I trust NO ONE.

sailing...

Sailing with my family on the Chesapeake Bay was one of my fondest memories ever...

thank you, Daddy.

Stylin' in the 50's...

My Mac case is all that, don't you think?

on empty...

No, I haven't been here because I have had nothing to say.

I've been sick with the ongoing cancer thing and then (after that) a bout of E. coli and ended up in the hospital. Ah, no immune system. I mean how boring is it to talk about yourself when it isn't particularly funny. I don't share a lot of truth about the treatment because (again) who really wants to hear that crap, least of all... people going through it. No thanks.

So, there you go. Then there is last Friday morning's massacre at an elementary school, and now I'm really numb. We are all tiny specks in the Universe and yet so precious to the people around us. I'm drawn to watching it. I want to stop but I can't. I want to know them. I need more answers and there aren't any.

I am tired of platitudes. I am really disgusted by the media and its obsession with the details and yet I am drawn to the details. I want to know them more somehow. It upsets me that it isn't just those sweet children we've lost, but it is the lost innocence of all of our children.

I'm having strange thoughts about guns... something I've never been around. I shot a gun once in the basement of my friend's dad's house. My mother would have just died had she known it, but we took large pistols and shot beer cans from a string into a mattress towards the end of his basement in a townhouse in the city. I haven't thought about it much, but know now that it was extremely dangerous and I, too, could have been a statistic on the news due to an irresponsible parent. Now, I wonder if protecting my family isn't something I should ponder. Crazy.

We watch the news because we want to know more. And as much as a don't like to admit it, I want to understand the shooter. I want to understand how a mother could distrust her son so much that she didn't want a sitter to leave him alone and yet, could collect guns including assault rifles inside the house. Who is this imbecile? We don't know everything about that household but we know enough.

Mishigina.

Parents have responsibilities to protect their children from violence in our culture. I did. My children were NEVER allowed to play violent video games or watch Freddie Kruger. I was fine with the some tasteful sexual content because (guess what) sex is normal and curiosity of it is too. I assumed that they had watched the violence at friends' houses, but that WASN'T THE POINT. I wanted them to "get" the values from home that this killing wasn't right. I wanted to drive that home like a MACK truck. I did it with sex and drugs too. Another story, another blog.

I remember a movie called Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte back in the sixties that my mother and I had seen in the theatre. It cemented my lifetime view of violence. Someone's hand was chopped off and my mother and I were horrified... we couldn't get over it even though the scene was a second's flash. Nowadays, it is not only no big deal, but violence is way longer than a flash... more like HOURS of this stuff. Hollywood had to postpone three (count 'em) three violent movies this week due to the sensitive nature after last week's massacre. WHAT?? How about the sensitive nature of our entire culture of children every day of every year.  This just pisses me off.

This isn't just a gun thing. This is a cultural misstep and a bastardization of our founding fathers' intent of the First and Second Amendment. This has become just gross.

I'm beginning to wonder if the Mayan calendar doesn't have a point about wiping us out today. Noah and your ark? Where the hell are you?

I don't worry about my cancer. The cancer we have in this violent culture is far more scary. At least I have chemo.

I'm still up at 3:15 am because I had the poison anecdote to my new life today and I can't sleep. My joints hurt, I feel like throwing up and I'm so dry in my mouth that I'm swallowing a desert. I don't care. My heart hurts far more because I can't take thinking about those babies gunned down as they were starting their sweet little lives. Parents: get busy. It is up to you.

Enough.

This is my six year-old granddaughter, Lily. I feel so sick, and it isn't about chemo.

fleas... Navidog

 "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people." Face it. Dogs are nicer.

Pentatonix

 yes

This music could make me start a prayer chain...

reminiscing...

Now? I just feel like shit. Chemo and martinis do not mix.

chemo doesn't own me because...

I'm not in charge. Did I mention that? Lift me up!

Ra-pa-pum-pum...

Yes. I will go out on a limb. I've noticed that many who profess to live a pious life protest too much and are probably hiding something behind all that sugar. Don't quote me on that. It's just a theory I have.

Most of the time, these types don't swear, miss church or have road rage, but they won't do you a favor either. Bless their heart. I think many of these people are hiding the fact that deep down inside they are just self-centered misers who need a God-cover to make themselves feel better in some way. None of it makes any sense to me but I am becoming cynical... ooooh so cynical taking that dogma for a walk. I'd rather pet a real dog, smile at a stranger, strike up a conversation with the tired UPS guy, over-tip a waiter, make soup for a random neighbor, or play cards with a child too young to know how to shuffle.

In my own way, I am quite spiritual... in the sense that I'm sure that there is a bigger picture here that I can't understand, but knowing that reminds me hourly of the responsibility to honor that moral code. Don't get me wrong, I like the candles, the kneeling and the sacrifice towards a greater good, but it is the overwhelming hypocrisy that is killing it for me. Over and over, I am a witness to this nasty, self-absorbed church-going mass of people who are the embodiment of everything I don't want to be. And yet... they feel sorry for me because I will be going to their HELL.

Blasphemer, they say!

Nope. Sorry to the judgmental throngs pointing the finger at the white-haired lady who is traveling down the roguery of East meets West... celebrating a certain sort of Kwanza-mas-ukah this month, and will never (ever) be quite sure at this point who she is. I may not know what I am... but I know what I'm not.

 I don't want any part of a club who listens to cashmere-wearing Pearly Gate judges as they bake Fire and Brimstone cupcakes thrown at anyone who doesn't join in.

Out.

I am not afraid. I am not in charge, and neither are you.

I've been through a lot this year. Who could have thought that through it all... I could have been taken out by a sandwich.

I'm in remission for what it's worth.

yay.

funnybone...

I'm not sure when it began, but it was probably when I was a small child. My brother and I find everything to have a touch of hilarity. Was it a defense mechanism? Was everything so serious with Mummy that we had to just giggle our way through the drama?

I don't know.

It hit me in the hospital when I realized that I was gaining quite the reputation as I was sprawled out in a hospital gown with cramps and the runs from a bout with E coli. I'm not sure why I find the need to be friendly with everyone but I guess people intrigue me, and I find great sport in breaking them in (or down).

Perhaps I do it out of boredom or the inner fear that this whole cancer-thing will get me eventually. It will, but at least I know how I'm going to die... and most likely... where. I feel the need to keep things cancer-light. I will probably die on that same oncology ward which is where they put me now even if I have an ingrown toenail. There are advantages to this. My lymphoma CT scan found that I had ingested E coli.

Curses.

The first thing I noticed was that I was on the oncology ward with all of the pink signs, and happy bulletin boards as if any of those would make a difference to one's mood. The next thing were the day nurses who looked like spray-tanned cheerleaders, painted nails-noir, pinky scrubs; a bubbly bunch of waitresses (my denial of the severity of the moment - again). I felt bad that I had to give the tanned, cheery beauties samples of everrrrrything  inside my body including... well, I won't go on. My son was appalled that I would consider ordering the food there afterwards, but I don't over-think things, and just dial up "room service."

Denial.

The funnybone aspect of the nurses was the change of the shifts nightly. There is a switcheroo of staff around 7PM and there was a pow-wow at the vestibule of my five-star room-with-a-view. One of the cheerleaders turned to me and whispered, "wait 'til you meet the night staff."

In anticipation and dread, I looked at the doorway not knowing what to expect. Sure enough, there were no more cheerleaders. Quasi-moto-ini with acne and Wicked Nurse of the Midwest with bad hair and a weight problem were there to take care of my every need apres-dusk. Was this just a coincidence? Uh... no - this was every night, different nurses. Apparently, pretty women are recommended for daytime and badly-groomed skags are hired for when you are asleep. Weird.

I found this offensive. I had to admit that the babes were accommodating enough but I understood immediately this this was not just something minor. This is a reflection of our society, and the HR at St.Vincents Hospital was no different. This trickles down from politics to school districts. It is in our Kindergartens where pretty girls get the attention - early. As a culture, our values are much more interested in Kardashian bodies, clear skin, toned abs and silky hair... not so interested in brains or skill anymore. I didn't have either as a child. I was never one of the beauty queens and my SAT's were on the low side. If my parents had given me something more it would have been to have MUCH better discipline with my grades, giving me a curfew, and not just concentrating all their effort on my brilliant older brother. My protege-brother was encouraged, but I was left to draw and play my xylophone.

I guess none of this was so funny, but at least I can play the xylophone.

Shelby and Dana have PhD's, but we don't really care. Just look at those tits.

nobody knows the trouble I've seen...

I was scheduled for chemo yesterday. It was canceled because I was hospitalized for E. coli on Tuesday. Are you kidding me? And I thought my forties were challenging.

I own an important trait. I know how to grit my teeth and take anything. 

I'm thinkin' the GOP had better work on a different image and get people like Donald Trump and Richard Mourdock to stfu. The Republican image is not inspiring the masses, and digging themselves out of this hole is not going to be easy - even in four years when Rubio does the flamenco.

He will have to really feel it, not just learn some steps at the corner dance studio.

family truckster...

Ah, the road to Thanksgiving...

The pushing and pulling of the in-laws, the out-laws, the rubes, the big-mouths, the gnashing of teeth, the snide remarks, the heartbreak of "O.P.S." - other people's stuffing, the gravy-making fiascos, the goofy aprons, and, most of all, the inability to remember the real reason for the holiday: gratitude and family.

Oh, God...  a Norman Rockwell moment.

Roles change as we go from a being single to being married.. and (make no mistake about it) when you are standing in front of a clergyman, you are NOT marrying one person ----at all. You think when you are on your cute little honeymoon that this is your only partner in this union. Nope. Sorry. You are marrying an entire community of their relatives. You can't tell any youngster this when they are tying the knot because at twenty-six years-old... after all...

they.know.everything.

uh... no.

Yes. I was brilliant too until I turned around thirty-eight years-old and I realized that not only was I a complete imbecile, but I had much to learn. As a sixty-something, I have to be very careful not to wax poetic all over everyone around me and give them my information diarrhea.

 okay, I'm doing it now... 

Going through life's stages and bursting forth through this cocoon of my formerly-brillllliant-human-self is terribly painful as I analyze my plethora of foibles, my horde of insecurities, my gibber gabber, my lack of self-discipline and the legendary bouts of depression that I've exhibited all over America. The only trick now is to come out the other side with humility rather than spread the hot molten lava of my opinions (that erupts ever so regularly) from this irresponsible fissure called my big mouth. I do have a certain amount wisdom but mustn't let my ego ruin the moment by shoving all this knowledge up the asses of those youngsters around me - including the forty-somethings. It's so damn tempting, but I must refrain.

It's hard to hold back this kind of...  mmm... enlightenment.

Having said this (another expression I despise), I must give up the family truckster because as a unit we are not on that road anymore. I am not the rudder of this ship at this juncture nor am I the one in charge of time schedules, for whom they vote, what they name their kids, how they discipline, whether or not they show up for Thanksgiving, Christmas or any other family event or holiday.

I did my bit. I must admit that at times I seethe over their decisions but most of the time they are little versions of myself and do fine without me altogether. That was my goal after all - to die knowing that they are just fine. Hell, they don't even have any tattoos yet, so all in all, I'm pretty happy. I must admit, I drove that last one home or (shall I say) down their little throats.

God, it's so damn hard being old and knowing absolutely everything. 

kidding.

~actually, Im dead serious~

;)

and yes.

I have a tail.

An Inconvenient Truth

atlas...

I've been sorting through things. When your mortality is in front of you like mine is you begin to conjure up ideas of people going through your stuff. This haunts me. I think of diet journals or (worse) personal journals - oh God... not those. My innnnner thoughts to be exposed to the grandchildren. Noooooo.

Then there are books. Books tell people exactly who you are which (at times) is a little scary. I love books and really can't have enough of them. Sad thing is: my mother loved books too and I ended up with all of hers as well. I get in my moods for clearing out and in those times Goodwill has a eureka moment because of the beautiful things I give away. And it isn't just the books.

This has had an upside and a downside. My house is pleasantly calm in its lack of clutter but (downside) I had a moment and gave away my mother's four-poster mahogany bed and Queen Anne desk to my handyman. No regrets, but I do need to get a grip and think a little bit more before I do these things.

A few years back, I gave away my record player (regret) and with it, all of my Beatles albums (bigger regret). With digital mania these things just clutter up my house (& my mind) and enough IS enough. My son, Jake, was furious about the Beatles and so I just buy them back from eBay one by one and (little white lie) tell him... "look what I found in the attic, honey." I am truly the queen bee of bullshit.

Clearly, I can't be trusted.

It's like when my daughter (my fourth) asks me about herself as a baby. I make it up. I have absolutely no memory of her, but just that she was this curly-haired darling on my hip during ball games, amusement park visits, beach trips, hikes in the woods, grocery store treks and generally anywhere else her three older brothers needed to go. I meant to be a good mother but I don't remember much. I tried. God knows I tried.

I was more crazy over table manners... but that is because I am my mother's daughter. And with that comes the decision today of which atlas to keep because even though I can find the Republic of Uzbekistan on Google,  Im kind of happy to have my atlas to hold and to look it up the old-fashioned way. My grandchildren won't even know what an atlas is.

Ah, this new age of no books. All the shelves in the future generations will be filled with Pottery Barn fartifacts giving the illusion of having traveled. It is a different world now and I find myself hanging on to the old by a little bitty thread. One day, my grandchildren might run across the atlas and know that it was mine.

I think I am going to go put my name in the front of it right now . I'll tell them it was a 50th birthday present from *President Karimov from Uzbekistan.

* Google.



to Rachel:

In my life, there is no one compared to you.

Poison or no poison?

I think I may go off-roading this time and not do this. My CT scan is November 13th, chemo scheduled for the 15th but if the dreadlies are the same or have lost more poundage, I may forgo this idea. I do have choices. It IS my body.

Then again, I have to consider what happened to Steve Jobs when he thought he was smarter than the average bear.

R.I.P.

Importance of waist size...

If any doctor tells you to "get a trainer" when you are complaining about your unexplainable waist size, GET A CAT SCAN INSTEAD.

I spent years with a slow-growing lymphoma just to realize that my ONLY symptom was the size of my waist. I've lost 9.5" in my waist over the last year. Unbelievable medical neglect.

SOB

Get a trainer? How about... get a new medical license, Doc.

O.M.G.

Watching Rachel Maddow is better than Monday night football.

Benihana!

Annual "Sally Did It" Celebration with the fam. Awesome.

Sally did it, but doesn't want to do it again.

<a href=http://pages.lightthenight.org/il/ChicagoL12/Sallydidit>

$1 donation is fine.

quiet down.

Do as I say, not as I do. I tell strangers stuff they don't need to know, talk when I get nervous, talk when people make me uncomfortable, and (just generally) talk too damn much. I am learning now something that I wish I had known years ago.

Silence has power.
Silence keeps them guessing.
Silence... is golden.

  I didn't write that last one.

If only I had known. I guess it is never too late to stfu. I'm practicing as of late, and I like it. Problem is: people think I am mad when I stfu, which is funny. You teach people how to treat you, and I've taught many people not to respect me because of my need to tell them all the bad things about myself before they figure it out on their own.

I'm learning. I get chemo in November and I am telling no one except my closest peeps. I have so few friends... and the ones I do have are dropping like flies.

I have found that most people are simply not worth my time. Quietly, I am loving the company of myself.

sorry

Silence like a cancer grows...

picky, picky, picky...

Classic 50's. I use tissues now. 

Romney or Obama?

They probably voted early.

Swim with the fishes...

Think about it. You treat your fish-tank so much better than you treat your body. If you left fish in a filthy dirty tank with no filter they would die. Why do you think of your body as any different? I spent years drinking coffee with flavored, franken cream, pretzels with ingredients I couldn't pronounce, non-grassfed meat, dairy, fast food, crackers and cereal with so many ingredients that I needed a freaking dictionary. I have cancer. You don't want it, trust me.

Neither do I.

It is essential to keep your body alkaline so that cancer doesn't like living there... kind of like algae in a tank. All fruits and veggies are alkaline and the rest of the supermarket is acidic. i.e. meat, dairy, sugar, all processed food, booze, and any food that contains chemicals. This does not mean that I am a freak. This just means that I clean my tank several times a day, check my urine with alkaline strips and make SURE it reads green and not yellow. I believe in the 80/20 rule so I eat pasta, sugar and (God knows) I drink. But having cancer is a scary thing and so most of the time I do 95/5. I rarely eat wheat, sugar or dairy. I drink my green-shake 3x a day... and, let's face it... it makes me feel like a million bucks. I am getting a ton of nutrients and filtering out my tank every single day. Also? I don't look like I have cancer or do chemo several times a year. I don't feel like it either.

I use a Magic Bullet.

2 cups spinach/kale
1 cup water
tumeric (cancer cells hate the taste of this)
juice of 1/2 lemon (sounds acidic but VERY alkaline)
2 packages of stevia (so I can stand this shit)

I am empowered to live a beautiful life and filter my tank. Why don't you join me?

Let's all sing!

Chicago

Who needs to stop and have a photo op when we I can squirm out of Nonna's lap and run in the street?

Summer

is really over.

?

Bruce and I went to Chicago this weekend... came home and the bunk beds have been slept in and there are toys everywhere. I'm not sure if it was grandchildren or there was a Barbie Burglary from some pervert thief.

my son the comedian...

Reese  (four going on thirteen)

We took Reese for ice cream tonight and she said, "it isn't ice cream, Non... it is a palate cleanser." Her daddy is such a kidder. When they misbehave, he asks them what they are giving him. They have to answer him, "We are giving you sass and guff, daddy." 

He kills me.

Willie the bowler.

Gwen...

There are no words to describe this joy. I'm so lucky.

Half Foods...

Shambala...

"When the dog is chasing you, turn around and whistle for it."

- Henry David Thoreau

1. Don't believe the lies you tell yourself. i.e. "I am unlovable. I am useless. I am dumb." 

2. You are responsible for your own health. Bark at disease.

3. Go after positive people and run from those who bring you down. Nothing ruins your morning coffee more than the not-so-fresh scent of negativity and whining. Quit being with angry people. If you walk out of a room feeling bad after being with these types, don't go back in the room. Pee on their stoop before you leave so you remember not to return.  

4. Exercise. Make no more excuses. Your body was designed to move, not to lie around. Go fetch balls. 

5. Appreciate your health. Embrace forgiveness. Pet someone or let them pet you.

6. Start running after happy puppies and stop chasing the Golden Calf.  If you don't know what that is? 

Google it.

Everyone is helpful and everyone is kind on the road to Shambala.

GMO...my...God.

 "Actions prove who someone is. Words prove who someone wants to be. On the same token, an honest enemy is much better than a fake friend."

Kemmy Nola

and your little dog too...

The only purpose of life is to love and be loved. It is the only part of life that has any true meaning... what comes after life is irrelevant if you haven't loved someone other than yourself. Life becomes meaningful (and relevant) when you give love because only then will you understand God, joy and peace. The only afterlife is within the heart-memory of those lucky enough to have been touched by the authentic, loving you.

We all spend our life looking for more and more relevance within or outside of ourselves only to find out that Dorothy was right in the Wizard of Oz all along.

"If I ever look for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than in my own backyard."

You had the power all along.

Mommies: Beware of the grocery store

Exercise and Cancer

By Dr. Mercola

Mounting evidence shows that exercise can not only help cancer patients get well but also help keep their cancer from recurring. Yet, few oncologists tell their patients to engage in exercise beyond their simple daily, normal activities.

And many cancer patients are reluctant to exercise, or even discuss it with their oncologist.

A recent study¹ by the Mayo Clinic investigated exercise habits among cancer patients and their clinicians' roles in providing related counseling, and found that:

"Participants overwhelmingly cited usual daily activities as their source of 'exercise.' Symptoms, particularly treatment-related, discouraged participation, with fear of harm being a significant concern only among younger women. Exercise was recognized as important for physical and mental well-being, but seldom as a means to mitigate symptoms.

...Although respondents preferred to receive guidance from their oncologist, none reported receiving more than general encouragement to 'stay active.' A lack of direction was typically accepted as a sanction of their current activity levels. Participants appeared less receptive to guidance from ancillary health professionals."

An Important Conversation You'd Be Wise to Have With Your Oncologist

Fear that exercise might be harmful appears to be largely unfounded, though it's certainly understandable. It can be difficult to be enthusiastic about exercise if you struggle with nausea, fatigue, and other detrimental side effects from the treatment. However, it may be helpful to focus on the benefits you can reap from exercise. For example, research has shown that exercising during and after cancer treatment can:

• Reduce your risk of dying from cancer
• Reduce your risk of cancer recurrence
• Boost energy and minimize the side effects of conventional cancer treatment (see additional listing below)

The fact that most oncologists overlook this vital aspect of their patients' care is highly unfortunate, especially considering how most patients defer to their recommendations. However, it's not unexpected. Conventional doctors are trained to prescribe drugs, not exercise.

Ideally, they'd prescribe exercise in the same manner drugs are prescribed – in specific "doses" and intervals. To do this properly, oncologists would be wise to develop relationships with personal trainers, and prescribe training sessions for their patients. If you have cancer, I would highly recommend discussing exercise with your oncologist, and/or work with a trained fitness professional who can help you devise a safe and effective regimen.

Exercise Needs to Be Part of Standard Cancer Care

A recent report issued by the British organization Macmillan Cancer Support² argues that exercise really should be part of standard cancer care. It recommends that all patients getting cancer treatment should be told to engage in moderate-intensity exercise for two and a half hours every week, stating that the advice to rest and take it easy after treatment is an outdated view.

This is good news for my OCDexercise lifestyle! Yay!

Wheat Belly continued...

Dr. William Davis interview

Wheat Belly

ohh, emm gee... I am reading a really good book: Wheat Belly by Dr. William Davis.

 I don't consider myself a musician although some would say so. I am not an artist but some people believe it when they see my paintings.  I certainly don't consider myself a writer, but, God knows, I have the need to share and analyze... if not on paper then perhaps in a conversation with strangers... Blah Blah Blah...

blah blah blah blah...

 With all of those things that I am (or am not) my biggest interest through my life has been in the field of nutrition. This has always been true. Why? I don't know. Amidst all of my "good intentions" for good eating habits, I have had this swollen belly for at least ten years. I'm not a fat woman but am a woman with a soft belly. I have always wanted to be Modigliani, even though I look more like a Rubens, but through the years I have given up my quest for the perfect bod.

Until now. 

Rubens

Modigliani

You're thinking about me naked now, aren't you?

So, through these last ten years, I have been searching as though I am at an archaeological buffet to find out why I have this waistline... the single symptom of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma - still swollen even after the fifteen lb. tumor in my stomach has been killed with chemo. I am hyper. I have the energy of a thirty-five-year-old. I never sit down. I work out like Jack LaLanne (OCDaily)and I eat with nutritious intention. No matter. I have a belly with or without this Spartan lifestyle. "Whiney" the Poo.

After my friend sent me this book,  I felt like Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady.

By George, she's got it.

I have heard about Atkins for years, but never bought the idea of downing a pound of bacon covered with butter and sour cream sounded like a good idea any more than HCG, vegetarian, Fruitarian or the latest Dr. Oz concoction for weight loss. Dr. Atkins has had it right all along, but with a little healthy tweak, it is the perfect way to live. Here's why:

1. Wheat is no longer the same thing as what our great grammies ate.
2. It is modified into something dangerous. (read the book for the details)
3. There is a substance in it that crosses the blood/brain barrier screwing with neurological receptors as though it is LSD.
4. Hence, it is addictive, and makes us feel like we are drugged and sleepy. Anyone been there after pasta  and beer night?
5. It promotes inflammation which is the cause of diabetes, depression, rheumatoid arthritis, immune disorders, acid reflux and cancer. Oh my.
6. It inflames your colon making you unable to assimilate nutrients no matter how well you eat.
7. Finally, it makes you so you are always hungry, insulin resistant and edgy. No amount of food feels like enough... kinda.like.heroin.

Now that I've made your flippin' day, go put that breadstick down.

*sigh*

rerro, I reed a rog ralk...

More dog guilt.

Still working on the bod, so I decided to kick up the daily walking to an hour. Who am I? I did pilates, zumba and now this today. I have cancer. I am not supposed to feel this good. No complaints here, I guess.

 I've been taking Maizie an hour a day, but today I just didn't feel like it. I was enjoying a good book, sat in the sun by the pool on this gorgeous fall day. Nevertheless, my dog has gotten used to her chasing squirrels, sniffing critter holes, wrapping her owner around trees and pooping huge piles of dung for owner to pick up with my cute little doggy bags. Ugh. I hate that part.

I will not get out of it today because I have spoiled her rotten. Every time I get up from my chair or come into the kitchen she looks at me and says, "are we goin? Is it time? Are ya takin me? Are we goin?" Pant, pant pant, grrrrrr, pant pant pant... "oh please, oh please... you lazy ass you. Get out of that chair, Sally."

I probably put the end of that in myself, but the dog guilt is just killing my day off.

strip down!

1. buy these
2. pee on one of the strips
3. look at the color
4. if you are eating right the strip will be green
5. if you aren't the strip will be yellow

Cancer can't live in an alkaline (most fruits and vegetables) environment.

List of acidic foods:

grains
sugar

artificial sweeteners (use stevia)

coffee
beef

poultry

fish

eggs

booze

(sucks, i know)

(for the record, I eat all of these foods, but down two kale/spinach shakes a day mixed with pineapple, apples etc. Flush your body with nutrients to save your body. If I die too young in a cancerous state, you will know that this didn't work.)

Life was so much easier then.

holy shit...

Prince is following me now on twitter. I have truly arrived as a human.  Kiss me, baby.

Warning to germ-a-phobes!

Triclosan

In the last couple of decades, triclosan has found its way into soaps, cleaners,toothpastes, and not surprisingly, hand sanitizer, especially non-alcohol-based types.

There are reports that 75% of the US population excretes triclosan in urine because it is so widespread.

The problem with triclosan is that it's antibacterial. On the surface that seems all right, but if you look deeper, it's becoming more associated with bacterialresistance. Thus, we might inadvertently create super-bugs, resistant to antibiotics. Initially, bacteria succumb to triclosan, but there are always a few that are resistant to its effects. Those bacteria are then able to reproduce, despite the triclosan.

It's also associated with being an endocrine-system disruptor. That means human growth and development could be affected by exposure to this particular chemical.

The Verdict

I use hand sanitizers. I am not against them. I am neither a doctor nor a scientist and I haven't personally conducted my own scientific tests to find out everything about these chemicals.

But, I also like to take responsibility for my own health. It's also important to note - again - that other than alcohol and water these chemicals are present in small amounts in hand sanitizers and they are not in every type of sanitizer.

With the prevalence of so many industrial chemicals in water, shampoo, cleaners, and personal hygiene products, I aim to limit my use of hand sanitizers, however. I am not sure how many repeated exposures to these small amounts of chemicals will tip the biological clock to create irregularities in my cellular DNA, but I don't really want to find out.

Alternatives to Hand Sanitizers

• Regular soap and water. Generations of people have used regular soap and water to clean their hands and have done just fine with it.
• Use natural products whenever you can.
• Make your own on-the-go hand sanitizer. Get a little bit of dish soap (preferably fragrance and triclosan-free), add water, shake and you have your cleaner. Bring along some napkins and paper towels and you can clean your hands and other objects like toys, car steering-wheels, and anything else you might need to clean on the go.
• Use a hand-sanitizer with completely readable ingredients. That is, ingredients that you can readily identify without being a chemistry major. You'll be doing yourself a favor and on the Skin Deep Database, use one that ranks as "0" (the lower the better) in terms of health and environmental concerns.

www.mercola.com

LOL

genes rock... this dance routine is so me.

this...

is worth living for...

chemo-sabby...

So, today I had the grands (all three) from around 2-6pm. I wasn't going to take the baby (2) but those little doe eyes looking at me were convincing as she put her shoes on herself saying, "me, come?"

I had no choice.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do with them but decided that one thing I know is... children, and sometimes seven of them happy is so much better than three of them bored. So, I proceeded to go across the street and rustle up even more children their age as well as one older (for the baby, of course).

genius.

I suggested that they go in the backyard and look for American Indian artifacts since Indiana had to have had Indians living here at one time or other. Right. Well okay... whatever. I never laughed so hard (to myself) at my lunacy. We have these huge trees behind our house so I told them there were many, many 'artifacts' there but they needed to look carefully. After two hours, they came up with feathers, firewood, old toys, ribbons and used candy wrappers. I came up with a halfway decent story for every single one and they bought it all - even the fourth grader. My favorite find was the 'fossil' cooking utensil, which was really part of a bike tire.

more genius.

As I giggled to myself watching their eagerness, my four year-old granddaughter said... "I'm not so sure I like those woods, Non. Those Indians might still be there watching us in the trees."

Hilarious, but all seven of them had a ball.

most beautiful night of the year...

hungry much?

After a two year loan to the United States, David is being returned to Italy.

guilty...

my lady bits...

I couldn't decide what to wear yesterday and changed several times. I don't usually do this but this morning was different. I've had some stuff on my mind lately and so it has been difficult to concentrate on mundane things like clothes.

Sooo, as a woman, you not only have to change the top but what is underneath the top as well so you don't have a black bra under a white shirt thus looking like Madonna. I am dressed and out the door though still preoccupied. I am halfway to my destination when I stopped at Target for some gum. As I walked past a mirror I looked at it in horror seeing that I had worn a white bra under a navy blue loosely knit top - and with my knockers looked like two headlights looking for my destination in the fog. Curses.

I was far too distant from home to go change so I went into the dressing room to take the bra off thinking (in my emotional stupor) that I could go braless. Clearly, that was thirty years ago. This woman needs a crane and metal scaffolding to hold up these titties.

I am now braless skulking perilously through the bra department grabbing the 38Ds which are very hard to find because in Target most woman must be normal C cups. I find one in a silver grey. I grab it. Unlike Victoria's Secret shelf full of pricey boob-meisters, this one was only $14.99. I could justify this purchase.

I got to the car with my red and white Target bag forgetting that putting this on in the car is not going to be as easy as it may have been in the 80's. I strategically parked behind some pushes so the entire interstate wasn't privy to my boob job. Getting the white bra off was nothing compared to the nightmare of getting the other one on. Yes, it was too small. Are you kidding me? Do I have the biggest tits in Indiana or what? This is just wrong.

I put it on anyway. I slid it on backwards and then scooted it around and by this time I was sweating like a farm animal, and getting a heart-rate worthy of Zumba. It took five big pulls to switch it to the front but for a good five minutes had one cup heading North and one heading West. Everyone knows that boobs are supposed to be headed in the same direction at last after the bra goes on. 

After this ordeal, I knew I had no choice but to go home or head to Victoria and choke up $74 *which wasn't going to happen* since I had a draw full of decent Ds in my dresser.

I was late... but at least I had moral-boob-support.

Gahh.

a dreadly tale...

My granddaughter, Lily, has allergies and we were trying to find some medicine here at the house when she spent the night last night. Finally, I found some in my medicine cabinet. When I brought it out to her with a glass of water she said, "Nooo Non. I don't want your medicine. I really don't want my hair to fall out too."

And the fear trickles downward.

:/

And... my elbows were on the table.

I am hung up still on using the right fork. I wonder why?

Wow. #1

Master of glass...

DALE CHIHULY

Born in 1941 in Tacoma, Washington, Dale Chihuly was introduced to glass while studying interior design at the University of Washington. After graduating in 1965, Chihuly enrolled in the first glass program in the country, at the University of Wisconsin. He continued his studies at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), where he later established the glass program and taught for more than a decade.

In 1968, after receiving a Fulbright Fellowship, he went to work at the Venini glass factory in Venice. There he observed the team approach to blowing glass, which is critical to the way he works today. In 1971, Chihuly cofounded Pilchuck Glass School in Washington State. With this international glass center, Chihuly has led the avant-garde in the development of glass as a fine art.

His work is included in more than 200 hundred museum collections worldwide. He has been the recipient of many awards, including eleven honorary doctorates and two fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Chihuly has created more than a dozen well-known series of works, among them Cylinders and Basketsin the 1970s; Seaforms, Macchia, Venetians, and Persians in the 1980s; Niijima Floats and Chandeliersin the 1990s; and Fiori in the 2000s. He is also celebrated for large architectural installations. In 1986, he was honored with a solo exhibition, Dale Chihuly objets de verre, at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Palais du Louvre, in Paris. In 1995, he began Chihuly Over Venice, for which he created sculptures at glass factories in Finland, Ireland, and Mexico, then installed them over the canals and piazzas of Venice.

In 1999, Chihuly mounted a challenging exhibition, Chihuly in the Light of Jerusalem; more than 1 million visitors attended the Tower of David Museum to view his installations. In 2001, the Victoria and Albert Museum in London curated the exhibition Chihuly at the V&A. Chihuly’s lifelong fascination for glasshouses has grown into a series of exhibitions within botanical settings. His Garden Cycle began in 2001 at the Garfield Park Conservatory in Chicago. Chihuly exhibited at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, near London, in 2005. Other major exhibition venues include the de Young Museum in San Francisco, in 2008, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, in 2011. Chihuly Garden and Glass opened at Seattle Center in 2012.

chihuly.com

William Judd...

Such a sweet boy. I can't believe he is one... so much ahead of him to enjoy.