Wrong. So Wrong.

I can't even begin to explain how wrong this is. On so many levels. Really.

I could make an entire career out of hating the fact that people torture their animals with ridiculous sweaters and other articles of clothing in which their dearly loved pets wouldn’t like to be caught dead.

So it’s been a little chilly here in SW Florida, as I’m sure it has in your neck of the woods. Flanders may be a pit mix, but she’s a delicate flower—tends to get the chills easily.

But when I say “delicate flower,” I do not mean “prissy puke star.” She doesn’t go for pink. She doesn’t go for apparel. And she sure doesn’t go for dress up, painted nails or cute hair cuts. (Poindexter’s dog is exempt from this conversation, as her dog couldn’t look more adorable in her new hair.)

And disclaimer: If you put clothes on your dog, I don’t hate you. It’s just…we live in Florida. And big dogs are kind of my thing. I just…we’re different, okay.

So here’s the big freaking surprise for me that completely adds insult to injury: Flanders doesn’t appear at all uncomfortable in her new get-up. In fact, she is quite naturally enjoying her new obnoxious Snuggie skin. Like it’s not even cramping her style.

Ah, Flanders. Question. What is this going to do to your street creds?

Truthfully, when it comes down to it, wtf, Husband? How long have I ASKED for a Snuggie? I didn’t find one under the tree this year. You brought one home for Flanders, and you are both making a fool out of me. A recent Gropious Facebook posting read, “No! I will not put a sweater on my dog!!!!”

Eat doodoo—both of you!!!


BTW, on a more serious note, thank you for your amazing dream interpretations. I am incredibly impressed with your power to discern images from a fellow blogger’s psyche. Most of you were very similar in your illuminating remarks, and I think you’re right on. (And whoever made that Gary Coleman comment, where are you? Who are you? Husband and I are laughing our behinds off. Good one indeed.)

A Girl Can Dream...

Sometimes I go through these periods of intense nightly dreams, ones that make me seriously wonder...

a.) what sorts of crazy crap I'm subconciously soaking up on TV, radio or in conversations and
b.) what underlying psychological donuts I'm dealing with digesting.

Last night I dreamt of returning to a natural place I loved and finding that it had been completely mowed down and destroyed, replaced with sidewalks, stores and empty buildings happily awaiting new commerce. 

This natural place doesn't exist but is one resulting from a mental combination of many beautiful places I visit in the flesh-- a nature trail in my old neighborhood that goes through mangroves and brackish water bridges; a path across freshwater marshes and tall grasses at a nature center where I once worked; and a woodsy trail of subtle beauty I know well.

I was panicked when I saw what had happened in my dream.  I knew it was too late to get back what was once there. And there was no one there to tell.

Years ago, I went through a stage where I thought every little stinking dream needed interpretation to de-code its symbolism or to determine whether it was a premonition of sorts.  I read all kinds of themed books that indicated when you dream about teeth, it's really about money; if you dream about hairbrushes, it's really about sex; you know, asinine generalizations.  I then decided to keep a dream journal, but just like all journals, stopped after a few entries. For Pete's sake, I write enough!! 

What do you suppose this dream means?  I could pay someone a few hundred dollars to try and decipher my inner expressionism for me or decide that one of my favorite real-life places will soon be bulldozed, but instead, I thought I'd ask you for your insightful--or humorous--thoughts about the whole thing.

Are you a dreamer at night?

Pancakes and Lemonade

Eating pancakes for dinner is a good thing, if you ask any self-respecting carbohydraterian. Especially when it's bitterly cold outside. And especially if you're feeling sorry for yourself that work and life-as-you-know-it is back in session after a comfy set of holidays. The cakes are comin' soon. Husb is in the kitchen.

Until that moment comes, I'm thinking about a reminder from a Gropius commenter that planning an extra special outing in February or March can help break up the post-New Year blues. That's a good idea. Here are some close to home options I'm weighing:

• Amelia Island.
• Bok Tower Gardens over in Lake Wales.
• The Everglades adventure. It's about that time again.

Meanwhile, can I tell you with the utmost sincerity how much I enjoy reading about each of your lives?  I always look forward to what's happened since your last post.

And many thanks to Suzicate, one of my daily faves for sure who I discovered on Pines Lake Redhead (another fave-of-long-blogging-time) for a most unexpected and deeply appreciated recognition: the Lemonade Stand Award. 

Now I hope I'm not breaking the rules here, passing it on to another blogger who's got attitude and gratitude. You're clearly all Goddesses of the written word.  But for a slightly belated birthday gift, I'd love to share it with Mitzi Burger over at Bloggin Boots.

This spirited Aussie lady, recently turned dirty-30, can write like there's no tomorrow. I enjoy her musings on life, her loquacious flirtaciousness, and her gracious gifts of perspective and metaphor. She's learned on many subjects but not afraid to be hopelessly silly. And she'll probably laugh at the Lemonade Stand Award. Love her blog. Check it out.

As for Suzicate, when you can combine humor with love, great characterization of life's best quirks and people, and the occasional reflective moment with spicey writing, you'll get the Water Witch's Daughter. She's a great storyteller. Thanks for the lemonade. I enjoyed it with my pancakes.

Please don't let this reflect my mothering skills.

Can I just say that I'm a fabulous mother? It was freeeeezing here this morning, but I knew D-Man could take it for a little while at the bus stop.

With his new phone that's attached to his thumbs, he texted me at 7:54 a.m. to say, "I love you. Have a good day."

How sweet.

My response from work: "Thank you; you too. You better not have that phone at school."

"Don't worry, I don't." (Um, will someone explain the mechanics of this?)

Shortly after that I received a call from Husb. "Can you look online at the Manatee County school calendar? The neighbor says there's no school?"

Apparently, that neighbor would be absolutely right. So glad we sent him off to the bus stop.

I'll chalk it up to post-holiday depression. The only thing I can think right now is "For the love of Pete, it will be a whole year before people are chilled out, jovial and giving..all at the same time. Knowing this is a suckfest."

Going back. Way back. A visit to Cracker Country.

I realize that "way back" may mean something a little different in the state of Florida. So pardon my "way" back and know that I'm talking about the late 1800's.

On Saturday, my little family trecked up to Cracker Country.  (The term "cracker" in Florida comes from the old cow hunting days, where the brave folks who lived here actually hunted the free roaming cows when it was time to bring them to market or in for branding. Now of course I can't endorse this as a vegetarian, but hey, people did what they needed to. The cow hunters would crack their whips and came to be called "crackers.")

We loved the collection of authentic buildings, brought to Cracker Country (situated on a little section of the Florida State Fairgrounds in Tampa) from various areas of the state's interior. They included a general store, a church, a one room school house, a train depot and the old Carlton house. Each building was crafted from heart pine, the interior of the yellow pine that is both best and rot resistant. (Yepper, they just don't make 'em like they used to.)  So here are a few lessons we learned:

A. Washing clothes was a bitch. We will never complain about it again. Boiling, washboarding, drying, hanging, and ironing with a 423 pound iron that you constantly had to bring back to the fire to warm up again.

B. Notebook paper may be quickly becoming a thing of the past with computers as far as the eye can see, but imagine writing on tiny chalkboards all day. My skin feels ashy just thinking about it.

C. I will never complain about the selection at our closest grocier again. Slim picken's back then. And you were damn thankful for what you had and thankful if the store would give you credit. Or exchange a bit of old timey bug repellant for your eggs.

D. Some things will never change. And wouldn't be any different had they happened 120 years ago.

All you need is love.

Love is all you need.

Happy New Year! Here's to Courage.

I was happy to discover that we have a brand new themed section in NYC's New Year's Eve Ball: "Let There Be Courage."  (And holy crap, Waterford has also released a New Year's Eve iPhone app called "Clink-Clink"...that didn't make my top 10 list.)

I've fought feelings of guilt this year because I still have a home, both my Husb and I have jobs, we have our health...so many things to be grateful for when there is so much suffering right here in the States, in Florida, here in Sarasota/ Bradenton, where we do a good job of covering up our problems with relative weath. 

No doubt courage is needed at this time.

We have serious issues in the world that are approaching a level that seems insurmountable. I don't believe they are insurmountable. But still, we all know that perception is everything. It's really a time for us to step forward and be courageous--accepting new realities and changing those that are unacceptable; making personal choices that reflect our deepest convictions; and keeping a positive, hopeful stance toward people and our planet, even when it seems most difficult.  (It's so much easier to be sarcastic, isn't it?)

I can think of several inner personal battles that require more courage on my part, and I love the person (or the bickering committee) who waded through millions of theme ideas to come up with this "Let There Be Courage" theme for the year 2010.

If you have two minutes, enjoy this short video of inspirational movie speeches. Although it depicts a little too many war scenes for my liking, "courage" is the prevailing theme. (Oh and don't miss the scenes of Sloth from The Goonies and one of my all time favorites, Dead Poet's Society.)  It reminds me that times requiring great faith in dark hours also present the most opportunity for lasting change, whether it's personal, community-wide, or ocean-crossing.

So how about a glass of champagne today to "Courage": it's what's for dinner. We could all use it this year.