I woke up with the “moving blues” today. I was not alone. My husband passed me in the kitchen transferring items from one spot to another and then back again and asked how I was doing. I think he knew.
“Moving is a drag!” I responded. “And, you?”
“I was thinking the same thing. Let’s go out!”
I’ve got to say banana blackberry pancakes can do a lot to improve one’s disposition! They fueled us throughout the day until we needed another diversion. It wasn’t hard to find one; we simply stepped out our front door and walked the neighborhood.
We live in an old part of the city that’s known for decking the halls big time! People walk our block, drive our block and rent carriages to trot down our block to see the lights. We’ve managed to decorate a bit and we’re gathering ideas to step up our game next year.
When we returned home with cold noses and ears, I was happy to see that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was just showing on t.v. My husband kindly agreed to indulge me as I sang along to my favorite childhood Christmas show.
Moving is still a drag and I still haven’t found the perfect organizational system for my new pantry. But, I’m reminded of the simple truth: All work and no play make Michele a very dull girl! Here’s to pancakes, lights, fantasy and the companionship of a lovely man!
What are you doing to balance your life during this busy season, dear reader?
I’ve been in my new home now for exactly 25 days. I always think that I should count the boxes when I move, but I never do. Part of me thinks it would give me a sense of accomplishment to know how many boxes had been packed and unpacked, but the smarter side of me knows that I’d be better off not knowing.
There are a lot of boxes. My husband and I love to collect…art, china, books and all things Christmas! I’ve managed to get through about 3/4 of them.
I’ve only had a washer/dryer for four days now and we are still waiting for California Closets to come and install new master bedroom closets in the empty spaces cleared by our contractor. But, we are almost fully functional here! As you can see, we have the bandwidth to consider rug options for our kitchen nook, so that’s an improvement over the first ten or so days when we were drowning in wrapping paper and trying to find the dust buster.
I am making friends with my new town and feeling confident that life here is going to offer so many opportunities to learn and grow. I’m truly excited to get beyond the “home set-up phase” and onto the “live my best life phase.”
I’ll be doing a reveal of my new pink shed soon. Watch for it!
So much has happened since I last wrote. But, I must start by wishing you a very Happy Thanksgiving, if it’s a holiday that you celebrate. If not, well…everyday is a day to be grateful. It goes without saying that I’m most blessed by the people in my life: husband, daughter, friends and neighbors.
But this year, I’m thinking about my home. I moved from Carmel, California to our state’s capital Sacramento on November 7th. I began unpacking boxes just as the fires broke out in Paradise which is a mere 88 miles from my new neighborhood.
As of today, nearly 14,000 people have lost their homes. As I work my way through each box to create a beautiful, functional, relaxing environment, I can’t help but think of those people who have no place to gather today.
I’ve always been a homebody who dreamed of living in beautiful spaces. When I was a teenager, I’d spend my hard-earned babysitting dollars on books and magazines. In addition to Tiger Beat, I’d often purchase a copy of Architectural Digest or House Beautiful. I’ve been blessed to live in several wonderful neighborhoods and my husband and I are poised to begin another adventure in a lovely 100-year-old home in a bustling area of town.
I’m so grateful for the roof over my head and so sorry for the victims of California’s fires. I hope you are happy, warm and snug in your home tonight.
Let me just warn you! Be afraid; be very afraid of the “dead bug!” Never heard of it? It’s an anti-extension core stability exercise. When you perform it, you look like a bug lying on its back, legs in the air, dead. This explains its strange name. But, believe me, you’re not feeling dead; if you’re doing it correctly, you’re feeling pain!
Sit-ups and crunches were once the preferred way to get tighter abs and a slimmer waistline. But, today exercises like dead bugs and planks are growing in popularity, because they call on your muscles to work together without placing any strain on your lower back. They’re easy to perform, too. You simply assume a position (the correct one) and then hold it and hold it and hold it while time seems to stand still!
My time…my bug time is 20 seconds! My plank record stands at two minutes. Yes! You read that correctly! We’re talking seconds and minutes. Does not sound impressive, right?! Here are my impressive numbers:
230 pounds on the leg press
70-90 pounds (depending on life’s circumstances) on the mid-row
60 pounds on the lat pull-down
125 pounds using the hex bar for deadlifts
Let me just say, I’m strong! And, getting smarter, too. After nearly a year of personal training, I’ve learned that when my trainer throws down a yoga mat and asks me to drop to the floor, it’s going to be tough! “Simple” moves that require you to engage your entire body, toes to fingertips, are much scarier than any weight machine or any bug, dead or alive!
Give it a go using my personal trainer, Jonathan’s notes:
“The dead bug is one of those movements where it’s up to the lifter to make it difficult. You can go through the motion without engaging the core very much, or it can be one of the most challenging anti-extension drills in your library. So make sure you’re staying tight throughout the movement, and do not let the spine hyperextend or the pelvis anteriorly rotate. A neutral spine and pelvis is preferred by a lot of professionals, but I’ve found that, for most of my clients, a flattened lumbar spine is most beneficial. Hollow holds and dead bugs can help you appreciate what it really means to own full body tension that can be used during challenging lifts like deadlifts and sqauts.”
I could add that all of it helps prepare one for moving day! First, I vote on the 6th. Then, I move on the 7th! Give me strength!
What do you see when you look at this piece from the talented blogger at as much cake as you want? Are you happy for the couple on the street and sad for the one at the table? It’s all about perspective.
As a young woman, I would have looked at that man and woman sitting a million miles apart at the same table and thought: no way, never going to happen to me. I probably would have concluded that if it got that bad, I’d leave.
But, I’m not young any longer. I’ve been married for thirty-four years and I think the drawing perfectly illustrates the reality of long-term marriage. In my mind’s eye, the two couples could very well be one in the same captured at different moments in time.
The man and woman at the table may be poised to forgive one another. Maybe something quite unexpected will happen that will clarify both the beauty and fragility of life. Perhaps they will be drawn closer together in grief or joy. Or maybe the idea of a life without the other will suddenly become too difficult to imagine. Of course, it’s possible they’ll be separated soon, but it’s just as likely that the lovebirds on the street won’t stay together.
It’s hard to know about these two couples, but I do know that my husband and I have looked like both of them through the years. We’ve been close and we’ve been distant. We’ve appreciated each other and we’ve taken each other for granted. We’ve made mistakes and we’ve learned a few things:
It’s the tough times that can serve to really cement the union.
If you choose wisely in the first place (as I did), marriage is worth the effort.
Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful and marriage is never perfect.
My daughter insists that she remembers the day we passed a tattoo shop in Lahaina, HI and I said, “I want one!” She was five years old, so I would have been 42 years old. I don’t remember the moment, but I’m sure it’s true.
I stop to admire people’s tattoos all the time, and sometimes I ask if I can take a picture. My phone is full of random shots of stranger’s body art. So, when Natalie told me she had a second ear-piercing done at a tattoo shop, I thought…it’s time! I visited her the following weekend and asked her to accompany me to Traditional Tattoo. I figure a college town is a great place to find a good shop; they work in volume.
Before an artist begins to work on you, there’s paperwork to be completed. I laughed out loud when I read the question on the consent form asking if I was drunk or in any other way unable to make a sound decision. Ha, ha…I thought…I’ve been planning this for 16 years!
Then I met my artist, Brian, and told him my story and showed him a picture. I wanted a shell on my ankle because two of the three most important people in my world have or continue to call me “Shell.” My dear, sweet brother, who was four years younger than me, could not say: “Michele.” So, he abbreviated from a tender age and continued to call me that until he died in July 2001.
Sometimes, when there’s a death, little things like nicknames will disappear. But, I’m fortunate. My husband of 32 years mourned the loss of Matt with me. And, he picked up where my brother left off and still occasionally calls me “Shell.” It always touches my heart when he does. (I haven’t told him that…oh, now I have!)
There’s one more very good reason for me to carry a shell around with me; I’m leaving my home by the ocean to move to a tree-lined street in the city! You can read more about that right here in the coming weeks.
Brian checked out my photo and asked if I’d like it exactly as shown or if I wanted him to artistically interpret it. You guessed it. I told him to put on his artist’s cap. He came back a short time later with a tracing of a shell and I agreed to it immediately. I was then ushered back to a room that resembled one in a dentist’s office…if the dentist was really wild.
I took a seat in the dental chair and felt the butterflies alight in my tummy as he cleaned my ankle and started to prep for work.
“Two things,” he said. “Do not move without first giving me a head’s up. AND NO WHINING!”
“I don’t whine,” I said as my daughter took my hand and nodded in agreement.
He began the work slowly pausing to allow me to gauge the level of pain I was going to feel. I knew I could handle it. It’s a small tattoo. From prep to clean-up, it was a mere twenty minutes and we passed the time easily talking about his three daughters and the ink he’d placed on his wife’s body. We laughed when he told us that he sometimes gets carried away checking out his work and noting needed touch ups when his wife would rather he stay focused on her other assets.
My art was covered with a special, medicinal tape used for burn patients, so my after-care has been easy. Nothing was needed until I gently peeled back the tape four days later. After another four days, the redness has dissipated and I love the look. I continue to simply clean it and apply Thayers Witch Hazel Toner and Vanicream lotion to alleviate the itching.
As we left Traditional Tatoo, my daughter asked if I’d be back for more art. My initial response was “No!” But, within ten minutes, I noticed that I kept referring to my shell as my FIRST TATOO!
It’s not easy being a mother; it seems someone is always at the ready to judge our performance. My daughter is a full-grown 21-year-old college student, and yet, I sometimes still meet with the harsh disapproval of another mother.
It happened over lunch when my friend asked for Natalie’s telephone number. I could not recite it.
“I don’t know her number,” I said. “I’d have to check my phone and I left that at home.”
My response was met with a simple one word reply: “REALLY?!” The disbelief in her voice matched the mortified look on her face. And, I felt absolutely horrible. Many months ago. This was months ago and, mind you, I’m still talking about it.
However, today I’m remembering the event because I felt a slight reprieve come my way when another friend asked a somewhat more personal question about my daughter and I was ready with an authoritative answer.
“I’m visiting the park in Florida and I wonder if you could ask Nats what Hogwarts House she’s in so I could buy her a piece of memorabilia?”
“HUFFLEPUFF,” I responded immediately. “What kind of mother doesn’t know what house their child is in?!”
These are tough times right now, but not for men who may be wrongly accused of crimes against women as POTUS suggested this week. These are tough times for women and men of good character and conscience.
Yesterday our president mocked Dr. Christine Blasey Ford while at a rally in Mississippi and Esquire magazine provided the perfect headline for the story underneath his picture:
This Vicious Buffoon Is a Vessel for All the Worst Elements of the American Condition (I couldn’t have said it better, so I didn’t try!)
I watched the coverage of his speech with a mixture of disgust, anger, anxiety and sadness. I was born in 1960 and I’ve been a feminist* for as long as I understood what the word meant. My only child, Natalie is 21 years old and I knew that she would not be leaving college and entering a perfect world before the 2016 election. But, I sincerely believed that our country had made significant progress toward our journey to equal rights for the sexes. I think most people took that for granted. Perhaps we have, but, obviously there is more work to do in our homes, schools and workplaces. And, most significantly, in the courts, Congress and White House. We are being reminded of our responsibilities to one another as citizens of a country based on the principles of equality.
I’ve got a theory for what is happening right now. Here it is. Imagine turning over a rock in your garden, dear reader. What happens? Well, it’s creepy right? Everything ugly comes crawling out into the light. Exposed. That’s what’s happening right now in our country. The ugliness has come crawling out. The “Vicious Buffoon” in the White House has given it license to spew its poison upon us. We must wholeheartedly reject the president’s message and the Republican’s spineless response to the nightmare that has become our daily reality since the election. And, we must remember that the yucky things that live under the rocks are only a small percentage of what inhabits our beautiful land. We are a majority and we have power.
Speak your mind. Change a heart. Write an opinion piece or a letter to the editor. Make a donation. Speak your mind, again. Stay engaged as much as you can. And, when you simply cannot take it anymore, pour yourself a glass of vino and tune into PBS for Poldark and The Durrells in Corfu. We all deserve a break!
* According to Merriam-Webster, feminism is “the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes” and “organized activity on behalf of women’s rights and interests.”
Lynn doesn’t like it when I tell her that she inspires me. But, it simply must be said. I want to be like Lynn when I grow up! She’s opinionated, talented and strong. She supports other women who endeavor to be their best while offering a master class in how to age gracefully.
I like to think I’m following in her footsteps, as she began training with Jonathan at about the same age as I did. She’s now 80 years old and living life to its fullest.
“I pay Jon instead of doctors,” she says with a smile.
Three days a week she works out alongside men and women of all ages. All younger than her. Somewhat irrelevant in Lynn’s case. She cheers me on as I sweat and sing aloud on the arc. And, reads along as I chronicle my existence on the page, referring to me as Zone’s “wordsmith.”When I took a few days off from my cardio schedule, for a couple of weeks in a row, I had a note on my Facebook page from Lynn. Seems she misses me when I’m not there!
She’s the woman who tells other women, “You’re looking good!”
When she’s not in the gym, Lynn can be found in her home studio. She’s an accomplished artist whose work, depending on the subject matter, captures my heart or my imagination or both.
The works of Lynn Lupetti
I believe it’s a perfectly natural thing for people of all ages to look for role models. I did not have a close relationship with my mother and, consciously or unconsciously, I’ve always looked to fill my life with older women that I’d like to emulate. It’s nice to be reminded, through another’s example, that life is a gift and it should be treated as such.
Cheers to my friend, Lynn! Cheers to strong women of all ages.
Since beginning my Journey to Strong last November, I’ve had so many women tell me that I’m an “inspiration.” I have certainly appreciated the support, but I’ve found it difficult to fully embrace the idea that I’ve inspired others to become fitter or stronger.
But, my friend Kristin’s daughter, Julia, gave me an amazing gift that I will forever treasure. She tapped me on the shoulder, halfway through dinner last night, and whispered in my ear.
“I saw you lifting weights on Instagram. I’m strong, too!”
I was filled with emotion. Sometimes it takes a child to remind us that:
we don’t need to be anything more than who we are to inspire others
it’s important to share the small and large victories present in everyday life
social media can be a force for good
AND, our daughters are watching!
Dear readers, venture out and do what you do best…and then share it!