by Christine | Life, Observations
This year I have been surprised, time and again, by how my favorite flowers were also my Mom’s favorite flowers. The way they turn up in my life is amazing.
Spring shows me that star jasmine, that lovely, fragrant-filled star-shaped flower, should really be the unofficial flower of Southern California. This is a photo of the jasmine in my Dad’s back yard, and it’s what I grew up with – how could I not love the scent and appeal of star jasmine?
The star jasmine in my Dad’s back yard. It’s been there since I was a baby, and it was just a tiny plant in the ground. Oh, and the plant to the right is a giant pumpkin plant.
But what’s more, it seems like everywhere I go, I find star jasmine tucked away somewhere. In a corner, or a pot by the door of a restaurant. Used as an ornamental, a wall covering, or adding lacy appeal to a rustic fence. Just walking in my neighborhood shows me that most of my neighbors have star jasmine somewhere in their yards.
Jasmine as sculpture…
Decorating a rustic fence.
I enjoy walking from where I park my car to my work because of this lovely scent. It also makes the obligatory 45 minute walk around the neighborhood much more fun. Lately I’ve been taking a camera with me, and finding the jasmine and taking photos just perked up my whole day (though the neighbors watched me warily).
Brightening up an otherwise dull, unused corner.
I remember one summer evening before my father had torn down the swing set. I was sixteen and had just gotten dressed up (don’t ask me why!) in a kind of prairie outfit – blue skirt with a white underskirt (swiss voile? something like that) with a white top that laced up the front. I had just finished reading something sad and romantic, and I went outside and sat on the swing. Smelled the jasmine, heard the call of the mourning doves, and felt melancholy – I would never know love. I would die a terribly tragic death and everyone would feel sorry for me.
And then, you know, I got over it. But the memory has stayed with me, and every time I smell jasmine I get a slightly melancholy and yet happy nostalgia.
What about you? Is there a certain flower that resonates with you, more than any other?
~oOo~
Thanks for stopping by. Hope you have a safe and happy Memorial Day. Until the next time, Cheers!
by Christine | Life, Observations
San Diego is where I was born. I did not live there long enough to get to know the city well as an adult; the places I drove to when I was 16 – 19 were the high school, the ballet studio, Balboa Park, the beach, my boyfriend’s house. That was pretty much it. Oh, and yeah, the mall. Back when indoor malls were new (late 1970s, for those of you who aren’t sure of the time frame).
Having a boyfriend (aka now the Hubby) meant my horizons got wider. Which means, I never went to the beach before driving there with him. It was our first date, actually – I drove us in my new-to-me Toyota Corolla, a pretty yellow four door, in 1977, to La Jolla Shores and we walked along a spit of land that fell into the sea a few years later.
But This Post Isn’t About That.
Two weekends ago I spent the entire weekend down in San Diego with the hubs. I hope to do so again, very soon, and stay on the boat he’s staying on while he performs there. In the meantime, I want to share some of the beauty that is Shelter Island (and I’ll tell you the story of my first time there in a bit).
Just the most beautiful view. I wouldn’t mind living in one of those houses on the hill. Or, for that matter, one of those bigger boats…You?
Shelter Island is beautiful. Now, my sense of the geography of San Diego is totally off, so forgive me, but I believe Shelter Island is a part of Point Loma. At any rate, it’s also called the America’s Cup Harbor – there are even signs to that effect. More on that later. While I was waiting for the hubby to finish playing banjo and take me to the Starbucks so I could plug in and write, I took this photo.
I’d live on one for a summer. Would you?
And of course, here’s one of the hubby playing banjo…
My man, practicing the banjo. One of the hardest working actors I know, anywhere.
And some dogs I saw, racing along the water together. They looked like they were having SO much fun!
Two dogs having a roaring good time in the water. No, they’re not mine. Yes, their owners were not far away.
But now I suppose you want to know the story of my first time on Shelter Island. Well…hubby gave me really good directions. Except he said the fatal words – “You can’t miss the turn. There’s a huge sign.”
This was my first time to Shelter Island. I was still in The Boot, but I decided to go down, visit my dad for a half day, then hie myself hither to see my hubby. Unfortunately, while his directions got me to the right place, his “you can’t miss it” had me expecting flashing lights and pointing fingers and a sign that said “GO THIS WAY CHRISTINE”. So I kept driving on Rosecrans, passing the small street sign that said Shelter Island, and the sign that said “America’s Cup Harbor”, figuring that the sign to turn must be bigger. In fact, I went so far on Rosecrans that whenever I looked to my left, between the houses I saw water. I figured I was getting close.
And I was. Unfortunately, I was very close to the Point Loma Naval Base. Ahead of me by almost 500 yards I saw a guard shack and two armed military men. Knowing I was in the wrong place, for a few seconds I thought I should make an illegal U turn and flee…but I wasn’t sure if they wouldn’t have a military helicopter after me, what with the strange goings-on in our country lately. So instead, I sedately crept forward, getting my self-deprecating skills polished as we inched ahead. (Everyone was stopped.)
(BTW – I was going to put a photo here of the checkpoint, but I couldn’t find one and OF COURSE I didn’t take one.)
When I got up to the soldier, I rolled down my window and expressed my abject apologies, saying I was supposed to go to the Shelter Island Marina but my sense of direction kind of sucked and could I please make a U turn? He listened, nodded politely, asked for my license, walked around to the back of my car, called in my license plate and probably my drivers license number. When he came back I smiled self-deprecatingly (practice came in handy) and I said that I hadn’t wanted to make an illegal U turn.
He nodded again, politely, and then told me that I would proceed to the armed officer ahead of me, make my U turn, and he would hand my license over to me on the other side of the cement berm.
Um, okay. So I went ahead, turned at the young (SO YOUNG) soldier’s wave, came around to the other side, and accepted my license. The other young soldier waved me on and wished me a good day.
I headed to the hubby and the marina, chuckling at my encounter with the military but still in awe and a bit trembly. SO glad I wasn’t a Bad Guy at that moment. Did I mention the (no clue what type weapon) guns they had slung over their shoulders?
But I finally met the hubby at the Tiki of Bali Hai. And I leave you with that photo…
This is the parking lot not only for the Bali Hai restaurant, but for the Shelter Island Marina. Oh, and at night, the Tiki on the roof only has one glowing red eye. Spooky…
Thanks so much for coming along on this journey. What unexpected encounters have you had while adventuring? Animal, mineral, or vegetable, lol?
~oOo~
Until next time, be good to one another. Cheers!
by Christine | Life, Observations
The only thing worse than shopping for a bra is shopping for a swimsuit. I try my hardest to not shop for bras – I think the last time I did was back in the 90s. Okay, I’m exaggerating.
But not by much.
Bra shopping makes me want to head for the liquor cabinet.
Long gone are the days when I could order anything out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog and it would fit. Now, I wander around the bra department of Kohl’s, amazed at the diversity of color/style/shape/fabric of the bras on those irritating plastic hangers. I grabbed some in the size I wore back at the turn of the century(while knocking countless bras to the ground), went into the fitting room, and spent the next hour a) wrestling with the hangers to free the bras so I could try them on and b) struggling in and out of bras that didn’t fit.
(And lets not discuss the bra with no hooks. Getting that thing on, and then off, probably helped me burn a thousand calories alone. At one point my arms were trapped over my head, the bra wound around my mouth. Which is one way to start a diet, but rather difficult to go out in public like that.)
I helpfully re-hooked all the bras back onto their awful little mocking hangers, dressed again, and went out for Round Two. Still, I didn’t find anything that looked like it might fit AND flatter, especially since now I knew, roughly, what my size was. It wasn’t until a helpful sales person pointed out that I was in the Junior Lingerie Department that I realized – I had gotten old. At some point, and without my full consent, I could no longer wear frilly, pretty, wispy pieces of lingerie without looking like a complete, delusional idiot.
Hell. I couldn’t tell I was in the Junior section. I mean, it’s not like there was a HUGE sign
I thought of happy things, like daffodils. It didn’t help. I was still in the Juniors department. Sigh.
that said JUNIOR BRAS. CUTE AND SKINNY GIRLS ONLY. Okay, maybe the bras in that section were of the electric shades (that really bright green seems to be popular), and maybe the cups were more demi than full coverage; but when I picture myself, I still see me as I was at seventeen. Long hair, weighing a healthy 111 pounds, dance muscles, fantastic legs and my A cup boobs never needing to wear a bra. (Sigh for the days gone by…)
So, dutifully, I trudged over to the “mature” woman section. Again had trouble finding my size (no, I’m not telling, lol). Finally found exactly two bras from the multitudes that might work, and that didn’t look like they belonged on the East German Ice Skating Judge from any of the Olympics games in the 1960s. (Just saying.) I headed to the fitting room.
Oh, the horror! They fit around okay, but my boobage being what it is (still not overly abundant, in other words), the cups almost touched across my chest. I wouldn’t be able to wear any tee shirt or top that opened below my collarbone. This time, disgusted with the whole process, I stuffed the bras in the corner of the dressing room, tossed curses at them, and stomped back out to the “Junior” section. They did have bigger sizes; one of those bras just might work.
After this trip, I was ready to go kayaking. Where I wouldn’t wear anything resembling a bra. Or a swimsuit. (Shorts and tee shirts, absolutely!)
Then I remembered the last time I’d gone bra shopping (oh, those long, long years ago), Maidenform had the bras that fitted my body the best. So I headed to those racks (ahem) and started searching.
Finally. I found some demi-cup bras in my size. Went to try them on, and voila! Not perfection (it’s really hard to look at ONLY my boobs when trying on a bra…), but looked good under a t-shirt, and really, that’s all I wanted.
So I got one in beige and one in white, picked up some soft panties while I was at it (because my husband has been complaining about the age of my underwear lately), grabbed a white t-shirt, and headed to the checkout.
Where I almost had another meltdown. Why does underwear cost so much? Holy guacamole! I bit the bullet and paid.
The lovely and talented Christine Rose Elle.
Why did I put myself through such torture on an otherwise lovely Sunday afternoon? Well, next weekend I am getting a professional photo shoot done from the lovely and talented Christine Rose Elle (which I am TOTALLY excited about, btw!), and one of her requirements is “nude undergarments”. So that was my impetus to finally get new bras, and put the old ones out of their misery.
In Other Bra News…
A fifteen year study in France suggests that bras might be bad for you. If, you know, you’re young and hot and in shape, you should just ditch the bra and let the girls free. If you’re “an overweight mom in her 40s with 3 kids”, keep that bra on! …according to this article at The Week.
And then over at Renee A. Shuls Jacobson, Misty shared her #SoWrong moment regarding going braless when she was young. I had to laugh at this – like I said above, when I was younger I never wore a bra. They felt wrong when taking ballet, and I was small enough to not need one. I don’t think I wore a bra until I got into the corporate world in 1983, and then only when I absolutely had to.
And for those of you who need more bra info, as in how to size, what the different styles are, etcetera, I found a terrific site called Her Room. Check it out!
Do you have any funny or horror stories about bra shopping? Or going braless? Or the price of bras? Let’s dish!
~oOo~
Thanks for stopping by – until the next time, cheers!
by Christine | Life, Observations
I know, I’ve been AWOL from the blog lately. Lots going on in my world. Here’s a bit of it all.
Books
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
Yeah, so the last couple of weeks I’ve immersed myself in the Harry Potter world (again). What a joy! What an absolute vacation from the world! I’ve had to borrow them from my sons (both boys have the set), and each time I got close to the end, the next book would show up on the edge of my bed. (They are SO good to me!)
I don’t know what drew me to read them this time around. Maybe a bit of turmoil in my professional life? At any rate, I’m glad I did. I needed something to “take me away”, and even Calgon can irritate delicate tissues. If you know what I mean.
Last night, I finished off Book Seven. This morning, I found myself needing to re-read the last fifty pages or so. Fred’s death is heartbreaking; Molly charging up the stairs to get at Bellatrix gives me that “yay, you GO girl” feeling. Neville, becoming a hero, warms my heart, and through it all are Harry, Ron and Hermione fighting the good fight. Even when they save Draco (“that’s twice, you git”) it’s heartwarming. And the very ending, seventeen years later (or is that nineteen)? Melty goodness. I loved that Ron had to Confund the driving examiner, lol! So that’s what I’ve been reading.
Plays
I’ve been seeing a lot of plays lately (and with the Los Angeles Fringe Festival coming up, I’m betting I’ll be seeing a lot MORE plays very soon). But I don’t review plays, generally. HOWEVER: For a glimpse into the play I saw last weekend called The Accomplice, go to Tameri Etherton’s blog for a rundown (plus photos – too fun!). She calls it “The strangest play I’ve ever ‘seen’.” It helps that my hubby is in it. Plus, hello – San Diego! Absolutely beautiful. They’re looking to run through July, so if you can, do go see it. Tameri has the details.
and Driver’s Tests
So my youngest has passed his driver’s test this week. Not only that, but he drove himself to school yesterday (on the freeway – both ways!!!) to take a final. At 19, he’s pretty steady, and I’m very glad he waited to start driving. Now both my boys can drive, we’ll see who gets out of the house more.
Cal State Northridge logo
Plus, they’re both accepted into California State University, Northridge. Which kind of takes my breath away – I have no idea how we’re going to afford it, so this will be an interesting summer as they figure out financial aid. Youngest son has a summer job, oldest is still looking, and in the meantime $2 to play the Powerball doesn’t seem like too much money when you look at the return (if you win, of course).
So, that’s been most of my month of May. Oh, and I’m planning a revamp of the blog/website, which always takes time.
What are you reading/seeing/testing for lately? Anything good? I’m in the market for new books (HA! Not really, and yet again, I’m always looking for new stuff…) so please give me your recommendations!
~oOo~
Thanks for dropping by. Until next time, cheers!
by Christine | Life, Observations
My husband called me a professional last night, and no, we weren’t having the smexy times, lol.
EDITED: Okay, I decided after much stomach churning to delete most of the post because it wasn’t – ahem – professional. It was me, whining. And no one likes to listen to someone whine, do they?
Whee, I’m still learning!
But I do want to hear about what you consider being a professional means. Is it how you act? Is it what you do, how you dress? Does it make a difference WHAT you do as to how “professional” you are? Do you equate a college degree with a certain amount of professionalism?
For me, being a professional as a writer means more than just how many plays/books I’ve published or how much money I’ve made. It also means I need to be willing to listen to opinions on my work and to take what is helpful, and think hard about the rest before discarding anything. It means being open to learning.
This is also a philosophy I try my hardest to use in my Day Job, too. Because no one is perfect. (Which is why I finally edited the heck out of this post.)
What is your definition of a professional? I’d love to know, so please share, would you?
~oOo~
Until next time, be good to each other!
by Christine | My Garden, Observations
I am in full-on ostrich mode.
This week, though I am clear on the other side of the country from Boston and have never been a fan of Texas politics (hey, I’m a California girl!), has been very hard on my spirit – and I would *never* wish such hell as those two places and the people who live there have gone through this week. It’s been hard on the spirit of everyone I know, for that matter. The news (such as it is) has been unrelenting.
So without further ado, let me share what I harvested from my garden yesterday with you.
Artichokes, a small green pepper, strawberries, green onions, and spinach, all fresh from the garden.
This made an excellent salad, and leftover spinach went into my morning green machine drink (which helps keep my spirits up). The onion smelled sharp and the spinach was so thick, deep green, and crisp. Packaged spinach pales in comparison.
The garden in March, 2013
This picture leaves out five or six of the new beds that Tom and the boys put in this year, off to the left. Most of those beds have tomatoes and zucchini in them. And the firepit (a repurposed dryer drum) is where we sit and drink wine and Tom plays guitar as the sun sets.
In the garden, there are birds and bugs, bees and butterflies and beauty everywhere I look. It is a place where I can take out frustrations as I weed, where I can sink my hands into soil that we’ve amended with our own mulch pile, where I can feel the sun on my back and the wind in my face. Where I can plant, to add a bit of beauty to the world that seems in desperate need of beauty.
I’m supposed to go to work, I’m supposed to go see a friend in her play tonight, I’m supposed to…so many things. All I want to do is be an ostrich for a day and stay in my garden (with my booted foot and all) and think on simple things. Beautiful things.
Shaun Rosenberg says that watching the news is bad for you, and he’s not the only one. Here’s another post at Disrupting the Rabblement on why watching the news is bad. James DelCamp Junior ALSO has a post on the news = bad. Google it yourself – you won’t run out of sites, trust me. It’s all over the place.
So I shall load up my car with music, and I shall ignore newsfeeds about the outside world. If I need to get caught up, it won’t take long. In the meantime, my bloodpressure and my anxiety level will go down about a million points or whatever by not focusing on all the bad.
You shall find me, metaphorically at any rate, in my garden, looking at the flowers that wintered over just beautifully.
My “hit of happy”.
And if I’m not in my garden, I’m cuddling the biggest cat I’ve ever seen. Zaphod is a polydactyl and he prefers to sleep draped across my chest. If the husband is home, he likes sleeping across Tom’s throat. But he purrs and he licks and he head butts me, and I love him to bits.
Zaphod, weighing in on our receipt filing system.
Here’s hoping your weekend is better than your week has been; here’s hoping next week will be a better one for our country.
~oOo~
Be good to one another. Spend your love rashly instead of hoarding it, for by spreading it around, more will come back to you. Till the next time, hugs!
