Don't Push Me - Cause I'm Close To The Edge

Looks can be deceiving.

I look content. I look relaxed. But I'm not. I'm a seething mass of psycho just waiting to explode.

Don't let the new Bruno Magli pumps fool you. This is a woman on the edge. But at least I'm on the edge wearing Bruno Magli shoes. Shoes can make all the difference. Really.

I had a pretty good day. We took the pups and drove to San Francisco and picked up my daughter, Sheila, and my grandson, Cyrus, and my granddaughter, Arianna. We all went to Chrissie Field for a picnic. There were sandwiches, chips, fruit, salads, cheese and a wonderful baguette right out of the oven. We also had root beer, orange crush, and assorted other soft drinks in bottles. My family had just returned from the UK after three weeks of freezing their collective asses off in the cold.

Today was sunny and 70 degrees in San Francisco. It was a perfect picnic and a lovely day. The kids regaled me with their impressions of Brits. My daughter regaled me with her impressions of the crazy Persian family members they stayed with in London and Ireland. We laughed (unkindly sometimes) at the goofy people they encountered in London and on the emerald isle.

We were very close to the Golden Gate Bridge and while I chatted and enjoyed the lovely food and company I thought about the people who had jumped off that bridge in despair. For a crazy moment, I thought that I understood the act.

And then I looked down at my Bruno Magli shoes and realized I would never do such a thing in such exquisite shoes.

Good Karma and Star Power

Today, I received the strangest thing in the mail slightly after 2 PM.

My late pup, Honey, who died on December 10th of last year, has a star named after her. I have no idea who sent this to me. There is even a map of the galaxy so I can look for her star.

Yes, it made me cry. But it also made me think how wonderful someone was to do this. I have no idea where it came from. It may be associated with the organization who did the cremation of her remains. I just don't know.

A couple of hours earlier, I was communicating by email with a friend who has had a really rough holiday season. On a whim, I sent a little luxury gift to this person after the email conversation. I love to brighten someone's day, just as I love having mine brightened.

I'm not religious. But I do believe that if we spend a thoughtful moment doing something for someone else, we get thoughtful gestures returned to us. It's so much easier to do or say something nice than it is to do or say something hurtful.

Wherever Honey's star came from, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Sometimes Love Hurts

This is Jake.

He is mine until tomorrow. Then he will go to live with a lovely lady named Cynthia and her husband Jack. They have a really pretty house on a hill in San Francisco.

I have known and been friends with Cynthia since we were 7 years old. As long as I've known Cynthia, she has always had cats. Several years ago, when her last cat passed away, she decided "no more cats".

We brought Jake home Christmas Eve. Harry and Zoe got very upset having him here. I had to put Jake in a crate most of the time to protect him because he is really tiny. My trainer Todd recommended that I take him somewhere "else" for a few days. Since we were going to Cynthia's for dinner on Christmas Day, I asked her if she would babysit Jake until we picked him up on Tuesday evening. (We were having him neutered early Wednesday morning.)

When we picked Jake up on Tuesday evening, he was already Cynthia and Jack's dog. I just couldn't keep Jake here with two snarling big dogs trying to kill him every chance they got. Jake was so happy at his new house that Alex and I decided to give the pup to Cynthia and Jack.

They are thrilled with the new addition to their family. I'll miss him, but I'm so glad he will have a wonderful home as an only child with people who adore him.

He's such a good boy. And he smells like peaches.

A Christmas Letter

This is where I'm going to brag about how good everything is in my life, in my kids' lives, and in my world.

Uh, no it's not.

I'm sitting there on Christmas eve about midnight in my new cashmere robe. I love cashmere robes, but I wonder if my husband buys them for me because he's trying to kill me.

See, he knows that they are so comfortable to me that I might never go out of the house again. The robe takes away any desire I've ever had to dress. Why dress when you can sit there in a cashmere robe all day?

If I never leave the house, I won't get any exercise at all. None. I will probably get very fat and my arteries will swell or whatever. I will get very sluggish and my skin will get pasty. Even my dogs will get sluggish and pasty from staying inside with me all the time.

My husband may think he's being clever, but I'm on to him.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

Waiting For Santa

It seems I spend a lot of my time doing just this.

My girlfriend, Erica of Free Fringes, sent me this photo because it reminded her of me. (photo credit).

It reminds me of me too!

I have spent a lot of time in the last year sitting in my Victorian house, with a glass of fine red wine, waiting for Santa (aka Alex) to come home. I sip the wine and the deep red color of it stains my lips. It sometimes makes waiting so much more bearable.

In the last year, Alex has been on the East Coast, in the deep South, in southern California, in far northern California, in Europe, and in several other places. I think he's been gone about half of the year in total.

When Alex returns home, he brings me jewelry, baubles, bangles, and stories of his travels.

While he's gone, I dress most every day in my finery and await his return. Sometimes, I feel like my name should be Penelope. Usually, I know when to expect him, but not always. That uncertainty makes it difficult for me to have any kind of rendezvous when he's away.

Not that I intend to have illicit encounters, because I don't. But if one should occur just out of nowhere (it could happen), I could wind up being "caught" by my husband. And frankly, "caught" is not my favorite position.

Of course, I could go elsewhere for a rendezvous, but then I'd be leaving my dogs alone and I'd rather not do that.

I get into a melancholy state when my husband is away for too long. I begin to feel like someone trapped in a prison of my own making. I stop answering my phone. I stop opening the front door when someone knocks. I peer out the window through the lace curtain and watch people go by. Then I make up stories in my head about who they are and where they are going.

I need to stop "waiting" and start "living".

Got The Flowers On The Wall

I pride myself on having fairly good taste.

I have what most people think is a lovely home, nice furniture, and some really wonderful art.

You'd think I was somewhat clever at the way I put things together. Actually, I think I've always known what would be nice, but until the last 10 years or so, that would come as a major surprise to a lot of people.

I've always been a touch whimsical about what I like. I might see something charming in a photo and think, "I can do that!". Okay, that's already where things might start to go downhill.

Once when I was a young bride of 22, I saw a lovely photo where someone had arranged some beautiful flowers on a wall for a wedding or something. I thought to myself, "Self! That would look great in my kitchen!". I went to the store and found and purchsed about 100 plastic flowers. I came home and stared on my "amaze and delight" your husband project. One by one, I glued the flowers to a wall in the kitchen. The problem was some of them fell off the wall even with the glue. So, I got some thumb tacks and that worked somewhat better, (until I ran out of thumb tacks. I then improvised and grabbed a handful of nails. I stuck those flowers from top to bottom all over one kitchen wall.

Sweating and swearing, I completed my project. I walked out of the kitchen and walked back in. Somehow, this project had missed its mark. It looked nothing like the photo in the magazine. Still, since I had spent about 8 or 9 hours doing this, (and at least $100 in plastic flowers), I determined I would leave it up for my husband to see.

When John got home from work, he walked in the kitchen and exclaimed "Holy Shit! What happened?". Of course I felt hurt and somewhat betrayed. Couldn't he see the effort that went into this. (Never mind that we would have to repaint and cover holes in the plaster when the mess finally came down after about a month.)

I have a sister. She is an expert decorator and she does amazing things on a strict budget. She has one wall in her kitchen covered with beautiful menus from local restaurants. It's striking and very attractive. What I have to add though is that she is also a meticulous housekeeper. She gets her little feather duster out every morning and goes over every inch of her nice displays.

I don't have a feather duster.

After divorcing John (for other reasons, not the plastic flowers on the wall), I decided to get rid of all of my home furnishings and replace everything with hard surface lucite cubes. (Yeah, lucite is a kind of plastic, are you beginning to see a trend?) My children were all in favor of this change. We had huge pillows on the floor and nothing but Jimi Hendrix posters on the walls. It was "interesting".

After seeing a magazine of a gorgeous "Arabian Nights" bedroom with billowing fabric covering the ceiling and walls, I decided I would do the same thing in my boudoir.

I really didn't know what to do with "fabric" so I improvised and used bedspreads printed in a floral pattern. Let me tell you, they were a bitch to get up on the ceiling. Oh, and the result? Uh, what you might expect. Dear God! What was she thinking?

Lest you think this was just youthful folly, it was not. Alex and I decided to purchase 2 "pretend" black leather recliners for our "family room" at hour old house. We also added a black weight bench, a treadmill, some floral posters and a television to the room. We thought it looked great, that is until the pretend leather started breaking and cracking. Again, what were we thinking? This "family room" was not in a hidden place, but in full view from the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room. It was scary ugly.

Over the past 10 years, I have learned to totally avoid home decorator magazines.

How To Lose 7 pounds In 7 Days

It really has been very easy.

First, hear devastating news that your dog is very sick, and it looks like the sickness is going to be terminal. That will start to kill your appetite for sure.

Spend a couple of days waiting to see if your dog is getting worse. When you acknowledge that indeed, she is getting worse, you aren't going to want to eat at all.

Make the decision to put her down. There's an other 2 or 3 pounds right there. Take your dog in for the fatal visit at the vet's. Go home and drink wine. When you finish the wine, grab the whiskey. Drink like there's no tomorrow, because really you feel like there won't be.

Wake up the next morning sad, miserable, and hung over. You realize the last time you ate was at noon on Friday and it's now Sunday. Opt for some duck soup. Finish part of it. Sunday night force yourself to eat a slice of pizza.

Monday, have coffee and diet coke. Eat a slice of toast whether you want it or not about noon. Call your doctor for pain pills because you have thrown your back out trying to lift your big dog off the floor when she kept falling.

The pain pills tend to make you nauseous, so continue to eat a piece of toast once in a while. And have lots and lots of Diet Coke.

Almost a week into this miracle diet, step on the scale. You were tired of seeing 137 pounds, weren't you? Well, what do you know! You see 130 pounds register.

Go outside to get the garbage cans and bring them in. Have your next door neighbor say "Linda! You've lost weight! You are so lucky!"

Think seriously about shooting her in the head.