Colorful Joy Christmas Card
Browse our collection of Christmas card designs.
View the entire collection of cards.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Stationery card
Colorful Joy Christmas Card
Don't send boring Christmas cards , personalize them at Shutterfly.
View the entire collection of cards.
Stationery card
Colorful Joy Christmas Card
Quick and easy: Christmas photo cards at Shutterfly.
View the entire collection of cards.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
What Soothes, Stays
Once I was sick. Really pretty sick. Noone ever figured out what was wrong, doctors offered anecdtodal purviews about "others with a similar virus, things going around" but it was never for sure. I was down for the count for at least a week, then on and off. But that's not my point here.
My point is, for several days I really couldn't eat. And when I finally started to feel like I needed to eat again, I was scared to. Everything, including being upright, felt precarious. I could lose ground at any moment. But I was hungry, and I knew my body needed something. I looked in the fridge and found a big container of Brown Cow Farms Maple Yogurt. The whole milk kind. I took a few spoonsful, right from the big container, and I just felt so much better. And that day and probably the next, that's about all I ate. In small and then bigger servings, but that maple yogurt. Right from the container. My whole body, but somehow particularly my nervous system, rejoiced.
And now, that Brown Cow Farms Maple yogurt still does it, just for a fraction of a moment, each time I eat it. My body remembers what it did for me, and that alloverwonderful, this really is going to be OK feeling-memory remains. And I'm grateful in a way that is hard to reach in the everyday humdrum, sped-up rpm of life. And that slowed down, singular moment gratefulness is a wonderous thing.
10/2014. I realized if I google my name, this blog comes up. (yikes) I guess if anyone is really looking for me, they might find it. Not that they would.
But re-reading this post made me think of something similar. That summer, when I worked at the Learning Center, and still lived on Palfrey St with Marjorie just behind, and every almost day we would meet after work at Walden for a couple of hours to sit and read and swim and decompress. And that ride out Trapelo Road from Waltham to Lincoln on the increasingly treelined freshairfilled, cooler than the city road, my body would relax, slowly realizing that the day of screaming kids and passive aggressive bosses and managing difficult people was done until tomorrow. And that feeling apparently got learned by my body after doing it so many times, and even now when I drive out that road my body relaxes. I've thought more than once that I should move to Lincoln for that very reason. As if.
My point is, for several days I really couldn't eat. And when I finally started to feel like I needed to eat again, I was scared to. Everything, including being upright, felt precarious. I could lose ground at any moment. But I was hungry, and I knew my body needed something. I looked in the fridge and found a big container of Brown Cow Farms Maple Yogurt. The whole milk kind. I took a few spoonsful, right from the big container, and I just felt so much better. And that day and probably the next, that's about all I ate. In small and then bigger servings, but that maple yogurt. Right from the container. My whole body, but somehow particularly my nervous system, rejoiced.
And now, that Brown Cow Farms Maple yogurt still does it, just for a fraction of a moment, each time I eat it. My body remembers what it did for me, and that alloverwonderful, this really is going to be OK feeling-memory remains. And I'm grateful in a way that is hard to reach in the everyday humdrum, sped-up rpm of life. And that slowed down, singular moment gratefulness is a wonderous thing.
10/2014. I realized if I google my name, this blog comes up. (yikes) I guess if anyone is really looking for me, they might find it. Not that they would.
But re-reading this post made me think of something similar. That summer, when I worked at the Learning Center, and still lived on Palfrey St with Marjorie just behind, and every almost day we would meet after work at Walden for a couple of hours to sit and read and swim and decompress. And that ride out Trapelo Road from Waltham to Lincoln on the increasingly treelined freshairfilled, cooler than the city road, my body would relax, slowly realizing that the day of screaming kids and passive aggressive bosses and managing difficult people was done until tomorrow. And that feeling apparently got learned by my body after doing it so many times, and even now when I drive out that road my body relaxes. I've thought more than once that I should move to Lincoln for that very reason. As if.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
there's Always a little more
This morning as I was pounding on the bottom of the empty moisturizer bottle to force out just enough to cover my face post-shower, I got to thinking... why do I DO this? I use the same moisturizer that I have bought for and encouraged my 11-year old daughter to use, so there is a brand new, already opened and in use bottle right next to the one that belongs in the trash on the bathroom sink. But for more than a week now, I've been picking up the old one every morning, pounding it onto the palm of my hand, pulling the pump out and sliding my finger along it's shaft to get the residue there, and moisturizing my face. And I know, you may say, you do it BECAUSE youv'e been doing it for a week and there's still some there, but I still ask--in the presence of a brand new bottle, one which I encourage my daughter to use--why am I bound and determined to force out the dregs?
It's more though. I bought a new bottle of shampoo, and used it to refill the larger bottle in the shower. Then saved the bottle I poured from and fill it with a little water each morning and shake it around to use that. I'm perfectly satisfied with the lastlastlast tiny squeeze of toothpaste, because, as my friend Randy says, "there's always one more".
So I wonder to myself, why can't' I just let go of the old one and move on to new, fresh, better things, especially when they are sitting right on the counter be used by others, at my bidding?
Just wondering....
It's more though. I bought a new bottle of shampoo, and used it to refill the larger bottle in the shower. Then saved the bottle I poured from and fill it with a little water each morning and shake it around to use that. I'm perfectly satisfied with the lastlastlast tiny squeeze of toothpaste, because, as my friend Randy says, "there's always one more".
So I wonder to myself, why can't' I just let go of the old one and move on to new, fresh, better things, especially when they are sitting right on the counter be used by others, at my bidding?
Just wondering....
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Listerine
Lately I've been thinking about Listerine. The dentist always tells you to use it, and the ads always say, Listerine Kills Germs! I am here to say that it has to be true, because after I use Listerine (I've put a big bottle in the shower, so I often rinse while I rinse, as it were) I can literally hear (and feel) every germ in my mouth screaming as they die an agonizing death. It is FAR from a pleasant sensation, and in fact the negative reinforcement model necessary to get me to actually use the stuff is complicated and difficult at best. But I guess the germs must be dying, because I can feel them on my teeth (did you know teeth could feel? Consider Listerine), gums, lips and tongue. Everywhere the stuff touches.
And, just as an aside, I have to believe it's a great diet aid, because noone on earth would be willing to put anything in their mouth after that.
And, just as an aside, I have to believe it's a great diet aid, because noone on earth would be willing to put anything in their mouth after that.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)