Just Change the Channel

Have you ever watched a television show and found yourself annoyed at the end of the hour because it had not been “good?”   You know that feeling of totally wasted time because you were bored, depressed, offended, or just not entertained by whatever it was.  Now, how many times would you choose to watch that same program again?

Why is it that we find it so acceptable to live that kind of bad re-run life?  So many of us go through the same motions every day and go to bed with the same sense of time not well spent, just spent.  There are some obligations that must be fulfilled, of course, whether or not we find them pleasant.  I’m talking about the optional stuff – and there’s a lot of it.

When we’re bored with what’s on TV, we change the channel.  We have Stumble Upon and Pinterest to offer new ideas and options at the click of a mouse.  We do not waste much time pressing the button when the screen is not interesting.  That’s the way to live!

It’s time I started paying as much attention and demanding as much from my whole life as I do from a prime-time drama, how-to show, or sitcom.  I will cut out “reality” programming (drama queens and princes,) get unbiased news (go outside and look at the world for myself,) stop watching depressing self-help shows (shut up my negative talk,) and find time for great comedy (spend time with happy friends.)

I will throw away the TV Guide, receive my own satellite transmissions, and never accept anything less than 3D, high-def, spectacular.

Oh, and I will sing my own theme songs for every thrilling new episode.

Pop Goes the Color

Like many home-lovers, I am enamored of websites that feed my desire to mark my territory.  Bet you all have a favorite or two dozen, too.  While I am energized and inspired (and occasionally overcome) by the content on these sites, I do (as those who know me will recognize as a core trait of mine) take exception to one idea that keeps popping up – the use of the phrase “pop of color.” I’d like to banish this little piece of trite trash from all comments about art, home decorating, craft, landscape, or anywhere else someone even thinks of using it.

I am sure back in the early days, when HGTV was still in kindergarten, when there were not designers/pretend designers/faux designers in abundance on the air and on the ‘net, this phrase actually meant something.  I would envision a pop of color as some truly unexpected but perfect accent in an otherwise muted, sedate, monochromatic, or neutral color scheme.  Nowadays, folks use that phrase anytime there is something colorful within an image!  In a room decorated in complementary colors of blue and peach, the tangerine throw pillow is not a pop of color; it is part of the scheme.  Neither is the brilliant red crocosmia ‘Lucifer’ blossom a pop of color in a garden filled with deep red peonies and red roses!

Just because a color is eye-catching in an arrangement or image does not mean the viewer should exclaim, “Don’t you love that pop of color!?”  What’s so hard about saying something meaningful about the color, instead of that banal conversation space-filler?  If a color combination moves you, why not say how much you appreciate the depth of gold braid against inky blue upholstery; the way brilliant magenta emboldens gray flannel; the liveliness of chartreuse, pink, and powder blue in a nursery?

Color is emotion.  Let’s discuss it emotionally, not with clichés, not as if it were the weather.

Oh, and have a nice day.

I Can See Clearly Now

Miss Muse is cranky tonight.  She had to endure several uncomfortable hours in the car, while I drove through the slop and slush and haze of a gray snowy business trip.  The highway was not particularly slippery, but the precipitation conspired with fog and truck spray to make it hard to see what was going on ahead.

I’ve driven LOTS of miles for my career and there are not many road conditions that worry me; low visibility, however, is another story.  As long as I can see where I am going, I am fine slogging onward, but today’s trip was one of those that made me wish I could have left the car in the garage.  Vision, need vision!

Vision is the key to a safe and successful journey whether on the highway or along our personal path.  When faced with a crossroad, be sure to know what traffic is approaching the intersection and what the signs say.   It is always a good idea to look all directions at least twice and check the map before you proceed.  Then, when you’ve determined it’s safe, GO! Commit to the action and follow through – when you decide to step on the gas, go for it.

Fasten your seatbelt, Miss Muse.  The fog is lifting, the road ahead is clear, and I am re-fueling.  It is going to be a great ride.

Ready for the High Jump

Give up the rat race.

That’s a phrase that resonates with a lot of folks; it certainly has been ringing in my ears, louder and louder.  Matter of fact, it has come to the point when I can no longer ignore it.  I know what I need to do, but I am scared.

At least, I was scared. I was afraid to cross the finish line.  I have leapt out of the blocks every business day for years, now. How could I stop running?  Competitive and driven by nature, it seemed inconceivable to just quit.

Then I realized, it is not quitting; it is moving to the next event.  My corporate race has been run, but life remains full of wonderful challenges.  As long as I was running the rat race, they were ignored.  It’s time for me to chase a different goal.

Who knows, I might jump over the moon.

Word Fails Me . . .

I love seeing the beautiful images shared on Pinterest.  It would be nice to be able to click through to find out more about the original posts, but I have been stopped in my (mouse) tracks more than once by a few poorly-chosen letters!

I took French in high school, almost forty years ago.  I don’t remember much, but I do remember a lovely exclamation, one that is handy and meaningful in my artsy endeavors.  Loosely translated, it means, “Look at that!”

It’s Voilà!

Not “Viola!”  That would be an excited small purple flower or angry stringed instrument a bit larger than a violin and, please, under no circumstances ever, type “Wa-la!” (The voice in my head automatically translates that to “Well, lookie there!”)

You don’t have to write French to have superb taste.  You do have to NOT mangle French (or any other language, including English) to have any shred of credibility with me and a coven of other snooty internet bitches.  No matter how stunning the image you post, no matter how brilliant your boards, you will be a Pinterest pretender unless you say what you mean and spell (correctly) what you say.

Voilà!

C’est facile, n’est pas?

Saved by Anthony Bourdain

Paula, Paula, Paula Deen.

For years, you have been a key reason I do not watch food television – you, and Anthony Bourdain.  Between you two, my stomach turned often before I could turn the channel.  Now, when an obvious truth is publicly verified – your recipes are damaging to your health – I can’t even do the “I knew those box-cake-mix-Franken-desserts would get her!” taunting dance.

I went to bed last night, not with visions of sugar plums, but visions of bacon-wrapped, deep-fried, mayonnaise-dipped fat joke insults buzzing in my head. Who ruined my “Take your Krispy Kreme Bread Puddin’ Back to the Trailer Park, You Pretender!” rant?  Anthony Bourdain, of course. Bourdain, whom I have disliked heartily since reading his book Kitchen Confidential , has already slapped Roly-Poly Paula via Twitter,  making anything nasty I might say look like piling on or, equally as distasteful, supporting his ideas.

While I disapprove her place on the culinary stage (because I think she is a sloppy cook who relies on pre-fab ingredients and caters to the taste buds of a sit-com-character eleven-year-old boy) and I find her embarrassing to watch (because I think her Mae West meets my Aunt Blanche gray-haired double- entendres are gross,) I am truly sorry Paula Deen is diabetic.  She was fun to make fun of when she was just a fat lady with a stick of butter and a lack of decorum.  Now, it is not funny anymore.

Anyone who knows me personally will confirm that I am not at all interested in “health food,” so I am not clambering up onto a soapbox to shake my finger and intone the virtues of grass juice and raw pumpkin seeds.  I believe food is one of the great pleasures in life.  There is butter (salted and unsalted,) sugar, chocolate, booze, white flour, and red meat in my kitchen at all times.  I just don’t cook with all of it every meal!

Paula Deen’s quote in response to a question about whether or not her cooking style contributed to her disease (a reporter actually asked that!) she replied, “On my show I share with you all these yummy, fattening recipes, but I tell people, `in moderation,’” she added. “I’ve always eaten in moderation.”

Paula, Paula, Paula Deen, I am sorry you’re sick, but I am glad you’re now being honest about your illness.  I’d like to fault you for your lack of honesty in that quote, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt – you don’t seem to know how big a teaspoon is, so this unbelievable statement may, to you, not be a lie.

Now, before she does more damage, would somebody, please, explain “moderation” to that woman?

Does This Kitchen Make My Butt Look Big?

My sister is one of the smartest people I’ve ever known.  She is also one of the bravest. It is with the sincerest gratitude for her gracious permission I share this story with you.

I love my sister’s house.  Whenever I visit, I feel better about the condition of the world. It is a place filled with people who love and respect each other.   It is a lovely home.

It was, however, for a time, in jeopardy.  According to my sister, the house was just too small.  Years of accumulated memories, two children who had grown tall overnight, and – sorry Phyllis – a bit of a tendency to keep everything, had encroached on comfortable space. Plans were drawn and redrawn, discussions about moving were had; there was a lot challenging the status of the lovely (too little) house.

Then, a miracle happened, or at least that’s how I see it.  My sister, who had always been pretty sedentary (and, as far as I was concerned, had a free pass on not exercising after going 15 rounds with cancer and kicking the snot out of it,) decided to lose a few pounds and get more fit. She looked wonderful when she came for Christmas, but it was not until I saw her in her own lovely house that I got the full effect.  She laughingly said, “Now that I’ve lost weight, my house is not too small. It fits quite comfortably!”

As usual, I learned something valuable from my sister.  She reminded me that issues are best resolved when we really understand the nature of the problem, so we can consider alternative solutions.  Sure, she could have added another room to the house, but how much better to have saved that money and gained better health.

Next time a problem arises, I will remember to check from more than one vantage point.  Sometimes the best answer is found by rephrasing the question.

That’s My Boy

I just read this quote from the mother of a college football player, after her son’s great performance in a bowl game – a  woman whose son had been suspended for the 2010 college football season for driving under the influence and is currently on probation for an episode in the spring of 2011 when he was so drunk he knocked in the front door of an apartment that he thought was his and passed out on a terrified tenant’s bed.

Do I think he has a problem [with alcohol]? No. But I do think maybe he didn’t know when to say, “OK, I need to stop now.” And we always talk about that. He can’t drink now for a while. He turned 21, but he hasn’t been able to go out and do this or that. When he can go out and have his fun and have some drinks, he needs to know when to stop.

Are you shocked?  I am.

I am not shocked that a college football player got too much to drink – more than once.  I am shocked – and very saddened – that his mother seems to be more concerned that he can’t go out and “have his fun” than that, when he is legally permitted to drink, if he chooses to drink, he will be at enormous risk of hurting himself or someone else.  That his mother can deny an alcohol abuse problem, (even in the face of multiple arrests arising from it) is a sure sign there is more than a substance abuse issue in this kid’s life.

Do I think the young man should not be congratulated for his fine effort in a major bowl game win?

Of course not; he exhibited great skill and hard work.

Do I think he should be congratulated that he has followed his court sentenced substance-abuse counseling and community service hours?

Yes, I do; it’s hard.

Do I think his only problem with alcohol is that he has just not yet learned “when to stop?”

Absolutely not.

Do I think he is a bad kid?  No.  I think he is an at-risk kid who because of superior athletic talent might have been forgiven for a few transgressions too many and now is struggling to find his own inner moral compass.  That his own mother denies the seriousness of his alcohol-related actions makes me wonder what else she might not have taught him as a child.  Parents who love their children do not ignore or excuse dangerous behaviors.  We do everything we can to protect them, including, if we have to, risk pissing them off or hurting their feelings to try to keep them safe.

Teach our children that there is an important distinction between what is legal and what is right and why not getting caught is not a fair measure of the merits of an activity. It is the only way to equip them for adulthood and the only way to help them make their world better.

Are We There Yet?

Here we are, in that oddball week between Christmas and the New Year – that dead zone after the gifts have been opened but before the decorations are stowed away.  It’s like seven days’ worth of that awkward ten minutes after the bartender has turned up the lights, but before you can find your way to the door.  In the wrong light, even the best effort can look tacky.

The old familiar excuses, “I’m too tired from all the Christmas festivities I’ve planned/participated/ruined,” (hey, I don’t know your family) and “It’s too late to do anything to salvage 2011, so might as well wait until January,” can render even the most energetic and optimistic among us comatose. This year, because of the holidays’ weekend timing, it’s even worse; there’s not even a weekend in the middle to break up the blah. What’s a Type-A girl to do?

Since I find the best way to handle unpleasant things (that you can’t strangle) is to pretend they don’t exist, I suggest we just ignore the fact that the next few days represent the dregs of 2011. Don’t bother with the reflection, introspection, course correction, habit-rejection that usually sneaks up and stomps us this week.  Do what you think is right – right now.  It’s just that simple and just that hard.

Resolution-making is a tradition that only encourages us to lie to ourselves.  Why would we want to do that? I don’t want to, so there will be no list of 2012 personal To Do’s for me.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to do better.  I am just suggesting that we try to apply that idea broadly and generally – and as frequently as possible – in our everyday lives (and not just from January 1st until around President’s Day.)  It’s a reasonable plan for me and it’s easier to remember than a list.

Happy Every Day!

Shaken and Stirred

Hello Holidays!  Nothing like that heady cocktail of emotions that defines the Christmas season – and it really doesn’t matter what’s your religious background, December affects us all.  Here is a recipe for a fairly traditional holiday season.  How many ingredients do you have on hand?

Twelve dozen cookies,

Eleven times the traffic,

Ten cranky in-laws,

Nine extra pounds,

Eight bad mall Santas,

Seven burned-out light bulbs,

Six cocktail parties,

Five hours’ sleep,

Four awful sweaters,

Three lost presents,

Two flights delayed,

And a case of seasonal flu!

This year, I am serving up a new tradition.  I am mixing a large portion of patience with a shot of understanding, a dash of humor, and a large pinch of gratitude.  I am sure this won’t be to everyone’s taste, but it will suit me perfectly.  I hope you’ll try it, too.

Merry Christmas!  Happy Hanukkah!  Joyful Winter!  Peace!  Love!