Random Thoughts

Some days I don’t have anything particularly engaging or insightful to share with you, and today’s one of them.  So absent something worth writing more than a few lines about, here’s what’s going on in my brain (and as you’ll see, it isn’t much).

1.       I love online shopping – even when the stuff arrives and it doesn’t fit.  I’ve had really good luck finding summery tops and dresses, etc., online and on sale for our spring break trip to St. Lucia.  My search for the perfect anything seems more focused when I do it online…and I seem to spend less money, too.  Go figure.

2.       It’s a beautiful, sunny day in the neighborhood – and it’s also f-ing cold.  Enough!!

3.     True Detective on HBO is truly dark (I mean, really dark) and utterly compulsive.  Sunday night is the last episode, but binge watching is available through On Demand for those who have Fios service.  Highly recommended.

4.      I’m going to “Let It Go” and see Frozen now that it’s on On Demand, too.  I wanted to see it in the theatre but my daughter didn’t want me to go with her – too embarrassing – for her, not me.  Harrumph. Who said a 61-year-old gal doesn’t need a Disney princess moviegoing experience from time to time?

5.     Even though we have an accountant whom we’ve worked with for some time now, I hate income taxes.  I hate collecting the paperwork, I hate organizing the paperwork, I hate bugging my husband to give me his paperwork, and I hate putting the paperwork in folders and taking it to the accountant.  I especially hate it when he tells me how much we owe.

6.       As I journey through the process of detoxifying my body of all evil in the realm of food and drink, I am discovering that vegan cooking can be very, very tasty.  And fun to make, which is much appreciated at the end of a long day.

7.       I’m a lucky woman.  And my husband is a lucky man.

8.       My daughter is definitely a teenager now.  And although she doesn't think so most of the time, she’s lucky, too.

9.       Nope.  Nothing much else on my mind.

See you next week, if not sooner.

Detoxify Me!

I’ve struggled with weight and poor eating habits for as long as I can remember.  For example, I think I was in my 20s before I could eat a vegetable other than corn (and like it) and I’ve never been much of a fruit eater because I find different textures in my mouth to be….challenging, what can I say?
It is true that as I’ve grown older – and developed a love of cooking – that my palette has matured but there are still things that are just big no-no’s for me, like kale and turnips and strawberries...and kiwi…and….So, I’ve never been a big fruit or veggie girl.  But bread?  And pasta?  And cake?  And ice cream?
Yum.

So garbage in, garbage out, I say, and lately, I’ve been feeling a little bit garbage-y. 

A friend suggested that I join her in a virtual “detox” group and I quickly agreed, then thought about it. I’d have to drink green stuff.  Once or twice a day.  And eat a lot of salad (not that I dislike salad….but it isn’t, you know, mashed potatoes).  And not drink wine. Ugh.  FOR 28 DAYS!!

But here’s the good news.  You supposedly get your energy back, your skin brightens up a bit, the sluggishness and fatigue is kaput and maybe you lose some weight too.  And that’s just on the outside!  On the inside, the bad bacteria in your intestines (those sugar sadists!) are banished to oblivion, and your kidneys produce more alkaline (good) and less acidic (bad) stuff, while blood sugar issues stabilize, etc., etc.

Now that’s all good.

Even though I committed to doing this, I knew that I could always have a change of heart.  But I wanted to give it a good shake…I mean, smoothie…first.

On Sunday I bought all my stuff for week one, which is essentially a veggie-fruit energy drink, salad, beans, soup and nuts week.  Period.

Yesterday was D-Day:  Drink the drink day.

Into the juicer went the kale (god, I even hate the way it LOOKS), cucumber, lemon, apple, parsley, ginger, celery…and voila!  Green juice.

A sympathetic friend, knowing of my texture issues, suggested a big fat straw as the food delivery device of choice so my lips wouldn't be compromised by green foamy stuff.  I poured the juice that was soooo good for me, plopped the straw in the glass, and closed my eyes.  A big, big first drink through the straw.  I swallowed and evaluated my ability to continue.

Not bad.  Really.

Now it’s not like drinking a vanilla milkshake, or a marguarita for that matter, but the green stuff was actually flavorful.  I realized I had no excuses to not try to forge ahead for now (except for the wine thing.  We’ll see about that).

And here I am.  Day 2 and 26 to go.

60 Degrees of Separation

Goodbye snow, hello sun:  It’s supposed to be 60+ degrees in Washington tomorrow.

I can’t speak for the rest of you, naturally, but for me, this warm-up isn’t coming a moment too soon.  I’ve had it with winter.  I’m tired of being on the lookout for black ice, or jumping over rivulets of snowmelt, or walking the dog in the road because the sidewalks are covered in more ice than concrete.

I’m tired and often crabby, I have to tell you, because I’m not spending much if any time out-of-doors, which is not as our maker intended, even though my body craves its winter cocoon of house and home, devoid of people other than those who must accept me under any conditions, including seasonal effect disorder and its corresponding ill-humor.

So what am I planning to do with my 60 degree day tomorrow?

Well, for starters, I have the school carpool in the early morning, followed by errands to the dry cleaner, gas station and Starbucks.  After a quick email check, I’ll likely go off in search of a bat mitzvah present for my daughter’s friend, and then I’m off to lunch with a retired colleague, a former colleague and a current colleague.  When that’s done I’ll head home, walk and feed the dog, do an email check, push a load of laundry into the washer, organize dinner…and it will likely be close to 4, at which time my daughter gets home from school and maybe, just maybe, after I listen to her complain about what I’m going to make for dinner, I will sit outside in front of my home on a small bench and drink a glass of wine while I’m drinking in the remains of the sun and the warmth of the day.

And in those few moments in the late February sun, I’ll dream of a small Caribbean island that awaits my family unit at the end of March, and smile.  So long, winter.

Binge TV and Me

My husband and I spent last evening as we have  the previous four, bingeing on Netflix’s addictive House of Cards, Season 2.

I live in D.C. , with more than a few years of flirting on the margins of politics for work.  Nothing about the series – set in a sinister capital city that looks terrifyingly beautiful at night, filled with pathological politicos and their flaks and lackeys clogging the halls of power – is even remotely accurate (unless, of course, you’re talking about Eric Cantor or Ted Cruz).  

What I love, love, love about this series is the smarmy comic charm of the thoroughly evil Frank Underwood, played by Kevin Spacey, and his Lady Macbeth, Claire, brought to chilling life by Robyn Wright.  The former Mrs. Sean Penn really reasserts her acting chops in the series and deserves every award in the book for her portrayal.  And as for Kevin Spacey – his Faustian vice president is one for the ages.

I’m not going to spoil this season’s developments, delicious as they are. But candidly, it’s been worth missing some of the Olympics for the past few days.

Which leads me to the Olympics.  Maybe it’s Sochi, maybe it’s the hype, or maybe it’s the amazing bad taste demonstrated by an NBC commentator’s cruel, tabloid-style interview of Bode Miller a few days ago, but I’m kind of done with this year’s winter spectacle.  Except for figure skating, of course.  I can’t miss the figure skating.   As NBC skating commentator Johnnie Weir notes, figure skating is drama.

And that takes me right back to the new golden age of television. Boy do I love watching TV again!  Whether it’s Homeland or Shameless or True Detective or Episodes…the adults have taken over the asylum by opening its doors, changing the rules and delivering against changing demographics and desires of people with the technology tools to entertain themselves differently.  Hooray for the disrupters like Netflix , HBO and Showtime and the amazing burst of creative energy that explodes nearly every evening now from our PDAs, tablets, phones or big screen TVs. 

Coming soon:  Season 2 of Orange is the New Black.  If you haven’t seen Season 1 yet, you should.  Prepare for your mind to be blown.

 

 

Shirley

Yes, it’s true – I wanted to be Shirley Temple.

Despite my wavy-to-straight brown hair, brown eyes and dimple-less cheeks, I thought Shirley and I had a lot in common.  I was cute (sort of), could sing a little (a voice only a mother could love), and loved to tap dance and act up a storm at the age of 5 (overripe imagination). 

My mother and father encouraged my fantasy obsession with the littlest movie star by purchasing a record album of Shirley’s greatest hits; when the record went on the turntable,  I strapped on my black patent leather shoes and clickety-clakked my little heart out while singing along with Shirley at the top of my lungs.

I developed my early love of movies watching Shirley on our small black and white television in the afternoons, where her films seemed to be in constant broadcast rotation.  My  favorites?  Little Miss Marker , Captain January, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, The Little Princess and, of course…Heidi, the ultimate Shirley saga:   Goat Peter, horrible Aunt Didi, poor crippled Clara, that wacky organ grinder’s monkey and the aptly named Fraulein Rottenmeier made me yell, laugh and cry along with Heidi.  When she screamed for her grandfather to rescue her -- Grandfather! Grandfather!!!  -- well, that was the ultimate in riveting drama for a little girl.

Life happens to all of us, though.  Shirley Temple grew into Shirley Temple Black, distinguished public servant, diplomat and Republican (nobody's perfect).  I grew up (happily!) to become Mrs. Sedd – and though I never did learn how to properly tap dance, it hasn’t stopped me from “tap dancing” through career stumbles and the occasional setback through the years.    If I have demonstrated any pluck from time to time, perhaps it's due in part to the powerful impression made by the confident little girl I adored in my childhood.  Thank you for that Shirley Temple, and for all the joy you’ve given to generations of children for decades, including my own daughter.

Baby, take a bow.  Shirley Temple, rest in peace.

Lennon

As the 50^th anniversary reminiscences of the Beatles’ first visit to the U.S. wind down, I’d like to give a special nod to the wondrous gifts of John Lennon.

In February 1964, I was 11 and “I love Paul” was scrawled across the mirror in my bedroom.  On the walls, a patchwork quilt of Beatle pictures – with a heavy emphasis on Sir Paul – took up every inch of real estate.  Like other young girls my age, I got lost in the romance of the music as I played the records over and over and over again – a habit that would last well into my middle age, in fact. (And still does.)

Even today, I continue to love Paul’s charm, the remarkable resilience in his voice, and his amazing gift with melody.  But when I think of the Beatles, I think most of John Lennon.

Tell Me Why.  Baby It’s You. Twist and Shout.  I’m a Loser.  Help.   You’re Going to Lose that Girl.  In My Life.  Girl.  Tomorrow Never Comes.  A Day in the Life.  Happiness is a Warm Gun.  Revolution.  Across the Universe. 

Stop me before I swoon.    

You can hear the sex, swagger and wit in Lennon’s voice.  There’s a weariness, wariness and sadness too.  My husband said it best as we watched a Beatles retrospective this weekend:  His is the voice of rock and roll.

For the past week or so, I’ve been a bit quiet on the blogging front.  As I sat down this morning, determined to write, I thought of Lennon’s lyric from “Good Morning”:  I’ve got nothing to say but it’s ok.

That’s how I felt until just now.  Because when one considers the artistry, impact and charisma of the late John Lennon, there’s plenty to say.