You really are as you act.

The older I get, the more I pay attention to the physicality of life. Maybe it's because, with age, I'm finding I have to be more active in order to stay more active. That circuitous statement makes perfect sense, right? What I mean is, I want to continue to be active, but I just can't get up and "do" like I used to. I have to work on it. I have to work to keep my body able and willing. I didn't have to do this in my 20's and 30's.

Now that I'm in my 40's, things come harder. Hard work makes me hurt, and it takes a lot longer to recover. All I have to do is look at certain food and I gain weight. So, I'm making changes. I make a point to exercise more; eat better; be "in" the moment and ask if this is doing me good or bad.

It's not easy. My daily schedule is a mess and I can't always carve out time for major workouts. I'm responsible for more than just me and after taking care of them, working all day, taking care of the house, I'm exhausted. My husband laughs at me because, more often than not, I'm upstairs in bed by 9:30. I didn't used to listen to my body when I get tired. Now, I have no choice.

But the whole point of this is a thought I had months ago. That is, you are how you act. If you act with purpose  - moving, exercising, taking care of yourself - your body reacts positively and allows you to keep doing the things you love. If you don't keep moving and taking care of yourself, your body mounts a mutiny and slowly betrays you, not allowing you to do things.

Case in point, two women, both of whom I know very well. One is 63, the other, 70. Yes, there's a bit of an age difference, but I don't think it's too much to prevent comparison. Both were very active in their younger years, but time has really changed that.

The younger of the two is my own mother. She's a real go-getter. She's always been very conscious of her health and lifestyle. In part, due to having two sisters who are both overweight and one of them has some serious health issues. She eats very well, even though she doesn't deprive herself of treats. She eats with balance. She makes a point to keep moving, even though she has arthritis and osteoporosis. And she does it every single day. Living like this, she's able to continue doing the things she loves. Like taking an annual summer vacation with the grandchildren that would wear me out. She truly loves life.

The other lady is not in the same boat. Even when I met her years ago, when she was close to the age I am now, she was not what I'd call an active woman (though I learned she was very active in her 20's and 30's). Yes, she was on her feet and moved a lot, and her job did require physicality. But outside of work, she wasn't really active at all. And over the course of time, that never changed. Now, she's gained weight, doesn't have a lot of stamina, and declares that "she's too old" to do this or that.

Really? Why does age have to have anything to do with it? Why do people believe a simple number precludes them from "doing?" I'd like to see someone tell my mom she's too old for multi-state road trips, going to the beach, the Grand Canyon, or Disneyland. She'd tell you what to do with that kind of attitude. But she'd do it nicely, without swearing, because she's nice like that.

That's NOT the life I want in 20 years. I want to be doing the things I do right now. I don't want to be a grey haired lady content to sit in front of the tv or out on the porch. I want to have a long and vital life, until the day death takes me kicking and screaming.

I've been MIA

I haven't even thought about, much less looked at, my blog in over a week. I've been just a wee bit busy. And when the busy stopped, the headache began.

First, my mom and her two cats, Abby and Cuddles, arrived last Friday. This is her first visit since last October and she's long overdue. She usually makes her first trip of the year during our spring break, but couldn't due to work obligations.

Abby, listening to the meadowlarks.

The weekend was a whirlwind of activity and people. My brother lives just down the street from me. His girlfriend and three of her kids came down for the weekend. Since we're an easy walk down the street, the kids, all five of them, made numerous trips back and forth. Meals for the crowd are always at my house and are a production! Saturday night we did homemade pizza and salads, Sunday brunch was homemade waffles, bacon, and tons of fruit. And Sunday dinner was tater tot hotdish and salads. Sit down meals for 13 are so much fun, and so exhausting!

Monday, grandma and three of the kids left for their vacation trip. Disneyland!! She's a brave woman! LOL

And they're off!

I celebrated Monday by taking a much-needed three hour nap. 

By Wednesday, I had my feet back under me. My neighbor talked me into going to a Zumba class with her. I told her I'd be there with bells on, which was a lie because I don't have bells. But now I do. Not only did I survive the 60 minute work-out, I had so much fun, I'm planning on making it a regular thing. 

My Zumba bells!!

The rest of the week hasn't been so great. Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday had me fighting headaches. Could be hormones, could be the wildly blooming Russian olive trees, could be the relentless wind that insists on blowing. I just know I'm tired of them. And I'm tired of popping pills to try to get the booming to stop. 

I'm planning on enjoying the weekend before the rush of people returns on Monday. It's time to garden and work on the closet projects. And do the laundry. Always the laundry. 

Weekend Frat Party

OK, it's not a true frat party. There are no kegs. There are no drunk young women taking half their clothes off. At least not the last time I checked. I haven't heard a single, "Dude, watch this!" There isn't any loud and raucous music, either. Which translates into no visits from the cops.

Maybe it really doesn't seem like a frat party at all...

In reality, it has been deemed "Work on your vehicle in our garage weekend." Three vehicles, so far.

And what I do have is a house full of young men. Really, there's only two extra, but around here, that's a houseful. And what is it about the word 'houseful' that looks wrong on so many levels?

Spelling lessons later, perhaps.

What it means is someone is always thirsty, always hungry, and always in the bathroom. It makes life interesting for someone like me who has to pee every 30 seconds or so. Who would rather not have to cook on the weekends. Who NEVER keeps anything but water, iced tea, and milk as available beverages. I do have kool-aid, but they have to mix it themselves, which is clearly too much like work. I also have a lot of wine, but they are all underage and better not touch my stash of vino! They're more of a beer bunch, anyway.

It also means that after a long day of grease, banged up knuckles, and foul language, the bodies tend to fall wherever they come to a stop. Including the extra dog who is clearly comfortable with his slobbery mouth on a couch pillow thrown to the floor.



Nearly every clean blanket is now contaminated with manchild dirt and cat hair. Including the large one that must be washed at the laundromat. There are shirts, sweatshirts, dirty socks, and footwear all over. And half-filled glasses of milk. I'm surprised the cats haven't found those yet. I'm also wondering, with extra beds in the house, why the living room remains the place to crash. And why are the curtains all askew?

Don't be fooled though. Despite my observations, I'm loving every minute of it. Even if I will have to cook up a hot breakfast.

Finally! Progress in the closet!!

Before I begin, I'd like to extend the warmest Mother's Day wishes to all the fantastic ladies out there! Kudos for a job well-done!!

And here we go...

It's been well over a month since I started visualizing and planning for my walk-in closet. I've been collecting treasures and bits and pieces that will all become part of the whole. And I know the speed at which I work; it's all or nothing. Needless to say, progress has been slow! Oddly enough, I still have to take care off all the other things in life, like working (so I can afford all my little treasures), feeding people, cleaning up after people, keeping said people in clean clothes, and when all goes well, sleeping a little bit.

But yesterday, it started coming together a little bit. After a little sweet talking to my brother, he agreed to come and help hubby move the office furniture out of my closet-to-be, down the skinny stairwell, around countless corners, and out to the garage for temporary storage. I really did have to do some sweet talking to both of them; when they moved it up there a few years ago, they told me they weren't going to move them again, and I agreed. Who is more delusional here? Me for agreeing never to move the offending pieces back out of the house, or them for thinking it would never happen? Seriously. They know me better than that.

And I didn't think to take any pictures of them working. Had I done so, I'm pretty sure the little conversation balloons would have magically appeared on their own. Full of colorful language. The desk is a monster. And weighs approximately the same as a Mack truck. The legs have to come off, the drawers have to come out, and it has to be tipped on end to make it around corners and down the stairwell. No easy feat. I'm pretty sure I owe my brother a batch of peanut butter cookies and my husband a steak dinner. But I now have room to work in there and the first of many projects is installed!

Dean helped here and there, cutting and sanding my reclaimed wood.

Because I wasn't as organized as I could have been - big surprise - cutting, sanding, and sealing the wood took several weeks. Partly because I still had to take care of other life chores and partly because I didn't have all the pieces ready to seal at the same time.

Proof that I really do everything in flip flops. I only coated my foot in polyurethane once.  It was a bitch to get it off, too. I didn't drag out the tool belt (yes, I actually have one), but my trusty tape measure followed me throughout the project.

Thank goodness for clamps. Everyone else bailed when I was ready to assemble.

Ready to assemble.

TA-DA!!! And there she is, with a small fraction of my clothes. I was dismayed to discover a wobble once all the pieces were attached and screwed in place. But it wasn't because I didn't measure right; I measured everything within spec to a gnat's ass. The old wood has some twists and bows. I can live with a bit of wobble, or put in some braces between the feet and uprights. 

All told, I have only about $30 in this for the casters and hanging rod. Not too bad since you can't buy a rolling clothes rack for anywhere near that. And that old wood looks absolutely beautiful with just a few coats of poly on it. I'm thinking I need to find an old glass door knob to install on the side so I have somewhere to put a hanger full of my belts. 

Now that I'm done with the first project, I'm really enthused to start the next. I picked up a 8-drawer dresser for Dean several years ago at a moving sale. I don't know what I was thinking at the time, as he doesn't know what the purpose of a dresser actually is. It's a very sturdy piece, but it's painted red, white, and blue. Not that I'm a painting professional, but the existing paint was poorly done. Every brush mark is visible and the paint has started to peel. I'll strip it down to the wood, give it a good sanding, and repaint with colors more suited to my taste. Maybe in a style such as this: 

I love this ombre finish, though the color is a little too bubble gum for me. 

I can't wait to get started!

Projects Past

Before I begin, I'd like to thank Enchanted Seashells and this post for inspiring my post today.

I've had to learn over the years to entertain myself. Having a husband in construction means he works long hours, sometimes out of town, and I'm left to my own devices. So, I've developed hobbies. One of my favorite activities is turning the old into something new again. I could spend days rummaging through thrift shops. I often wander my own house looking for something that needs new life. I scrounge through the scrap bins at work, looked for tossed out items that still have life in them. Basically, I drive my husband crazy because I have "stuff" stashed everywhere that is on it's way to a new and purposeful life. And, at any given time, I have numerous projects in some state of rehab. Some get done quickly, others get put on the back burner to be finished...eventually. As we speak, I've overtaken his garage to build a clothes rack out of reclaimed lumber I ferried home last summer. And I have the ingredients for four more projects crammed into my shed outside. As those are finished, there will be pictures posted. But for now, here are some of my favorite projects from the past.

Before

A couple summers ago, the owners of a local gas station retired and sold off everything they'd accumulated over the years. After the sale ended, I was invited down to rummage. These are a few of the things I came home with. Just look at all that potential!

After

A little cleaning, a little paint with no pattern whatsoever, and I have a porch full of pots. The great thing is they are portable and their locations changes every year. My favorite is the mop bucket. Don't mind the blue ribbon. That was a failed experiment of a way to keep the dogs from bailing off the porch THROUGH the flower beds. I don't want to put the money into anything permanent for that because the porch is on the rehab list and will be torn out and rebuilt. But that's another story. 

We have a wood stove and occasionally some rather large pieces make their way home with my guys. Last year, we decided to open up this side of the porch for easier access to the yard. But alas, we had no lumber to build steps. This was my solution. As my husband would rather I not operate the chainsaw for craft projects, I enlisted my oldest son. He cut ginormous slabs and notched them to fit together. I left them unfinished to dry and they are ready to be sealed this year. I love the natural look, but if I don't seal them they will eventually fall apart and become firewood. Now if only my husband had let me sand off that old fence wood he used to close that side of the porch. Maybe this year. 

I found this old glass jar languishing on a back shelf at the thrift store. I believe I paid about $.25 for it. It's large, like about a gallon. I have no idea what it was in its former life, but it is pretty. The glass on two sides is textured, though you can't see that in this picture. About all you CAN see is the dust. Eventually, as I root more cuttings, I will add them in to fill in the space. And by the looks of it, I need to spend an afternoon cleaning my plants. Dust. One of the nasty byproducts of living in farm country and having a wood stove. 

Before

I found this unfortunate little stool at the thrift store for $7. Scarred wood and the ugliest vinyl covering. 

After

Just 24 hours later, it has been transformed! A good sanding followed by a new coat of varnish, and a $.25 pillow case from the same thrift store, in colors that happen to coordinate in my living room. It usually sits near the aquarium and has become a favorite perch for the cats to stalk the fish. 

And now I'm off to work on current projects. Because I just can't get enough!!