Five recycled resolutions for 2016.

I've always shied away from making New Year's Resolutions.  They never work out as envisioned, and were usually fostered in the desperation of the previous year's failures or bad habits.  Cliche as hell too--lose weight, get organized, stop procrastinating, etc.  I wish I had back all the money I spent on books, gadgets, and systems to help me keep those resolutions.  These recycled resolutions are not new.  But my approach is different, in that they are changes I have already begun to take.  As in concrete steps.  I already KNOW they are making a difference in my life.  Apparently it's taken this long for the concepts to sink in.

So, as I wrap up the end of a year that's been interesting, exhilarating, and--on several levels--a severe trial, I am learning that it helps to: 

1. play more music.  (Concrete action: load the 5-disc player every morning with something new, or at the very least, turn on the radio.)  Phil and I both work from home, and his office is in our main living area.  I have discovered--sort of by accident--that we seem to spend the day in a more energetic and optimistic mood if we have music we like as a background to our day.

2. do the yucky chores while I wait for stuff.  As most of you, I wear several hats: housekeeper, pet-tender, cook, supply officer, and doll maker.  The doll maker part is the fun job, (except for listing photos, taxes, etc.) and even the other jobs have their bright sides.  But there are always those jobs--the catbox, the dishwasher, the toilets--that just suck.  Always will.  So I do those while my morning burgers cook or while I'm on hold, those minutes that add up to nothing if I just wait (or if I sit back down with a paperback.)  And even if it's a chore that takes more than a few minutes, get it done FIRST so the rest of the day can go to more interesting things.

3. just put stuff up--now.  Yes, I am 52 years old and I've just now learned to do this.  Embarrassing.  In the past, I have made excuses for the Creative Frenzy that overtakes me during a project, and my Enabling Husband has patiently said nothing while I make a huge mess.  But either I'm growing up, or our smaller space has made its demands heard, because now I am compelled to put away the button box after I pick out what I need, to file the pattern pieces before cutting fabric, and to clear my office desk by the end of the day.

4. keep a journal.  I have had so many ups and downs this year, the journal has kept me sane.  I've always kept one, but in years past the entries only cover a stressful time, like during a move, or a job change, etc.  This year I've gotten into the habit of writing every day, or every other day.  It's safe to say that 2015 has been fairly well documented.  These are not fascinating memoirs that will someday be published posthumously, they are little books full of the mindless drivel that preoccupies me and muddles my thinking if I don't expel it. (Maybe a potential CIA tool for interrogations? "I'll tell you -- just stop reading!")  But it helps.  I will likely never re-read them, but writing them helps me.

5. stop complaining.  There are three categories of complaints in our house, and they've taken shape over the years I've spent with a man who defines the word taciturn.

              The first is general "what the hell is wrong with the world?" kind of complaint.  General venting about politics (him) or the younger generation (me) or expenses, bureaucracy, and old age (both).

              The second is the type that is actually helpful for each of us to hear.  If I am unhappy with something--a feature of the house or yard, for example, he is quite happy to find a solution and try to fix it for me.  Same goes for him--if he's grown tired of a menu item, or has decided boxers instead of briefs, then I want to know so I can change things around.

               But the THIRD category is mostly mine.  It's basic whining.  I don't do it anymore--I was trained out of it.  My taciturn man would make those noises that sound sympathetic to the novice ear, but to mine fall like splatting chunks of sarcasm.  "Aw, that's too bad," Ewww.  I hate patronizing, and I refuse to sound like Gladys Kravitz.  Some time ago it occurred to me that if the person within my hearing cannot fix what bothers me, then why say it aloud?  If I can fix it, then why have I not?  Journaling comes in very handy here, to not only vent complaints, but to determine if they're fixable.  So this was a slowly evolving resolution, but one I have kept: no whining.  Life is so much sweeter.  (For both of us.)

Those are my five resolutions.  Recycled, already time-tested, but increasingly important to mine and the hub's well-being.

I hope you all have a Happy New Year's weekend, and a great 2016.    

Enjoy the Roast Beast

I had to share...

I love the Christmas movie How the Grinch Stole Christmas.  I also love roast beast.  (Just passed the nine month mark of eating meat only.)  So when the WHO (World Health Organization) came out with their scare-mongering BS about how meat causes cancer, Georgia Edes MD of Diagnosis Diet decided to write a Dr. Seuss Poem about the roast beast.

I've copied it here, but you really need to go to Dr. Ede's blog and read up.  She's a genius, and one of the people who helped me understand what I had been doing to my body for decades thanks to organizations like WHO.

THE GRINCH, THE WHO, ROAST BEAST & YOU

• Folks the world over liked red meat a lot,
• But the cancer committee in WHO-Ville did not.
• “Those vouching for meat should be guilty of treason!”
• (Please don’t ask why, no one quite knows the reason)
• It may be the way that it’s processed or fried,
• Or the fact that it has so much iron inside.
• But I think that the most likely reason of all
• May have been that WHO brains were two sizes too small.
• Staring down from their towers with judgemental frowns
• At healthy meat-eaters below in their towns
• Feasting on pork chops and luscious roast beast.
• (Roast beast is a feast WHO can’t stand in the least.)
• The WHO hated all meats–especially from cow!
• “We’ve got to stop red meat from coming, but how?”
• Then they got an idea! An awful idea.
• The WHO got a wonderful, awful idea.
• “We know just what we’ll do!” the WHO snickered one day,
• “We’ll shout meat causes cancer, and scare meat away!”
• All we need is some data! The WHO looked around,
• But good data is scarce, there was none to be found.
• Did that stop the WHO? That did not trip them up;
• “We don’t need solid science, we’ll make some stuff up!”
• They puzzled and puzzed till their puzzlers were sore.
• Then the WHO thought of something they thought we’d fall for!
• More than 800 studies they stuffed in a sack;
• “With numbers this big, they won’t dare to attack!”
• But they based their conclusions on just twenty-nine,
• Fifteen of which showed that red meat was just fine!
• But these studies weren’t studies at all, it turned out.
• They were basically guesses that weren’t tested out.
• They thought they could fool folks like you and like me.
• “Correlation’s causation!” WHO shouted with glee.
• Then three or four studies of rats they tossed in.
• (Rats pre-injected with carcinogen!!!)
• They left out the ones showing red meat is good.
• Hoping no one would notice (but you knew I would).
• And three human studies they threw in there, too.
• But these studies were poorly designed (sad but true).
• WHO dares condemn meat based on numbers so wee?
• Three human studies—the audacity!
• Maybe beef, pork and lamb are no cause for alarm.
• Maybe red meat, in fact, doesn’t cause any harm.
• It’s got protein and iron and vitamins too.
• The truth is that red meat is healthy for you!
• This holiday season I hope you won’t fear.
• What the WHO said about meat—the facts are not there!
• May you all enjoy time with your families and feast
• On healthy whole foods and delicious roast beast:)

Merry Solstice to you.

Well I did it.

I decorated for Christmas, finally.  Got the elves up on the new built-in, did the tree, even hung a red ribbon and bell around the big fish hanging in the kitchen.  :~)

Maybe the arrival of my Daryl doll motivated me--"Fallen Angel" came in the mail Friday and he's just as compelling in person as he was on Daryl's blog.  So... 

The first day, I put up the elves, toys, Santas and greenery.  I put Santa hats on the dolls--but I've promised myself that this time next year at least five of them will have Elf suits or Christmas themed clothes.  Mr. F. Angel got a place with some of my handmade elves (old and new), my Jack Frost, and an elf doll that Pam (Yoborobo) gave me years ago.  The Father Christmas doll has pride of place at the North Pole (well, there was this empty wrapping paper tube, so...)

But the second day was Tree day.  I love tree day.

Every year since Phil and I got his one and my three together--til the kids all grew up and moved out--we made ornaments.  Of course, I continue this tradition for the kids and each of the grandkids, so they'll have their own to start out with too.  But I also have the ones my kids made through the years when they were little.  You know, the ones their teachers help them make in school.

I even have one pathetic little scrap of felt in the form of a camp fire, (I was a Camp Fire Girl).  Not much left of it--the little gray paper spiral of smoke is long gone, and it hangs by the merest little black thread.  But it's doing all right for having survived 45 years and the tornado in '79.  (That storm  eliminated almost everything everything we owned, including the house we were in at the time, but we survived to tell it, so it's good.)

So here are some special bits and a peek in general at the results.  Hope your weekend was great, and your week will be greater.  (Read the captions first, then if you click on the first photo, they all show better.)

Guess who has one wall to finish painting?  Oops.

Elves...

The Santa shelf.

Lord Elfwin and Astrid the Yoborobo doll

Elves, Jack Frost and F. Angel...

Is he great, or what?

The North Pole is in Arizona--who knew?

More elves.

 Tansy has her own hat, of course.

The girls who hang out behind the couch (they face the built-in).

And of course Martha Baby has her own hat--with sparkles.

Pere Noel.

Carol and Socko getting into the Yuletide spirit.  (And we have to watch Socko, lest he get into the other spirits as well.)

A reindeer from my son Jason.

My daughter Renee made a tiny wreath frame in first grade.

My step daughter Casey painted this as our first ornament as a family, back in '93.

This is a photo of Phil holding our first grandchild.  Dig that fancy frame!

My son Josh made this in first grade.  The green sparkly trim has long worn off the rim (a coffee can lid), but I don't remember when.

A lovely warm campfire.  :~)

I wish that each of you will have a chance to rest in the love of family and friends this season.

Here I go again...

I haven't put up a single Christmas decoration yet.  The floors need attention, as do several other aspects of the house cleaning detail.  Forgot to water the flower beds today, (should never have found out it's "supposed" to rain this weekend).

I did manage to walk the dog and go get meat for the freezer.  But the rest of the time?  Working on dolls.  Some that I had already sculpted and MUST finish, and others...well I can't seem to control myself and I keep starting new ones.  Right now I have over ten dolls in various stages of progress.  Hmph.

Here is one I finished painting today...she'll get her arms and legs sewn on tonight and some clothes in the next day or two.  Her name is Elspeth.  She's not quite an Izannah doll, but has some of the face, I think. 

As for Christmas decorating?  I might get it done this weekend.  Maybe.

I won a Daryl Doll!

I seldom win anything.  My daughter (who wins things all the time) would tell you it's because I seldom enter any kind of contest.  This is true, likely.  I don't often enter to win anything.

But Daryl, of Woodstown Whimsies, had a drawing for three little characters he's recently made.  So of COURSE I entered.  And I won my favorite!  The middle fellow is Fallen Angel, and he'll be headed to Arizona to hang with us at House Conwell up here in the high desert. 

I will call him Mr. F.A. Clark.  I had an uncle by that name, a bit of a fallen angel himself.

This was so much fun, that I am inspired to make a special doll for a giveaway next spring--say late February.  Never did one of those...so I might have to investigate how it's done.  Probably much easier than I think.  Soon I'll have a photo of F.A. with several other artist dolls I am privileged to own.  The cat and or dog may feel compelled to join the fun.  F.A. probably won't mind.