April Capers

Today’s blog post is a roundup of some of my doings in the last few weeks. 
My April Capers (kind of rhymes). (PS  Capers as in antics—not the pickled flower buds).

Alternate title ideas for this post:

·         * Nothing Rhymes with April

·         * Wake me when it’s mid-June

My three kids had spring breaks on different weeks (again), which is fine by me. This means I had half as much school juggling each of those two weeks, and I could feel the difference. Spring break came not a second too soon. The kids were exhausted and so was I. By the time the last week of March limped into view, we were seven months into the nine-month sprint that is the school year. I’m worn out! We’ll make it to June, but I won’t be running any marathons the day after graduation. I’ll be taking naps.

And so here are the joys and a few surprises that made up our spring break:

…Relaxing at home, reading good books…

…A few local outings (a hike, a picnic, playing at the park with school friends)…

…Dental surgery for me. (I said accusingly to the dentist, “How come there’s no good dental news after 40?!” He laughed, and agreed…)

…Noticing a zillion flowers in bloom…

…Dying eggs with my daughters…

…Decorating Easter eggs with origami and tissue paper…

…Digging a painting out of the pile and working on it for the first time in ten plus years. (Yes, I know it’s crazy not to have finished it years ago but hey, I’ve been a little busy…)

…Crafternoons, crafter-mornings and art projects I’ve been wanting to do for months…For instance, in case you have dozens of caps from dried out permanent markers, you can upcycle them into a necklace and sunglasses.

…My accidentally spilling hundreds of grains of sugar into the silverware drawer because there weren’t nearly enough messes already…

…Listening to happy laughter as my teen aged son chats with his friend…

…Noticing that the weeds are quadrupling in size overnight—whereas my flower bulbs seem to be on a glacially slow schedule for budding…

…My youngest daughter looking in the mirror a few days ago, and saying, “Wow—I’m really growing up!”

…Becoming accidental bee keepers last weekend when hundreds of bees swarmed in our back yard. Eventually they congregated on the fabric cover over our grill. The next day only a few remained and so we thought they had found another permanent home far away. But on the third day Hubby opened the grill and saw that they were actually inside the lid! We decided to keep the lid open so they would feel like it wasn’t private enough, and would move on. But by day four, they had made three rows of flat honeycombs. As of today, there are not many bees around so they may have found a new home (with a closed door). It’s been pretty cool to watch the busiest workers around and their live nature show.

…And maybe best of all during those two (half) break weeks: not having to rush rush RUSH as much as usual.

Until next time: I hope you’re enjoying the start of spring as much as I am. Talk to you soon…

Ray and the Coif of Many Colors

On their birthdays most grandpas don’t ask for exotic hair colors.

But my friend Ray Park wanted a birthday present he’d never had before: hair in shades you’d find in a Crayola crayons box.

Ask and you shall receive.

A week ago Ray’s wonderful wife Debby asked me if I would be interested in experimenting on Ray’s hair. Are Wednesdays wacky? Of course! I said, “Yes—I’ve been feeling an itch to dye someone’s hair!” This project brings to mind a twist on the 1963 song by Leslie Gore. “It’s my party and I’ll dye if I want to, dye if I want to, dye if I want to. You would dye too if you liked red and blue…”

My own hair is taking a break from the exotic hair colors because while delightfully fun, they take their toll on my hair’s health and Dried Straw wasn’t the look I wanted. Ray’s birthday wish scratches my itch to experiment and his quest for color. Win-win. This funny grandpa of two with the quick smile and twinkly eyes was about to change his look.

Ray in his natural state.



Raynbow in the early stages of coloring...



But let’s back up a few weeks. Ray had seen an eye-catching hair style on a musician and was intrigued by the colors in the man’s hair. Ray began to ponder trying something different with his own salt and pepper hair. But why leave out his beard? Ray’s beard is more salt than pepper (an excellent foundation for dye). As we discussed ideas, Ray’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. He envisioned rainbows, stripes and variety. When I asked Ray how he sees himself, he said he’s “evolving.” Although his work life was in science, his hobbies, including poetry and gardening, are on the creative side. His wife describes him as spontaneous, fun-loving and goofy. His personality is as colorful as the nickname he’s had for years: Raynbow.    



Perhaps Ray’s interest in a new look shouldn’t be a surprise. Ray has explored his creative side with watercolor painting classes, landscape design courses, and stained glass making classes, among others.  He and his wife sing with the La Jolla Symphony Chorale. So for a creative guy like Ray, a desire for expressive hair should not come as a true surprise. The only surprising part is that he hadn’t done it before. But perhaps the timing is perfect. Ray was inspired by the musician’s hair, Ray’s birthday was approaching, and Debby and I were chatting about hair color last week. The pieces came together. As I’ve said before, hair can be a canvas, and I happen to have a brush or two in my tool belt.



When the dye first goes on it's very bright. Once it's rinsed out it becomes a lot more subtle.

 



This photo shows Ray's look after the first batch of color was applied. We ended up adding more blue to the sideburns.



And so…to the colors. A few days ago I emailed Ray about whether he preferred temporary or permanent dye. Short-term options included using Kool Aid colors. Yes, the drink powder. It makes for bright, temporary hair color and has the added benefit of being very affordable. Plus, if you have leftover powder you can make drinks in less than a minute. But Ray preferred to jump in with true gusto and go for permanent color. We met yesterday to discuss ideas and today Ray and I collaborated on his new look. He opted not to bleach his hair white first, which would make the colors to pop more. “Semi-subtle” was his goal.

 

 

 

This week I didn’t do a Wacky Wednesday costume and yet I was given the opportunity to do a creative experiment nonetheless. Ray, thank you for asking to be my guinea pig. I’m flattered that you entrusted your hair to me and tickled that your family associates me with the kind of crazy fun you craved. When I’m a grandparent if I’m as fun-loving as you are, I’ll be satisfied. Happy birthday and happy hair play!

Christmas Egg

Sometimes I like doing things my own way. Sometimes I have a unique approach—without even intending to. Today, for instance.

This morning I glanced at our front tree. I see it multiple times a day. How many hundreds—thousands--of times have I looked at it, this year alone? But today I did a double take. There was something different about the tree. Why was there a plastic Easter egg hanging near the Christmas lights?

 

Hubby hung the lights a week ago, so I could ask him. But he decorates for Christmas and I decorated the tree for Easter. Which means that there has been one rebellious Easter egg hanging in the tree for the last eight months. I’ll admit I’ve been a little distracted. Three kids. Tons happening. And the egg is light blue, which somewhat camouflages into the green leaves. But still. Eight months? This is a new one on me. I love to make others laugh, but today the joke was on me…

I’m considering several courses of action.

1)      Remove the egg and return it to the box of other eggs, where it will get an enthusiastic welcome home from its colorful friends.

2)      Decorate the egg in Christmas colors so that it is the most versatile Easter egg in history.

3)      Leave it there, as it is, for another four months, until next Easter and pat myself on the back for being an early planner.

Which option gets your vote?

Happy Hoopin’

 

Hula hooping is major fun, in case you haven’t tried it lately. I’ve enjoyed it for years, and I’m good (no real tricks but I can keep the hoop going for ages). So imagine my delight when we made a spontaneous trip to the park today and there was a hoop group.

A groovy retiree named Walt brought dozens of hula hoops to our local park, just for fun. He goes to different parts of San Diego each week and brings hoops of all sizes for friends and strangers to use. This was the first time I’ve seen him at our small neighborhood park and I was charmed by the show. Perhaps he’s a self-appointed ambassador of peace: people connect when they’re doing something fun. Maybe we need to get politicians some hula hoops. And roller skates. Laugh a little and who knows what kind of progress could be made?

Anyway, Walt is the uncle of my friend, who lives across from the park. I’m not sure how long he’s been sharing his hoops but whatever his age is (I’m guessing 60-something), he’s young in body and in spirit. (I’d like to interview him! If I do, I will post the interview here. This man is the kind of free spirit I’m intrigued by, and I want to know more about him.)

When we arrived at the park, Walt was giving lessons to kids and grown-ups alike. He helped me learn something I’d tried to learn off of YouTube. Walt managed to climb over a picnic table (climbing onto the bench, up to the table, then down the other side) while maintaining a spinning hoop around his waist and two more hoops spinning in his hands. Amazing.

There were literally dozens of hula hoops scattered about, beckoning people to give hooping a try. I’d estimate there were at least 50 hoops, which is less than Walt used to have. He used to have 100! Some were small (intended for preschoolers), some were standard size (I’d guess three feet across), some larger still (these are easier to use, Walt says) and there was even a giant hoop (custom-made) that Walt says is seven feet in diameter. I wasn’t sure the seven-footer would be manageable but Walt said it wasn’t hard and so I gave it a try. I asked someone to take photos of me, since you know I love posting fun photos of unexpected moments. Sadly, my hula-hooping stance (butt out, kind of chicken like) is not my most flattering pose but I’m throwing vanity to the wind and sharing the photos of the hooping happiness that was spinning through the park.

 

 

 

 



 

Walt isn’t doing this as a business—it’s just his way of bringing fun to the community, getting some exercise and some fresh air and enjoying his retirement in his own way. It completely made my morning. These serendipitous moments are the best—unexpected gifts I stumble upon when I’m just doing my usual thing.

Here’s to Walt, and all the free spirits out there who find unusual ways to share their talents and enthusiasm with the world, just to bring happiness to others. Thanks, Walt. Keep on hoopin’…

The Wanderer

There is a tree in town that has a very specific idea of how it wants to grow. It’s doing its own thing. It’s resisting peer pressure to grow vertically.

 

This tree is so eye-catching. Every time I go by it I want to study it. Perhaps this tree had dreams of becoming a long jumper and growing horizontally is its way of living that dream…  

Struck by Lightning

It’s not that I’m obsessed with sports. I’m interested in everything, to some degree or another. But this is a photo worth sharing. I had a funny sports moment recently, a nod to our San Diego address. Among our Easter treats we found a jelly bean that is determined to be a Charger fan when it grows up. I like its enthusiasm!

Strike That!

I did it for the kids.

Doesn’t that sound altruistic?

In truth, it had nothing to do with the kids. It was about fun and friendship.

I’m talking about bowling last night with some other moms from my kids’ school. It rocked!

There were four of us and we had a ton of fun. We went to the same bowling alley I’d been to the last time I bowled (nearly a year ago). After last year’s bowling session I blogged about what a blast it was and made a mental note to go more often. I’m so glad my friends set up this get-together because I’m not going as often as I’d like. On a Friday night that place is packed.

Thank Heavens I’m not competitive when it comes to bowling because my score was quite low. I came in last. Both games. But who’s counting?! You want low numbers when it comes to blood pressure and cholesterol, but low numbers are not the goal when it comes to bowling. Still, I laughed at my gutter balls and bantered with my friends. It wasn’t about getting great scores. It was about doing something fun with people I like. I hadn’t spent time with these friends without plenty of kids milling about so this was new territory. We chatted about the kids and life, cheered each other on, gave high 5s and plotted about the next bowling night.

Toward the end of our second game a couple started their game at the next lane. They brought something with them that I never would have expected. I double-checked. No, I wasn’t mistaken. They’d brought a doll. I asked them if I could take a photo and they laughed and told me the back story about their mascot. It had been a prize in one of those machines that has a giant claw that you manipulate in order to grab the toy you want. I’m not sure whether this doll was from a bowling alley toy machine but somehow the doll became the couple’s mascot and accompanies them every time they bowl. I was charmed by this quirky tale and snapped a photo, knowing I’d want to share the story of the bowlers and their unlikely lucky charm. But why shouldn’t a KISS doll be their talisman?

 

It was such a fun evening. I love the down-to-earth vibe of bowling. People do it because it’s fun—not because it’s a place to schmooze with business associates. People who are drawn to bowling go because it’s entertaining. It’s so different from night clubs. Going bowling is not about being seen, showing off expensive clothes or a designer purse, establishing a pecking order. If the world sometimes feels like a proving ground, bowling alleys are the great equalizer. No one is there to put on a fashion show. Bowling puts everyone on the same field because everyone is literally in the same shoes. Maybe bowling shoes are the equivalent of the haircuts soldiers get on their first day in the military. Everyone is in the same boat, has the same tools, and that’s a good thing. Bowling is a great backdrop for growing friendships. Unlike golf, you don’t need fancy equipment or a whole day available for it. Bowling doesn’t take much time, the rules aren’t complicated, it’s unpretentious and it is fun. Last night we had a lot of laughs. I’d share the details, but you know what they say: what happens at the bowling alley STAYS at the bowling alley!

Catwalk, Reimagined



Anyone can build a catwalk. But it takes some real imagination to make a sunny cat condo for your pet. I saw such an invention on my morning walk today. A few blocks from our place is a short street made up of duplex apartments. Jutting into the front yard of one of these apartments was a kitty condo of sorts.

 

Although I don’t know the cat’s owner or the back story behind this kitty’s corner, here’s what I imagine led to the invention. This duplex is rented by people who adore their cat. They want Fluffy to be able to get some fresh air while they are at work. They could lock her outside all day, but they want Fluffy to be able to get inside for her food. (They learned that other animals will graze at Fluffy’s food bowl unless it is inside the apartment.) These loyal pet owners want their cat to have indoor as well as outdoor living space. Fluffy needs her fresh air and naps in the sun. But she is a cat of many moods (aren’t they all?) and also wants to spend time indoors, where her food bowl and cable tv are. How to solve this dilemma? A sunroom extending from her regal palace. She loves to sun outside, but what if the temperatures rise? The owners thoughtfully added a shade so that she has options. When she is in the mood for fresh air, Fluffy can walk through the window’s screen to access her fab sun room. Her majesty can preside over the neighborhood at a height of five feet, where she can look down at the kingdom she is sure is hers. When passersby stop to honor her, she can meow down at them—if it suits her. Her regal catliness decrees the sunroom a royal success.

Nature Rebels

Hourglass-shaped leaf. Who knew?

Things You Don’t See Everyday

This morning while I was walking I heard a big commotion in a tree and suddenly, to my left, something was falling out of the tree, but WAIT!—it stopped falling and began to fly. A giant bird flapped away from the tree, triggering a memory I have of another rustle in a tree, seven years ago. The startling moment back then also involved a tree and an animal. But the animal, the tree, and the country were all different.

It was 2006. We were visiting family in Canada. It was nearly dark when Val remarked (quite calmly) that there was a bear in the tree next to the house. SAY WHAT? Yes, a bear.

We were visiting a small Canadian town near the woods so maybe a bear sighting should not have shocked me so much. But it did. You see, wild animals and I do not mingle intentionally. I’m scared of my own shadow, after all. But I joined the group for some twilight bear watching. I squinted up into a tall tree as darkness descended, hoping the bear would not do a back flip out of the tree, land at my feet and start nibbling me.

We city folk were in shock. The Canadians were not. Maybe this was a nightly thing for them. For us, not so much. We took photos, but it was nearly dark and we were trying not to scare the bear with a flash so the photo is pretty blurry.

 

 

But I swear this really happened. I’m flattered if you think I could imagine such a strange and vivid scene but honestly, I never would have imagined a bear in a pear tree. Maybe a partridge in a pear tree. Sure. I’m much more comfortable with that. A partridge is much smaller than a bear, after all, and therefore much less scary to me. Bears are giant, hungry, sharp-clawed and strong. No thanks. The only bears I’m willing to get near are gummy bears.

Anyway, that’s my story for today. If anyone out there reads this and thinks a bear in a pear tree is ho-hum, clearly you are braver than I am. Maybe that is something you see every day if you live in bear country. But for us city folk, that was newsworthy.

I’ll sign off now. It’s time to head out and see if I can find anything else unexpected: maybe Bigfoot shopping for holiday decorations. Or the Loch Ness Monster doing laps in the bay. I’ll let you know.

 

You Never Know

Oh, I get so much joy from the unexpected. (Well, let me qualify that. Not unexpected parking tickets, head colds, or floods in the garage. Those unexpected things stink.) I’m talking about happening upon something surprising, delightful or funny (or all three, simultaneously).

Take yesterday, for example. We had a picnic dinner with Chris, whose birthday was earlier this week. Suddenly, one of us spotted it. It was trotting along the bike path behind its owner, enjoying a sunset walk. It was a pot-bellied pig.

Mind you, we don’t live anywhere near a farm. This was at a big park in the suburbs. You’d have to drive an hour to find a barn. Maybe more. So pigs were not high up on my list of things I thought we might see. A kite? Sure. There was a tiny breeze. Boats? Yes. Dogs, strollers, picnickers? Absolutely. These are what you expect at parks.

I grabbed my camera and raced after Piggy. When I caught up to Piggy and Piggy’s Parent I asked if I could take a photo. Piggy’s Parent offered Piggy a treat if Piggy would sit. Piggy sat.

After a very short break, Piggy’s Parent said it was time for Piggy to resume jogging. Jogging? "Oh, Yes,” the owner replied. I jokingly asked if Piggy was planning to compete in the Rock and Roll Marathon, which is tomorrow. There are projected to be 32,850 runners, 55 live bands on 30 stages, and you never know, maybe a potbellied pig or two.

Pamplona, Spain has its Running with the Bulls festival. At Sea World you can swim with dolphins. Why not jogging with pigs?

In defense of Piggy, though, his legs were awfully short. And his tummy grazed the grass as he jogged along. I’m not sure that a 26.2-mile marathon is a safe or reasonable challenge for him at this time. When your legs are that short, running 26.2 miles would be like an average human running 200 miles!

I won’t be at the marathon tomorrow. There is a barn-sized pile of laundry I need to lasso and 26.2 different kinds of chores for me to catch up on (if I can stop blogging and sewing long enough to do them). But you’ll let me know if you see Piggy at the marathon, right? Anything’s possible. Around here, you just never know what you’ll see…

Dear Diary, You Won't Believe What I Saw Today (Jan. 8, 2012)

Some people might feel compelled to make their first blog of the year serious or philosophical in keeping with the rebirth/clean slate mentality that a new year can bring. Not me.





Welcome to my 2012 blog! This scene is not one I created for blog laughs. While bike-riding today I happened upon this giant stuffed orangutan in the back of a pick-up. (I’m not completely sure it is an orangutan but my research online didn’t help solve the mystery. It didn't look monkeyish. So for now I’ll call it an orang, but do let me know if you have proof otherwise.)

I can’t make this stuff up! The unexpected combination of a stuffed animal (and a huge one at that) and a pick-up truck is what makes it so funny, and I knew I had to share it with the rest of the world.

And just so you know, discovering things like this only reinforces my obsession with wandering neighborhoods with my camera. No doubt I will post many more photos to my blog this year about unusual things I’ve happened upon accidentally. Stay tuned. I’m sure it’ll only get wackier…

One-Eyed Woman (Jan. 2009)

WARNING: If you are squeamish, do not read this piece.

Okay, you have been duly warned. Although for some, warnings are like catnip. The bigger the warning, the scarier the content, the more appealing it is.

I’m into writing about real experiences, so you won’t find any Cyclops-fantasy stories on my blog. The one-eyed woman is not an imaginary, mythical creature. She’s real. In fact, she’s the polar opposite of an intimidating, larger-than-life character. I met her in the bathroom of Vons grocery store. She was a shrunken woman of about 70, and like many her age, she was dressed in pastel clothing and had short, white hair. Very normal. Except for one thing.

As I exited my stall she was washing out her fake eyeball in the sink. I tried not to stare, as I didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious. I really tried not to stare because I was pretty horrified! I’d STRONGLY prefer not to see eyeballs out of their sockets, or sockets without their eyeballs, for that matter. Funny how in a split second the brain kicks in with survival instructions. My Instructions To Self screamed silently in my head and went like this: donotlookDONOTLOOKDONOTLOOK! The woman said there was some dust or sand in her eye and so she had to wash it out. She seemed very matter-of-fact about it all.

Hey, I have no problem with people’s having prosthetic anything. I think it’s great that there are ways for people to participate in life and not feel self-conscious or limited. But I don’t necessarily want to see eyeballs in sinks. I’m still having nightmares! Although this was last year, has time helped lessen my shock in seeing a round, white ball staring at me during its eyewash? I wish.