Daylight Savings Time

Let's face it; there are two really great things about Daylight Savings Time: you get to play golf until 9:30 p.m. and the day you fall back. We all gripe and moan the day we lose that precious hour of sleep and spring forward. It's as if that one lost hour has sapped our last bit of strength, as if we can't go on without more sleep, as if we are not smart enough to remember to put not only our children to bed and hour early but also ourselves! Don't get me wrong, I do it as much as anyone else.

And then comes that glorious morning when all is right with the world and you get that fabulous, sweet hour back; you can sleep in, you can curl up and remember that today is the most precious day of all; you can drift off into sweet dreams. What you fail to remember is that children do not come with a DST setting and they don't realize that precious gift of this extra hour. And just like that, your treasured sleep flits off, like the dragonflies over the lake, one beautiful, great big tease. I'm going to need a nap today.

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So I have a new virtual me on the site. It's weird trying to decipher which face is most like yours, which hairstyle is most like yours, etc. I like her. She is a proximity. But then again, we don't really want to look at a digital image of ourselves and think, that looks just like me! Or do we?

Putting On the Man Pants

I actually had to pull on my "Man Pants" yesterday. I will periodically have these moments when I feel like the helpless female. They usually involve flat tires or car maintenance or large appliance failures. Yesterday mom and I realized that the pilot light was out on the water heater. Naturally, Richard was out of town, and Dad was at a meeting, and the instructions for relighting the pilot made me feel like it was probable I would explode the house. So I pulled on my Man Pants and decided that those warnings were totally bogus. I whipped out the butane lighter and fired that puppy up! Huzzah, a hot shower! I am woman, hear me roar!

Throwing Down the Gauntlet

I am so proud of my sister -- she had been dedicated to running to a long time now, and not only has she lost 50 lbs (hello!) she is up to running 3 miles at a stretch. Being from a more sedentary family, this is, in my world, f***ing awesome!

So she mentions on the phone the other day how she got up to 3 miles for the first time, without stopping and I am so stoked, I say, "Hey, lets do a 5K together!" Mind you, I am an avid walker in my own mind, but spotty at best in reality. She thinks it's a fabulous idea and we are on for next summer. It is only after I hang up that I realize, she thinks I am running! Wow! So instead of backing out of this, I figure I have at the very least 7 months and I know I can easily walk 2 miles right now. I'm going to try and run it. What the hell? So here's to the next 7 months of training (doesn't it sound a wee bit lame to be training for a 5K?) and all the sweat and tears associated with it. Hey, maybe I'll drop a pants size too.

Who Would Have Thought?

I have decided that I need a dog. I would like to say that I want a dog, but really, I think I might need one. I don't really intend for the dog to be a family pet. If that happens, that would be devine, but I fully intend for it to love me best. I want the snuggles and the constant companion. As Richard noted, perhaps it would be good for me to have at least one person in the house who obeys me! I realize that this living, breathing creature will have a mind of it's own, but I want a pet all my own and it just must be a dog.

So as I have been investigating this need, it seems that the whippet would be a good fit for our family. I like the description of "constant companion." I like that they do not tend to bark a lot. I like it that they travel well. I like the size and the coat. I like it that they are called "velcro dogs." I even think I will like the walking of my special pet. So, I am undertaking the search for a rescued dog, or at least, a reputably bred dog. (And the bark park fees, and a good vet, etc., etc.) Bring on the love.

On Being Creative

I have been working really hard to meet my monthly goals for work. I have this huge show in Chicago in December and I have visions of having loads of books to sell (because they sell like hot cakes there). And while I have been diligently putting out books, they continues to sell here. Some are on consignment, some went at show, and my inventory numbers just don't seem to rise the way I thought they would. This causes me to go into over drive and push myself even harder. Good for the business woman in me, bad for the artist in me.

So I realized this week that a.) my goal numbers for the number of books per month was too high while still attending shows - what a surprise! and b.) if I don't let my muse out on a regular basis, she will come out by storm.

I spent this entire week doing completely creative things. I read a new book about patterns and textures; I created a completely whimsical collage that I will post later; I firmed up my design for a quilt square I am donating; and I scrapbooked two different days, longing to get more in. All in all, I think it was a fabulous way to spend the week.

So this weekend is dedicated to selling art in Columbus, OH and then I am home again, home again to start making more books. I feel ready to get back to them and more energized about them. Funny how that works. It's just like exercise: I know I feel so good afterward, but I find a million reasons not to do it. We humans are so goofy.