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Fried Egg Friday

Weekend Whims Saturday Whims …

Hello friends and readers!!! Happy Friday!! Happy Favorite Things Friday!!! On Fridays, we keep it light and crispy here at Adulting – Second Half. On Fridays, I list three “favorites” – things, songs, TV shows, books, etc. These favorite things make my material world all the better! Please check out previous Friday posts for other favorites and please, please share you favorites, as well. Because like Madonna says, “We are living in a material world . . . . ” Here goes – today’s favorites:

HBO’s Chernobyl – Amazing TV series! Captivating, awful, excruciating, yet hopeful. The acting in this series is absolutely exquisite. This production came in right under Game of Thrones as one of HBO’s best productions, in my mind. It is definitely worth some of your weekend to start to watch this show and ponder its magnanimity.

Should I Answer? App – I have been on the pointless “no-call list” (HA!) for a long time, but now my cell phone seems like it is THE hot number for anyone selling anything, to call. I want to kiss this app’s feet. So many pointless, ridiculous, aggravating calls have been blocked since I downloaded it. I have proof from the list of blocked calls that it keeps every day. Numbers that are known to be telemarketer/spoof dialers have angry red faces on them, and they cannot get through. Love it!

“Things Are As Big As You Make Them” – This was the best piece of advice I received as a young mother, by another young mother, when we were embroiled in neighborhood drama that was probably rooted in the lack of sleep and the lack of solitude, young mothers get, when they are raising their children. I never forgot this piece of advice and it has helped me, many, many times, keep things in perspective. Now, some things actually do need to be made BIG (to make a point), but most things do not. This little mantra is an excellent reminder of this.

Let’s end Friday, with these “wise” thoughts:

“For Children: You will need to know the difference between Friday and a fried egg. It’s quite a simple difference, but an important one. Friday comes at the end of the week, whereas a fried egg comes out of a chicken. Like most things, of course, it isn’t quite that simple. The fried egg isn’t properly a fried egg until it’s been put in a frying pan and fried. This is something you wouldn’t do to a Friday, of course, though you might do it on a Friday. You can also fry eggs on a Thursday, if you like, or on a cooker. It’s all rather complicated, but it makes a kind of sense if you think about it for a while.” 
― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt

Noise Cancellation

Before I left for my getaway, I was having trouble sleeping at night. This is not because I am worried about anything or because I am in any pain. It all had to do with a horrible, loud, annoying noise that kept me tossing and turning and seriously thinking about purchasing ear plugs or a white noise machine or a straight jacket. This loud noise wasn’t anything man made. It was coming from a creature of Mother Nature.

Our backyard butts up to a small lake and behind the lake is a relatively untouched nature preserve. Normally I love living like Snow White. The diverse nature we observe here is truly stunning and fascinating. We get rafters of turkeys (that is the correct term for a group of turkeys, btw) walking through our backyard all of the time. We get all sorts of birds – herons, eagles, hawks, ducks and woodpeckers. We see deer, rabbits, armadillos, possums, raccoons and alligators, on a frequent basis. Normally, these lovely critters act just as fun eye candy and we have a mutual respect for our respective places as creatures on this beautiful Earth. We all keep a healthy distance from each other and we live in happy symbiosis.

Mating season can get quite loud here, though. I thought mating season would be over by now, but for a few days before I left on my getaway, there was a very insistent, loud, demanding, horny as hell creature who just wouldn’t shut up. Whoever, whatever it was, sounded like he was right outside of our bedroom window. My frustrated, exhausted husband got up once, in the middle of the night, looking to see if it were squirrels or alligators or a new species of bird whose call we hadn’t heard before, sitting right outside of our window, insistently calling out for a mate. I got up to help him, but we just couldn’t find the sneaky source. We rustled in the bushes, our fears of finding something dangerous, with sharp, gnash-y teeth, being abated by our desperate need for sleep. We turned on all of our spotlights, so bright, you would have thought we were a prison, looking desperately for a fugitive prisoner. The noisemaker continued through all of this fuss, mocking us, as he carried on with his insistent screeches and howls.

I had forgotten about this annoyance when I was on my trip. I kept remarking about how well I had slept on my trip, attributing it to the mattress pads or the hotel pillows, not realizing that it was really the serene silence that I had been missing, that was helping me get such sound sleep. As I eagerly turned in last night, excited to be in my own surroundings, in my own familiar bed, as I shut my eyes, ready for sweet, dreamy slumber, my noisy, aggravating nemesis starting his siren song AGAIN. UGH! I had completely forgotten about this pest, on my sweet escape. Last night I got spotty sleep at best.

This morning, as I was grumpily making up our bed, the noise started up again. This was unusual. It had been mostly a night thing . . . a nightmare, for sure. Once again, it sounded like it was coming from our window sliders. In desperation, I got my phone’s flashlight and I looked all over the window, trying to follow the sound. I finally found my nemesis. He wasn’t large. He wasn’t scary. He wasn’t feathered and he didn’t have sharp teeth. He was actually kind of cute and innocent. He reminded me of Kermit . . . Kermit the frog. I set him free. I set us both free, I hope. Tonight will tell if he decides to come back. . . . I guess it isn’t easy being green.

Light Write

This is travel day, friends. So I am going to call it a “light write” day, so that I don’t miss my flight. I feel very lulled, refreshed, revitalized, yet relaxed. I like how I feel right now. I like my energy. I hope that I can carry my good vibe into my home life and keep it there for a while. If I like me and how I feel right now, I suppose that my family and friends will appreciate a more chill me, as well. I am filled with peace and gratitude.

Whatever you wanna be, just, at the end of the day, if you’re being a good person, which is not hard to be, and you’re putting positive energy into the world, and you’re appreciative and loving to the people around you that care about you and everybody in general, then it’ll work out. Gnash

Big Little Lies Part Deux

I absolutely love to read. I figured that I have hours of uninterrupted read time on this getaway, if I want it, so I snagged a book yesterday . . . . a book, it turns out that I have already read. Ugh. Is this part of aging?

I have been wanting to watch the series Big Little Lies for a while now, but I was still finishing out some other shows that my husband and I had been watching, first. My husband seemed to have a lukewarm response to the idea that this should be our next series to watch. He is not a big fan of Meryl Streep. (I am.) So, when I saw the Big Little Lies book with Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon and Zoe Kravitz on the cover, I thought to myself, “Cha-ching!” I usually like books better than the movie or show versions that are based on the books, anyway. I thought to myself that I’ll just luxuriate and read to my heart’s content, with no interruptions, like kids or dogs wondering what is for dinner, or the doorbell ringing, reminding me of yet another package from Amazon to unpack and put away. Wonderful!

About 20 pages in, it dawned on me that I had already read the book. I turned to the copyright page. It said that Big Little Lies was published in 2014. That was only five years ago. My memory is getting that bad that I couldn’t remember that I had read a book that I read probably less than five years ago! Oh my.

I am going to continue to read the book. Obviously, I have forgotten a lot about it, although I vaguely remember the ending. I know who the guilty party is . . . . don’t worry, no spoilers. I even think that I still want to watch the show. By the time we get around to watching the series based on the book, I may have even forgotten that I have read the book . . . . twice. I suppose the big little lie that I am telling myself is that if I turn this all into a big joke and others can laugh along with it and relate to it, this aging thing won’t scare me . . . at all. Big little lie.

Boo

So, yesterday I stayed in one of those huge, old, rambly, Victorian historic register-type places. The minute I walked into the lobby I felt like I had entered the epitome of a haunted house. I kept waiting to step on to one of the cars of the Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride. My imagination started running rampant and my now free-roaming imagination was ravenous. So I fed it. I talked to hotel employees about “the house ghosts” which of course, there were many. I talked to one employee, the ancient elevator operator, who had worked at the hotel for 39 years, and while he was talking ghost stories, I kept questioning to myself whether perhaps, he was actually one of them.

As I sat by the pool, I lapped up all of the internet stories about the ghosts that inhabit this particular abode. There were pictures of ghost chasers sitting in the dark in trepidation, their eyes glowing green, as they waited for lights to flicker, or for glasses to mysteriously fall to the floor and break. There were tragic love stories that make ghost stories all of the more intriguing and beguiling. Several rooms in the hotel are booked way in advance of Halloween – the rooms that are known to have a particularly large amount of ghostly sightings. I giggled and glee-d over all of these fun stories as I watched families splash each other and everyone bustling all around, enjoying summer fun.

This was all fun and games during the light of day. But hadn’t I forgotten something? I am the world’s worst scared-y cat. I am as jumpy as a cricket. What the hell was I thinking feeding my mind with all of that gobbly-goop when I needed to get a good night’s sleep? In the middle of the night, I woke up, my heart pounding because I thought I heard the sounds of strange wind chimes. I started going through my memory files to see if any of the ghosts announced their presence with wind chimes. The idea that the sound was just exactly what it was, wind chimes, seemed sinister-ly impossible, in my fear-frozen mind. I started the count-down, praying for time to move quickly and to get me to the light of morning.

Today, I am headed to a more modern abode. Unless it was built on an ancient burial ground, I don’t figure it to be a ghost hunter’s paradise. One thing is for certain, I won’t be doing any research of that possibility, on the internet. I have learned my lesson and a major point of this trip is to get good rest.

Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win. - Stephen King

Getaway

I’m headed out early this morning. I am going on a short “getaway.” I was chatting with girlfriends about it, a couple of days ago. I like my destination. I haven’t been there since I was a kid, and I always like to explore new places. However, mostly, I am excited to get out of my element. I’m excited to step out of my own life and to get out of my own routine for a few days. I want to escape for a little bit. “That’s why they are called ‘getaways’,” my wise friend said.

Sometimes I feel guilty about admitting that I want to “get away” from my daily life to other people, and sometimes, I feel guilty admitting that fact, even to myself. It makes it sound like my life is bad and full of drudgery and that just isn’t the truth. All in all, I have a very fine, blessed life. In fact, many times when I am on a getaway, I find myself appreciating my life at home, all of the more. Often times, towards the end of a getaway, I start pining away for home. I see a family laughing together or someone walking their frisky dog and I want to be home with my kids and my pets.

Still, right now, I can’t wait to only have to think about what I am going to eat, at whatever time I want to eat. I like the idea of sleeping in (or not) to whatever time floats my boat, on any particular day. I like the idea of exploring shops, and museums and parks that are unfamiliar and intriguing to me, and not having to try to compromise with a large group of people with diverse interests and moods, as to where to go to next or what to do next. I like the idea of not having to stop whatever I am doing to let the dogs out, once again.

Truth be told, I need this refresher. It is good for me and it is good for my family. Sometimes a getaway is really just about getting-a-way-back-to-yourself. In that way, you have more of yourself to give, when you get back home.

Rainy Lullaby

It’s a rainy summer morning. I feel so grateful. We have needed some rain. It has been blazing hot and I have been moving around like a slug that is seared on to the ground. Rain is like everything else, not truly appreciated, until it has been absent for a while. This morning I am appreciating the rain. I am noticing its lovely steady sound, it’s pleasant, clean scent and the lovely droplets it is leaving on my thankful plants. I live in an area of the country where people come to vacation and they dread the idea of it raining when they are here. I have known that feeling, so I always feel a little bad when we get a stretch of rainy days, but this morning I don’t feel bad at all. I feel quenched. I feel saturated. I feel dewy. I feel refreshed. I feel cozy.

My husband just walked into the room, aggravated that he won’t be able to do his regular morning bike ride. My daughter is grumbling about her cancelled tennis lesson. I feel a little bad for them, but not too bad. I feel quenched. I feel saturated. I feel dewy. I feel refreshed. I feel cozy.

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. - Langston Hughes

Embrace The Suck



Happy Friday!!! Happy Favorite Things Friday!!! Dear friends and readers, thanks a million for supporting my blog! I love to wake up and to start writing and I really appreciate all of the Comments. You guys make my day!! But you can’t have a bad day on Friday, no matter what. It’s just not possible. New readers, on Fridays we keep it superficial here at Adulting- Second Half and we discuss about three products, ideas, songs, apps, etc. etc. that make life just a little more fun. Please share your favorites in the Comments section and check out all previous Friday posts for other great ideas! Without further ado . . . .

Batucada Jewelry – Just when you think that you have seen every style of jewelry known to man, you look into a store window and you see something entirely new and unique! Batucada jewelry is made of a light, rubbery material that is perfect for summer fun, sitting by the pool or sunning on the beach. It looks like a fun tattoo or a piece of stained glass sitting on your skin, whether you are wearing a necklace or a bracelet. Batucada jewelry (which is a Brazilian samba-type percussion rhythm, btw) is relatively inexpensive and beyond interesting. You will be wearing a conversation piece, for sure. The jewelry started in Paris, so make sure you that you go to their USA website, for ordering. (if you are one of my American readers)

Embrace The Suck – This is the Navy Seals’ motto. This is their cool way (because The Navy Seals are THE definition of cool) of saying “consciously decide to accept and maybe even appreciate that which is unavoidable, unpleasant and all-together scary.” I have been using this mantra with my kids as they head to their summer positions as camp counselors. That which we resist, persists. So the Seals say, stop resisting. Start embracing. It makes sense. We can’t all be Navy Seals, but we all CAN make an effort to Embrace The Suck. Go all in! Go Navy!

Darn Tough Socks Vermont – My family loves outdoor adventures. We love to hike. We have another vacation planned nearby to a huge national park this year and my husband has already purchased a box of these socks for us, as an early vacation present. Darn Tough Socks are made for all weather, they are meant to keep your feet cool in the summer and warm in the winter, they are known to stay in place, on your feet, all day and in their words, these socks are so durable that they are guaranteed for life. Darn Tough socks come in all sorts of fun colors and they do make the hiking experience that much more comfortable, in order to keep trudging along to adventures awaiting.

Oopsie-Boopsie

Today is my hair appointment day. My hair has become the coat (or hat, I guess) of many colors . . . and many textures. I’ve decided that my stylist is a genius. Every two months or so, I go to her, wanting the exact same look, yet every time I go to her, I feel like I am bringing her a different head of hair to work with. My grays are popping out like weeds these days. When I pull one out, six more arrive, the next day, in revenge. Lately I feel like my real hair is like a clearance, bargain wig. It looks like it is a mish-mash of whatever hair they had left to work with, all sewn together, trying to create a semblance of order, but failing miserably. I’m not brave enough to stop coloring, so I honestly have no idea what my natural hair looks like anymore. I haven’t seen it in years . . . . decades, actually. I’ve always loved my stylist, but the older I get, the more dependent on her, I’ve become. She is one of my lifelines. She is one of my “emergency numbers.” All of you middle-aged women understand this, I know. Tell your stylist your love him or her today. They truly are the wizards of our lifetime. They transform us into “us” at least five times a year, no matter what materials we bring them to work with and at the same time, pretend like is a piece of cake.

Ironies

After our recent renovation, my husband and I got extremely organized in our bedroom/bathroom. And, as per my annual summer request, my daughter got her bedroom/bathroom organized, as well. My son is still working on my request for bedroom neatness and organization. We can only hope.

The real kicker is, now my daughter and I, can’t find anything. I almost had a nervous breakdown looking for a designer watch my husband had purchased for me. I decided to whittle down all excess packaging, despite the fanciness of it all, so that I could get to the watch easily and it would take up less space. I mean the watch is very nice, but it’s not the Hope Diamond. I don’t want to have to spend 15 minutes opening all sorts of leather boxes and suede bags, jumping through laser mazes, and cracking codes, only to finally get to my watch and figure out that I am running 20 minutes late. I imagine if the watch had come in simpler packaging, we could have saved at least $100, but that is for a different blog. Anyway, I whittled down so much of the packaging, that I had forgotten where I put the watch. I started to worry that in my frenzied whittling, I had just pitched everything, including the watch. (Don’t worry, honey, I finally found the watch. It was in my “good” jewelry box. The watch was where it makes sense for it to be, but of course, I looked everywhere else for it, first.)

My daughter looked horrified the other morning, despite trying to keep an air of calm. She told me later that she couldn’t find important paperwork for her new volunteer position. She admitted that it took her two hours to find what she needed. “Where did you finally find it?!” I asked.

“In a folder, in the top drawer of my desk,” was her reply. “As I was looking for it, I thought to myself, I never should have cleaned up my room. I always knew where everything was, before the clean up.” Then she looked at me pointedly, clearly annoyed.

My son, her brother, hasn’t lost anything, so far, this summer. His keys are always under the gum wrappers, on the floor, in his room. Irony.