I have a million things to write about, but I’m way too tired to do so.

In brief: Gym, Kinkos, Mongolian bbq, Got lost in Dallas, Farmers Market, Avocados, Sleep.

Especially sleep.

The problem with having dogs is that, while they do provide a reason to go for a walk every day, you can’t always drag them to the park and then ignore them while you sit on a bench, such as the one pictured below, and read.

Click for larger image

And lately every time we’re in the park, that’s all I want to do: sit and read and sip water. I could, of course, bring a book into my back yard, but, my back yard doesn’t have tall broad-leaf trees (it has red-ears and ivy, but those aren’t the same).

Late in the afternoon, I can hear the laughter of the kids in the playground (the house that shares our back fence faces the park, so while it’s technically around the corner, it’s also one house away.) I find the park to be flawed, because there are no swings, but the kids don’t seem to mind, since they have this climbing/sliding thing:

Click for larger image.

For that matter, the dogs don’t mind either, they’re happy to be around so many sniffable trees, and have broad expanses of grass to race across.

Of course, I could leave the dogs at home, but, I ask you, how could anyone resist a face like this?

Click for larger image.

Just some quick updates.

The only really remarkable thing that happened today was that the loan I’ve been fighting for all week finally funded. I’m dreading writing the thank you note to the client, because, frankly, he’s been an ass.

Walking into the bathroom this morning, I stepped the wrong way onto the towel that was temporarily acting as a bathmat (the actual mats were in the wash), it went sliding across the slippery ceramic tile floor, taking me with it, and I landed rather unprettily on my tail bone, which still hurts.

On our walk today, we taunted the cement poodle on the corner, well Cleo did, which was fine, actually, since she got all the barking out before we encountered the woman crawling around her lawn taking pictures of her flowers.

I’ve got nothing interesting to say tonight. My head is muzzy and my mood is fractured. I want to write letters and sip tea, but I can’t decide whom to write, and boiling water seems taxing just now. Such a mood.

And yet, despite this total lack of focus or will, I’ve added a new album’s worth of music to my Zen player and my harddrive. While searching for a second version of the song “Hallelujah,” so that I could compare them (for the record, this is a song that was used in an episode of The West Wing, as well as in Shrek though it wasn’t the same artist who performed them, I stumbled across a third version, by k.d. lang.

I’ve never been a particular fan of k.d. lang – her lack of capitalization annoys me – but I really liked the way she did the song – hearing it sung by a woman changed the dimension of the tune, completely – so I downloaded the rest of the album, and found it quite enjoyable, though, it should be noted that the album is almost all covers, and the musical accompaniment is really understated.

New sounds almost make the muzziness not so bad :)

I heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord,
But you don’t really care for music, do ya?
It goes like this:
The fourth, the fifth,
The minor fall, the major lift,
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah

Inspired by conversations over IM, I’m suddenly lost in a sea of remembered sounds: the ocean at night, with it’s calming rhythm, the chirping of crickets, the screetching of stray cats out on the prowl, the rustling of wind through the trees.

The last isn’t remembered, though, but wafting in through my bedroom window, and combined with the soft chirruping of birds at roost (and something that sounds distinctly mammalian – could we have bats? Is it a possum? – the musical tinkling of the wind chimes I bought at the Botanic Gardens on Sunday.

I’ve been paying more attention to sounds and colors and flavors this week, as I’ve attempted to figure out why I’m suddenly drawn to pink, a color I’ve long-hated. Am I influenced by the fact that this color is evident in every storefront, or am I incorporating happy childhood memories of being a five-year-old ballerina in pink tights and pink ballet slippers, learning how to do awkward swan curtseys? This attraction has influenced every aspect of my life, from bath bubbles to workout wear, from wrist watches to pink drinks – and not merely the cosmopolitans and cape codders I’ve always loved, either – raspberry nonfat mochas have replaced caramel macchiatos as my caffeinated beverage of choice, most days.

And then there are the flavors. Today I indulged myself by cooking a mess of deep green spinach, and stirring it into a garlicky, cream-cheesy omelette. And it was good. I love spinach – as vegetables go it’s dark and earthy, and so versatile – steamed, it’s a side dish, rinsed, it’s a salad – cover pastry crust with it, add slices of roma tomatoes, and fresh onion, sprinkle grated gruyere over the whole thing, and bake for a few minutes, and you’ve got an elegant lunch pizza that partners well with a glass of chilled white wine and a bunch of grapes.

I love lunches like that, and had I been thinking, I’d have taken mine outside, because today was balmy and beautiful, despite the hint of crispness below the sunny warmth. If a day could have a flavor, today tasted of limes and salt, tequila and triple sec, drunk while sitting on a breezy outdoor patio, and while wearing a white cotton sweater.

But I didn’t think about it, and got caught up in work and fighting with lenders, instead of going out to enjoy the day.

Colors, flavors, sounds.
Do they still exist if you don’t venture out to enjoy them?

It’s not technically spring, but I felt distinctly springy today, as Fuzzy and I wandered through the Japanese Garden, part of the Fort Worth Botanic Garden, a place I’d previously only known through Rana’s pictures.

Click thumbnail for larger image.

It was a great day for a stroll really. It was cool and misty, and the grey light made the green of the trees and grass seem so much more intense.

In keeping with the theme of green-ness, I wore green eyeshadow today, just right above the lashline, after seeing it in a magazine during my salon visit. Pastel green totally makes brown eyes POP.

Also, I tried something recommended by Chad the Master Stylist, which he said his wife does: I used Aveda’s Rosemary-Mint hair conditioner as shaving cream for my legs. It was bliss. Shaving bliss. No nicks, no scratches, and it cools and moisturizes better than lotion.

One Yellow Thing
The post-garden part of the day was lovely also. A lengthy chat over coffee with Rana and her friend Missy J, a toasty, tasty turkey sub at Quiznos, and the acquisition of some wonderfully light and refreshing lemon verbena body lotion and shower gel from Provence, via Bath and Body Works. (events not necessarily listed in chronological order)

And some Pink Stuff to finish it off
While in Bath and Body Works, I also bought the item I actually went in the place to find – a deliciously pink jar of cherry-scented bath bubbles. The bubble mix is the consistency of honey, the bubbles, once…bubbled?…are silky and lightly scented (I know this because they ran a warm sink of them for me to test.)

And, in a strange fit of ongoing pinkness, I took home a lovely faux-leather tote, in jazzy pink. (I don’t know where this new attraction to pink has come from, but I’m enjoying it immensely.)

Green, Yellow, Pink.
Spring colors.

Rah!

I love spa days. I love having my hair washed by someone else. I’ve often said that if I were rich, my biggest indulgence would be to have someone wash my hair for me every day.

As much as I love spending time in salons and spas, though, I dread the first visit to a new place. What if they don’t have the same colors, or you just don’t click? What if you don’t like the vibe of the person who does massage, or shampoo, or whatever?

I’m pleased to report that today’s visit to Worx Salon, an Aveda concept salon in Cedar Hill, met, and exceeded my expectations.

My stylist today was Chad, a cherubic man who is probably forty-five or fifty. He used to own an Aveda salon in Arlington, but they closed it after his wife went through life-threatening medical stuff. When he was able to return to work full time (because she’d recuperated enough), he found he didn’t want to run a business, just wanted to cut hair. So now he works for another Aveda salon – the one where I went – in Cedar Hill.

My time at the salon began with a tour. The store front is typical Aveda, the spa and salon sections are much larger than the stores in California. I was offered tea, coffee, or water, about ten times during the tour, the five minutes it took me to shed my sweater and put on a protective wrap-style jacket, and the five minutes beyond that, spent on a comfy cushion in the waiting area.

While they were NOT able to coordinate with my salon in San Jose, for the exact color blend, Chad and BeBe (one of the co-owners, a feisty Hispanic woman with a ship’s bow-bosom) listened to my description, and came up with a color I liked. It’s a rich warm brown, with just enough red in it to make it sort of chestnut, or bittersweet chocolate, but NOT so much red as to be technically auburn. I quite like it. It plays nicely with the olive undertones in my skin.

As with all Aveda visits, the cut and color appointment included a free makeover session (in which I purchased a new lipstick), and a hand massage. Unlike other Aveda visits, it also included a ten minute chair massage, and a glass of red wine to sip while the color set. (Note to self: Sipping red wine on an empty stomach is a Very Bad Idea.)

Chad was really attentive to my requests about the cut, and went to work with the razors, shaping my hair so that there are subtle blended layers, but the ends are still blunt, creating movement without making it look messy or over-styled. I can wash my hair and let it air dry, or I can blow it out, and either way, it works. Yay, Chad!

There’s a salon in Arlington that was recommended to me – not Aveda-concept – but when I called, they said they didn’t use Aveda color, so I’ll be going there for other services, but likely not hair. The Aveda colors are so much healthier (and better-smelling) than ANY other, that I just can’t deal with any other brand.

Keeping with the self-indulgent theme, I hit Barnes and Noble after my appointment, where I bought a dark chocolate easter bunny to send to Mom, a bunch of writing magazines for me, and a small birthday present for my friend Jeremy, that will not arrive on time, but, whatever. Fuzzy met me there, and we crossed the parking lot to eat at RockFish. There was a half hour wait, but they have an outdoor fireplace and the night was balmy, so we sat near the fire and chatted. We weren’t at all upset about the wait, or about the length of time it took for them to deliver our appetizer, but the manager felt bad, so it was free. Can’t really complain about that.

It’s about 1:30 AM now, and sleep is demanding my attention, which means this entry is officially over.

So, I’ve reverted to the very cool Sunflower layout that Sarah did for me about a year ago. It’s a Georgia O’Keefe sunflower, and matches the box of stationery I have. It’s good to coordinate. Sometimes.

And now it becomes obvious why I will never get a tattoo: I can’t commit to a blog layout, so how could I ever commit to permanent art on my body?

This is an email message I just sent to my aunt, but it felt like a blog entry, and so it has become one.
It’s a day of soft grey light, and cool, slightly damp, but not really rainy air. A day when Nature gives you a facial and you smile into the mist and feel rejuvenated. I am sitting here on the bed, typing by the light filtering in through the partially-closed blinds. It is nearly noon, but we were up til five, puttering in our respective computer rooms, and so we’ve slept in.

Next to me, Zorro and Cleo are curled up in one furry ball. By day, they bicker, but when they are sleepy, they become best friends, sharing warmth, and looking insanely cute. It is my firm belief that the cuteness is a strategic ploy to get me not to move them. So far, it has worked.

Beyond the dogs is the Incredible Sleeping Fuzzy. He snores sometimes, and I make him roll onto his side, which stops it, of course. We have no firm plans today, except that I have a salon appointment at five. It’s been ages since I’ve had my hair cut and colored, and I’m looking forward to this with far more anticipation than I should have, considering I have no idea HOW I want it cut. (The color is a blend called “hershey bar” and I had my old salon send the formula to the new one.)

I spent part of last night in a marathon session of matching cd’s with their cases, and putting them on my spiffy new cd rack. Call it not-quite-spring cleaning, or just a fit of organization, but it’s nice having them all alphabetized. I even found some stuff I’d forgotten I had, and it was like getting a present. A musical present. Perhaps I should have these tidying spurts more often.

There’s a dog barking outside, and Cleo has an answering growl percolating in her throat. If I touch her back, run my fingers through her fur, and tell her it’s okay, she’ll go back to sleep. I love how predictable she can be. (Zorro ignores the other dogs in the neigbhorhood, espousing the philosophy, “If I can’t see you, you don’t exist.”)

I promised an accurate list of the books I’m reading:
– Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art, by Madeleine L’Engle and Nichole Nordeman
– Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, by Kathleen Norris
– Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis

The latter was suggested to me by Father Bob, the others looked interesting, and I generally like what both L’Engle and Norris have to say. I’ll let you know what I think as I finish each one.

The dogs are beginning to stir, and I’m hearing the shower call my name, so I shall end this now.

May your Saturday be as peaceful and pleasant as mine.

Several years ago, when we lived in South Dakota, Fuzzy and I spent a weekend hanging out in Minneapolis. We saw an ice show, ate sushi at a place called Origami, and hung out with a friend at the only branch of our favorite restaurant that exists (as far as I know) east of the Rockies. Or even east of the Sierras, for that matter.

On a sunny summer Sunday afternoon, we drove through Minneapolis, and, looking for a cafe, stumbled upon an art musem instead. I don’t remember which museum, only that there was a jazz band playing in a round room, and there was an exhibit of jade pieces. Fuzzy was enthralled by a three dimensional mural (there’s a name for this but it eludes me, just now) that included tigers, miniaturized but poised to defend or attack, depending on the viewer’s perspective. The sculpture that I was most drawn to was a jade representation of the Virgin Mary, with a translucent jade veil. At least, I think it was Mary, it’s quite possible I’m remembering it wrong. All I am certain of is that I was transfixed, and stared at it for what felt like hours, because it just touched me, in that inexplicable way that art has, of making itself felt.

Counterpoint to the beauty and serenity of those jade pieces: the vast majority of my neighbors sport cement statuary in their front yards. Some of the pieces are subtle: a rabbit tucked in the flower garden, some nearly-generic saint tucked in a niche, a bird bath, a fountain. These, I find whimisical. Some of my neighbors, however, fail to realize that while our houses are “Texas sized,” with the smallest being 1550 square feet (for sale on the end of my street, actually, 3/2.5 $116k), they are, by and large (mostly large), ordinary houses, not mansions, and so, when I notice the folks with lions flanking their walkways, I have to laugh. Especially since said stone beasties are generally out of proportion to the house they’re guarding – after all, no one here lives in the New York Public Library.

And then there are the folks with the cement poodle. I can’d decide if this is merely whimsical (like the rabbits and birdbaths) or absurd, because it’s life-sized, and sits (literally) on their lawn, facing out onto the corner. Mostly, I guess, I’m amused by my dog’s reaction to it. Zorro doesn’t ever notice it, but Cleo thinks it’s there to taunt her, and whenever our walks take us past this house, she goes into Alert mode, her tail curling over her back, her cheeks puffing out, a low growl simmering in her throat.

“Cleo,” I tell her. “It’s just a statue.”

But she never believes me.