Now I don't flatter myself in thinking I would look this good head down in a dumpster, I might be more inclined to be rubber suited from head to toe. There must be something pretty darn good in that bin to risk breaking one of those pretty red fingernails. The word that comes to mind when I look at this picture? "Push."
I found the most fantastic thing in the garbage outside of a shop in town. If I'm honest, it wasn't a dumpster I dove into....it was just some castoffs along the side of the road. I just love those words, DUMPSTER DIVING! I like the way it sounds, how it rolls off the tongue. It sounds like a fun thing to do, minus the smells, rotten food and the yuck factor. It's amazing no one has pitched a TV show called Dumpster Diving with Martha or something to that effect.
Big dump day is tomorrow in Mahone Bay. A chance to clear out all the junk one accumulates. We are crapless at our house, so to speak; we've purged over the last several years until there's nothing left to chuck. Our clan harboured a pretty serious hoarder and there is always that niggling fear that I might be carrying the gene so I go out of my way to purge on a regular basis just to prove I can. My auntie was just as bad, if not worse, than some you see on television except she limited her collections to the inside of her house so managed to stay under the radar and appear normal. Well, I'll use that term loosely, she had a whole bag of weird tricks, maybe where I get it from. Witnessing that kind of madness leaves a lasting impression so I go out of my way to throw, give away or burn anything that I haven't used in a five year period. If it's been sitting around that long you can live without it and once it's out of sight you never miss it.
So I was heading to work this evening and there on the lawn of a shop was this fabulous rack. It was raining so we pulled up close and hubby jumped out and threw it in the trunk and we sped away, hopefully unseen. It's a well made, very nicely appointed display rack. A lazy Susan style (is this politically incorrect?...it's rather offensive to the Susan's of the world) Anyway, it turns 360 which is perfect for the dye cards I plan to design for individual spot formulas and possibly pots as well. Cards with a single formula, instructions and a sample of the wool it creates. We have so many new formulas that we can't keep up with books so I thought it might be nice to have individual cards.
It is a bit of a law breaker to pick through another persons garbage and morally repungnant, or that's what I used to think before I became a member of the trash collector's alliance. There's actually a bylaw in town prohibiting it, but it's never enforced probably because it costs the town less for removal. I've always wondered who would do this sort of thing and what they might be looking for. Guess now I know first hand. I know I've thrown out some pretty lame things in the past; real bona fide, absolutely useless garbage and it's all gone by morning. I wonder if those people are hoarders?
So I had a rather strange Mother's Day. My son presented me with a large vase of pink tulips and wonderful card yesterday and we thought we might go out for dinner this evening but I had to work so we postponed it until Monday. I was very bad Saturday evening and stayed up late with friends and watched a movie, Parental Guidance, a funny little thing with Bette Midler and Billy Crystal. After the movie we chatted until late and after they went home hubby crawled on the sofa and nodded off and I headed for the computer to jot down a few thoughts for blogs. The next thing I knew the sun was coming up so I figured it was time for bed. A bad way to start my only day off!
So I slept in until noon, got up and felt like crap, had a coffee and yawned and moaned for the next few hours that I didn't want to leave the house. I lounged around in my jammies and finally made breakfast around 4:30, wonderful muffins and the fact wasn't lost on me that I had to make my own breakfast, but in hubby's defense I'm not his mother. So by the time I got out of my own way, showered and dressed it was 7:00 pm and running out of time to get the work done that was necessary for a customer to pick up tomorrow.
So I'm at the shop and the tunes are rocking and I'm working at a pace reserved for marathon runners trying to beat the clock and get home before midnight. I love working in the shop late at night, all alone with music so loud it changes the beat of my heart. Music pumps me up and I work like a demon under its influence. If people looked in the window they would have caught me bopping around and singing my heart out, probably heard me through the plate glass windows and through the cracks in the doorjamb. I don't care or I would have been wearing makeup!
Music makes me feel young, the good kind of young, like a teenager. I've always wanted to sing in a band and I've flattered myself into thinking I would be good enough to try. If I ever get the time I want to take a few singing lessons so I can realize the dream to act in a musical play. I'd even try Karaoke but I'm never anywhere that might happen. Just a few of my bucket list items that need to be scratched off. I can carry a tune but that doesn't mean anyone would want to listen so a few lessons would help......or at least be told the truth, "Stick to the shower!"
When I listen to rock and roll, the old stuff of my time, it turns me into a wild thing. I just want to run out the door and head to the nearest bar to dance my heart out. I can't imagine my life without music. I would rather loose my sight than my hearing. I also know, can guarantee, that when I'm 80 or 90 I'll be listening to loud music, especially if I'm partially deaf...... I will never be an old fart that can't stand the loud noises of the youth. If I ever say, "turn that down" or "I can't hear myself think sonny", I'll be ready to pack it in. Music moves me more than any other stimulant. Tonight when Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl started playing I swooned. Maybe it's good I don't go to dances or hang out in bars, the music might make me fast and loose, probably try to make out with the drummer or lead guitar guy.
I'm always up for dances but none of my friends care. No one wants to have that kind of fun anymore. The joints creak and no one can stay up late. Yawning and dancing is like oil and water, it doesn't mix. I guess I'm a 54 year old teenager at heart! Most think I'm a stick in the mud type but when I get revved up and break loose I'm a force to be reckoned with. If I'm lucky enough to make it to a dance I'm up on the floor for every number, all by myself if need be. I've been called a dancing fool and say "Thanks!" Gee, the last dance we attended must be a decade ago, Joe Murphy and Waterstreet Blues band, a zydeco, blues group that played at the Petite Reviere firehall. How sad for me! I'm really no good at dancing but I love the way music makes me feel and I need to match the beat with gyrating, jittering motion, I couldn't stand still if I wanted too. If music is playing I'm moving....it's an automatic reflex. Maybe I need some hip new friends! Young ones with a sense of adventure or older gals young at heart, with working sparkplugs and dancing shoes.
So that was my fabulous mother's day. I suppose it was typical for me, in that it wasn't typical.
I found the most fantastic thing in the garbage outside of a shop in town. If I'm honest, it wasn't a dumpster I dove into....it was just some castoffs along the side of the road. I just love those words, DUMPSTER DIVING! I like the way it sounds, how it rolls off the tongue. It sounds like a fun thing to do, minus the smells, rotten food and the yuck factor. It's amazing no one has pitched a TV show called Dumpster Diving with Martha or something to that effect.
Big dump day is tomorrow in Mahone Bay. A chance to clear out all the junk one accumulates. We are crapless at our house, so to speak; we've purged over the last several years until there's nothing left to chuck. Our clan harboured a pretty serious hoarder and there is always that niggling fear that I might be carrying the gene so I go out of my way to purge on a regular basis just to prove I can. My auntie was just as bad, if not worse, than some you see on television except she limited her collections to the inside of her house so managed to stay under the radar and appear normal. Well, I'll use that term loosely, she had a whole bag of weird tricks, maybe where I get it from. Witnessing that kind of madness leaves a lasting impression so I go out of my way to throw, give away or burn anything that I haven't used in a five year period. If it's been sitting around that long you can live without it and once it's out of sight you never miss it.
So I was heading to work this evening and there on the lawn of a shop was this fabulous rack. It was raining so we pulled up close and hubby jumped out and threw it in the trunk and we sped away, hopefully unseen. It's a well made, very nicely appointed display rack. A lazy Susan style (is this politically incorrect?...it's rather offensive to the Susan's of the world) Anyway, it turns 360 which is perfect for the dye cards I plan to design for individual spot formulas and possibly pots as well. Cards with a single formula, instructions and a sample of the wool it creates. We have so many new formulas that we can't keep up with books so I thought it might be nice to have individual cards.
It is a bit of a law breaker to pick through another persons garbage and morally repungnant, or that's what I used to think before I became a member of the trash collector's alliance. There's actually a bylaw in town prohibiting it, but it's never enforced probably because it costs the town less for removal. I've always wondered who would do this sort of thing and what they might be looking for. Guess now I know first hand. I know I've thrown out some pretty lame things in the past; real bona fide, absolutely useless garbage and it's all gone by morning. I wonder if those people are hoarders?
So I had a rather strange Mother's Day. My son presented me with a large vase of pink tulips and wonderful card yesterday and we thought we might go out for dinner this evening but I had to work so we postponed it until Monday. I was very bad Saturday evening and stayed up late with friends and watched a movie, Parental Guidance, a funny little thing with Bette Midler and Billy Crystal. After the movie we chatted until late and after they went home hubby crawled on the sofa and nodded off and I headed for the computer to jot down a few thoughts for blogs. The next thing I knew the sun was coming up so I figured it was time for bed. A bad way to start my only day off!
So I slept in until noon, got up and felt like crap, had a coffee and yawned and moaned for the next few hours that I didn't want to leave the house. I lounged around in my jammies and finally made breakfast around 4:30, wonderful muffins and the fact wasn't lost on me that I had to make my own breakfast, but in hubby's defense I'm not his mother. So by the time I got out of my own way, showered and dressed it was 7:00 pm and running out of time to get the work done that was necessary for a customer to pick up tomorrow.
So I'm at the shop and the tunes are rocking and I'm working at a pace reserved for marathon runners trying to beat the clock and get home before midnight. I love working in the shop late at night, all alone with music so loud it changes the beat of my heart. Music pumps me up and I work like a demon under its influence. If people looked in the window they would have caught me bopping around and singing my heart out, probably heard me through the plate glass windows and through the cracks in the doorjamb. I don't care or I would have been wearing makeup!
Music makes me feel young, the good kind of young, like a teenager. I've always wanted to sing in a band and I've flattered myself into thinking I would be good enough to try. If I ever get the time I want to take a few singing lessons so I can realize the dream to act in a musical play. I'd even try Karaoke but I'm never anywhere that might happen. Just a few of my bucket list items that need to be scratched off. I can carry a tune but that doesn't mean anyone would want to listen so a few lessons would help......or at least be told the truth, "Stick to the shower!"
When I listen to rock and roll, the old stuff of my time, it turns me into a wild thing. I just want to run out the door and head to the nearest bar to dance my heart out. I can't imagine my life without music. I would rather loose my sight than my hearing. I also know, can guarantee, that when I'm 80 or 90 I'll be listening to loud music, especially if I'm partially deaf...... I will never be an old fart that can't stand the loud noises of the youth. If I ever say, "turn that down" or "I can't hear myself think sonny", I'll be ready to pack it in. Music moves me more than any other stimulant. Tonight when Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl started playing I swooned. Maybe it's good I don't go to dances or hang out in bars, the music might make me fast and loose, probably try to make out with the drummer or lead guitar guy.
I'm always up for dances but none of my friends care. No one wants to have that kind of fun anymore. The joints creak and no one can stay up late. Yawning and dancing is like oil and water, it doesn't mix. I guess I'm a 54 year old teenager at heart! Most think I'm a stick in the mud type but when I get revved up and break loose I'm a force to be reckoned with. If I'm lucky enough to make it to a dance I'm up on the floor for every number, all by myself if need be. I've been called a dancing fool and say "Thanks!" Gee, the last dance we attended must be a decade ago, Joe Murphy and Waterstreet Blues band, a zydeco, blues group that played at the Petite Reviere firehall. How sad for me! I'm really no good at dancing but I love the way music makes me feel and I need to match the beat with gyrating, jittering motion, I couldn't stand still if I wanted too. If music is playing I'm moving....it's an automatic reflex. Maybe I need some hip new friends! Young ones with a sense of adventure or older gals young at heart, with working sparkplugs and dancing shoes.
So that was my fabulous mother's day. I suppose it was typical for me, in that it wasn't typical.
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