Freckles.

So, the sad truth of things is that I have freckles, and not just like a little sparse sprinkle across my cheeks… I am the real deal.  Arms, legs, face whatever.. you name it, I can probably pinpoint a freckle there.  Not terribly dark in tone, but there all over the place nonetheless.  In summer months my left arm (the driving arm as it were) gets decidedly more freckly than the right arm, and rather than a tan I seem to just get more visible freckles.  Generally speaking I never give them a second thought.

But my dad is always reading stuff about stuff I am blissfully ignorant of and now I need to consider my freckles and how I truly feel about them at a base level.

Dad read an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune that speaks to the hidden dangers and toxins found in cosmetics that women blissfully paint themselves with on a daily basis.  He pointed it out to me as we frequently discuss safety issues and a frequent topic as of late has involved job conditions and inhalents and it had not ever crossed his mind to think about the hazzards women might self inflict.

I am included in this daily routine; I’m a spackler.  I don’t want the bags, dark spots and cracks to show and I diligently conceal, as it were.  Dad recently pointed out, I now have the “boy toy” to keep up with who has the blessing of perpetual youthful appearance on his side.  I am terrified to come across looking like his mother or something equally horrendous.  (The term “Cougar” comes to mind and, well sir, I don’t like it.)

So, I run to the internet and pour through tons of information that is available to us as consumers that of course we had no idea was out there or should be looked into…

and I find out that I am POISONING myself with my Clinique tinted moisturizer with SPF.  And I thought I was doing the right thing!  SPF is good… Clinique has a reputation for being good for those of us with sensitive skin, no animal testing, etc.  But no.

My foundation has known neuro-toxins and carcinogens in it.  (yes… as in Neurological)

You are spared here what I am doing to myself with my favorite red hair color that I thought was not so bad as it’s ammonia free and so on and so forth.  It even has avacados in it, or some non-sense… it’s of course killing me.  On a scale of 0-10 with 10 being might-as-well-start-smoking-again, my hair dye is an 8.

Lotions, facial clensers, toothpaste, deodorant, eye stuff, hair stuff, hair removal stuff, elbows, knees and toes.  I quickly evaluated my products (lined them all up on my desk and went through one by one) and discovered that I’m not nearly as contientious as I thought I was about what I put on my skin.

Then I find out that the 0-2 rated products (as in: not comprable to smoking) are like 3 to 5 TIMES the cost of the crap I’ve been buying.

So, finally, for those of you who have stuck with me… here is my point.

How important is it that I cover my freckles on a daily basis?

Where do I stand ulitmately on the topic of freckles how it impacts my satisfaction with my “meat puppet”?

Apparently I’m going to have to be okay with them as my new cost effective solution for tinted facial moisturizer with sunscreen is just not as effective at freckle coverage… and my beloved Clinique has been retired.

I have freckles and I’m not really a red head.  You will all find out soon enough as I phase into a more educated role as a consumer.   I have to say that I am SO sick of Dad reading stuff in the paper.  Last time he did that I had to give up Diet Coke.

Pbbbt.  Integrity is hard on me.

If you want to find out more about the products you use, here are some web-sites.   I’ll apologize in advance if you have to give up that perfect color of nail polish, or that anti-perspirant you found that actually works. You might be glad to find out before your ovaries shrivel up or your testicles fall off.

Formerly Blissfully Ignorant,

Sarah

http://www.cosmeticdatabase.com/index.php?nothanks=1

http://www.safecosmetics.org/index.cfm

Things that confuse me…

This will be an ongoing series I believe.

Today’s list:

- State employee’s that are staunch republicans and complain about layoffs and wage’s.  Who do they think controls those things?

- Individuals that drive needlessly aggressive in small towns and then glare at you at the next stoplight and then are polite to you when you park next to them.  I have also been nearly tossed off the road by reckless-way-too-fast-changing-lanes-too-late-flicking-me-off guy only to find out that I’m working with him.  I parked right next to his easily identifiable “I’m obviously a huge guys’ guy dude” truck.  Does he think people won’t be able to pick him out of a lineup?  Do I tell him he’s a shit driver in a billboard? Is his lack of insight my responsibility? (I voted no in this instance.  I know where he works and can find him if need be.)

- Culver’s utensil and napkin handout policies.  If you get a meal you get napkins, but if you get a sticky drippy ice cream treat you have to ask for them.   And why exactly do I need a straw for something called a “Concrete”?

Just some things to ponder.

S.

Overnight shift..

The hours between 2 and 5 are when you really start to grasp how good or bad you are at crossword puzzles.

Says me.

S.

I burn.

Yesterday while meandering through the products of people’s passion and labor at the St. Peter car show, I got a sunburn.

Just to ensure we are all on the same page here… it was September 21st  yesterday.  School is in session, crab apples are threatening to drop, we are watching tomato plants die off and wondering how many of those green ones will ripen before frost hits.  Leaves are changing all down the river valley into bright reds, oranges and that really odd mustardy yellow color.

And I have a hot, red, itchy, uncomfrotable sunburn all around my neck and down both arms.

How amazingly pale do I have to be to not have enough of a base of a tan to avoid a September sunburn?

I know I burn easily… but I had no idea I was THAT ill conditioned for outdoor activities.

Geesh.  I need to get outside more.

S.

Crossing paths…

My mother has been dead for 1 year, 7 months and 21 days… or so.

I have been home in the city very little of that time, as my friends, life, support and Dad are not there.  I go where the love is.  To ensure I was justified in where I’ve spent my time I have also brought a few co-workers into my team for work that are near Dad and have made myself Dad’s house/dog sitter during his adventures.  He could easily close up the house, were I not in it, but I am.

So, seeing as I’m around my hometown in high frequency I cannot believe the total lack of mom’s friends that I cross paths with.  Hundreds of people at her funeral that I could run into around town every day… but don’t.  I have seen virtually none of our family friends and acquaintances while out and about in town since her passing.

For all of my thoughts of this being just a little town I am beginning to appreciate it’s girth a little more.  One look at their community education book will tell you that there is STUFF going on in this town.  The thing is like 100 pages long and offers everything from Yoga to classes on how to apply for grants for equipment for disabled athletes.

So… my question is this… if this town is so big, why does it seem like there is nothing to do here other than eat out, go to the bar and hang out at home?  I’m wondering if maybe I’m missing something. Am I not looking?  Maybe I am the one to blame…

While I ponder this quandary I’ll appreciate that Facebook is there to keep me in touch since it appears that you can’t count on seeing someone you know out on the town unless you were hoping to avoid them.

Says me.

Blog Stats.

When I first started this blog I intended to update it weekly.  Give a little hint as to what I was up to in case people cared.  I thought it would be a good place to talk about things going on in the world and to do some of my long boring venting about the mundane.  I did not think I would care if people were reading it or not.

I was wrong.

I have become one of those dorks who checks daily to see if I’m being read and for two whole days I have not been.

After careful consideration I have come up with two reasons for low attendence on my site and they are:

1- I am boring and talked too much about tomatoes.  More interesting topics would be good for keeping up interest.

2- I should write more.  Not enough posts = not enough reasons to click.

There is no way that you guys don’t want to hear about tomatoes… so I must not be writing about them enough.

Says me,

S.

Before I was a skier…

Before there was skiing in my life I had another love.  Those of you who have only known me in recent years or in my adult life might find it hard to believe that there was something other than skiing in my life, but it is true.   I, Sarah, was a figure skater.

For many years I spent all my free time at the ice rink wearing those tights with short skirts and little mini stretchy gloves while practicing figures, jumps, spins and routines.   Annually I was doomed to wearing sequins hand stitched on Lycra or spandex and too much make-up in front of hundreds at the annual ice show.  There are pictures and most likely video.  It is why I will never run for office and I am terrified of You-tube.

I was not a great skater.  I was not built for the sport, am not terribly graceful, have very little body awareness and never did have that competitive streak to overcome those things.

I endured competitions, testing and ice shows because it was what figure skaters did, but I dreaded those times when I was judged.  It was for me that I skated, not for medals, badges or ribbons.  The proof of this fact is that I don’t have any of the patches or certificates that I was awarded for my achievements.  They did not adequately summarize what skating meant to me.

When I moved away to begin my college education in Minneapolis I brought my skates with me, but let boys and new adventures be my focus.  My ice time gradually faded away and the rust started forming on my sport.

When one does something as often as I skated it becomes ingrained into your fiber.  The routines of lacing up skates, stepping on the ice and warming up are like a meditation of sorts.  I have consistently been skating in my dreams since I was about 9 years old.  My dreams are so vivid that I can feel the cold on my nose… smell the moist humid chemical and sweat filled air that hangs in a foggy haze over the ice in the early mornings.  I can feel my muscles working as I dig edge to ice and push off.

So… in starts and stalls I am retaking the ice.  It’s been slow getting back my zen meditation of blades back.  My feet have spread out so that being in my custom skates is a torture test with cramps, shooting nerve pains, blisters and numbness.  I find myself re-lacing too frequently; however I trust that as always, the boots will give way… the feet will shift… the pain will fade.

My body has changed over the years and the muscle memory that once made skating like breathing has long since faded away.  I am nervous and jerky.  I have to think about every stroke.  The thought of leaving the ice in form of a jump… a joke.  My spins leave me dizzy and disoriented.

I have been frustrated and have taken months between visits to the rink.

But every time I take ice a little more comes back to me.  Today I did backward crossovers and some footwork from 1991.  I wore my skates for a whole hour before the screaming pain in my cramped arch showed up.

What drives me on and gives me hope is that today I had moments where I found my zen skating head-space.  It is enough to put me on the ice again tomorrow… and hopefully a few times next week…

and someone told me once that cross training sports is really good for agility and responsiveness and could make me a better skier!!

So says me.

Good fortune defined…

Day to day life can be many things for people.  I know people who every day are kind of in a perpetual shrug-your-shoulders “eh” saying mode.  (And I don’t mean “eh” in the Canadian way of confirming a question.  Short “e” not long “A”.)  Every day to them is mundane, routine… one in the same.  I also know people who fill every extra space around their employment with things to do.  Life is a bit of an opportunity afforded to them that should be utilized and filled.  Some people define themselves by their work and what they do… others by everything but.  How they rank any given day can hang contingent on where there sense of ‘being’ comes from.  There are others that can make any given event, occurrence, or fear of an occurrence into life altering mind blowing stuff.  Novels I tell you… about a ruined pedicure.

So what shapes people’s attitudes about work, play, crisis, etc.?  I’m fairly certain it must be in some way connected to perspective and priorities… and a little bit to what is manageable for people.

If you are overwhelmed by real crisis, is it not easier to worry about the aforementioned pedicure?  I’m beginning to think that if your biggest obstacle in life is your overwhelming fear, it would give one a sense of control to worry about something that is not so dang huge.

I’m trying to learn to be more tolerant overall.  It’s been an ongoing conscious effort for years in my life.  My mother was compassionate in a way that is hard to explain to someone who never saw her generosity.. not just of her time, but of her heart.  She loved people… all kinds… profoundly.

Me… I have spent the majority of my life thinking most people were idiots.  My only saving grace now is that I no longer feel inclined to say that I felt that way the VAST majority of my life.  Balance is coming to me.. one day at a time.

I didn’t start this posting to write about empathy although it is clear it plays a part for me personally, in accepting people and how they approach life with a less critical view.

I have watched those I care about struggle and worry about things that are maybe not SO monumental… and I have witnessed some others I care about tackle true life crisis with great strength, grace and perseverance.  More and more it is easier for me to see that really if I could wish people anything from whatever star in sky or power that be, it would just be some strength, and perspective as life seems easier for those who have those gifts already.

For those of us who don’t… we should try pretending we do for a while… one of mom’s friends assures me that if one pretends something long enough it becomes true.

I’m going to pretend I’m really physically fit for a few weeks and see how that goes.  Then I’m going to blame her if it doesn’t work and pretend I’m not responsible for all the baking and eating I’ve been doing all week.

Or I could just put this cookie down and go for a walk before it starts raining again and my job starts demanding my attention.

OH the decisions….

chomp.

Says me.

Canning is for suckers…

Last night I washed about two ice cream pails worth of tomatoes.

Then I scored the bottoms of each and put them in boiling water for a few seconds.

Then I put them in an ice bath for a min or so.

Then I peeled them, quartered them, and squished out most of the liquid.

Then Fred showed up.

Then the two of us diced the aforementioned tomatoes as well as green bell peppers, mild tam jalapeno-like peppers and an onion.  We dug through to find fresh cilantro in the garden, cut some corn off the cob and cooked all of this stuff in a pot on the stove for 5 minutes along with some cider vinigar and the juice Fred worked out of some limes.

Then Dad showed up.  He then messed with my recipe for about 30 minutes in between helping us get some quarts boiled and the water bath set up.

Then we boiled jars and simmered lids, filled jars and put on lids, and put covered jars into a water bath to cook for 30 minutes..

During the canning time we tasted some salsa left over and tried to clean up the ENORMOUS mess in the kitchen.  (messier than the poppers… seriously)

From these 7 hours 3 fairly bright adults procured a mere 3.5 quarts of Salsa.

4 jars on my counter looking at me and laughing that I would be such a sucker to think that I could make canning into a fun project rather than a boatload of work.

Sadly, I can hear the tomatoes at the farm laughing and mocking me as they ripen.  They will need to be dealt with.  There are hundreds of them.

I am a sucker.

As I stood braced against the counter staring at the meager return of my hard work it occurred to me…

“Oh god.  I’ve canned.  They’ll expect me to pop out babies next.  I have become….  Domestic.”

Says me.

Really short note about something odd…

On Friday I played Guitar Hero and had to do battle against Tom Morello.

I schooled him.  I schooled him good.

Yesterday I watched Tom Morello play an accustic set at the Take Back Labor Day event at Harriet island and spent the whole set wanting to shake my fist at him in a cocky show of superiority.

I might not be the best candidate for playing video games as I cannot apparently distinguish them from reality.

This may not seem a big deal until you think of how I drive in the Burnout games where taking out your competitors cars is encouraged and the only way to win the race.

Just something I’ve been contemplating this morning.

Says me.