Variation in Hot Pink on 10 Things

These are 10 things I love. Here's what's neat. I had a hard time limiting it to ten things. You may see this theme again. :) Here's the disclaimer: These are not things like my family, chocolate cake, or a brisk autumn day. These are the obscure, unusual little things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

1. Bears. Seriously. Black bears, brown bears, koala bears (I know...), panda bears (I said, I Know...), polar bears, teddy bears, Pooh bears, bear cubs, the Three Bears. They make me smile. (for the record, I'm also partial to puffins, owls, and duck-billed platypus..es? platipi? Whatever, I like them.)

2. My bed. Lord, I love my bed. Snuggle down, pull the sheets up and...ahhhhhhh. For being sick, for being well, for reading a book or doing a crossword, for ignoring the world, for feeling cozy, napping or getting a good night's rest ~ there is no place better than my bed. Golly, I do love my bed.

3. Kids' stuff. Eloise, Barbapapas, Muppets, Dr. Seuss. Proof that genius is not only for adults.

4. Getting mail. Not bills and fliers but real letters from real people actually sent to me. Nothing's better than finding a letter in my mailbox, curling up with a cup of tea and catching up with a friend.

5. Modern inventions. Okay, that is a polite way of saying "indoor plumbing" and "tampons." 'Nuff said, don't you think?

6. Lists. Have you noticed? I like lists. Top ten lists, Best-Of lists, To-Do lists, grocery lists. Hell, I like this list of lists.

7. Funky toenail polish. I stay (relatively) conservative on my fingernails. But if you can't wear electric blue or blaze orange on your toes, really, where can you wear them?

8. Halloween. All the holidays are great. From the end of October through mid-February, I'm practically giddy. And then there is Halloween. It is (almost) the most under-rated holiday. We get to dress up in funky costumes, we get to be scared, we get to do things like drink hot cider and go on hayrides. How can you not love it? (And in case you are interested, the most under-rated holidays are both on Feb. 15th: I Want Butterscotch Day and National Sea Monkey Day)

9. Cherry soda. Not cherry cola, although that's good, too. But good, old-fashioned cherry soda. Canada Dry used to make a great one but now Acme is the best around (if you're lucky enough to have family in southern NJ who stock it for you!).

10. Purple. Yep; I like purple. Blue is my favorite color. It's peaceful and calming. Hot pink is great. It's alive and happy. And still...there's something about purple. All shades of purple, from aubergine ;) to lavender. Purple is the National Sea Monkey Day of my color preferences.

Those are 10 things that make me feel all warm and fuzzy. They may not be your warm fuzzies but I hope they made you think of whatever ARE your warm fuzzies. We could all use more warm fuzzies in the world.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you (warm but hopefully not fuzzy) coffee.

Variation in Blue on the 10 Things Theme

10 Things I Hate...

Here's the deal ~ there are certain things people hate. War, famine, poverty, injustice ~ those kinds of things. While I hate those, they are not the kinds of things I'm talkng about here. (And it's my blog so I get to make the rules) Also, it's pretty much a given that I hate the things that are in direct opposition to the things I'm addicted to, e.g. poor grammar, no coffee, being hot...you get the idea. That's not what I'm talking about here, either. Nor am I talking about the obvious stuff that people know I hate; mushrooms, fish, spiders, that kind of thing.

So what am I talking about?

I'm talking about this:

1. Ear infections. I hate ear infections. While no one likes them, I imagine anyway, I believe my loathing of ear infections is rather disproportionate. Not nearly enough is being done to rid the world of the plague that is Ear Infections. At one point, the Peanuts gang decide to throw a charity baseball game to benefit stomach aches. That's how I feel about ear infections. Where's Charlie Brown when you need him?

2. Women in the Wrong Shoes. Perhaps that should be the WRONG SHOES. Let's be clear on this, ladies. If your toes hang off the end of your shoes then YOUR SHOES DON'T FIT. If your toes are overlapping, YOUR SHOES DON'T FIT. I don't care if you WANT to have a size 6 foot. You don't. And if you have to walk flat-footed, YOUR HEELS ARE TOO HIGH. I don't care how good they look with the outfit; you are spoiling the look by not being able to walk in the heels. Lower the suckers by an inch and walk like you mean it, Baby!

3. Parking meters that only take quarters. When did this happen? Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, you could get away with having a pocket-full of change and not get ticketed. Now, if you have already used your quarters in the soda machine, the laundry mat, and the pay phone, you are screwed when it comes to parking.

4. Going pee. Now, this is a strange thing to hate and going pee certainly beats not going pee. It's just SUCH a waste of time! There you are, happily doing whatever you're doing and *POOF* suddenly you have to pee. Everything stops while you go take care of that. Momentum dies. Thoughts get lost. Conversations get stopped. The earth flies off its axis and all is for naught. Yeah, I'm exaggerating on that last one. Still, this is the true reason TIVO was invented. Being able to watch a show at midnight instead of at 7:00 am? That is a side benefit. The real reason is peeing.

5. Holes in nature. Let me explain: barnacles, open seed pods, the freaky ends of blueberries. Those kinds of holes in nature. I shudder even thinking about them. In fact, let's move on...

6. Slow drivers in the left lane. People! You have other lanes! Move your slow-driving butts over! This is not rocket science!

7. Men in lavender. You know, call me sexist; call me closed-minded. Tell me I'm feeding into gender stereotypes. If not liking men in lavender makes me those things then I am guilty. Light blue, pale yellow, even a nice rose color is fine. Hell, I even know guys who can get away with peach. But I don't like men in lavender. And I didn't qualify it. I don't like straight men in lavender. I don't like gay men in lavender. I don't like men in lavender. If you have a penis, I think you look silly in lavender.

8. Actors who speak. This is not the same thing as actors who deliver lines. Actors deliver lines beautifully. That's what actors do. But most actors, God love 'em, can't put three coherent sentences together on their own. Act! We love you when you act. Just please, keep yo9ur mouths shut otherwise.

9. Being on the phone. I truly hate being on the phone. If I had my way, the only reason I would use the phone would be in three minute increments to arrange to get together in person with the person on the other line. I don't like talking on the phone. I don't like the phone ringing. I don't like making making phone calls. Hell, I don't even want to be the one to call in the pizza delivery (and I love pizza delivery!).

10. Multiplying by zero. Full disclosure, this phrase is not mine. It does, however, sum up how I feel completely so I have borrowed it. If I have seven oranges and you come along and multiply them by zero...WHERE DID MY ORANGES GO????? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THEM????? Multiplying by zero just shouldn't be.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

8 to 18

Those are the sizes of the clothes in my closet. Over the past two years, I have gone from a size 8 or 10, depending to a size 16 or 18, depending. Now, I'm not overly happy with this turn of events for several reasons but I'm not beating myself up over it either. It has been a hellish two years and I got through it the best I could.

Here's the REAL issue for me...

Since becoming a size 18, I am supposed to have lost ALL my fashion sense. At least according to designers. For some reason, I no longer want lined pants or jackets. Quality of material is irrelevant. Pockets? As a size 18, I apparently don't even need them any longer.

Also, now that my butt is bigger than it has EVER been, I, apparently, want to cover it in giant, flourescent flowers or polka dots. Now, folks, let's get something straight here ~ I really don't care if I'm a size 6 (the smallest I have ever been) or a size 18 (the largest I have ever been); I am sexy as hell and if someone doesn't think so that's his/her problem, not mine. Sexy is on the inside, in the attitude, not in the clothing size. That being said do you have any idea how hard it is to look Decent let alone better than that with a giant, flourescent flower across your ass????????????? I don't care if you're a size 2, you look stupid with a giant flourescent flower on your butt. Put that giant, flourescent flower on an unlined, poorly made skirt on a size 18 butt and you, my friend, are a punchline waiting to happen.

So why do we do this? Yes, obesity is a problem in our society. No doubts or arguments. But so is anorexia. And the self-esteem of our girls and young women. And the way our boys and young men are taught to see our girls and young women. Must we make it worse by making those of us who have beautiful, sexy, zaftig figures look like total idiots who can't tell a Brooks Brothers from a WalMart? Come on, people. We're better than that. At least I want us to be, if I'm a size 8 or a size 18.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee (light with extra cream, please).

The Original Pobble

I have been asked where the "Pobble" part of my blog name comes from. I have been a fan of absurdist poetry my entire life, having been raised on "The Man Who Sang the Sillies" and works by Lear. For those of you who would argue "The Jaberwocky"'s merits, don't bother. You are right; it is Brilliant. However, for some reason, "The Pobble who had No Toes" is the one that struck my fancy earliest and hardest. So, with no further ado, I give you the original Pobble.

The Pobble who had no Toes

The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said, 'Some day you may lose them all;' -
He replied, - 'Fish fiddle de-dee!'

And his aunt Jobiska made him drink,
Lavender water tinged with pink,
For she said, 'The world in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!'

The Pobble who has no toes,
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose
In a piece of scarlet flannel.

For his Aunt Jobiska said, 'No harm
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
Are safe, - provided he minds his nose.'

The Pobble swam fast and well,
And when boats or ships came near him
He tinkledy-blinkledy-winkled a bell,
So that all the world could hear him.

And all the Sailor and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side, -
'He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!'

But before he touched the shore,
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.

And when he came to observe his feet,
Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
His face at once became forlorn
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble’s toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.

Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away –
Nobody knew and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed ina friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up,
To his Aunt Jobiska’s Park.

And she made him a feast at his earnest wish
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish; -
And she said – "It’s a fact the whole world knows,
That Pobbles are happier without their toes.’

Those aren't Pobble Thoughts; they're Lear's. But a buck fifty will still get you coffee.

Living A Lie

Have you ever been asked to prove that you like someone? It's an interesting challenge. Think about a friend, a family member, a new acquaintance. Now, imagine that person looking at you and saying "Tell me why you like me."

I had this experience yesterday. The thing I find most interesting was that none of my answers ~ at least the ones this person actually let me get out ~ were good enough.

Now, all I can say is Thank God for My Sister! Why? I'll tell you...

Apparently, the fact that she is an amazing mom, is really getting her shit together, we share similar interests, and she can make me laugh harder than anyone, ever, doesn't mean I like her! These constitute respect and admiration ~ not liking. Who knew.

She did, apparently, and Thank God for My Sister! she set me straight. Here, I've been missing her because we're both wicked busy and live on opposite coasts, and thinking about her, and trying to find a way to get out there or have her come out here because I thought I liked her. Silly me, I could have simply sent her a Franklin Covey motivational card and been done with it.

Here, I always thought that I get to define what my feelings for another person are. For years now, I've been mistaken. The person in question gets to define what your feelings for them are. Who knew? Thank God for My Sister! so now I can just explain to people what I feel for them and let them decide if I like them or not. All these years, I've been sending out holiday gifts, chatty emails, laughing and crying with people and it was unnecessary. All I had to do was give them a clap on the shoulder and an occasional fruit basket.

My life just got a whole hell of a lot easier. Thank God for My Sister!

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you (or someone you apparently don't really like) a cup of coffee.

It's A Wondeful Life

Two of my favorite movies are 1776 and It's A Wonderful Life. John Adams has long been a hero of mine and I first met him through that film. He was, by all accounts, including his own, obnoxious and disliked. I have come to love him. George Bailey was loved by all of Bedford Falls (well, except for the mean Mr. Potter, of course). And yes, just so we are all clear, I know that one of these men is real and one is fictitious. :)

In spite of John's understanding that he was obnoxious and disliked, he had the respect and admiration of some truly great men. George needed a couple good friends and an angel named Clarence to understand how loved he was.

What I am learning is that I am a blend of these two men. Apparently, I am obnoxious and disliked. I, also, have a couple good friends and an angel named Clarence to help me understand how loved I am.

If I cannot just be The Boston Pobble but find myself a combination of others, I could do a damn site worse than being a combination of these people. I'm in good company.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

10 Things I'm Addicted To

These are in no particular order. Here we go:

1. Coffee. I'm a coffee whore. My preference is hot, strong, fresh, extra light, no sugar. I will take it three days old with a cigarette put out in it. And don't even try to talk to me until I've had my first (or second) cup in the mornings.

2. Alchemy. The computer game. It's a puzzle game and I'm hooked. The Lovely Cats is the anti-christ. I know; I can hear your cries: "Not her! Not The Lovely Cats! What is the world coming to?!" I didn't know this either. She is, though. I have learned this because she is the one who has introduced me to Alchemy. Bad Cats, Bad! (thanks...)

3. Grammar. I even cringed when I wrote the title of this posting because it's supposed to be "10 Things to which I am Addicted" but that sounded too stuffy. My pet peeves are apostrophes and quotation marks. It is truly possible that the misuse of apostrophes and quotation marks is going to lead to the downfall of civilization as well know it. Okay, maybe it's not that bad but damn...

4. Smoking. Not cigarettes. I beat that addiction six months ago. And I hate to admit this one but Lord it is true. I miss being a smoker. ~ sigh ~

5. My manicures. My manicurist is a goddess. Every Thursday, I'm in her chair being pampered. What this woman can do with an hour and a jar of nail polish is amazing. And it's a damn site cheaper than therapy!

6. Hot baths (keeping in the self-care vein). Now, I'm not talking about a get-clean-and-go-about-your-day bath. I'm talking about a bath with candles and bubbles and soft music and a glass of wine and no where to go whenever it is over. Soak until you are one giant prune. Get out; slip on a slinky, silky nightie; pour more wine; and curl up with a good book. If there is anything that doing this can't make better, I haven't found it.

7. Climate control. People ask if I prefer the hot or the cold. What kind of a question is that??? I don't prefer EITHER. If pushed, I would rather have the temperature be too cold because you can always put on more clothes. When it's HOT out, you can only get so naked. But let's be honest here ~ I love air conditioning. I love my baseboard heat and fireplace. In the summer, my a.c units are set to 70. In the winter, my heat is set to 70. Anyone who tells you that you don't need a.c. in New England or heat in the South is lying to you. Ignore them. Listen to me.

8. Writing. Yep, I'm one of those lucky shmucks most people hate because I LOVE my job. I write. That's what I do. And that is TOO FUCKING COOL! In fact, I have to remind myself not to work all the time. I love to write Pobble Thoughts. I love to write letters. I love to write.

9. Linens. I know. This one is weird. But I love linens. One of these days, I'm going to buy my linens from places I don't even know exist right now. I will spend exorbitant amounts of money and talk about things like thread counts and cotton looping.

10. House plans. Yeah, I know this too. If being addicted to linens is weird, this is really weird. When I'm really stressed, I buy myself a magazine on house plans. When I want a distraction, I go online and look at house plans. When I need to clear my head, I doodle house plans. Every Christmas, Santa puts house plans in my stocking. It's kinda freaky. It's like he knows I love them or something.

There you have it. Ten things to which I am addicted (whew!). They say (and who the hell is "they" anyway?) that admitting the problem is the first step to recovery. So, here, I've shown you mine. You show me yours. Anybody else have any obscure addictions they'd like to embrace?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you (fresh, hot) coffee.

The Enemy of my Enemy?

I have been made an enemy. Read that carefully. I am not saying I have made an enemy. But I have been made one. I learned this earlier this week. Now, no one wants to be considered an enemy. We all want to love and be loved. Yet, sometimes...

Understand, this person who has made me his enemy is unusual. This man is a Green Beret. Really. Rambo, John Wayne, and Mel Gibson from the first Lethal Weapon movie. Let me say, before I go any further, I am not in any danger. Physically, he will never hurt me. It's not his style. Emotionally, financially, psychologically...I could be really screwed here.

Luckily for me, I am a Powerful Woman. For all my issues, and boy howdy do I have them, self-worth, self-esteem, and a sense of personal power are not among them. Now that I know I am an enemy to someone, I can protect myself. Forgive me if I don't post here what steps I have taken. Just trust me. ;)

But, what I had to address was this question: If I am someone's enemy, does that make them MY enemy? I have decided it does not. I do not have to love this man, be friends with this man, have him in my life in any way, shape or form ~ and that includes hating him enough to make him my enemy. Mind you, I will not sit like a lamb awaiting slaughter, either. I have taken those afore(un)mentioned steps. But I will not allow him to make himself MY enemy. He cannot have that. I sleep well at night. And I no longer care if he does, too.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Whose Family?

One never expects a punctuation mark to matter as much as the one in the title of this post matters. See, I started to make it "Who's Family?" As in "who is family?" But then I realized, the question "Whose Family?" made sense as well. Technically, the people I call my family aren't. They are someone else's family. But they are my family too. Let's back up a bit...

The last few years haven't been my best, shall we say. And through it all, other people's family members have been there for me. Caitlyn's mom. Greg's sister. Cynthea's son. Pat's daughter. Matthew's dad. Landon's mother. Brian's wife. Georg's daughter.

Don't get me wrong; my friends NOT listed here are amazing. I am truly, indescribably blessed by the people in my life. Yet, there is something about this group of people. At some point, these people became more than friends. Landon's mother knew me in the womb for God's sake. I met Matthew's dad later in life but I don't remember ever not knowing him. Pat's daughter has been around since we were in the 4th grade together (she still has the Miss Piggy valentine I gave her during class valentine exchange). Greg's sister? She and I have been together 20 years (a thought that really threw us last week when we realized it). Caitlyn's mom ~ 13 years (thank God for alphabetized seating!). Cynthea's son ~ it's been less chronological time but that doesn't always matter. He taught me that. Brian's wife? She gives me permission to be honest, even when I don't like what I'm thinking. And last but never least, Goerg's daughter. She refuses to give up on me, let me sink too low for too long, and hears the truth behind my laughter ~ even when it's just more laughter.

Family is what we make it. Blood is important ~ just not vital. Love, commitment, loyalty. Someone to kick you in the butt when you're being stupid and help pick up the pieces afterwards. Someone who will tell you the truth when you need to hear it and someone who will help you ignore the truth until you are ready to handle it. The people you can call at 3 in the morning and not call for months.

Robert Frost (I think but I may be making that up) once described home as the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in. Home isn't about blood. Home is knowing you will be taken in, no matter what.

All of us have family. Look around you. There is someone, somewhere who will take you in and love you because of ~ and in spite of ~ yourself. Some of them may be related by blood. Others may be related by choice. But Whose Family doesn't matter nearly as much as Who's Family.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.