Square-Peg Reflections

Invitation to Body-Part Wednesday

Ok, I'm excited about something I hope we can all do together on the blog (and in connection with your blogs or Facebook accounts)!

I've been talking about self-care/body-image and related stuff off and on here. And every time I mention something on these topics there's a lot of response - either here in comments, on FB (where these posts show up) or in my e-mail.

I've wanted to write on these subjects more consistently, but being ME that hasn't happened...UNTIL Slightly-Brit came up with an idea that just might work!!

She suggested that I pick one day a week and write about and/or ask others to write/art or speak (record) about self care and body-image - and include other blogs. Basically she said - set it up so that others are involved and I have that consistency in place.

Well - knock me over with a feather - I don't know where that girl comes from! She's always coming up with ideas that it would take me 3 lifetimes to get to. And these great ideas don't feel impossible - or even like a crazy huge stretch - just things I wouldn't have thought of.

We've been discussing this idea since she first came up with it (after I peeled myself off the ceiling - because I was so excited). Every time it came up I'd refer to it as Body-Part Wednesday (who knows why - probably some diagnosable disorder - but that doesn't matter) - so Body-Part Wednesday is what it's called (it stuck - unlike me and the ceiling thing).

Next Wednesday, July 8, we're going to take this baby out of the bassinett and show her 'round - meaning (I'll explain because my metaphors sometimes suck) I'll tell you all about Body-Part Wednesday next Wednesday - how you can join in, how to put your blog or FB link up, etc.

Today, in preparation for Body-Part Wednesday (and btw, this is going to be FUN! Not drab, not scary, not rip out your guts and we'll examine your entrails - but FUN!) we've got a recording from my mayo sister (I always want to say "sister in crime" but so far we haven't committed any) the awesome terri st cloud from bone sigh arts!!!

In the recording ter brings us into a discussion she has with her inner ter (her inner child) that touches on self-care and body-image. And the recording touches your heart as only ter can do. I love this woman and the work she does and am honored beyond belief that she's my friend!!

Please give a listen to terri st cloud ~

p.s. ter has an ongoing series of "tuesday's child - me and Little t" recordings on the bone sigh arts site, so you can hear more!

Messing With Martha's Scones

(or: Square-Peg Baking 101)

Because terri and Davi kept talking about scones on Facebook I went to bed knowing I'd get up and bake a batch this morning.

True to (my) life - I did not bake a batch this morning as I remembered a couple other things I HAD to do first. But, when the sun (finally) decided to shine on the Philadelphia/Bucks Co area, I was so excited that I not only baked scones - I also hung laundry - oh, the thrill!

I got the recipe for Blueberry-Buttermilk Scones from Slightly-Brit's June 2009 Issue of Martha Stewart Living in the "From My Home to Yours" section (it's also available on her website). Martha kindly inserted a buttermilk substitution - because really how many of us have buttermilk handy at all times?

While we're on the subject of the buttermilk substitution I'll mention that I don't mind making substitutions - ones suggested and/or my own. I am not the kind of person who cooks or bakes straight from the recipe. Except for - occasionally - the first time I make something. And also when I make chocolate mousse. And - oh, jello - I now, after years of failing at jello, actually do follow the directions. So...let me revise: I am not the kind of person who always cooks or bakes straight from the recipe.

I know folks who insist on following the recipe directions - to the letter - every time. They could find the most incredible recipe - and if it calls for bat lard they'll either locate bat lard or ditch the whole idea and cook up something as uninteresting as their grandma's old meatloaf instead. In my opinion they miss out on a lot of adventure.

Of course, I know other folks whose love of experimentation in the kitchen is scary. One such person actually once forced me to say "Honey, do you think you could find a recipe to work with for the first few times and then improvise?" I was patient though - my suggestion came after the 3rd or 4th meal the likes of Strawberry Pasta Surprise (with Sweetened Mushroom Sauce)!

I take the middle ground when it comes to cooking and baking. I like to experiment, but I do like a place to jump off from. I need a recipe to start with - I don't just pull full blown food ideas out of my butt (and aren't we all glad of that?!?).

I started in on Martha's Blueberry-Buttermilk Scone recipe, substituting for the buttermilk as I mentioned. I got to the sugar part and remembered that Slighly-Brit suggested (when I made these before) that she thought I could add a bit more sugar. Of course, last time I put sour cranberries in the mix because we didn't have enough blueberries. But it still seemed a good idea.

So in went some extra sugar - "some more" is how I measured - intuitively. Then, nothing against Martha, but I get the idea she might be a little uptight - so maybe she's sparing with her blueberries, you know? That's what I assumed when I thought about adding extra blueberries to her recipe. What the hey - Martha says 1c - maybe 1 1/2 would be better - I mean blueberries is what it's about! In go another 1/2 cup of the little blue guys.

There might have been too much liquid - what with the extra (nice and juicy) berries and the tiny bit of extra liquid I added when I did the buttermilk substitute. I thought I remembered that the first time I made these the dough pulled away from the bowl - this time it was more like liquidy cake batter. OK, we needed more flour.

1/2 c more flour. Not enough. It was still too wet to do the "gentle kneading once or twice". A little more flour. Oh s%#! - it needs more! But if I put in more flour I'd have to put in more baking powder. Ok, more flour and more baking powder. It was still pretty moist - screw it, I'll figured I'd just glide it into the pan, which by the way, had nonshiny-side tinfoil in it instead of the required parchment paper because I forgot parchment paper (again) when I was at the store.

When you start messing with recipes things get goofy with timing. Martha called for 22 minutes of baking time - but what do you do when you've added more flour, more liquid, more sugar, more baking powder and more of who knows what else? What you do is guess.

I've heard plenty of times that baking is chemistry - you have to measure exactly - but I have a baking theory (unproven) that if you put enough love into something the results have to be good. And, at least with Martha's messed with scones, it worked! They turned out great - and if you hurry over I'll share (but ter and Davi have first dibs).

P.S. There is a downside to my baking improv - the next time I make Martha Stewart's scones I won't remember what I did this time - so I won't get exactly the same results. Oh well...

Creative Grief

Last night, with the help of my VA*-in-training son Manchild, I uploaded a few pages to the new site.

We coded and uploaded Anne Marie Bennett's interview, a review of her book Bright Side of the Road, and an article on the SoulCollage® process that she kindly let us share.

It was while the SoulCollage® article was going up that I realized something - I realized I needed to describe the article for the Celebrating Creativity page (where our list of articles related to creativity is).

Mind you, this was between 2:30 and 3:30 A.M. - so the fact that I realized anything (besides the fact that my butt was falling asleep from hours on my office ball-chair that needs inflating --- the chair, not my butt) is amazing. I'm not a night owl anymore.

I started to upload the short description I'd come up with, when I noticed (a notice and a realization - in the wee hours of the morning - pretty amazing - the old brain isn't totally fried yet!) that something was amiss. The other articles all shared ONE description.

The totally inappropriate description for all the articles but Anne Marie's was: "___(author's name)___ encourages us to trust our own experiences of grief." Not just for one article, but for each of them! Every Creativity article's description said it was about grief!!! Ugh!

I know what I did wrong - I usually copy and paste something from the code of a page that's already up - then replace the links and wording so that the new code fits the new page (if THAT makes any sense). And, apparently, I used wording from a Grief article's description and planned to get back and put the proper descriptions in when I had time to come up with good summaries of each of them. And they're all great - so I wanted to have vibrant description. Hmmm, that didn't work so well, did it? Talk about miscommunication!!

Well, if you haven't been to the Square-Peg-People (Spa for the Square-Peg Soul) yet - you'll have missed our blending of creativity and grief, it's fixed now. But, stay tuned for further faux pas (how do you say that in plural?? - Is the plural "faux pas or "faux pas's" or ? - ah, forget it, let's just say "F*#! ups" it's easier.)

*Virtual Assistant - not veterinary assistant - NO animals were hurt during this process!

It's New! It's a Spa!! It's a Spa for the Soul!!!

I've been AWOL, working on the new face of Square-Peg-People: Spa for the Square-Peg Soul - the spa is OPEN - please come visit!

A couple people have told me that their favorite thing on our new home page is my voice in the welcome recording - which amuses the tar out of me - I've always thought of my voice as something akin to scratching on a chalkboard - so, maybe you like that noise too? lol

And I'm going to have to write about that (later! so much to do this weekend! whew!!) - the ways that we often don't recognize our positives even when others point them out...

I'm wondering - what positive traits (or features or qualities or ?whatever?) have people mentioned to you that you have a hard time believing you have?? Fess up!

MLB and Late Night TV

(subtitled: What the Phillies' losses have done to me!)

Last night I consoled myself (over yet another Philadelphia Phillies' loss) by plopping down on the sofa, snacking voraciously (which might not, owing to amount ingested, technically be "snacking"), and losing my channel-hopping virginity (I actually learned how to use the remote - and they said it couldn't be done!).

I hopped until maybe 3 A.M. And wow - there's a LOT I've been missing! Turns out there really is a reason I don't watch tv regularly (except for ball games and the occasional thing I'm coaxed into watching with someone*).

I saw Alec Baldwin (who I love in 30Rock!) on SNL. A gossip show (poor Kate and Jon - and those 8 - holy sh*! are you kidding me? - kids), and some he-killed-her-and-thought-he-got-away-with-it-but-they-got-his-ass-now show. Part of an infomercial that had bits of old shows in it, I swear I saw Mitzi Gaynor somewhere (who I used to think, when I was a kid, was so incredibly old and boring - now that I'm not a kid I should be so old and boring myself - sigh) and...well, like I said, I channel hopped - so I saw a little of everything.

But the most unbelievable thing I saw was a commercial (which is saying a LOT). Somewhere around 2 A.M. I heard the words: "inadequate eyelashes" and "FDA approved" in the same sentence. Or, I thought I did. Those words made me sit up straight and shake my head around a little. I wasn't sure if I was having a Tiramisu-induced hallucination.

Inadequate eyelashes?!? Medicine for inadequate eyelashes!?! Wow, maybe it was a bad idea to give up psychotherapy work. Imagine the tight little niche I could break ground in:  self-help for those plagued and shamed by inadequate eyelashes!!! Seriously? Inadequate eyelashes. Inadequate?!?

This morning, when the tiaramisu wore off, I did a Google search to double check. Yep. There's a product (FDA approved missy, so you know you're safe!) being huckstered sold for dealing with inadequate eyelashes. Hell, there's even a diagnostic name on the Latisse site: "Eyelash hypotrichosis is another name for having inadequate or not enough eyelashes."

I've been ranting all day about this. As if we need yet another thing to worry about: "Honey, do these earrings make my eyelashes look inadequate?" I'm very, very unhappy about the way we seem to suck this "you are NOT ok" stuff up - and we must be sucking it up - because someone is out there selling it (and they wouldn't waste their good bucks pulling us in if we were turning our back and laughing at them!). And let's not even talk about how NOT vital the whole subject is in relation to other things going on in the world!

And I blame all this ranting and growling on the Phillies - if they'd won that game I'd have gone to bed before 2 A.M. and I wouldn't even know that such an idiot-hole product existed.

*lest you worry about my ability to cope in today's world - without constant tv watching - I want to let you know that Manchild and Slightly-Brit keep me semi-informed of what's out there - and I hear things from friends - plus there is always the occasional You-tube video of a tv show that gets sent my way (like the Susan Boyle one). So - relax - I'll be ok, really! Although, the Phillies lost again today - and I'm out of Tiramisu, so maybe you should worry...

Move Your Grass!

Many moons ago I started this garden trilogy. I had no idea, when I first began to tell you about our fateful day in the garden, that this would become so looooooong...but there you are. It's an involved story (at least in my head).

And today I'm going to finish my tale of garden woes with "Move Your Grass!" (the newly chosen, alternate title for "Bruises and Blood (in the Garden)".:

The same day that I was involved in veggie sex (see earlier post: "Sex in the Garden") I got very physical with one of our tall grasses. It was that kind of day.

We have a number of tall grasses in the back - 2 flank the patio, 2 are bookends to a flower garden and 2 create a "doorway" to the cutting garden and veggie patch. Unfortunately, one of the patio grasses grew so large that it was threatening to choke out a beloved boxwood (beloved because its smell reminds us of the gardens of our dear - and departed - family matriarch).

This troublesomely huge grass was the one that I got into it with. Well, to be honest, Manchild did alot - ok all - but I was there! And I really did help. I did!

Digging that monster up took a long time - and a number of tools. But digging it up wasn't the hardest part. Moving it was! We had to come up with a plan to get it to its new home - 50 feet across the yard.

Besides being unearthly heavy (Manchild estimates 150 lbs., I say 200) it was unwieldy as hell - offering absolutely no assistance, despite my pleas (and really, how much effort would it have required just to lean into us? All I asked for was a little help, but tall grasses are known to be obstinate).

First plan: grab the trusty wheelbarrow, hoist the grass in and voila! But the effort must've looked, to the casual observer, like some 3 Stooges deal. We struggled.

We wanted the thing to stay in one piece, but there was nothing to grab hold of. It's hard trying to keep a 3 ft. diameter bunch of leaves (that give nasty "paper cuts") together - while lifting its 150 - 200 lb. butt.

We tried - and then  just as we hoisted the grass the tiniest bit the wheel barrow slowly rolled away. Grrrr. Ok, rocks under the wheels, that'll hold it. Try again. That time the wheel barrow fell over.

Next try - we actually got the fat-ass grass right up to the edge of the wheel barrow and the wheel barrow side began to bend - I told you that the sucker was heavy! Ugh! "Eff" the wheel barrow.

Next plan: Well, what's left? Rolling. So, that's what we did. Together we rolled the sucker to the new hole. Not that rolling was easy either. The grass had other plans - like heading east when we went west. But eventually (and with most of its parts intact) it sat right in front of its new home.

That's where the blood and bruises comes in. I noticed blood running down my arms. I'd gotten about 47 "paper cuts" (leaf cuts, in actuality) on my arms and hadn't even noticed. Such was my concentration!

Slightly-Brit came to supervise the next part - getting the grass into his new home. She wanted just the right kind and amount of dirt under the grass - we could afford no mistakes - this guy had to be perfectly comfy in his new home because neither he nor us could take another bout of moving.

There were a few things that needed to be fixed - a little more dirt in the hole, a little less rocks in the hole. And now we get to the "bruises". I was worn. I'm not particularly coordinated on a good day, but when I'm tired all bets are off.

Manchild disappeared (he had every right to - he'd done most of the digging that got 'ole GrassAss out of his first home) and Slightly-Brit was working out some other garden issues - going back and forth between supervising the preparation of the new hole and dealing with the other things.

Unfortunately, she was "forth" instead of "back" when I flung a rock up out of the new hole (in an uncoordinated fashion, because I was - well - uncoordinated). The rock landed right on her foot. She made an odd noise, bent down over her foot for a few minutes, and then disappeared. When I asked if she was OK (when she was bent down) she made more odd noises. And that was the last I heard of her for some time.

Once I finished getting the rocks out and the dirt in, according to the instructions Slightly-B had given me, Manchild had to help me set the grass in. That part was no trouble. But we kept wondering how Slightly-B was doing - she wasn't answering us (though we both thought we heard the freezer open and close a few times and ice cube trays cracking). Jeez! It was just a small rock.

I saw her foot later - ewwwwww, what a bruise! She limped for days and can still only wear certain shoes (it's hard to find ones that don't go across any part of the top of the foot!).

When all those grasses were young someone told us that tall grasses were a bad idea - they pantomimed grabbing them the way you'd grab someone's pony-tail - and yanking them straight up and out. We should've listened!

Working Hard!

Just thinking of the phrase: "working hard" brings to mind the rejoinder uttered immediately after "working hard" - at least in my family of origin. You can probably say it along with me - first there's: "working hard" then: "...or hardly working? - ahahahahahahaha!"

Kinda like the: "Ohmy, Sally, one more candle on that cake and we're going to have to call out the fire department!"

But then, maybe those phrases are like: "the house that Jack built" or my friend Davielle's: "well, that's odder than Dick's hatband." (phrases from the DIY Sucks post - and Davielle's comment). Maybe they're only known to a handful of (strange) folks - grin.

Regardless - I have been working hard! Which is why I haven't been posting here as much as usual.

I thought I'd give you a glimpse into what I've been working on. The new and improved Square Peg People site - woo hoo! You can see one of the recent versions of our home page above.

I said "one of the..." because - well - because that's the reason I've taken so darn long to get the new and improved site going. I keep changing things. In fairness, I will say that it's not all me (this is my sneaky way to pass the buck - grin). Slightly-Brit has had her hands in the "oh, one more thing!" pie as well.

But very, very soon you'll be invited to come check out the new (and improved) home of Square Peg People (chock full of encouragement, inspiration and resources for Square Peg People living in a round-hole world!).

Now you know that I've been a little less chatty over here on the blog because I've been working hard!

I can't end this post without telling you the name of the company that's been accompanying us (guiding us, holding us up, doing the hard work) through the process - we've been working with his wonderfulness, the Big Friendly Giant himself (from BFG Productions), Captain Noah.

Captain Noah is patience in an 8 ft. human form (maybe he only seems 8 ft. tall) - he's been nothing but gentle and patient through the upwards of 62,509 changes ("oooh, just this one more thing, please!") that we've foisted upon him.

If you've got web needs, go check this dude out at the link above, you'll be in good hands.

Baseball: It's Not Just for People

We've been watching the Philadelphia Phillies on TV lately while playing Paper Baseball. Paper Baseball is just one of the variations on the game that we've perfected here at Square-Peg Central.

While Paper Baseball is not all that bizarre, Animal Baseball might be considered out of the ordinary. Let me explain - you might as well because I've gotten started now...

Paper Baseball is just baseball - only IN the house - with a kid's bat and a ball made out of a wadded piece of paper. It's reasonably safe - though we're always glad that the more fragile art stuff (pastels and the like) are behind glass (but wow - when hit really well, as in Ryan Howard homerun really well - the glass makes a nasty-ass noise!).

Animal Baseball, I'm pretty darn sure, is a Square-Peg hybrid. It dates back to pre-Square-Peg days (we were always odd around here, but only in the past 4+ years have we had a label for our oddness). Manchild was practically a toddler when the game began.

Manchild, btw, was born with a baseball bat in his hand* (ouch!). And like most little folks, he had stuffed animals. Many stuffed animals. Each with a name and unique personaliy. Because he was so enamored of both the animals and baseball he devised a way to combine them in one activity. He had the stuffed animals play baseball.

Which, of course, required human assistance. And - for awhile - we were all (his mother, his father, one of his older sisters) happy to oblige. 9 players (read: stuffed animals) per team. Manchild's team vs. "the other" team. Regular National League rules applied.

Have you ever tried to help an unwieldy 2-foot tall bear bat? Or aided a double-jointed clown in running the bases (on your knees, of course)? Or - tried to help players in all the field positions, at once? It's not as fun as it sounds - at least not after the fourth inning! Grumbling broke out frequently among the ranks (the humans, that is - with the exception of Manchild - who only grumbled when the game was declared done).

Actually, now that I think about it, some of the stuffed animal players grumbled too. Clowny in particular, but he always was a whiner.

I think it was sore knees that caused Manchild's father to put a damper on the game, which we don't play at all anymore (go figure!). He (the kid's father) said it was because he was worried about Manchild getting so "into" the animals - he was afraid the kid was going to lose touch with reality.

But he totally blew his believability when he added, a few moments later: "And besides, it's no fun when he always gets the good players!"

*Manchild was also born with drum sticks in his hand (talk about a difficult delivery).

Photo credit ? - Individual and team photos taken each year when Manchild was a ball-playing lad, but I don't even know how old he was when this was taken, much less who the photographers were...

Prequel to the The Garden Sex Sequel

You may recall that I threatened promised to put up a sequel to the "Sex in the Garden" post. I said I'd tell you all about bruises and blood (in the garden) - but thought better of including that info in the sex post, for obvious reasons.

Well, maybe you don't remember, but I do! And we must be appreciative of that because I remember so little these days - sigh. The thing is - I've been writing (and thinking) about the experience and we've got a little problem. Ahem! I mean: we have a big problem!!

I've got 6,305 pages of notes about that one day in the garden - and really, no matter how adorable you think I am, it's just going to be a little too much.

I tried taking Katherine Center's advice (run, I mean run over to her site if you haven't been there for her Writing Wednesday videos = awesome!) - in the first she shares advice she got from her father about editing.

And I did put the 1/2 rule into effect, but that still left us with 3,152 and 1/2 pages - which seems an awful lot, doesn't it? To describe ONE day!

So it's going to take me awhile to finish editing (or burning - or whatever...) the pages down to a reasonable length. But I will get back to you with the Bruises and Blood (in the garden) post, it's a promise.

In the meantime I'll tell you about our experiences around here since the veggies (and blood and bruises) adventure.

Just today Slightly-Brit reported on how the enormous tall-grass that we moved (on that fateful day) is faring. She said: "I'd really like you to take a look at it if the rain stops. I think it could go either way. It looks ok, but I'm not so sure."

Now, in case I haven't mentioned it, Slightly-B is very logical. Very. And reserved.* She would never be voted "Most likely to be found spilling her guts to a sleeping cat's aura." But then again, maybe not too many folks would fit that category.

Anyway, my point is - (or was - before the cat thing intervened) that I don't expect to hear a lot of anthropomorphism from Slightly-B. She's just not the type.

So - Slightly-B's next sentence made me laugh. She added: "Maybe you could talk to it. Last time I was out there it looked startled."

Startled! A tall-grass?!? I laughed for awhile. I laughed too much. I think I embarrassed Slightly-B. She began to look pissed. Yikes.

She said (with a sneer): "You're laughing at me!?! You're the one who talks to them."

But she's wrong. Totally wrong. Even though she's logical and often is right. I repeat: She's wrong. I do not (nor have I ever - at least as far as I remember - which, admittedly, isn't far...) talk to plants.

I never made that assertion. What I do - what I am called on to do when we make trips to nurseries - is listen. I LISTEN to the plants. I don't talk to them.

Can you even imagine? Good heavens - the whole yard would have high anxiety. I can hear the plants now: "Oh s#@!, here she comes again!! Quick, act dormant!"

*Slightly-Brit is the smartest woman I know, wise beyond her years, gentle, kind, giving and hilariously funny - in a British-humor way (wanted to put that in here to share a fuller picture of S.B. - wouldn't want anyone running off thinking the woman is stiff and dull - nothing could be further from the truth!).

Sex in the Garden

Well, I had a little trouble with the title. Originally I thought of: Bruises and Blood and Sex ohmy!  but even with the addition of  "in the garden" that sounded somewhat twisted. And probably would not appeal to the folks that I would like to have reading my blog (and we just won't say anything about the folks it might have appealed to...jeez!).

So I opted for the above: Sex in the Garden. And I'll try to get to the Bruises and Blood (in the garden) tomorrow - but we'll keep these two separated for the time being. Even though bruises, blood and sex did happen in my garden - all in the same day. Read on for the full story...well...actually for half the story - as I've said I'd keep the bruises and blood out of this post  ; )

Sex in my suburban garden. And me a willing (one could even say "involved"  actually - "very involved") part of it. And it all began with the bees. Doesn't it always? Birds and bees...

Before we get into the bees - I'd like to tell you about the cucumbers. But I can't, because we never have any! We have lovely plants, they look good, they flower and then nothing. A few years in a row now - nothing. So exasperating. Is it the pots? the soil? bad plants?

Slightly-Brit did research and found out that it's the bees - or lack thereof. Since there's been a huge drop in the bee population (which someone needs to tell the carpenter bees who keep eating the wood beams on my patio) there's less pollination (or that's what I got out of what Slightly-B told me, one never knows if I came away with the exact information - sometimes I drift off and wind up with a hybrid luny version).

The solution? I get to have sex with the cucumber plants. Wait!! It's not like I have sex with the plants, it's more like I'm a cucumber pimp. Or? I don't know...it was odd. I had to take the male cucumber flower and crush it into the female flower.

First though, I had to figure out which was the female and which was the male. Not so easy! Really not so easy - so, in actuality, I may have been involved in plant sex that is not celebrated by some of the more legalistic religions.

Slightly-Brit have me one hint - the female flower has a "waist" - huh?

All of which made for a strange afternoon - traipsing merrily through the veggie patch smashing male (hopefully) cucumber flowers into female (hopefully) cucumber flowers - and wishing ever so much that the cucumber flowers would have handled their sex lives on their own.

And who knows? Maybe the cucumber flowers were wishing the same thing - and possibly mocking me for my desire to have them bear fruit - or for my inelegant "smashing", or - ohman! You don't think they were mocking me, do you?