Finally, my peds got cured.

Yesterday I got my first pedicure in months.  We were so busy all summer with moving that fingernails and toenails fell by the wayside.

I took a “before” photo.  After I sent it from phone to computer and saw it enlarged I decided it’s too horrifying to include here.  Just trust me, my toes needed help.  I haven’t worn sandals since early May.  It was imperative to keep these dogs under wraps.

The Woodhouse  day spa just opened across the street. While walking Bronson in closed toe shoes (Me not him.  He goes barefoot) we stuck our heads in to see if anyone would have time to take on my sad tootsies.

The answer was “sure”.  I took Bdog home again, dug out a pair of sandals, and headed back to the spa.  The place is quite elegant.  They recently had a splashy open house complete with piles of appetizers and oceans of wine.  Many people from our building were there.  We were all gifted with a card for ten percent off all future products and services.

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My pedicurist was named Meimee.  While she struggled to restore order to foot chaos, I sat and wrote several pages in the red Mead notebook I take to writer’s workshop.

My morning pages–as suggested by Julia Cameron– have their own Mead notebooks. I’m on my third.  The first was aqua.  The second was yellow.  The present black one is nearly full.  Next will be kelly green, then purple and then I get to buy six more spiral notebooks on Amazon Prime.  Yay! The little things in life, eh?

I almost didn’t bother going to class.  Saturday Market was yesterday.  We went early to get the farm fresh eggs before they sold out. If you haven’t purchased extremely fresh eggs I recommend it.  They are divine.

The class began at 10.  Did I really want to bother showering and manifesting a face in only half an hour?

Jim reminded me how much I’d relished it the week before, so I pulled my act together, put on my closed toe shoes and went to school.

I was a couple of minutes late.  The group was asking each other questions to sort out what they had in common.  Supposedly this is a helpful exercise in character building.  Bob-group leader and all together fun guy-asked me several things.  First, “Where are you from?”

“Delaware.”  No common ground there.

Second, “What’s your favorite food?”

“Cream Cheese.  Out of the package.  Eaten with a fork.” Everyone laughed.  Weird since cream cheese really is feast from the God’s.  I never did hear Bob’s favorite food.  But I noticed he ate a Starbucks cookie during the workshop.

At the end of class we did a ten minute timed writing.  Our hands were not to pause.  It was freeing.  I decided to repeat the exercise and continue writing all through my pedicure.  Which, given the miserable state of my feet, would last more than a mere ten minutes.

As I wrote and Meimee worked I spent the time manifesting the three million dollar lottery win I have planned.  I’ve budgeted $16 a month for tickets, invested as follows: One two dollar ticket weekly on Mega Millions and two one dollar tickets weekly on Florida lotto.

So far I’ve only played twice.

I didn’t win last week.  Which was good because Florida Lotto was only up to 2.5 million. It is rolled over to 3 million now. I’m buying all the tickets from mom and pop places so they’ll win money too.  Ain’t I generous?

I have my winnings earmarked.  Fifty percent will go to two causes near and dear to  my heart.  Another percentage, not yet decided, will be pledged to NPR.  The lion’s share will go to our four kids.  The remainder will be for us.

I know Jim will want to use lots of it for travel.  Since I loathe flying we’ll splurge on Business or First class tickets.

I will invest a bunch in buying stamps and thick fancy stationery.  I’ll purchase a self driving car so when we take our long road trips I don’t have to gasp and stomp on the imaginary brake when Jim follows too closely.

Another thing I’ll do is eat all the cream cheese I want then go get liposuction to remove the inevitable fat wads.  I can’t get a facelift because my daughter, the critical care nurse, tells me at my “advanced age” (ouch) the time spent under anesthesia would be dangerous.

Meimee finally inquired what I was writing.  I told her I have a blog and was working out what to blog about next.  She shared that she’s writing her life story.

I then put down my pen and asked her to share that with me. I learned her grandfather was a General in the Chinese Army during the revolution.  When China became communist he moved his family to Taiwan.  Once Meimee was three Grandpa and Grandma took her to America.  Mom stayed behind.  Meimee goes to Taiwan every few years to see her.

I found myself wishing my hearing was better.  Between the bubbling water and her slight accent I missed a few answers to my questions.  Everyone has a book in them, don’t they?

Here is what Meimee created!

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Yes, I have the tiniest toenails on the planet.

Now, I have to go manifest a crab boil at Lynda and Rusty’s house.  She recently  had us for one and it was delicious.  She said, “Don’t tell Mama we did this while she was out of town. She will be mad to have missed it.”

Erika, aka Mama, was picking apples in Connecticut.  Naturally, I sent Mama a postcard and tattled.  Now Mama is recovering from a knee replacement at Lynda’s home.  I’m pretty certain a crab boil would be exactly what the doctor would order for  speedy recovery.  And Lynda, I’ll supply the crab, shrimp, sausage.  You just cook it all up in a pan.  Yay for manifesting great things!

Now all you good and gentle readers–go forth and prosper.

Writing Workshop

I took my first writing class yesterday.  It was called Writing for Self Discovery.  I felt so shy.  I was nervous to read my stuff out loud.  I was reminded about a book I had read earlier–Stephen Pressfield’s The War of Art.  In it, he talks about the difference between an amateur and a professional.   An amateur gives in to fear.  A pro pushes through the fear.

I have to turn professional.  I have to keep putting one word in front of another, day after day, year after year.  I’m almost sixty-seven.  I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a kid.  But fear of writing badly stopped me.

Of course, my early writing will be bad.  My early paintings were downright embarrassing.  I still shudder when I recall the barn Lynn commissioned me to paint for her parents.  But I kept painting.  And the muscles got stronger.

I will keep writing and expect to eventually get better.

The writing teacher, Maureen, writes poetry.  I don’t  “get” poetry.  I think I’m too literal for poetry.  If I were a poet I’d have to make all the lines rhyme.

Every morning I force myself to write three pages, as recommended by Julia Cameron in her book, The Artist’s Way.  Some days I can barely think of anything to write.  So I just start rhyming.  Don’t do it.  It becomes a sickness.  I have a friend, Herb, who used to read signs backwards.  He warned me NEVER to start doing that or I wouldn’t be able to stop.  I texted him about my rhyming sickness.

Here is what he texted back to me.

“I thguoht id ekat eht emit ot ekam siht egassem emyhr.  I deen ot ees a esrun ot kaerb em fo siht esruc.”

Three pages, with a fountain pen.  When I begin to write about all the things I’m grateful for the writing flows and I can go on for even four or more pages.

Blah blah blahing away.  I never go back to reread my morning pages.  I started this practice in June.  At that time we were still living in our Palm Harbor home.  Then the summer of condo happened.  Now we live in a high rise.  I can walk to the library.  And to my writing classes.

I haven’t felt like sewing at all since the move.  I will keep my wool for a year.  If I haven’t begun making purses again by next September, the bins get taken out of the closet.  We need all the storage space we can find.Screen Shot 2018-10-01 at 2.08.51 PM.png

Somewhat related blog posts:

The Artist’s Way

Adventures with wool continue.

I manifested a condominium​!