and achingly beautiful. Each song is developing more and more personality and deeper depth. To elaborate further would imply criticism of an earlier effort so I’ll leave it at that. My review of the heart. I said evolution and I meant it. I have decided I want to start a new Delicious trend involving the filler in the near end chorus.
The music is what gets me. Still. Always has, always will. I make no excuses for the love of the sound. I’ll continue to invite people to shows. I’ll still be disappointed when they don’t show. I’ll still buy every shirt and testify that thongs are all that. I’ll go the distance despite the fall from grace. I’ll admit, it’s terrible to be trapped under the weight of insecurity, or worse, isolation. Gone are the days of These Are Days. I convinced KISA to stay until the very end despite a headache and a long drive home. Still, I take the blame for him not hearing his favorite song. There is nothing I can do about it. It was my request. I’m at the end of my mania. There are no new listeners to reel in; no new three-day weekend roadtrips to take. I’m at a dead end and to some it looks like indifference. Life moves in mysterious ways. Priorities of promotion have appeased me. The choices we make aren’t necessarily the easier ways out. But. I’m still trying.
I want to thank B with all my heart. With the warm hug and beautiful smile I feel as if you were there just for me. One birthday drink and you were gone. Too soon, my friend. So, thanks for making me feel so special and I’ll see you in Danbury!
Time Out
I’m declaring tonight Time Out Time. I cleared the schedule, cancelled Boston and called in my favors. Tonight it’s time to recharge the batteries. No. That’s not it. I’m not run down or worn out. Okay, maybe I’m a little tired since Dot came to town, but that’s not the half of it. I need me. I miss me. By nature I’m a solitary girl. I like being alone-alone. Me, Myself & Moi all hanging out, talking to ourselves. I want to do the laundry from start to finish. Not a wash here, four hours later a dry there. Folding five days later. And forget about putting it away. I still have piles of laundry sitting on the floor outside my closet – From Monday. I have piles of paperwork, begging to be sorted. I’ve lost track of what bills are due and which my husband quietly paid while I wasn’t paying attention. 
Distracted. I have been too distracted by work and things are starting to fray. Don’t get me wrong – having dinner with friends has been awesome and the catching up was way overdue. Monday night was the bomb because of the bond. Okay, the cheesecake was boss, too. Even on the way home I thought of things to babble. If only my cell phone wasn’t trapped in the pocket blocked by the seatbelt! Wednesday night was all about VentVentVent. Bending the ear of someone who has no clue. Not involved in any way, shape or form. Probably the best way I know to get unbiased help on IM, Podcasting, Second Life, VoIp, Domain names…you name it. Nice to not have to call the director on the carpet, but rather sweep her under the rug. I can’t think about that anymore, either. Like I said, frayed.
I want to whip up a girly mudmask to combat the zip that’s been hanging out on my cheek all week. I want to spend an hour in restorative poses while Yungchen sings to me. I want to read a chapter from each of the five books I’m supposed to be reading. I still haven’t written thank you letters from Christmas – not to mention my birthday. I’m hugged in a maternity sweater from my-not-pregnant-anymore sister and she doesn’t even know I got it, let alone how much I appreciate her hysterical gifts. She’s right – I wouldn’t give up the lobster, either!
I just need to get back to me. I’m doing things halfassed lately. Yoga is a quick 5-15 minutes. Reading is a sentence here, a paragraph there. Knitting is a few rows, a few purls in between. Plants are drooping. Piles of laundry are growing. Taxes are lurking. I should get to them before I have to put out an APB on my W2.
To those of you I promised Boston to: Saturday. I will be where I said I would. Promise.
SoapBoxRant
It’s starting again. Those commercials and catalog “sales”. All getting ready for that day. Some people call it the Hallmark Holiday. Some people call it Emotional Blackmail or the TakeMeForAllI’mWorthBecauseIEnjoyBeingSuckedDry day. I call it the most annoying “holiday” from hell. I’m talking about Valentine’s Day. You know the one, always falls on February 14th. It’s the excuse of the lonely to whine about the state of their loneliness. It’s the prerogative of the newly in love to be even more PDA about their relationship. It’s the guilt-inducing, high-hoping, let-down day of the month that I (obviously) can’t stand.
When I first met my husband, back when he was barely even a potential date I ranted to him about VD. I’m sure he thought I was trying to impress him by not being “that chick” but I was serious. He sent me flowers. Two days before 2/14. The card said, “Happy Friday?” It was Friday. My kind of guy.
I hate the idea that people expect a gift on Valentine’s Day. Don’t get me wrong – I’m all about someone thinking of me, but not if it’s because the calendar said to. I don’t ever want someone to buy me flowers because “it’s the thing to do on 2/14.” Forget about chocolate – that’s just as bad. Is it so strange to want a cactus on January 12th? Is it odd for me to say, “give me something sour on All Souls Day”, or “surprise me with pickles and peanut butter next Tuesday”? I love roses, but not if I can predict not only their color, but their arrival date as well. Where is the fun in that? What’s worse is the thought of someone struggling to buy something just because 2/14 is the day to do it. Add the guilt of forgetting and it’s even worse. I hate, hate, hate it. I know I’m in the minority and that’s okay. There are legions of Love Day lovers out there. They’ve joined ranks with the I-Have-To-Have-A-Date-For-New-Years-Eve people (another ridiculous notion). My thinking is outnumbered by “Thinking of You” cards decorated with red and pink hearts. Shoot me now. Send me a cactus while you’re at it.
End SoapBoxRant. thank you.
High
I started last night not knowing where I was going. When you’re on a treadmill you never know where you are going to end up. We are all gerbils going nowhere, but the emotional, mental end of the journey is a different story. Luckily for me it ended up being my best run in nine months. I rediscovered the elusive runners’ high. I was drowning in the electric buzz for hours afterwards.
It started out like any other run. The Cage was busy so I had to exert energy just to block out the bad music overhead and the bad conversations overheard. My KISA to the left of me & some teenage boy to the right of me. I’m drawn to competition so I kept a lazy, easy eye on both boys (more on that later).
I’m trying something new with the warmup – instead of walking for a few minutes I’m immediately jogging at a gentle pace right out of the gate. Something just shy of speed walking (4.2 for you treadmill junkies). I find that it gets me in the right frame of mind that much sooner. I can get to a good runner’s pace that much easier. Before long I found myself chugging along at a 9.5 minute mile. Feeling no pain. At one point my KISA pointed out our comparative calories burned and competition kicked in again. I upped the incline and pressed on faster. He laughed and I gave up. But, here’s what I learned from this run: when I push myself beyond my limits I reach a mental ecstasy. There is a spreading warmth all over my body; a warmth that hugs me close and lasts for hours. I’m hugged by the high. I literally walk around in a haze, a protective bubble of buzz. I feel like I’m floating and well, euphoric. I can’t explain it any other way: the euphoric groove. I realize there is nothing wrong with treadmill running. The belt below me forces continuous motion from me, myself and moi. I can’t slow down, I can’t even think about quitting. But the thing is, I’m not chained to the gerbil cage. The wheel is not my only running place. It’s not my prison. I realize I have the open road, the great fresh-air outdoors. I am not a wimp. I am not a baby. I will not limit my run to the coddled comfort of indoor containment. There is nothing wrong with getting my butt outside to chase that elusive high. I want it back.
Bottom line: 3.48 miles
What Would Have Been – For my husband
I’m guilty of making a foofaraw about nothing. Well, it’s not exactly n o t h i n g, but who’s keeping score? I spent 40 minutes this morning unloading on my husband on the way into work. By the way, why do these things always happen in the car? I ranted & raved about someone less sane than me, myself & moi (imagine that).
I guess the bottom line is this (and, has always been this):
Pick your battles.
My sister said that once. It makes perfect sense.
Kenny Rogers also said something about knowing when to walk away (or run). I would like to do one or the other, but I guess for now…I’ll hold my ground.
And. Keep my mouth shut.
No more foofaraw. Promise.
Christmas Isn’t Over
Preface: Last night I got a chance to give my friend her Christmas gift. A mandolin ornament for her tree…for next year. She was so gracious she said, “I’ll hang it up in my room now, because it’s perfect.” She always knows the right things to say to make me feel welcome. Welcome.
The gift she gave to me was her voice. Live for almost an hour and a recording for all eternity. I treasure both.
Live
I didn’t get a chance to write down the setlist. Even though I was careful to carry my Keys, Cellphone & Wallet (thank you very much), I forgot the pen and paper. No napkins to note on either. So, from memory:
- Miss You
- Rain
- Better Day
- Gin (dedicated to the Spencer clan)
- You’re on Your Way Down
- Wishing Well
- Home (Cowboy Christmas)
- For the Taking
- Heaven Sent
I think that’s everything. I know that I didn’t put any of this in the right order – except Heaven Sent. It’s the only song Rebecca plays on mandolin. she was without her keyboard so no Uninvited Guest (I told her I’m ready to hear it), and no Breathe.
Kyle Spark played with her and I have to say this again, I love, love, love that bass! It’s a great addition to already amazing songs. And. And. And, when Kyle sings with Rebecca…magic. My favorite “duo” song is For the Taking. They just sound awesome together.
Even though the show was short I’m glad Rebecca & Kyle made the effort to come into town. I could listen to them sing for hours. Special thanks to A, S, & J for coming to the show (especially J after only getting four hours of sleep the night before. You freakin’ rock, boyfriend!)
CD
I haven’t listened to the cd all the way through yet. We did pop it into the car stereo for the 5 minute drive home and I can tell I’m going to love it. It’s a live show with Kyle! Yay! I couldn’t ask for a better Christmas gift. When she has copies for sale, all my friends better look out because I plan on buying you all one! That’s really an empty “threat” because I know you will love it.
Saved My Holiday
My husband is saving my holiday spirit. Every holiday season I start out with the best intentions. I say all my cards will go out on time, all my presents will not only be early, but they’ll be presented with wrapping paper, curly ribbons and sparkly bows ala USPS. A tag from me to you. From us to them. With love. I say I’ll attend every party I’m invited to. I’ll shake out the wings of a social butterfly and fly. Every year I say all these things and every year it doesn’t quite work out that way. Except this year. So far this year so good.
It’s the 18th and 95% of my cards made it out into the world of friends and family, despite all the moving around they do (you can stop now, Jon). I’ve discovered the real trick is to Let Go. Every year I’m bound and determined to write lengthy Here’sWhatWe’reUpTo cards. Every year I refuse to just sign my name, fake his. Letting go allowed for a happy median. A concession of sorts. For the people I barely know I barely wrote. Why struggle with writers block for the sake of a once a year hello? I won’t write a book, I don’t just sign our name – something in the middle, something sane. We wrote them together. He filled in the spaces of my writers block with something to say. I like this together stuff.
The last of the packages went out, thanks to the rockin’ husband. Becca, Angela, Chet…a little something coming their way thanks to my hero, gallantly braving the post office lines, the grumpy, impatient people…
Over the weekend we went to R & C’s for a non-holiday holiday party. Gifts exchanged on the sly. Food on every table, laughter in every room. The butterfly didn’t exactly emerge but I wasn’t part of the wallpaper, either (if R & C even had wallpaper). I ate too much, I laughed even more.
We went to see sirsy. I was disappointed I didn’t hear any Christmas songs. Mel does a mean Happy Christmas (War is Over), but what I really missed was Some Kind of Winter. That’s one of my Live Cry songs. It’s absolutely amazing. My Hero came through with Christmas carols all the way home. Everything from Elvis to Twisted Sister to Frank, JT, and Vonda.
We went to the traditional Other Side of the Family Christmas party. Another get-us-all-together with food on every table. Scratch tickets and scratchy toddlers. Football and funny stories. The only one missing was Irene. I said a little prayer for the grace missing.
We went to the traditional office party with nontraditional karaoke and coffee before cordials. Conversation about BBQ, skiing and family. I held my own. I think I did.
Closer Crazy
So, Monday night was the two hour very special return of the The Closer. I had to bust my butt to make sure dinner was made before 8:00pm. I mean, we had to be sitting down, food in front of us…or else! There was no way I was going to be slaving over a hot stove even during the opening credits to my favorite show (Biggest Loser be damned). No way, no how. Even my husband knows the rules. During the show he barely spoke. The phone rang once, and even though he just had to comment, “someone doesn’t know you very well…” he waited until the commercials to say it! I was in heaven. Dinner wasn’t that bad, either. I was able to keep it down 😉
So – here is the buzz word for this episode: KING.
My favorite scene: Provenza trying to clean off his desk as quietly as he can…
Shoot Me Now
When you’re not feeling well everything stops. You can’t imagine driving a car, eating a meal or getting dressed. Lifting your head is even a chore. Such was my downfall last night. I started out feeling achy and blamed it on the run. Later it progressed into something worse. Whether it was food poisoning or the stomach flu, it definitely involved the digestive system in the most horrible way. All night long. A L L night long. I read an entire book in the bathroom. By five a.m. cramps had me curled in a fetal position on the cold tiled floor wanting someone, anyone to shoot me. I mean really, Shoot. Me. Now. Instead, I crawled to my husband and asked him to take me to the emergency room. It hurt that bad, but we didn’t go. Instead he took care of me myself and moi all by himself. Minute by minute, hour by hour. It seemed irrelevant that he had a Patriots game to go to later that morning. He stayed by me, loved me sick and all. He would have held back my hair if I asked.
Ten hours later and the Patriots won. I’m starting to feel better. I haven’t moved from the bedroom and I’ve watched more episodes of America’s Next Top Model than I care to admit. I missed work and I’m afraid to eat anything. Ugh
So, if I blew you off today, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish my day from hell on anyone.
Not Hot Chocolate
So…Today was the Hot Chocolate Road Race for Safe Passage. I don’t know why I was so nervous but I was. I woke with wind in my ears and concern that was all in my head. I haven’t run outside in ages. Treadmills don’t give you cracks in the sidewalks, unexpected hills, uneven pavement, face-slapping leaves, wind in your face, nor other crazy runners vying for spaces around you. It’s completely different and I felt completely unprepared. My rocking husband bought a bagel just so I could use the restroom for one last nerve-induced pee. Once at the race site I searched for S. I wasn’t going to run with her but I knew it would make me feel better just to see her before all the madness began. Not only did I find her, I got to hang out with her, waiting for the IGuessThisIsIt start. We laughed about not so fauxs and Coming Out. It helped relieved the tension. Big Time.
Once the race started I felt bad I left S behind, but I knew I had to keep pace or else. I knew I would need to push myself the entire way. Believe it or not, that was my downfall, utterly and completely. Even at mile one I realized I was running too fast. I knew I would never last at that frantic pace, but I couldn’t slow down. My mistake was I was getting caught up in the speed of racers around me. I’m out of shape. I’m not the runner I once was, even for that briefest of times. My favorite moments during the race? Finding my husband by the side of the road, searching for my face. I saw him before he saw me. To surprise him I ran right up to him and announced, “kiss a stranger!” as I planted a wet one on him. It was a great pick-me-up and left me smiling for the rest of the run.
I have no idea how long it took me to finish. My PR was not important to me at all. I finished, handed in my “tag” and kept walking. Looking for S, looking for my husband. Unbelievably, I found them both within minutes. Did we get hot chocolate? Did we join the post race festivities? Did we search out award winners and speeches? No. We went to DD so my hubby could treat us to iced (?!) coffee and a gingerbread latte. Thank yooooooouuuuu! We talked running and racing while talking to the carseat locals. I think I even found S her future husband! 🙂
This “race” wasn’t about racing at all. I wanted to do something to announce my return to the run, I wanted to do something with my legs for a good cause and I wanted to cheer on my friend. This is something that deserves repeating. I am proud of my friend. Like I told her, she has huge courage – bigger than mine. She has never run outside. She has never run without music. This was her first “run race” and she hasn’t been running all that long. Me? I wouldn’t have had the guts to take on anything public, anything I’d have to register for! If anyone has read my LLS running blog, you’ll know I stressed about running without music for weeks before I actually did it. I literally had to ween myself off my mp3 player! I am proud of my friend.
Hey, S. Did you see the evening news!?
Hey, J. Thank you for your never-ending support. You so rock my world.
My Perception
I’ve come to find out my perception is not your reality. In reality, maybe it’s no one’s reality. Well, except for in the funhouse that is my head. Everything in there is real. Of course.
See, here’s how it all went down. We went for the caffeine. Couldn’t you tell by the small that I was trying to cut back? Here’s what I wanted: 1/2 decaf, 1/2 hazelnut. Here’s what I got: empty and empty. That sucking, gurgling, empty noise, it made me giggle. Here I was, trying to be better to moi~self and I was coming up Empty, literally. They were quick to come back with fresh pots of decaf and hazelnut so I tried again. Here’s what I got: cold coffee. It was really starting to be humorous. Maybe the answer wasn’t coffee after all. Maybe I should have tea or chai. I laughed at the irony and made a stupid joke only Ruby would get, “if we hit all red lights it’s really going to be a bad day.” Not what you wanted to hear. After all, you are the one who said, “I would do anything to make you happy,” one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on my leg. Quick glances to my face to make sure I believed you. Anything to make me happy, and here I was threatening a bad day. Can’t say I blame you. A bad day controlled by street lights? Whoever heard of such a thing? No one except Ruby and that’s why things went from bad to worse. You told me to relax. Okay, worst. I hate that word. I don’t know why. My reality was I had been having a good day until you flirted with the perception that is wasn’t. My bad for making a joke you wouldn’t get. It’s just caffeine. Relax.
Decked Out
The apartment is Christmas decked out. Christmas ready. Big time. I don’t know how it happened. One minute we are at the Warehouse, buying kitty litter, mouthwash and paper towels, the next we are decorating not one, but two Christmas trees. This was supposed to be a day of chores – changing light bulbs, putting away loads of laundry, using up leftover avocados. Instead, it became one of Christmas music (Babyface, Merrymen and a mix), white twinkle lights up the stairs, colored twinkle lights in the kitchen, unwrapping goofy, beautiful, precious ornaments. We decided my Charlie Brown tree of nearly 20 years was finally too small for all the ornaments collected over all those years, so we upgraded to a four foot fake. I’m okay with not getting the real deal. Some traditions are too sacred for anything but the island. We agreed to get balsam and bayberry scented candles to compensate. This is how my husband rocks: after we had gone out shopping twice he noticed we needed a ground plug adapter in order to have both trees lit at the same time. He went out again just to get the adapter and came back with even more lights!
I’m liking the twin trees. My old tree sports cartoon decorations: Scooby, Marvin the Martian, Cookie Monster, a green M&M, Rudolph and Pooh Bear amongst the colored lights…while the new tree has white lights and “grownup” decorations: blown glass of purple and gold, a crystal angel, a ceramic cat, a shell, icicles of glass. Everything means something. Chessie’s tags, a champagne cork, Now and Zen in purple and green, bells from a wedding, a knit reindeer, a turtle my aunt just sent me, a carousel horse, earrings from an old boyfriend too tacky to wear but perfect for a plastic tree…all of it has a place in my heart. By the time I’m 60 maybe I’ll have three trees!
This is the first time I have looked forward to a holiday so much. Hmmm. I can’t really say that because I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking forward to. It’s not like I’m counting down to December 25th. There isn’t a definite end in sight. I can’t explain it. It’s more a feeling, more of a spirit, the spirit than anything else. I can’t really explain it. But, I’m there. I’m in that spirit. Big Time.
Even dinner had a different spin on it. I made Mexican soup, a la Tyler Florence. So, so good.
Onion, garlic, jalapenos, tomatoes, salt and pepper in a stockpot sauteed in olive oil. Simmering chicken stock, shredded chicken and cubes of avocado. Topping with crispy fried tortilla strips, cilantro and lime juice. Tyler has a conversational tone in his cookbook. He wants to “walk me through” the recipe. Everyone knows Tyler. He’s the new spokesperson for Applebee’s. He rocks, too.
BubbleGum Bound
…or Dreamy Johnny Bound.
My husband sent me an email with the subject line: Dreamy Johnny. I’m oh so skeptical when my husband calls anything, “dreamy.” He’s usually drunk. But, it’s the middle of the afternoon and he’s supposed to be at work. So, anyway I get this “dreamy” email and am prepared to be all sorts of confused. I’m not. I’m stunned. J is sending me an update on BubbleGum’s tourdates. “Can we? Can we?” is all I wrote back. I was kidding. Sorta.
This Saturday we scored tickets. I’m going to see BubbleGum!
~*LunaSea*~ 
