My Girl

This is Zen.

Zen is my first furchild.  I'd never been allowed to have pets as a kid and when I moved out of my parent's house it was into my sister's.  She's allergic.  About a month before moving out of her house to a condo in Herndon where I'd end up starting my furry collection, Zen came into my life by a twist of fate.

Originally I planned on only fostering her.  Even through I was grown and in a place of my own I'd not yet had the realization that I'd actually be able to get, and keep, an animal.  Once I brought her home, though, we fell madly, truly, deeply in love.  Me with all of her, her for my opposable thumbs and ability to fill her food bowl.

Because Zen (originally Fen) came to me from a heartless, ungracious man who was angry at his ex-wife I never received any of her medical records.  As far as I was concerned she was just a full grown cat that magically appeared in my life.  We guessed her age at the time but I never thought much about it until a year or so ago.  I went to pet her as she walked by and froze with a horrifying realization: Zen had old lady hips.

Now, don't read too much into that.  It's not a slam or insult or jab of any kind, but during all the years I worked in vet clinics I would always think to myself how bony and fragile a cat's hips felt when they were in their senior years.  More often than I should I would equate that feeling to a lifeline much closer to the end than I wanted Zen to be.

Zen is in wonderful health though she's overdue for a trip to the vet.  I'm in denial about how old she might be, conveniently forgetting that she has been with me for nearly a decade! 

I'm very stiff and sore this morning, significantly due to a week full of physically demanding classes back to back, but plenty of that can go to Zen, the Empress of Casa Castle.

You see, Zen is part Siamese and as the reigning presence in our home she has no reservations about clearly vocalizing her opinion.  Brush her with the tip of your finger on the fringes of her fur and she's demanding more.  Try to walk down the hallway and she's telling you you must be crazy because she ain't movin'.  Move her from her throne of comfort and she's like a 2-year old who missed their nap.

At night Zen has taken to sleeping with me.  Not just with me but curled up against my side, physical contact and pinning the blanket so that any movement would illicit complaints at volumes that would wake Clif who in turn would unceremoniously chase her off the bed.  To avoid interrupting everyone's sleep I've taken to not moving throughout the night as I normally do.  Hence frequent mornings of body stiffness and protests from staying in one position too long.

Zen, what I want to say is that my physical sacrifice might appear to have much to do with not exacting your vocal indignation in the wee hours, but it has so much more to do with how much I love you and want to gather every single moment I can with you, even when I'm sleeping.

Nostalgic Noshes

Somewhere in the Arlington Bullach household there is a picture of a summer blonde me around the age of 6-ish sitting at the bottom of the rickety wooden stairs to the basement of Luray. My grandparents used to keep those awesome bottles of Dr. Pepper around and something about that picture and the vague memory of drinking out of the ice cold bottles in the cement cold basement in scorching summer days has helped solidify it as one of my all time favorite beverages.

Birthday dinners rocked because the birthday celebrator got to pick their favorite dishes for the menu. For me that almost always meant Brussels sprouts and cauliflower mountain - a head of cauliflower dripping in melty mustardy cheesy amazingness. I have never claimed to be normal.

Whenever I was sick or had an upset tummy Mom would pour me a glass of Coke and stir it until it was completely flat. After a dose or two of tummy-settling syrup she'd follow up with toast topped with a little butter and a sprinkling of cinnamon sugar.

According to my recollections when my bother moved into his condo he started turning into a chef extraordinaire. The standout example being when he began experimenting with a recipe he found for Aztec soup. Donald hosted the big family birthday gatherings for years in a row and always served this deletable soup bar. I could never remember the official recipe name so it became and remains the birthday soup.

My all-time favorite dessert treat when I was growing up was a root beer float with vanilla ice cream and A&W. A close second were the butterscotch Popsicles Mom made in those do-it-yourself molds.

Over the past couple of years Mom worked hard to compile recipes from all corners of our extended family. With each recipe she found a picture or story to go with it so the final produt was more an overall family history than just a collection of tasty food. Receiving my copy and watching others recieve theirs I waas struck by how intregal food is to friendships, family ties and life Lon memories.

What are your nostalgic noshes?

Friday Groove

This is one of the grooviest of Grooves.  Discovered this little gem at Zumba class with Laura and I can't get enough of it!

Go ahead, listen to it and try to sit still.  I dare you!

Like My Mother

For many, many years I've said, "If I can grow up to be even a fraction of the woman my mother is, I'll be an incredibly blessed woman".

Not too terribly long after Clif and I had been seriously dating I called Mom one day in tears with desperate apologies for my rotten teenager-ness.  I honestly don't remember what exactly it was about something he did that triggered the realization that my mother put up with my frustrating behavior for years.  I was so overcome by thankfulness for her unending guidance, patience and love that years later I wanted to beg forgiveness for my behavior that she never deserved.

We've always been close but as I matured my appreciation for her grew by leaps and bounds.  She is, hands down, one of the best friends I have ever and will ever have.

I love you, Mom, have a beautiful birthday.

Friday Groove

This song always relaxes me, makes me want to close my eyes and drift away to daydream Neverland and I never want it to end.  Her voice is so clear, crisp and soothing, I love just about every thing Sade sings.

Full Disclosure

I am an overly emotional person.

I laugh, I cry, I laugh until I cry and cry until I laugh.  I can love or loathe until I do both.  There was even that one time Clif sneaked so silently into the bathroom that when I pulled back the shower curtain I screamed then immediately burst into body wracking, gut twisting, completely uncontrolable sobs brought on by terror-induced adrenaline.  What I'm saying is I can be a little intense in the feeling department.

Have you seen this yet?

Show of hands, (be honest, ye be not judged here) how many of you ended up misty eyed?

The song is Somewhere Only We Know by Keane and for reasons I can't explain it always nearly makes me cry.  Now Disney has paired it not only with one of my all-time favorite collection of Disney characters, but a Classic Disney version of them.

When I was young Disney was wonderful and catered to the entire family with wholesome goodness.  I fully admit I was, am and ever will be a tremendous fan of movies like The Parent Trap, The Ugly Dachshund, Polyanna, Cinderella, Peter Pan, Sword in the Stone and so forth.  Those were movies from the time before Disney was all about obnoxious neon colors, overly-exuberant children hopped up on pixie sticks, cheap looking computer animations and tweens so sickly sweet they make your teeth ache.  Even the Disney Store lost its charm since when it opened and offered treasures and collectibles for Disney lovers of every age.  Now it's a joke for anyone above the age of 8.

During my very first glimpse of this year's Winnie the Pooh movie I held my breath and prepared for more atrocities to be done to my favorite childhood friends.  I can't explain my relief (or the glassy eyes) at reaching the trailer's end and feeling an overwhelming sense of coming home.  I want to see this movie.  I want to relive a piece of childhood joy and shamelessly shed a tear at the emotion it brings.

Rainy Day How-To

Step One: Wait for a day like this - gray, hazy, threatening a glorious downpour.

Step Two: Light some candles, pour some wine.

Step Three: Play this song

Step Four: Find someone special and slow dance *Swing Style.

*Swing Style: 
- Get close.  I mean really close.  Even closer than that.  The only thing between you should be fabric.  
- His left and her right hands placed as usual on the small of back and shoulder, respectively.  His right and her left clasped and either hanging lazily down to the side or pressed between heart beats.  
- Him: take control and be her safe haven, her comfort zone. Her: close your eyes, relax and find complete peace and comfort in trusting him to lead you.  Lean into him, it's easier to follow.
- Now, just move.  One foot than the other, always alternating feet as if you're walking but with absolutely no direction in mind.  Simply sway back and forth or travel in linear or twirling fashion, quickly or slowly.  Mix it up and do a bit of both.

Step Five: Rinse and repeat for as long as you are moved to.