Room to Room

I find it fastinating how words and terminology change through the years.  There seems to be a need to create new words to fit changing situations and life styles. With the introduction of televison into the American home came the new words used to describe the room in which it resided.

 When I was very young most families had there television in the living room.  It was often enclosed in a large cabinet which was, in many cases, the nicest piece of furniture in the room.  Ours was a box with no cabinet that sat on what was called a TV stand.  As time went on and the amount of time spent watching TV increased, a new room was invented--the TV room.  No longer did TV viewing take place in the living room, but in the newly designated TV room.  This could be a spare bedroom or maybe the corner of a large kitchen.    But soon another new word was needed and TV room changed to rec room which was usually found in the basement.  People began finishing their basements and creating spaces for the family to gather.  The walls were wood panelling because it was cheap and easy to do it yourself.   The lighting left a lot to be desired.  About all you could do in the rec room was watch TV or possibly play ping pong because any other activity would have caused blindness.

Eventually, the dark atmosphere began to take its toll on mental health and a new room was coined--the family room.  Now, we all moved back upstairs or took down the panelling and added better lights.  If you were lucky, you had a family room upstairs probably just off the kitchen.  That scheme worked for a number of years until the family room became the great room.  I have no idea where the term Great Room came from, but it sounds grand and expensive.  Since my home has a great room that opens up to the well appointed kitchen does that mean I am rich or just don't understand the terminology?   As simple minded as I am, as a kid I envied my friends who had a rec room.

Great Room

Kitchen which flows into the Great Room


I have watched TV in all the above rooms.  Fortunately, I never had to endure the wooden walls, but I did have some wicked blue floral wall paper.  Just as I began to feel comfortable with the great room concept a new word has appeared on the scene--THE MAN CAVE.  Rather than moving forward in inovative terminology it seems we are moving back--way back.  What in the world is a man cave.  As near as I can determine, since we do not have a man cave, it is a room for men only. The question must be asked--why do men get their own space and what do they do in this man cave.

From my TV watching I am becoming educated in regards to this new term.  It seems to be a place, usually in the basement, where a very large television is housed surrounded by recliners and a couch.  Apparently, many educational programs are viewed in this room which are only interesting to men.

The room in the basement of my home, where the flat screen TV lives, is called the family room.  Any one is welcome in this room including children.

Family Room

 So now we have come full circle and returned to the basement.  I can think of one more possible place that has been over looked for watching TV.  The area of the house that has not been used for endless hours of sitting and staring at a rectangle is the attic.  Perhaps it could be called the lofty room.  I like the sound of that.  It is much more intellectual sounding than The Man Cave. 

It was time to hit the road--get out of Dodge.  When the foot starts to itch, it is a sure sign that a road trip is in the making.  A week ago the foot began its tingling and it was so persitent we knew the only way to cure it was to load the car and head south.

  We love to travel and short trips to nearby places often offer as much as those involving further distances, more money, and bigger chunks of time.  When the gray light of winter hangs heavy we head south, not far, just an eight hour drive.   The car points its nose toward St. George and we buckle up and go along for the ride.  When the red rocks and cactus come into view the spirit begans to lift and the cold and snow become a memory rather than a reality.  The journey has taken us from a world of black and white to one of vivid color.

I am always amazed that in a reasonable amount of time you can transport yourself to a new and different enviornment without much effort.  All it took was a bag of snacks to munch on as the miles ticked by.  There is solace in consuming the extra calories as we put the miles behind us because we know that shortly those little fat builders will be walked off.  Sun, warmth, and color have a magic effect on the energy level--WOW!  Let's get outside and move that body. 

To really enjoy the new freedom from cold and coats you must stayed fueled.up.  In order to do that, you must eat a lot.  Never fear, that is not hard.  Just ask us.  We found a variety of fun places to eat.  Breakfast seemed to be the meal we zeroed in on.  Omlets at The Egg- n- I, Belgian waffles at the Bear Paw and hashbrown casserole at Cracker Barrel.  We just tucked right in and never looked back.

a little bit of the middle east--lamb kabobs--yum

The only down side to the whole get away experience is the withdrawal that comes when I wake up and realize I am the cook of day.    

cactus and spring blubs in the hotel gardens--7:00 a.m.

Too Early

4:15 A.M.---What to do.  Such a still time of morning.  The neighborhood is dark and lights have not started to appear yet.  It is a Saturday morning and for most people an opportunity to sleep in and put aside the alarm clock.  My clock seems to be in need of adjustment.  I woke at 3:30 and mulled over my options.  I could meet Chip in the kitchen for a glass of milk, read my lusty romance novel, walk up the road and see if Packs need an extra hand milking, or watch TV.  None of these options sounded appealing.  Why not blog and share my morning insights.  So here I am.     

I am perplexd somewhat.  When I worked I never woke at three or four in the morning bright eyed and bushy tailed.  I did however wake up to check the time so I could calculate how many hours of sleep I had left before the radio alarm sounded the call to action.  That in itself is rather odd so I shouldn't be surprised that I now wake in the middle of the night and wonder what to do with myself.  If I was Nolan I could check out the starts and drag out the telescope or binoculars and stand in the COLD or lay on the kitchen floor to get a better perspective of Spika or a nebula which he swears is visible, but I can't see.

None of these choices are very exciting.  The small hand on the clock is moving toward five.  If I lived in New York City it would be almost 7:00, and I could walk to my favorite coffee shop and have a cup of flavored coffee, a Danish, and buy a copy a real newspaper.  Oh, I forgot I am not a coffee drinker.  Well, the next best thing--meet Chip in the kitchen and have a cup of hot chocolate.

My New Friends

Scientists have published research findings that indicate maintaining friendships and social interactions have added to the life span.  I believe this whole heartedly.  In an attaempt to lengthen my longevity I acquired three new friends this winter.  They are Oreo, Chip and Dark Chocolate. It is becoming a close and sustaining relationship.  I have never felt such a willingness from  my other friends to be helpful and comforting. 

 My new friends tell me only what I want to hear and never focus on my faults or character flaws.  With sincere hearts they offer support from boredom, restlessness and winter depression.  They exhibit qualities not found in my other friends.  Oreo, Chip and Dark Chocolate will never disagree with me or challenge my point ofview.

This trio is very serious about exercise.  Because of my association with them I have now added zumba dance to my workout routine.  Monday and Tuesday I attend yoga class at my local gym and Wednesday I sweat through an hour of zumba.  There are no men in the dance class, but I do see a large group of women who must also know my friends.  If you don't have the support of good pals, there is no way you would willingly jump, sway, clap, and shake your hips and sweat for one solid hour with no water.

I am grateful to my new friends for their devotion to my happiness and well being.  Hopefully, I will quietly expire in the pigeon pose or moving across the gym floor while executing the grape vine.

A note to self:

It is gratitude for the small things that helps us move from day to day.  My small thing I will focus on today is the date...January 19th which puts us past the middle of January.  This is the worst month of the year.  It has no redeming value except that it preceeds February which puts us over the hurdle toward the winding down of winter.

January has forgotten to look for the sun.  She resides in the gray flat light where everything moves in monotones of color.  The birds are silent and hide among the pines.  Listlessness wanders in and out quietly whispering in our ears.  As each day passes January weakens breaking into tiny drops.  Somewhere on the horizon February begins to struggle towrd the Janurary gloom.. Pushing her aside to find the hidden sun, bits and pieces of warmth emerge.  Thirtyone days of waiting for January's departure can seem twice that many.   Passing the middle is the beginning of the end.  I feel a little better knowing I have made it to this point.  The sun will shine again.

Let It Go

Another January--another year.  A breath of fresh air arrives with each new year.  It is, for me, a cleansing.  The rubble from the past year needs to be tossed and elbow room and a sense of freedom takes its place.  I am finding that I have less attachment to things and can see them in the context of just things.  What value do they hold long term?  Most are of little worth except for the sentimental value we create for them. 

Objects, possessions, things, collections often end up in a box somewhere on a shelf.  Once in the box they are no longer a treasured possession.  The only things of value are those that we enjoy looking at on a daily basis or use regularly.  Our boxes of collections will never hold the same interest for someone else.  My goal  is to turn toward disposeable items.  My travel purchases are candy for the grand kids, an  inexspensive piece of jewerly that I will wear and a cataologe of memories.  If something new comes home with me, then something old must leave.

Now as I preach the art of organizing and uncluttering I am guilty of bringing home three new books on card making, two books of bound colored paper, rubber stamps, stamp pads, glitter, ribbon and a new kind of glue and paint brushes to spread the clue.  I also have three boxes of blank cards--let's see how many hundred cards would that be?

I will justify these purchases because they fall in the area of creativity, personal expression, art.  My box of clay and books on jewelry design are in that same catagory and sleep peacefully under my work table.  At this point in time I am consumed with creating cards.  It entertains me on the long winter nights and I pretend that I am in the midst of a creative awakening.  Whatever--I am happy and my bubble is still flying high. 

 

Christmas

        I decided to approach Christmas with a new attitude and direction.  Mrs. Grinch, a regular holiday visitor, for the past several years was given the boot.  She never was issued an invitation, but for some unexplainable reason she  showed up every December.  Mrs. Grinch is the kind of person who would serve hot dogs and beans for Christmas dinner and think it was a French dish.  Her sour attitude, finally became a bone of contention.  I asked her to leave and make sure she took everything that belonged to her.   We had a little problem when she thought the fiber optic tree was hers.  Even though it will not be the center of attention this Christmas, I still have a sentimental attachment.  I am not usually a physical person, but when the car board suitcase flew out the door she quickly followed saving both of us our dignity.

      As I planned the decorations for the new tree (the fiber optic tree has been retired)  I thought long and hard about what I wanted to acheive.  I had a grand vision of opulence.  Perhaps a tree with a theme where everything is color coordinated.  The kind of tree Country Living and Martha Stewart magazine editors would pick  for next year's photo opt. 

     As I started accumulating ornaments, I realized there was a line I could not cross.  What I kept going back to was simplicity--a tree that quietly said look at me and did not shout here I am.  I wanted a tree with heart that repesented what Christimas was intended to be. Initially, this was not my goal when I began this decoration journey.  My idea of the perfect tree was a show piece : bows, ribbon gracefully draped around it, with elegant ornaments and vivid colors.

    

 The tree of my imagination was not a true Christmas tree, but a symbol of the commercialization of Christmas.  There is beauty in simple things, a certain enduring classic elegance.  In the end my tree-- is my tree and it represents to me a softer side of Christmas.  I hope it is a tree that puts Christ in Christmas.

                                                                                                

Those who wander often find surprises and opportunities in the most unexpected places.  The small town of Ashton has more than meets the eye.  Nolan and I went to their Christmas festival quit by accident.  Driving through we saw a notice about the Christmas bazar and the arrival of Santa.  We were there so why not go.  Somtimes good things come in small packages.  Only in Ashton would Santa arrive on a flat bed sleigh pulled by a team of black horses and a pack of dogs as chaperones then leave after the festivities in a Cadillac SUV.

This post card perfect Lutheran church in Ashton was begging to be sketched.  We sat in the car while Nolan stetched and listened to the church chimes play Christmas songs.  It doesn't get much better!