Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo

Thursday, February 19, 2009 at 11:07 am (Smile Lines)
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I read a new term last night for those nose-to-mouth deep wrinkles that I euphemistically like to call “smile lines.”

“Marionette lines.”

That stopped me cold. Geez. Those are some baaaaadasssss lines.

Then it led me to The Sound of Music and the puppet show and looking up the lyrics.

You can actually download The Lonely Goatherd as a ringtone — how fun is that? If I had a phone sophisticated enough to let you download ringtones, I might just have to do that. Maybe I’d smile the once-a month my cell phone rings instead of thinking, “Oh sh–.” (My mother cannot keep it straight that my one sister wants to be called exclusively on her cell phone and I never want called on my cell phone, which is always in my purse and has a ringer I can’t hear even on its loudest setting. So she’ll call it, leave a message, and I won’t know for days. Or until the middle of the night when I hear a brief vibrating, buzzing sound every minute or so and figure out it’s coming from my purse. Plus she hasn’t figured out that voicemail is not the same as an answering machine. So she’ll say “Hello, this is mother…..[pause]….are you there? Then wait for a while to see if I pick up. Then leave her message.)

(I just checked my phone now, in my purse, and of course it’s dead.)

But anyway, back to those lines… I’ve just started attacking mine recently with two different types of spackle. Even at drugstore (Wal-Mart) prices, I cringed to buy them. So I’ll be using every drop, effective or not. And I figure it may take a few years to work my way through the various options on the market to see if anything really makes me feel like I”m keeping my face from imploding.

Oh, and neither of these products has sunscreen. So I’m apparently supposed to spread more goo on my face on top of those. (People can actually do that without causing major eruptions?) I had good skin until my 20s, then it all went horribly wrong. A little sunburn is about the only thing that makes it look good.

In the “How Obsessive Are You About Your Skin?” quiz that was the source of the “marionette lines” line, I turned out to be a low-to-medium-maintenance kind of gal. What I really need is high-maintenance funds — I’d be at Dr. Rey’s office so fast asking…”What can you inject here, plane off there, and reconstruct in this general area (neck up)?”

But no, I”m kidding. If I had that kind of money I’d be hard-pressed to spend it that way. Not when there’s a front porch that needs rebuilding and an attic to revamp and a garage roof gone bad, and on and on. “Cottage Industry” will always trump “Smile Lines.”

It’s just how I’m strung.

Your wrinkles either show that you’re nasty, cranky,
and senile, or that you’re always smiling.
                                                  ~ Carlos Santana

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SRO

Tuesday, November 18, 2008 at 9:41 am (Cottage Industry, Smile Lines)
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I like having guests and try to make their visit as comfortable and enjoyable as I can. Being able to offer a comfy chair when we settle down in the living room is about as basic as it gets. But we have a lack of seating at the moment. The two “what were we thinking?” too big, too awkward swivel-rocker-recliners we bought three years ago after we got tired looking have gone to live with Mike’s parents. I couldn’t be happier. (Mom & Dad seem to like them, too, so I hope it was a successful adoption all around.) And frankly, our living room has never looked better with its new, more open feel (with exactly 2 mismatched chairs around our very cool but giant round antique claw-footed quarter-sawn oak dining-table-cut-down-to-coffee-table that we inherited from Mike’s parents).

Now if anyone comes over, we’ll be bringing in chairs from the dining room for happy hour (or standing over them like Jeeves). Yes, we have a couch, but it’s on the other side of our long, narrow living room in front of the TV, not on the “social” side of the room. And we have a neat handmade rustic bench in front of the fireplace in the middle of the room — easily moveable and fine for plopping down to warm your toes at the stove; not fine for 2 hours of extended conviviality.

So, we’ve started the hunt for a couple new chairs. Must be small-scale. Must be comfortable. Must blend with what we already have. And, must not cost the anywhere from $600 to $2000 we’ve been seeing. For A CHAIR! When did chairs become as expensive as entire sofas? (And don’t get me started on the cost of ottomans — fortunately we have no room for one.)

Oh, we’ve found perfect chairs that we love here and here. Both costing about $1700 apiece. “It’s an investment,” said each saleswoman, in the understatement of the century. Enclosing half our porch for our sunroom will not cost as much as two of these chairs. Although, given the state of our investments, these may be a better way to go.

Oh, and we’ve looked at the discount options — all of which appear either ready to fall apart in about 2 months or are not the small size we need. (As Americans get fatter, so does their seating apparently. Ginormous furniture is the rule these days.)

I’ve checked Craig’s List (nothing at the moment) and eBay — some possibilities, but the sight-unseen aspect is a little disconcerting. We bought such a chair last year, drove 2-1/2 hours each way to pick it up, only to find that, while it was nice, it was also a bit wobbly and should really be reglued. And we needed to recover the seat (not an easy process). And we didn’t win the matching rocker.

So for now, we just admire that side of the room and the newly open view out the French doors. And we have a handle on a couple possibilities our friends know of at the antique store they frequent. Fingers crossed.

Oh for the days when floor pillows were all the rage…or beanbags, beanbags would work. We’ll just start off the visit with a few stretches or some yoga. Downward-facing dog anyone?

We dare not trust our wit for making our house
pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream.
                              ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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“OK Rusty’s in the club!”

Tuesday, July 29, 2008 at 2:12 pm (Smile Lines, Writing by Ear)
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Larson fans anyone? This was the caption for a Gary Larson cartoon of a group of dogs, one of which (Rusty) had just dashed across the street in front of cars to join the others. (Again, who can explain what the brain chooses to retain? This I remember; the name of that client contact I worked with last month, not a clue.)

Anyhoo — I do now feel like I’m in a not-so-elite club for the first time. Why? I sprained my ankle on Saturday. Just stepped down off the deck like I have a million times, landed funny on the stepping stone below, and down I went. I heard the crack so feared the worse, but, nothing broken, not too much pain — only lots of swelling and lovely shades of blue of purple.

But, it was a first. I’ve never hurt myself like that before. Never had to gingerly peel off my shoe and sock and hope no bone was sticking through. Never experienced the injured body at work — instant swelling, a little light-headedness, a little nausea. Never made the requisite trip to the ER for X rays.

But now, now I’m wearing my “air splint” like a badge of honor. “Oh, it’s just a sprain,” I say, as if I’ve been through this many times. “Lots of swelling and black & blue,” I smile as I lift my foot to show people. Inevitably I hear about their own experiences with ankle sprains and strains. I nod knowingly.

Yep, I’m in the club! I’m just hoping it’s a lifetime membership — no regular dues required.

Ah-oh, I only treat left ankles…
                         ~ My ER doctor

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