Apparently I Cannot Count

The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza is actually turning NINE!

Of course, I always make some mistake or other when I post the cookie announcement but I’d really hoped I’d broken the curse this year. At least this is better than getting the dates wrong.

So, chalk it up to another year of keeping holiday traditions and move on, Jz! 

However old it is, there’s still time to sign up if you haven’t already. 

Noon on Monday...

(Assuming you’re willing to share recipes, of course!)

Snippet - Director's Cut

He stuffed the flogger handle in my mouth (*just* like you see in the pictures.) 

Hot, it’s true, but remember that TMJ I've mentioned? Well, all too soon, I had to wiggle my jaw a little… and yes, the danged thing slipped. My hands were strung up about 2 ft. above my head, so they were unavailable to assist - yet I was determined not to lose hold completely. Through much prompt and judicious wiggling, I was able to snag the loop of the handle in my mouth, and keep it from dropping. 

Yay!

Victory! 

But a short-lived one...

He gently pulled the flogger away, gave me a few lovely little swats with it, and reinserted the handle between my teeth. 

“This time, do NOT drop it.”

Alrighty, then.

I nodded my understanding and resolutely set my recalcitrant jaw.

At which point, he pulled out not one but two vibrators and went to town.

Now, maybe you are good at screaming in ecstasy while keeping something firmly lodged between your teeth… I am not.

Out it slipped once more.

*crap!*

There was way too much involuntary thrashing about going on for me to finesse anything as delicate as grabbing the loop again, so I had to settle for clamping the handle between my shoulder and cheek. (à la phone receiver) 

Several long, wonderful minutes of “Talk to the Handle” later, I was limp and gasping. 

A hand stroked in, softening my muscles and retrieving the flogger.

“You let go”, tsk’d the voice behind me.

“I know… but I couldn’t hold it.”

“No… I knew you wouldn’t be able to.”  

“I did NOT drop it, tho’!”

Laughter rumbled against my back.

“No, you did not… Good girl.”

To Boldly Go...

If you’ve read here for a while, you may recollect that I’ve been on the hunt for a new masseuse for quite some time now - but I haven’t been having a lot of luck. Some of that is time, some of it is money, and some of it is simply a question of the stars not lining up for me.

I think that's about to change, however.

As I was weaving myself, my bags, and my sceptre of sprouts out of the farmers market the other day, a little sign way back in the corner caught my eye.

“Massage - A Dollar A Minute”

Being both sore of shoulder and in possession of a rare bit of spare cash, I decided to spring for a five-minute teaser. I dropped my purchases off in the car and came back to wait my turn. I listened politely to the woman’s spiel… She’s new to the area and just got her business set up so this seemed like a good way to get the word out about her services, yada yada yada… I’ll admit, I kind of tuned her out pretty quickly. Her office, while close to the farmers market, is fairly out of the way of my normal daily commute and I didn’t think it likely that she’d ever get much more than this five dollars out of me.

Until she started working on my back.

The noise and chatter of the crowded venue faded into the background, drowned out by the contented hum of pleasure vibrating through my body.

I moaned. I melted. I briefly contemplated proposing marriage.

When my five minutes were up, I wanted to cling to the chair like a two-year old and wail, “No! Don’t WANNA leave! You can’t make me!”

She was just that good.

As a result, I anticipate that I’ll be spending more time out at the far end of my home range in the future…. and I’ll be doing it with a smile on my face.

So the moral of the story is:

Don’t be afraid to spend that $5 to try out an unknown.

You may be pleasantly surprised!

Or, you know, not…

Now, to Work Off Some of That Food!

(Apropos of nothing, why don’t I ever meet men who can move like this?)

Happy Thanksgiving!

May it be a wonderful day for you, whether you celebrate the holiday or not.

Speaking of Food...

This year…

The Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza Turns Eight!

That’s right - the increasingly inaccurately named 

         Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza 

will celebrate its eighth Blogland appearance on Wednesday, December 5th… 

and I really hope you’ll consider being one of the participants.

It’s simple to play along, really.

All you need to do is to post a recipe for a holiday goodie on the appropriate day.

         (Wednesday, Dec 5th)

Your recipe doesn’t even actually have to be for a cookie. 

Anything that you consider yummy and festive is something I want to know about!

Sign up by noon on Monday, December 3rd in order to get your name on the list of participants. (I need some lead time time to assemble and distribute the list to participants.)

To sign up:

         Email me by noon on Dec 3rd

With this information:

         Your screen name and the URL of your blog. 

         (OK, I also need your email address but I’ll have that if you email, right?)

                  If I don’t get those 3 things, you won’t make the participant list. 

                  (Sorry, but I’m done with chasing people.)

That’s it - just one email, three details, and a post!

     It's gonna be fun!

In Which The Farmers Market Almost Undoes Me

I live in a home of 1950’s construction - one with funny little nooks and cabinets hung in unusual places. There is a niche dedicated to holding what was a full refrigerator at the time but by now, that same space can only be filled by an apartment-sized fridge. Which is fine - I’m single, I only need but so much food at one time anyhow… except… at the holidays.

For a couple of weeks now, in anticipation of my Thanksgiving food storage needs, I’ve been methodically working my way through all the extraneous bits and bobs that can accumulate in one’s fridge. (Do you guys end up with two open jars of the exact same condiment too, or is that a super-power unique to me?) The cleaning-out went well and I was feeling confident about the available space situation when I headed out the door to the farmers market yesterday morning.

I will not describe the mad-house that was the produce area - suffice it to say that I consider myself lucky not to have incurred an unfortunate brussels sprouts injury. (Seriously, these things could be used as cudgels!) 

Instead, let’s just say that I fought the good fight and obtained everything on my list.

I realized as I was loading up my car, however, that I had a problem. My haul consisted of nothing more than brussels sprouts, a head of broccoli, one of cauliflower, some kale, and five sweet potatoes, yet I had two overflowing bags and a stalk of sprouts that, quite literally, was as long as my leg. (And I’m the one who needs pants with a 36” inseam, remember…) My produce took up more space than a 10-year old child… yet it all needed to go into my modest refrigerator!

So when I got home, Project Produce Deconstruction was launched. I took the crisp bunch of kale and began to chop and de-rib, reducing its volume from that of an over-sized watermelon to something that fit nicely into a gallon-sized ziploc bag. The broccoli and cauliflowers were ruthlessly de-leafed, resulting in two neat heads that just about fit into the crisper drawer and an armful of stalk and leaves for the compost heap. Then I cleared off the countertop, maneuvered the cudgel stalk of sprouts so it dangled over the edge onto the cutting board, and began to excise the buds. Loose leaves drifted over my feet and I quickly filled up another gallon-sized ziploc bag. (I also bagged up the crown of leaves at the top, as the woman at the market assured me they are excellent when sauteed. I am slightly skeptical but willing to try…)

At last, everything was in convenient storage containers that fit nicely into the fridge - and with room left over, even! So I gathered up the detritus and headed outside, where I briefly channeled royalty; processing across my yard with a scepter of stalk, an armful of flowing vegetable leaves, and petals of Brussels sprouts gently strewing themselves along my way. It was a very enjoyable moment of fantasy - which ended abruptly when my foot (in its imaginary dainty slipper) squelched into the compost heap. 

Grinning, I tossed my regalia onto the pile and went inside to restore myself by sampling another purchase - cinnamon chip brioche rolls. With butter. And a cup of coffee.

Equilibrium Restored.

Let the holiday cooking begin!

Klingon Turkeys

The Gift That Time Forgot

(A Gratitude Month Post)

I came across something while doing some deep cleaning the other day.

A simple crimson box in the corner of my bookcase, it was one of those things that has sat in the same place for so long that you don’t even register it anymore. Because I was purging my shelves however, this time I actually looked at it… and thought. I remembered that it was a gift, but I could not recall when I got it, or who gave it to me… or even if I’d ever actually opened it. Nothing on the outside of the box describes the contents - it simply informs you that it’s a Creativity Kit. So I stared at it a while, gauging whether or not I wanted to open the box and risk being sucked down a rabbit hole, or if I’d avoid temptation and toss it, unopened.

Curiosity won, of course.

Nestled inside the nicely-made box, I found a “creativity journal”, three small wrapped disks that look like soap (tho’ that seemed unlikely,) and something reminiscent of a pencil box, with kanji characters on it. 

Yeah, I’m going to dig further…

I opened the journal and peered at the introduction. “This kit is intended to pry open the door to your imagination. It contains two tools: one active and one contemplative.” The disks are actually decks of “positive creative action” suggestion cards and the journal is for “contemplative writing on… creativity.”  There was no mention of the pencil-box-y thing, so I pried it open, only to find a paper cylinder, which itself held a plastic bag of incense - tho' nothing fragrant enough for me to place the scent.

I pulled a stick out and lit it. I am no connoisseur but I recognized the aroma as one of the traditional incense smells (patchouli, maybe?) - one that propelled me straight back to the mid-1970’s, hanging out in the bedroom of my free-spirited friend Butterfly, with her riot of red curls, wardrobe of Indian print clothing, and incomprehension of why I was still a virgin at the age of 15. (Did I want her boyfriend to fix me up with a friend? NO! Ok, just asking…)

(Can you tell I was well down the rabbit hole by now?)

Next, I carefully peeled back the sticker on one of the action decks. “Clean your desk” suggested the top one (that’s what I was doing when you sidetracked me…) followed by, “Give away a piece of jewelry” … “Decorate a cigar box”… “Bake gingerbread men”… 

OK. I’ve got the gist of those. Now, what about this journal?

I flipped the pages open to the workspace itself, curious to see what the quotes and prompts looked like… only to discover that I HAD opened this before. There was a single entry in it, written in what I think of as my Dante period about 12 years ago. (See this post for explanation.) My heart sank, my rabbit hole turned into a pit, and I crash-landed at the bottom.

Ouch. 

I was pleased to note that the words on paper weren’t mortifyingly angsty (am I the only one who cringes when re-reading outpourings of Emotions Past?) but I cannot say I enjoyed being transported back to that time, either. I was, not to put too fine a point on it, a mess in those days. My dad had died, a 10-year relationship was just ending, and I’d realized I had lost hold of some indefinable quality, some spark that I’d always felt defined me. For the first time in my life, I was truly and profoundly alone - not just separated from others but from myself, as well. I was completely adrift…, and it was ugly.

This likely explains why I cannot remember the gift - that time of my life is not one I often choose to recall. (It’s not blacked out, but there are definitely some very heavy dust covers thrown over the details.) But still, despite the discomfort, I wasn’t sorry to read that one bewildered little entry, because it reminded me of just how very fortunate I have been. The whole process of loss and reconnection with that inner spark turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me, despite the misery of the struggle itself. It’s an obscure metaphor but the best way to describe the result is to say it reinforced my inner gimbal. I ride out tumult a lot better these days… a grace I'm very glad for.

So I think I’ll hang onto this little creativity kit. I’m not convinced my already-vivid imagination needs the help, but it’s always good to "pry open the door" to let gratitude in.

Whys and Wherefores

I’m not deliberately not-blogging, I just seem to be continually without time.

We had a summer that was so bloody, stinking, miserably hot that pretty much everybody fell way behind on all their chores. (We were all far too busy sweating and griping.) Then it was Hell Month (a time when mere survival counts as a win,) and now suddenly, it’s fall and I’m out of available daylight hours - and still way behind on all my chores.

Nor is it just chores. It’s everything: yardwork, housework, time with friends, emails, fun… and let’s not even talk about sexxay times - because while I may think I’m busy, I’m the tortoise to BG’s hare. Which I’d be more upset about… if I had the time to be. As I don’t, we just keep doing a lot of rescheduling. (Tho’ if something doesn’t give soon, I may contemplate doing violence to his boss. Just sayin’!)

So basically, I’m scrambling. I kid myself that I’m making progress (albeit of the baby steps variety) but I’m pretty sure that’s just a comforting delusion. And even when I do grab some time to sit down and rest, my brain remains in “gerbil-in-wheel” mode. I have periodic flashes of good ideas but by the time they register with my distracted brain, all I can see is dust in the rear view mirror.

It will pass, it always does..., but I hate it.

All I really want to do is to plunk my butt down in my chair and channel Spock:

Ummm, Not Yet...

I’m still having trouble catching up with life enough to have time to blog.

          (sorry!)

I do, however, have a brief moment to bring you this public service appeal:

Happy Friday, all!

Here Comes The Crew

"doot'n-doo-doo..."

And that's your Sunday Morning Earworm for this week!

A Distinctive Dance

Tonight’s dance party takes us to China, for this spectacular Dance of a Thousand Hands. 

I really wanted to share this because it’s so visually stunning - but when I decided to learn a little more about the work, I became stunned in other ways, as well. 

It’s not a traditional dance, but a modern piece - one choreographed by the eminent Chinese choreographer Zhang Jigang (who is also a high-ranking military officer in the Chinese army - *mind blown*…) and it is performed by a troupe of deaf dancers. (That’s why you see the woman on the edge of the stage in a couple of the long shots - she’s there to provide a visual to help the dancers synchronize with the music.)

I think it’s gorgeous and amazing.

I hope you like it, too.

(Again - watch in full screen if you can.)