tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8228078683478549142024-02-06T21:29:42.677-08:00'S WonderfulMelissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.comBlogger269125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-17329954515857245952022-04-06T17:20:00.002-07:002022-04-10T10:30:23.444-07:00When Autocorrect Can't Hear Your Screams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YmwYIKrDztBT_wcxrCg-LF3_Pf5WykJI2NG6xP9M9J7NXR0nZVtw7KXDXc7L9iuYJyKIGuNqq1Ii7h0Xcx6fLstQ28UvySaCQR0liXHU4ZPB6M55nyES-p0aUNw12fgVjx5YpvtgMsPMoIVrttzMOkGxgsY_wWCkTNOJaEKyla4y3cQjmQdTSz7t/s541/tinyhorse_lizard.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="541" data-original-width="413" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YmwYIKrDztBT_wcxrCg-LF3_Pf5WykJI2NG6xP9M9J7NXR0nZVtw7KXDXc7L9iuYJyKIGuNqq1Ii7h0Xcx6fLstQ28UvySaCQR0liXHU4ZPB6M55nyES-p0aUNw12fgVjx5YpvtgMsPMoIVrttzMOkGxgsY_wWCkTNOJaEKyla4y3cQjmQdTSz7t/w305-h400/tinyhorse_lizard.png" width="305" /></a></div>It's not a lie when I say that I kind of adore the blue-bellied lizards who frequent our back patio. It always makes me smile when they stop outside one of the open sliding glass doors and do a round of push-ups to show off their strength and ward off the threat of the two mesmerized cats on the other side of the screen. When I sit outside to work, I'll sometimes greet them with a "Hey Lizzie," as they scuttle past me. </span></div><p>Lizards who do push-ups are great. Skinks, not so much. </p><p>If you're not familiar with the skink, it's basically a snake with tiny, almost unnecessary legs—likely descended from T-Rex arms. Skinks have pointier faces than blue-belly lizards, giving them a sort of crocodilian likeness. But it is their long, serpentine tails and erratic way of moving through the world that really makes the pee start percolating in my pants. </p><p>I don't think I've ever encountered a skink in our yard without screaming at least a little. Thankfully, I don't see them very often, but in the past two weeks, I've seen two. <i>Monsters</i>. </p><p>Yesterday, I was taking full advantage of my hiatus from a real job and had planted myself on a towel under one of the plum trees in our garden to write in my journal. The temperature was just right. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the weed field to the south. A hummingbird was chirping out commands from the top of an apricot branch nearby. It was blissful. </p><p>Until—out of nowhere—a skink came whipping at me at 100 mph and slither-bolted ON TO MY TOWEL RIGHT BETWEEN MY FEET. I sprang from the towel like a middle-aged ninja and sprinted across the garden, shrieking all the way. </p><p>As I always do in times of crisis, I then texted my trusty husband who was in LA for work. He responded with "HAHAHAHAHA where did it come from?" <i>Thanks for the sympathy.</i> </p><p>After gathering the courage to shake said skink from my towel, I grabbed the rest of my things and headed to the safety of our patio where I immediately discovered a 4" moth perched on my favorite chair. Remind me who signed me up for this whole country living thing again. </p><p>Inside the critter-free living room, I received another text from my Mr. Wonderful asking what happened with the skunk. </p><p>The Wha? </p><p>At first I thought he'd made a typo. Then I scrolled up to my original message. Sure enough, autocorrect had adjusted my spelling so that my note said a skunk had come barreling across the garden onto my beach towel. No wonder he was confused about where it came from. </p><p>Through much amusement, I replied and explained the whole mix-up. He told me that he'd gotten the message as he and his coordinator were walking into a meeting and they both laughed hysterically picturing me innocently journaling in the backyard and then being charged by an angry skunk. </p><p>It's still up for debate whether I would have preferred the skunk over the skink. At least it would have had a cuter face.</p>Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-23939712044630214102019-12-28T13:48:00.000-08:002019-12-28T13:48:10.850-08:0012 "Dones" of Housemas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Since we bought our house 7 years ago, we've had a running To-Do list that seems to operate a little like a starfish. You cut off one arm and another grows in its place. You cross one thing off the list and another inevitably appears—often because when one thing becomes pretty, it illuminates the ugliness of the thing beside. Like when we <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2017/04/more-usable-space-and-whole-lotta.html">enclosed our breezeway</a> with a wall of redwood planks and suddenly realized that the garage door looked so hideous next to it, we needed to buy a new one.<br />
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Thankfully, in the last year or so we've been able to successfully amputate some of the starfish arms, taking our once two-page list down to about 3/4 of one page.<br />
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I've been terrible about blogging this year, but I wanted to post a list (partly for our own selfish project-tracking reasons) chronicling the To-Dos we've turned to Dones in 2019.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1. Driveway</span></b><br />
This was essentially a miracle. I don't know what year our crumbly old asphalt driveway was laid, but it was The. Biggest. Eyesore. It brought down the aesthetic of the entire house. And every time I swept it after gardening, it would disintegrate. I was convinced that eventually, there would be no driveway left to sweep because every crumb of it would have been pushed into the lawn and the mulched planter.<br />
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Mr. W refused to even entertain the idea of a new driveway, so I would often say things like "When I win the lottery, the first thing I'm doing is pouring concrete!" I'm still not clear on what brought him around, but in the early fall, Mr. W decided to get a quote on cement. And it was so much more affordable than we thought it would be! So we did it. And it has totally transformed the front of our house. Worth every penny.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">2. Retaining wall</span></b><br />
Along with the driveway came a new niche for our trashcans and, possibly someday in the future, a cute little trailer. The catch was that we needed to make sure our neighbor's yard didn't accidentally avalanche into our new niche. Thus, the handsome new retaining wall.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">3. Fountain</span></b><br />
I think Mr. W added "fix fountain" to the to-do list like four years ago. We've had this fountain since we lived in Hollywood and I missed looking out the kitchen window to catch hummingbirds drinking from it and mockingbirds bathing. Very excited he got this puppy back up and running.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>4. Sliding glass doors</b></span><br />
The doors in our dining room and living room were original to the house—meaning they were installed in 1959. In addition to being murder traps (there was no way they were tempered glass) they were drafty, didn't slide great, and had grime around the frames that I couldn't ever seem to get clean. We (read: Mr. W, not me...) still need to patch the stucco around the new ones, but they have made a huge difference in our ability to control temperature inside the house and they look great (especially with our new carpet).<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">5. Curtain Rods</span></b><br />
This was a minor update but I'd been wanting to do it a long time and am so happy. It's the equivalent of adding eyebrows to where none used to exist on a face.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">6. Carpet</span></b><br />
Not sure when the carpet was installed in our living room, but it was in sad shape when we bought the house. We shampooed the room two or three times, but as my dad once said about my beat-up Ford Escort "You can't turn a sow's ear into a silk purse." There was a thinning spot next to the slider where water seepage had destroyed the padding and rug. And when <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2017/03/its-all-just-happening-too-fast.html">we got two kittens</a> whose favorite game involved plucking individual fibers from the grid and tossing them like captured prey, thinning turned to bald. We needed to pull the trigger on new carpet. The room is now thick and lustrous as a Kardashian.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">7. Backyard staircase</span></b><br />
We just checked this one off the week before Christmas and there's still much to do with it. But the stairs are framed and we can now get down to our lower yard without having to walk all the way around to the dirt path that runs between our neighbors' house and ours. It's thrilling. I plan to run up and down these suckers to get in shape like Rocky. And one day, there will be grapevines growing on the slopes that border them.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">8. Wood surround on the pizza oven</span></b><br />
We put the pizza oven in two years ago and the BBQ platform next to it had been a skeleton ever since. After finding a master carpenter to help us with the trim above our kitchen cabinets (which should be #13 on this list...) Mr. W hired him to finally put some meat on the BBQ platform bones. Now this pretty redwood matches the rest of the wood on our property and finally the pizza oven can stand in its true saucy Neapolitan glory.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">9. Garden fencing and boxes</span></b><br />
Very early in the year, Mr. W set to work installing a deer fence around all of our fruit trees. We decided this part of the yard would be a better place to plant our big garden, and that garden would need protection from the local herbivores. The fence paid off in pounds and pounds of apricots and plums in the early summer and thanks to the planter boxes Mr. W built, we were able to save most of the smaller plants from the titanium army of undestroyable gophers. We need to do some work on our soil (we didn't get a single zucchini in this garden, which is unheard of) but were happy with our tomato, basil, tomatillo, and pumpkin yields.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">10. Greenhouse plants</span></b><br />
<a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2019/03/yard-plan-interrupted.html">I did find time to craft a blog post about the greenhouse</a> we built in the spring, but sadly that beauty sat empty and unfinished most of the year. Finally in the fall, we completed the assembly of the shelves inside of it and added some plants. I'm happy to say I've been getting jalapeños all winter and we're hoping our tomato plant will fruit soon. The cauliflower plants are also coming along quite nicely. The dream is to have some semblance of produce production going all year, every year.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">11. Gas line in the fire pit</span></b><br />
In spite of my deep-rooted love of campfire smell, Mr. W insisted we put in a gas option so we could use the firepit without having to go to bed smoke-scented. I guess it's nice to have the option, but I'm likely going to lobby for real wood the next time we make 'smores.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">12. Murphy bed</span></b><br />
With six nieces between the two of us, Mr. W and I often have families of four staying in our house. Sadly, we only had one guest room and one bed, so multiple members of the fam were relegated to the couch and aerobeds if they spent the night. We had decided quite awhile ago to buy a Murphy bed for his office so we could have another guest bedroom, and this year we finally bought a kit and put one together. It's nice that we can pack it up when it's not being used. And I dig how it kinda looks like an old fashioned bar or something. Cocktail, anyone?<br />
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-89410630358893162942019-04-15T21:05:00.000-07:002019-04-15T21:05:37.692-07:0016 Steps I've Taken to Cut Down on Plastic and Waste<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you've been living under a rock or buried under an overstuffed landfill, you may not have heard that plastic is kinda swallowing the planet. I knew about the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Pacific_garbage_patch">Great Pacific Garbage Patch</a> and that plastic was <a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2019/03/13/702501726/where-will-your-plastic-trash-go-now-that-china-doesnt-want-it?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20190313&fbclid=IwAR2vjC_Su1D-bZcRObAwM8U7w0mRhvGsClwrfhdma_kEZdDFrmTt-DVp5rU">piling up in recycling storage facilities</a> because China, who used to take a lot of cast-aside plastics, was no longer accepting recyclables. But then I watched a recorded episode of <i>60 Minutes</i> where they showed the damage to nesting albatross birds on Midway Island. Baby birds are dying because their mamas are unknowingly feeding them plastic instead of food. Malnourished with plastic-packed tummies, they can't survive.<br />
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IT BROKE MY HEART.<br />
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Then there were the two different stories about young whales being found with plastic in their bellies — <a href="https://www.npr.org/2019/03/18/704471596/stomach-of-dead-whale-contained-nothing-but-plastic">88</a> and <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/02/world/europe/plastic-whale-dead-italy.html">48</a> pounds to be exact.<br />
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I'll stop completely depressing you now and tell you what I've started doing to try to reduce the plastic I buy and dispose of, in hopes of making even a tiny dent in this problem. Good news—you can try doing this stuff too!<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1. Switched from disposable plastic razors to a metal safety razor. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B00K6Z1R60/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o01_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">This one</a>, to be exact. It was scary—I was mildly convinced I might slash my achilles and never walk again. But save for a few nicks here and there when I have a brand new blade in place, it hasn't been bad to use at all!<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">2. Added Bee's Wrap to my kitchen drawer. </span></b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Bees-Wrap-Friendly-Reusable-Sustainable/dp/B01N816PDD/ref=sr_1_6?crid=1JLW09K14U5ZD&keywords=bee%27s+wrap&qid=1555116342&s=gateway&sprefix=Bee%27s+%2Cbeauty%2C208&sr=8-6">This wonder wrap</a> works just as well as Saran wrap but it's free of plastic, can be washed and reused 100 times, and can be cut up and composted when you're done using it. Love. Love. Love.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">3. Bought silk dental floss.</span></b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B0753F26N2/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o05_s01?ie=UTF8&psc=1">This, too, </a>can be composted when I'm done with it. And though it's not as slippery as the plasticky Glide I used before, it's soft and works great.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">4. Ditched face wash in a plastic pump for bar form. </span></b><br />
I was worried that <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B00MP7LRPI/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o05_s01?ie=UTF8&th=1">the bar</a> might dry out my face (wimpy, sensitive skin) but it's been working great. I also use coconut oil (which comes in a glass jar) to take off my eye makeup at night. It's a little too greasy and comedogenic for me to use on my whole face, but the Cetaphil makes the perfect accompaniment to it.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">5. Invested in bar shampoo and bodywash.</span></b><br />
I researched options on this and ended up at Lush—where I fell in mad love with their <a href="https://www.lushusa.com/hair/shampoo-bars/jason-and-the-argan-oil/05564.html">Jason and the Argon Oil shampoo bar</a>. I tried the <a href="https://www.lushusa.com/hair/shampoo-bars/karma-komba/02008.html">Karma Komba</a> one too but don't like it as much. And the conditioner bar really didn't work well with my hair. I do plan to try their <a href="https://www.lushusa.com/hair/conditioners/retread/9999902019.html">Retread conditioner</a> because it comes in a little pot that you can return to the store where they recycle them. Aces.<br />
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The bodywash <a href="https://www.lushusa.com/shower/shower-bombs/not-sleepy/08559.html">Shower Bomb</a> looks like it'll melt in one use, but I've used mine about 6 or 7 times now and it's only halfway gone. Works GREAT for shaving legs. It just has to be stored out of a soap dish where there's standing water. I keep it perched on top of a foot scrubby on my shower shelf.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">6. Made my own lotion.</span></b><br />
This was quite the science experiment. I Googled recipes and picked up some shea butter (in a glass container) from the local natural food store and vitamin E oil (unfortunately in plastic but it'll last a really long time) from Trader Joes'. Then it was just a matter of melting and mixing with coconut oil, some essential oil for scent, and a splash of avocado oil. The consistency is obviously oilier than regular body lotion, but I like it! It leaves my legs and feet very silky soft.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">7. Sewed cloth cocktail napkins.</span></b><br />
I know, I know—napkins are paper and can be composted. But they come packaged in plastic! And I have a ton of fabric remnants, so before the last party I hosted, I cut out some squares, sewed some quick seams and set them out as cocktail napkins. I plan to make some more out of black linen in effort to do a better job of hiding tough-to-remove stains.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">8. Switched to stainless steel party cups. </span></b><br />
Every year, we host a Halloween party and every year we sift through the aftermath gathering plastic cups for the recycle bin. I wanted to find something that was easy and durable, and of course <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B07GF5JLCZ/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o02_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">Amazon came through for me</a>. After this year's Halloween shindig, I'll be washing and reusing everything!<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">9. Bought compostable cutlery. </span></b><br />
Again, we create a lot of plastic trash with the utensils we put out at our social gatherings, so I invested in some <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B01M5FXABS/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o06_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">alternative compostable stuff</a>. I should probably use real silverware and just wash it, but I wanted to give these puppies a shot and see first. There may be a trip to IKEA in my future for the real deal though...<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">10. Adopted Method soap dispenser refill pouches.</span></b><br />
<a href="https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B01MZ1XFSM/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o06_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">The refill pouches</a> use 80% less plastic than the dispensers themselves. EIGHTY PERCENT! I think we've been using the same dispenser for at least 5 years. I buy multipacks of the refill soap and those go a long way too, which is great. We use Method in the kitchen and in all our bathrooms. And—bonus—the soap itself is biodegradable.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">11. Signed up for multiple Terracycle Brigades. </span></b><br />
I actually did this years ago and have been shipping my <a href="https://www.terracycle.com/en-US/brigades/personal-care-and-beauty-brigade-r">beauty waste</a> and <a href="https://www.terracycle.com/en-US/brigades/clifbar">energy bar wrappers</a> to them to be recycled free of charge. Such a great deal! But I also recently signed up for the <a href="https://www.terracycle.com/en-US/brigades/personal-care-and-beauty-brigade-r">Tom's of Maine Brigade</a> since Mr. W uses Tom's deodorant and toothpaste. They make it super simple to ship your trash. I even collect beauty waste from family members, and it's all free to send every single time.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>12. Invested in a Zero-Waste Box from Terracycle.</b></span><br />
<a href="https://www.terracycle.com/en-US/zero_waste_boxes/no-separation">Now, this ain't exactly cheap</a> so I know it won't be for everyone. But Terracycle does such great work that I was happy to not only send them all the bits and bobs I feel guilty about throwing in the trash—I was happy to support their business. We've had the box for over a month now and have been recycling all sorts of different things—from food wrappers to caps and lids to pieces of packaging. It feels much more responsible than tossing that stuff in the trash.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">13. Turned frozen veggie bags, chip bags, and other "trash" into cat poop bags.</span></b><br />
Now, we also use <a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Biodegradable-Dispenser-Unscented-Leak-Proof-Tear-Off/dp/B074X919FL/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?crid=34QWX0RZBAGCY&keywords=biodegradable+poop+bags&qid=1555375884&s=gateway&sprefix=biodegrada%2Chpc%2C229&sr=8-1-spons&psc=1">biodegradable bags</a> for litterbox cleaning, but we've made it a habit to save anything bag-like instead of throwing it in the trash. Our recycling doesn't take plastic bags, so this seems like a simple way to at least get some sort of use out of them before throwing them away. Just gotta make sure not to put that "frozen broccoli" back in the freezer by mistake.....<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">14. Stopped throwing recyclables into the bin inside a bag.</span></b><br />
I read online that <a href="https://www.chicagotribune.com/business/ct-plastic-bag-ban-recycling-0731-biz-20150730-story.html">plastic bags can get stuck</a> and gum up conveyor belts at recycling facilities. Apparently the best thing to do is throw your recyclables straight into the big blue bin. So that's what we've been doing. We still line our kitchen bin with a bag (and have to replace it every couple months) but we toss its contents directly into the outdoor bin. I'm realizing as I type this that if I walked every individual piece out to the bin instead of keeping any in the house, I'd raise my daily step count. Hmm.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">15. Tried ThredUp.</span></b><br />
A friend of mine told me last summer that she was really trying to stop making fast fashion purchases. <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-45745242">Those cheap pieces that go in and out of style are wreaking havoc on the planet, apparently</a>. I went back and forth on how I felt buying used clothes (I was never a cool thrift store shopper in high school) but I discovered that <a href="https://www.thredup.com/">ThredUp</a> actually has stuff that's truly like new—some even with the tags still on it. I bought 3 sundresses and you would never know they had been worn by someone else. Also: So much cheaper than buying new clothes! And on top of that, they offer signup discounts and ongoing savings via email. I will definitely be shopping there again.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">16. Started composting a whole lot more than kitchen scraps.</span></b><br />
I've been <a href="https://melissa-hetherington.blogspot.com/2009/01/no-idea-what-in-worm-im-doing.html">composting for about 10 years now</a> and will probably never stop. We have a tumbler composter, dome, and a freestanding pile down in our back forty where we throw stuff from the yard and lower garden. If you do any sort of gardening, composting is such a fruitful practice—you get great soil and you cut methane-producing waste from landfills. Win-win. Lately, I've been throwing used Kleenex, the occasional paper towel, and way more paper into the compost. Soon my dental floss and used Bee's Wrap will go in there, too. There may be a line to draw here though. When I told my dad I'd Google "compostable underwear" and that someday he might eat tomatoes that grew from my skivvies, he was horrified.<br />
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When I think about past generations, I'm inspired by what pros they were at consuming less, reusing more, and creating less waste and impact on the planet. Something to aspire to. And if you don't want to swap out your current conveniences, <a href="https://www.raptim.org/17-ngos-fighting-plastic-pollution/">consider making a donation to one of the organizations fighting the rising tide of plastic around the globe</a>. Every little bit helps!Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-28021748923451909322019-03-28T22:44:00.000-07:002019-03-28T22:44:29.521-07:00Yard Plan, Interrupted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When Mr. W and I started house-hunting in the Santa Ynez Valley 7 years ago, one of our non-negotiables was the size of our lot. We had to have an acre. No ifs, ands, or buts. In our minds, it was the ideal amount of space for a chicken coop and a veggie garden and maybe some goats to fuel our cheese-making aspirations.<br />
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Fast forward to 2016 and we'd scrapped the goats but had a pretty clear design in mind for the half acre of empty land behind our house.<br />
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I begged for that yoga platform. I was certain I'd use it to host spirit-restoring day retreats for my friends from LA.<br />
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Then, last fall, Mr. W and I went to Sonoma. And we visited the <a href="http://www.cornerstonesonoma.com/sunset">Sunset Test Garden</a>. Which had the raddest greenhouse ever. Immediately, we both knew that instead of the yoga platform (Mr. W was never in love with it anyway) we wanted a nice big greenhouse on our green acre.<br />
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We found a kit for one from a local vendor and decided to splurge on the purchase. It took several Saturdays of wood staining and audio book listening in the garage (<i><a href="https://smile.amazon.com/Sharp-Objects-Gillian-Flynn/dp/0307341550/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3NR2UG03HDS7V&keywords=sharp+objects+by+gillian+flynn&qid=1553837237&s=gateway&sprefix=Sharp+Ob%2Caps%2C206&sr=8-1">Sharp Objects</a></i>—what a thriller), but we got all the boards prepped and Mr. W assembled them with all the glass panels. Pretty sure there were 18 total when he was done. After that, it was time for an old-fashioned barn-raising, complete with help from neighbors on both sides of us. Farm life takes a village, people.<br />
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Fully constructed, it feels like we have a little church in our backyard. It's pretty and serene and looks out onto all of spring's natural beauty.<br />
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Because we couldn't just revamp one part of our yard plan, we also decided to level the garden we've had in place the past two summers and map out an even larger one near our baby orchard of fruit trees. Of course, this also meant we'd need to build a deer fence around everything.<br />
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It's funny how home and garden projects always seems to have a ripple effect. You get a greenhouse, then you want a better veggie patch. You hang new curtain rods and you need to upgrade the decades-old sliding glass doors. You install a pizza oven and then you've gotta plan a trip to Italy...<br />
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I have a feeling that my new gigantic vegetable garden will ripple out to keep me boiling and bagging tomatoes and drying plums and apricots all summer long. Which, I guess makes up for the fact that we never got those goats we were going to use for cheesemaking. Interrupting the best laid plans seems to be a pattern here.<br />
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Thank goodness we never changed our plan to own the world's cutest chicken.<br />
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Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-21219053483174228332018-10-22T22:45:00.000-07:002018-10-22T22:45:58.699-07:00That Time We Caught and Nearly Lost a Mouse in Our House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Country living is a critter-filled existence. Gophers in the lawn. Foxes in the back forty. Deer down the middle of the road. Skinks in the shed. Snakes in the driveway. I could go on...<br />
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Thankfully, beyond the occasional small creepy crawly, we've only had one giant barn spider, one potato bug, and one baby lizard wander inside the confines of our house during our 5 years here. But Friday night, our relaxing Netflix binge on the couch was interrupted by a new intruder.<br />
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The cats sensed him first. Powell perked up and looked toward the ceiling at what I assumed was just a harmless flying insect of some sort.<br />
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When I noticed something between the wall and wooden light bank in our living room, I initially thought I was seeing a big, furry brown moth. But instead of crawling, it ducked its head. And then its head popped back up from the edge of the wood.<br />
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"Is that a—?!" Mr. W gasped.<br />
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"MOUSE!" I shrieked.<br />
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I jumped onto the couch even though the thing was basically on the ceiling, not the floor.<br />
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Mr. W immediately headed to the garage to get the ladder and a trap. And I immediately told him we were not killing our new visitor. If we were going to catch it in a sticky trap, we'd also be freeing it from said trap and letting it loose in the lower backyard.<br />
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Of course when he got up to the beam with his flashlight, he couldn't find it. We waited. The cats waited. And then he heard some sound (Help me?) that indicated it was stuck to the trap.<br />
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Mr. W carried the sticky tray into the kitchen where a Rubbermaid bin was waiting. The poor little mouse was teeny and as cute as a brown velvet button. I wanted to cry when I saw his heart pounding in total terror over his predicament.<br />
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We had warm water waiting, and Mr. W gently poured it over the trap until the mouse freed himself inside the Rubbermaid bin.<br />
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AND THEN HE JUMPED OUT OF THE BIN AND RAN ACROSS THE KITCHEN COUNTER.<br />
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Mr. W grabbed a dish towel. I grabbed the cats and shooed them out of the room. And then we commenced a game of mouse-catching ping pong, bumbling back and forth along the counter, trying to whisk him into a cardboard box.<br />
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I had just done the dishes and that little guy must have run over every spoon and pan that was sitting on our drying pad. He ran behind the upright mixer and when Mr. W tried to grab him, he ran into the sink. I thought we had him but he somehow scaled the wall and was hanging from the metal rack where we dry wine glasses.<br />
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It was like a scene out of Ratatouille.<br />
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He disappeared behind a frying pan and when we moved it, we discovered he had climbed up the splatter guard Mr. W had used over our pan-cooked salmon dinner. It turned out to be the perfect lid to our cardboard entrapment box, so Mr. W grabbed it and swung it over the box like a tennis pro spiking a ball.<br />
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My heart was pounding as hard as the mouse's.<br />
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Mr. W took the box outside and relocated our friend about a quarter acre from the house.<br />
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I scoured every dish for the second time and he scrubbed all surfaces and items within sneezing distance of the kitchen counter. We'll be re-spray-foaming the light bank in the living room, as well.<br />
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Though our visitor was a cute little guy and we do live in the country which seems like it just begs for the occasional surprise rodent, the only furry friends I want in my house are those two spoiled felines.<br />
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Let's just hope Mr. Mouse's family doesn't come looking for him anytime soon. Especially on a night when Mr. W is working in LA!<br />
<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-82854126258314430002018-09-26T09:28:00.000-07:002018-09-26T09:28:30.503-07:00You Know You've Finally Made It When...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpK2bFjbTTk-WhfGGEwodvndmwFZv5_kUWfXxXtaqbbQlYewRJr_i4V5gpWXvyi1IXqrwH7yj6Wkv7XsG-rRY65sSqN36gOOu3LpAU5UGQ3vgHPYVXtN51yWBlP53uhE4L7sjpihDSDM/s1600/IMG_3568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpK2bFjbTTk-WhfGGEwodvndmwFZv5_kUWfXxXtaqbbQlYewRJr_i4V5gpWXvyi1IXqrwH7yj6Wkv7XsG-rRY65sSqN36gOOu3LpAU5UGQ3vgHPYVXtN51yWBlP53uhE4L7sjpihDSDM/s640/IMG_3568.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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When Mr. W was a youngster, he had three big dreams: To be a Top Gun fighter pilot, to work in the film industry, and to someday own a Porsche. While some guys his age had pictures of Tiffani-Amber Thiessen taped to their bedroom walls, Mr. W had centerfolds of Carreras.<br />
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Though his dream of becoming Maverick got back burnered, he chased his film aspirations from St. Louis to Los Angeles and vowed to buy himself that car as soon as his paychecks could support it.<br />
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After several years of grinding away in visual effects (and fetching the occasional coffee), Mr. W was established enough in the industry to splurge on the ultimate driving machine. He bought himself a shiny ocean blue metallic Porsche 911 Carrera.<br />
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It was a declaration that'd he'd finally made it.<br />
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His friends teasingly called him Jake Ryan. Shy guy. Good hair. I think it kinda fits.<br />
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Fast forward about 15 years and the marker that represents making it has changed dramatically.<br />
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I don't want to say that his double decades in Hollywood jaded him, but he outgrew the Porsche aspirations and moved onto fantasizing about a more practical sports car: The Tractor.<br />
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Success shifted from the Hollywood Hills to the Santa Ynez Valley, and included the remodel of an outdated house, the planting of a backyard vineyard, and the purchase of something powerful for mowing and tilling.<br />
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Folks, I am so happy to announce that my highly motivated husband has "made it" yet again. He is officially a real farm person now, with the purchase of his Massey Ferguson GC1715.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jS0x2huOjrOS1mUrV8Y6352IwfBp1qJR-WJuGoKWEeeUjK32C2qcPwxrKJKBECQdXezqY5nJqGOKUImWqc68zUtU_Oyei5i2Ak30p7pW1PH2dsgd1ul0_swvb6gc-rBCcfT2mDEwv8Y/s1600/IMG_3569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jS0x2huOjrOS1mUrV8Y6352IwfBp1qJR-WJuGoKWEeeUjK32C2qcPwxrKJKBECQdXezqY5nJqGOKUImWqc68zUtU_Oyei5i2Ak30p7pW1PH2dsgd1ul0_swvb6gc-rBCcfT2mDEwv8Y/s640/IMG_3569.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I've named it Mater after the tow truck in <i>Cars</i>. And it runs like a champion.<br />
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Weeds in the back 40: Watch out—he's comin' for you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0S9e92D2K6l2A-DlOaj6RPsxydCJZVbbyRHwOl1t_jGy6o2ZhGONN9cDzCFRP7R_kU_ackzY_PVGLVAxUgdiregORWZXbLdpPpBwiuzQuqirlCpLZly8m15Bx4R_fXOGWiEUnjynrBU/s1600/IMG_3567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0S9e92D2K6l2A-DlOaj6RPsxydCJZVbbyRHwOl1t_jGy6o2ZhGONN9cDzCFRP7R_kU_ackzY_PVGLVAxUgdiregORWZXbLdpPpBwiuzQuqirlCpLZly8m15Bx4R_fXOGWiEUnjynrBU/s640/IMG_3567.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-81796417528003925412018-09-09T11:02:00.000-07:002018-09-09T11:02:05.611-07:005 Years on the Other Side <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgye2ZpByb3h3fbbAYtTpe1k5Ute-q0qXeFCmC1zvkcM7MbS6um0WTjoq66uchxsQR9kRdcDr51xAkmsTmxXQekn_pRLJIxNYJdwJp0ZnC0gnclLglT2BDJjtgq_bfSqF7k0WGcxlusbTs/s1600/jeremy-bishop-225532-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgye2ZpByb3h3fbbAYtTpe1k5Ute-q0qXeFCmC1zvkcM7MbS6um0WTjoq66uchxsQR9kRdcDr51xAkmsTmxXQekn_pRLJIxNYJdwJp0ZnC0gnclLglT2BDJjtgq_bfSqF7k0WGcxlusbTs/s640/jeremy-bishop-225532-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/jFAZ9MGP54M">Source</a></td></tr>
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<br />
I was picking tomatillos in my garden yesterday when I looked down and saw a spider hanging out on the bare part of my flip flop-clad foot. I flailed and cursed for a minute, but quickly went back to my important business. Five years of country living has hardened me against such terrors.<br />
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<i>Yep, five years.</i><br />
<br />
August 17th was the fifth anniversary of my arrival here in Santa Ynez. I say "my" because Mr. W didn't officially join me for about 8 more months. Life in the entertainment industry. Sigh.<br />
<br />
I'm amazed by how quickly the years have passed. In our time here, we've managed to extensively demo, remodel, landscape, and add on to our house (an <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/p/home-tour.html">almost up-to-date before and after tour here</a>), plant two different gardens that have yielded hundreds of fruits and veggies, say goodbye to two beloved cats, hello to two more that we adore, and raise a flock of six chickens (minus one dearly departed <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2014/06/our-baby-girls-gone-done-and-growed-up.html">Miss Carrie Birdshaw</a>). I think I've produced more sweat working in our yard here than I did in my entire 37 years in So Cal. But the perspiration, determination, and even frustration have all been worth it.<br />
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We really do feel like we did it. We had a dream and we made it come true.<br />
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We're living the life we imagined when sat on our patio in Hollywood drafting our plans to move to wine country. It's far from perfect. It's hard to balance the draws of LA—family, friends, work—with our new life here. Mr. W has even been commuting back and forth for a film project since late spring of 2017. We still haven't finished remodeling one of our bathrooms. We had to replant our garden 3 times this summer before figuring out how to fend off the earwigs. A deer broke our young persimmon tree. I break out in a rash every time I make contact with the zucchini plant or certain grasses in our back forty. And Trader Joe's and Target still require a 35-minute drive.<br />
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But all of the prickles and inconveniences are no match for the upsides of life here. The strangers who wave from their cars when we pass them on our street. The way that we seem to bump into someone we know every time we go out to dinner. The fact that we can spend an afternoon wine tasting without driving more than 7 minutes from our garage. The beautiful hawks and foxes and quail we get to see wandering through our yard.<br />
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The very best part, by far, though is the people we've come to call friends.<br />
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Before we moved, my biggest fear and greatest hope centered around making friends. I was so scared we wouldn't find our people. Not having children and working from home, our chances seemed like they might be slim. I'll never forget going to my first yoga class here and scanning the room like a predator looking for potential friend prey.<br />
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I still attend the same yoga class, though it's now filled with sassy seniors who take part in women's marches and worry about water conservation and world events. I adore these ladies so incredibly much. They're like my tribe of elders and I love listening to everything they have to say. And, they're not the only extraordinary friends I've made in town.<br />
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Mr. W and I had the great fortune of falling into a crowd of a dozen or two couples that all know each other through the community and get together regularly for BBQs and beer nights at the local brewery and holiday parties. We never had a crew like this in LA. We had great friends who were couples, but never a sprawling collection that has come to feel more like family than just friends.<br />
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It's all been such an unexpected gift. I had hoped to make a few close friends and it feels like there are at least 20 people I could call now for help or a girls' night out or a shoulder to cry on. I'm amazed by our luck.<br />
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And the idea that those friendships and our memories will only deepen over the next five years and the five after that completely warms my heart. We planted a new life and get to watch it grow.<br />
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I hope continues to yield delicious and copious amounts of goodness.<br />
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Just like my beloved tomatillo plant.<br />
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-62279043918762559772017-12-09T16:44:00.000-08:002017-12-09T16:44:44.648-08:00Every Penny Counts<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ689Uwh6V_YkBs5SyQoxQCcRvy8VN6AVaYeoXZs0zoPVZes3z44vWX1TzcNd9Q0-el2R-iF-_tqzx2SMLMXmesMMtXQHJ6cl2XzvXJwc4qYRtLD0PrgsIynD8cFm2oND3XvCqnKDag98/s1600/Fire+sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ689Uwh6V_YkBs5SyQoxQCcRvy8VN6AVaYeoXZs0zoPVZes3z44vWX1TzcNd9Q0-el2R-iF-_tqzx2SMLMXmesMMtXQHJ6cl2XzvXJwc4qYRtLD0PrgsIynD8cFm2oND3XvCqnKDag98/s400/Fire+sky.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. W snapped this on his way home from LA <br />Wednesday afternoon, somewhere near the Thomas fire.</td></tr>
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Ash is raining down at my house today, as smoke from the Thomas fire in Ventura County blows north. I don't know exactly how many structures and homes have been lost, but I know it's in the hundreds, and I cannot even imagine what people who lived in the fire's path are going through.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, Mr. W. and I are heading to Walmart to buy a whole bunch of stuff to donate to the victims (if you want to contribute, Venmo me tonight!). It may not end up being much when you consider the magnitude of everything lost, but hopefully it'll help.<br />
<br />
I really believe every little bit helps.<br />
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At the beginning of this year, I was feeling really uncertain about what would happen to many of the causes I care about. Certain organizations and initiatives seemed to be in jeopardy—so I set a crazy goal to donate $100 a month to different charities. Now, for some people, that's peanuts. But it was more than I'd ever coughed up to nonprofits in my life.<br />
<br />
I'm excited to say I exceeded my goal by about 40%.<br />
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It got me thinking about how much easier it is to give than I thought it was. Sure, I could have used that money to pad my savings account or take a nice trip. But receiving thank you letters from teachers in need and nonprofits that do such important work for wounded veterans or the environment or LGBT rights—it made every last cent count so much more.<br />
<br />
Did you know that if every one of my Facebook friends donated just $5 a month to charity, there'd be more than $40,000 a year going to good causes? From just FIVE bucks a month. Almost everyone can afford that.<br />
<br />
So I'd like to poke you in the rib and ask you to donate to something you believe in. Or send some money to a great org like <a href="https://www.directrelief.org/">Direct Relief</a> or the <a href="https://www.firehero.org/">National Fallen Firefighters Foundation</a>. Or drive yourself to Walmart tomorrow and pick up some stuff to send to Californians who have lost their homes. They need it, and I have a feeling it'll make your holiday season feel a little more meaningful.Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-74993791987764003392017-07-31T22:23:00.000-07:002017-07-31T22:23:07.510-07:00Warning: Chicken Panic Is Contagious<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod4p-i2oboJIfpZnUc_CSyE2PfuEdzZwLMolIw9r_IhsCRcJmnYQb5v4dEPML7u6VAzTwuCdnSMfXBXDU5OL4HIjWK0yP8sVgcBwavyQETMpZnsRMvy3ORhNu9k14NJJSVkos5hTUXR4/s1600/IMG_3382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjod4p-i2oboJIfpZnUc_CSyE2PfuEdzZwLMolIw9r_IhsCRcJmnYQb5v4dEPML7u6VAzTwuCdnSMfXBXDU5OL4HIjWK0yP8sVgcBwavyQETMpZnsRMvy3ORhNu9k14NJJSVkos5hTUXR4/s640/IMG_3382.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Whoever wrote the story of Chicken Little and his famous "the sky is falling" catchphrase must have been a hen owner. Anyone who has spent even a small amount of time in the company of poultry can tell you that the feathered girls are usually high anxiety. The intensity of their panic is somewhere in the realm of fainting '50s Beatles fans or, if we were measuring it in abs, maybe like 8 Ryan Goslings.<br />
<br />
Our new chicks, <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2017/07/hipster-farmers-almanac.html">Agnes and Barb</a>, are especially uppity—I think because we didn't get them until they were about 6 weeks old. The ladies in our first brood have been handled by us since the day they were born, so their neuroses are slightly less (maybe around a factor of 6 Gos abs).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52qTmLdeX1d9I9P0gOGKWh_GI6sVIb0_43rCsvngQmXb7UGw0e_zQIOsuYJu0oVKYJAIp0IZw1DNRpn3H1LJn2OtFQ3Txm3U-UFSktYKf3yMigsK5IR0W33dPhMQTGUpfxnA01bqiqhY/s1600/IMG_3386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52qTmLdeX1d9I9P0gOGKWh_GI6sVIb0_43rCsvngQmXb7UGw0e_zQIOsuYJu0oVKYJAIp0IZw1DNRpn3H1LJn2OtFQ3Txm3U-UFSktYKf3yMigsK5IR0W33dPhMQTGUpfxnA01bqiqhY/s640/IMG_3386.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barbie and Agnes currently live in a sectioned off portion of the big girls' run. And yes, their coup is a souped up cardboard box...</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Anywhoo, it occurred to me last week that chicken anxiety might be like the avian flu. Catching. And I'm infected. Mr. W has been away for work (which always depletes any reserves of calm I have) so I've been on chicken duty all by myself and was pretty much flapping around the house squawking like a featherbrain Wednesday when I thought our little Samantha was eggbound. (Teaching moment: Chickens can get eggs stuck between their uterus and ....exit hole....and it they stay that way, they can die).<br />
<br />
Sammy hadn't produced any eggs in a few days (or she may have laid in the yard and hidden them from me) so I was keeping a close eye on her. When she finally went into the nesting box, I checked on her about 3 times and when I opened it to find her standing with her beak wedged in the corner, painting and straining, I freaked out.<br />
<br />
THE SKY IS FALLING!!<br />
<br />
I raced through the yard like a crazy person, looking for some sort of bathtub so I could throw her into <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2014/11/freshly-cut-tiles-and-chicken-in-bathtub.html">an Epsom salt soak</a>. I couldn't find my normal tubs, so naturally I began to blame Mr. W for losing the hen spa box. Finally, I grabbed a mini ice chest, ran into the house to heat water in the microwave and frantically searched for the bag of salt.<br />
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Then I realized that I've never actually witnessed one of our girls laying an egg. Maybe Sammy was just doing that. Maybe she wasn't eggbound, but eggbirthing.<br />
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I zipped back to the chicken coop and sure enough her pretty blue egg was waiting in the nesting box.<br />
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The sky was still intact hovering above my head. <br />
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Apparently chicken labor involves standing in a corner, straining and panting. Duly noted.<br />
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Though I feel much calmer about the situation, I'm fully prepared to have the avian panic flu strike me again. If only I could get these little ladies to chill out before it hits.<br />
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In other farm news, our garden is going crazy. In the last two weeks, I've given zucchini away to I believe 6 different people and I still have more than I know what to do with.<br />
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<br />
As a result of the overly abundant harvest, the dehydrator has become my new BFF.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRAR504xzoOWItKJkL7Ek-EuRjTtAU_bt6CXCOefJDRph4PDeYLBSnjedX6Z1iZPvdar6y0v02i9SYfcE4lNCSQYNBg3fyXiMPHlxjGWeTk6JAqLwt3NVVyxUX3hij1OUngrzRb4PITs/s1600/IMG_2884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRAR504xzoOWItKJkL7Ek-EuRjTtAU_bt6CXCOefJDRph4PDeYLBSnjedX6Z1iZPvdar6y0v02i9SYfcE4lNCSQYNBg3fyXiMPHlxjGWeTk6JAqLwt3NVVyxUX3hij1OUngrzRb4PITs/s640/IMG_2884.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've dried about 7 zucchinis, a dozen or two apricots and a few plums.</td></tr>
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Oh my gosh and - happy day - our almond tree is ready to be harvested for the first time! Super excited to roast some nuts. 10 Gos abs on the excitement scale for that!<br />
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-43027516855237659092017-07-03T09:46:00.000-07:002017-07-03T09:46:47.006-07:00Hipster Farmers' Almanac<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few weeks ago, Mr. W and I spent two days laying down our "big" summer garden in the lower, wild part of our backyard. Creating a functioning garden in the middle of a weed field requires just a smidge of elbow grease. So, naturally, we started with a call to our neighbor asking if he could roll his tractor over to plow our plot for us.<br />
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I assumed that our neighbor's tractor pass would to make our jobs exponentially easier, but that was before I knew all the details of Mr. W's very intricate garden construction plan. Dig-and-plant is for amateurs. Instead, we dug three 6-inch-deep, 25-foot-long trenches into which we placed chicken wire as protection against gophers. (The one thing we planted outside of the "grid" recently disappeared into a tunnel in the ground. Thank goodness Mr. W knew we needed to lay down the wire...)<br />
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Now, I'm pretty sure that I've told Mr. W about twelve times that I will no longer dig ditches for him. I'm happy to help with other chores, but I when it comes to digging—the ultimate grunt work—I'm out. Yet, somehow, there I was with my shovel, breaking my back alongside him for hours.<br />
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Thankfully, Mr. W had a blue tooth speaker pumping out 80s music from Spotify. So as we covered our gopher barrier with a mix of compost and regular dirt, Adam Ant and Robert Smith serenaded us.<br />
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"How many farmers do you think listen to the Cure while they work?" I asked Mr. W.<br />
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"Only the hipster ones," he answered.<br />
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<i>Were we hipster farmers?! </i><br />
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I felt like I needed to run out and buy some high-waisted pants and vegan sandals. But when I told my 22-year-old niece the story, she quickly informed me that we were NOWHERE NEAR hipsterhood.<br />
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So, I guess we're just farmers who listen to 80s music.<br />
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In spite of all the sweat and dirt and body aches our project entailed, we're pretty psyched about the new garden. Hopefully sooner than later, our kitchen will be overflowing with tomatoes, tomatillos, bell peppers, jalapeños, zucchini, pumpkins, cantaloupe, corn, and some edible flowers. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wee baby pumpkin</td></tr>
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Until then, we'll distract ourselves with the other latest addition to our farm: Santa Barbara (Barb) and Santa Ynez (Agnes) the pullets. We picked them up last weekend and we're in love.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CHICKEN BUTTS!</td></tr>
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If having really cute chickens doesn't add to our hip-ness, we're hoping our other latest project will help: cafe lights on the pergola. Summer al fresco dining, here we come.<br />
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Hip that.<br />
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-37813879455998908572017-04-24T22:47:00.003-07:002017-04-24T22:47:44.344-07:00More Usable Space and a Whole Lotta Redwood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEire-7uihubucNh5kTjJ0SCU5MKk6QQkWZ2s0WEY1jnadeMGkp1FFgTKbk-U46SZdmG4VcYxCpXEJmW2UUrs-BVNfgMrc4qstng3kTsdakiCXKaeoGpKVMaEWvp2MXtaX4tDiMJDfy4JoY/s1600/Safe_front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEire-7uihubucNh5kTjJ0SCU5MKk6QQkWZ2s0WEY1jnadeMGkp1FFgTKbk-U46SZdmG4VcYxCpXEJmW2UUrs-BVNfgMrc4qstng3kTsdakiCXKaeoGpKVMaEWvp2MXtaX4tDiMJDfy4JoY/s640/Safe_front.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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When I first moved in with Mr. W 6 1/2 years ago, I remember being mildly horrified by the lack of storage space in his house. <i>Where would I put my wrapping paper supplies and Rubbermaid tubs filled with old photo albums and collection of board games?</i> Of course, I made everything fit by forcing Mr. W to rearrange and purge his belongings. {Sneaky brilliance}<br />
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In 2013 when we moved into our <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/search/label/Santa%20Ynez">Santa Ynez</a> house, we were both delighted by how much space we were gaining. We'd be able to fit every last Halloween costume, piece of scrap wood, and superfluous blanket and bedpillow. We never dreamed we'd fill it all, but fast forward 3 years and we were starting to burst at the seams. Between Mr. W's supply of RC helicopters, my mass of hoarded wine bottles for <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/swirlsipsalvage?ref=hdr_shop_menu">Etsy</a> projects, every power tool known to man, and the real elephant in the room—an airplane Mr. W is building from scratch—we needed more room.<br />
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The most logical place to expand was to make over the one part of the house we pretty much never used: the breezeway.<br />
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Though it had a cute set of furniture on it like a little kitchen-adjacent lounge in which to drink martinis and read the evening post, we never, ever spent time out there. It was really just a dumping ground for garden tools, chicken feed bags, paint cans, or whatever else we didn't feel like putting away in its proper spot.<br />
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So up went a removable wall, and in went Mr. W's makeshift workshop space (allowing me to finally start parking in the garage again...) We're still working on the curb appeal here—we're midway through stripping and staining the beams by the front door so they tie into the new more modern panelling. And I'm sure there will be some further tweaking after that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRYkEET_MPauOg1XpG95blYujhB8R5NroB9ucSZRPU5fK-cEo_dL6d04nsEXkCUgSME4cjpihECfwlgaM18gtrS2bYZgwk-9jJUhhdUssB_pLO1XQUjUd7WNEWiCYJo0c5tkK8jMPXUA/s1600/Front_progress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmRYkEET_MPauOg1XpG95blYujhB8R5NroB9ucSZRPU5fK-cEo_dL6d04nsEXkCUgSME4cjpihECfwlgaM18gtrS2bYZgwk-9jJUhhdUssB_pLO1XQUjUd7WNEWiCYJo0c5tkK8jMPXUA/s640/Front_progress.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzPM8jrTXyFVpM9RdszXJ-mw-3n75kKTKkd4ab1UAItfe5WHr-D6Od9Hs-KqPLQlnDuqh80r1NTDEdot8kZcPW8Ad-WkDw8nL9SrO1IWc4v7FfA_kwJYpugAPkoRyX-CjQufARN7j8K4/s1600/IMG_2987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglzPM8jrTXyFVpM9RdszXJ-mw-3n75kKTKkd4ab1UAItfe5WHr-D6Od9Hs-KqPLQlnDuqh80r1NTDEdot8kZcPW8Ad-WkDw8nL9SrO1IWc4v7FfA_kwJYpugAPkoRyX-CjQufARN7j8K4/s640/IMG_2987.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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We bought a new garage door, too, which we both really dig.<br />
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I think once we get the kinks figured out, it'll all look really nice (except the hideous driveway...). And it's great that Mr. W has spillover space for his aeronautics endeavors now.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfIIwFYkE4CGDg7234pBLr86QdiiXwdiUU7xRfDsLAu_wFZeuDZ1edJK7DqyFa0KgmMMH3VPykgckF-a-CbVzqS1PNMV2yEa0ChAE3yZQkFN8zURNmfwKiAhAyRJzoMCROWMegBNJX8U/s1600/IMG_2590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfIIwFYkE4CGDg7234pBLr86QdiiXwdiUU7xRfDsLAu_wFZeuDZ1edJK7DqyFa0KgmMMH3VPykgckF-a-CbVzqS1PNMV2yEa0ChAE3yZQkFN8zURNmfwKiAhAyRJzoMCROWMegBNJX8U/s640/IMG_2590.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP Carrie Birdshaw :( :(</td></tr>
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So now you may be wondering where the cute set of patio furniture went. Behold my friends, the recently added crown jewel of our backyard: Prince Pergola.<br />
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We knew we wanted to erect some sort of sun shade feature in the backyard and after seeing this beauty on <i>Fixer Upper</i> one night, Mr. W concocted a perfect design for it. We brought in some pros and it was up and casting shadows in about a week.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY3UPLxD9uLYPeLEt07MxJH0L_bWfhB-Maw4G9MvrYMxvOZzPE2Euo242BEP87nI9TUZbUimS-P1FQeyjYxTQft5rBuRsnqhL87wu4Yj_HwFJlvmIIot_S0vzjzaDYIbKB9MMrbRYW-M/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-04-24+at+8.18.25+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiY3UPLxD9uLYPeLEt07MxJH0L_bWfhB-Maw4G9MvrYMxvOZzPE2Euo242BEP87nI9TUZbUimS-P1FQeyjYxTQft5rBuRsnqhL87wu4Yj_HwFJlvmIIot_S0vzjzaDYIbKB9MMrbRYW-M/s640/Screen+Shot+2017-04-24+at+8.18.25+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/magnolia/"><i>Fixer Upper</i> inspiration pulled from Instagram</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDAVT7WvFiIChL5doDXeK7IWnwejV7MECkelpEpG0R4WBKqlTCqA9JDWiXgG7Gttf5Hyy-VPiSnOs_fPGB4s_7p5p76l_4HLcjHVEGyjvQaowg-FzMKIYWs0lGrfGF3HJCQEuRKst2RA/s1600/Pergola_before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDAVT7WvFiIChL5doDXeK7IWnwejV7MECkelpEpG0R4WBKqlTCqA9JDWiXgG7Gttf5Hyy-VPiSnOs_fPGB4s_7p5p76l_4HLcjHVEGyjvQaowg-FzMKIYWs0lGrfGF3HJCQEuRKst2RA/s640/Pergola_before.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGISfLUQq8L6nXiyGdGgNEWsiCexSk0EzlvFp8HhaBzXIqbzNmqtReIJDmb0H3RXRlz2f7-X_aRcWAF4RKrWtrwK9hRUaLlBtVR3K8ErO6TEP0rImEaAw9dJF2J05hD-K6By_3DFStkXI/s1600/Pergola_after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGISfLUQq8L6nXiyGdGgNEWsiCexSk0EzlvFp8HhaBzXIqbzNmqtReIJDmb0H3RXRlz2f7-X_aRcWAF4RKrWtrwK9hRUaLlBtVR3K8ErO6TEP0rImEaAw9dJF2J05hD-K6By_3DFStkXI/s640/Pergola_after.jpg" width="640" /></a>I swear it has changed the entire house. It feels like an extension of the living and dining room, which is exactly what we wanted. At least 3 times a week, I'm outside on my laptop working from the "outdoor office" soaking up some vitamin D. It's truly fantastic.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJInr43oCWZ2oMVpqTiAHMLO9em2mQ6-yUH7pS4H6rwjKrX_STWt9EQCyYllyguC9yhORatJ8scqQSjGgUSPv25BU7E3qdaf3zBOqb0km29uFWagkjMu1joXGR_78lxPeMd2uImo62tns/s1600/IMG_2998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJInr43oCWZ2oMVpqTiAHMLO9em2mQ6-yUH7pS4H6rwjKrX_STWt9EQCyYllyguC9yhORatJ8scqQSjGgUSPv25BU7E3qdaf3zBOqb0km29uFWagkjMu1joXGR_78lxPeMd2uImo62tns/s640/IMG_2998.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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These guys like it too. But only from afar. <br />
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Looking forward to having some nice red Sangria under those gorgeous red beams this summer. Cheers!<br />
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-3073093862660068572017-03-30T21:32:00.000-07:002017-03-30T21:32:03.078-07:00It's All Just Happening Too Fast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In less than two weeks, I'll be turning 41. It's been a whirlwind of a first year in this new decade, and I find myself wondering lately if anyone else gets the sense that the world is spinning faster than it used to. As we get older, does everything start to come flying at you at more and more of a breakneck pace? Like a hailstorm in a tilt-o-whirl? Or the scene from <i>I Love Lucy</i> where she's working in the candy factory, trying so desperately to "process" all the chocolate until she finally just has to start stuffing it all in her mouth to keep up?<br />
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I knew this past week was going to be busy because my boss was on vacation. And I was having oral/sinus surgery. I didn't know I was also going to have unexpected houseguests for a night, witness the highs (and some drama) of watching <a href="http://www.thisishomepodcast.org/episodes/2017/3/28/deciding-not-to-have-kids">an important project</a> launch after months of hard work, plus spend several days caring for a sick, beloved pet chicken who ended up dying. <br />
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Tilt-o-whirl hailstorm.<br />
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I think sometimes I forget that life is always a rollercoaster. It's like two weeks of calm give me amnesia and I suddenly don't remember that I've had two cats die and two new cats arrive in the span of 8 months. Or that I got a new car but also may have to get new foundation supports because part of our house might be sinking into our hillside. I keep going blind to the fact that the crazy candy conveyor belt is the norm.<br />
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Last month, my dentist pulled a tooth that had been hanging out in my mouth for about 38 years. It was a baby tooth, and although I'm 40, it was still attached with nothing above it to take its place. Mr. W teased me after my dental extraction and asked if this meant I was finally going to become a grown-up.<br />
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I don't think I'm ready.<br />
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Because if this planet really does start to spin faster and faster the older you get, I'd rather hang on to my youth and my immaturity and all of my baby teeth.<br />
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All this new and old and birth and death and planning and unexpected. It's kind of exhausting. <br />
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I'm grateful to be alive and to be lucky enough to be experiencing the full range of human emotions— but MAN I am tired. And I've got like 50-60 more years of this.<br />
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Someone, please tell me it'll slow down a little.<br />
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In the meantime, I think I'll have to just continue to mentally medicate myself with stuff like cat pictures...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babies Powell Guinness and Oliver Montrose</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arms out, tail out</td></tr>
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-65479242219567004922017-01-19T21:48:00.000-08:002017-01-19T21:48:07.062-08:00Goodnight to My Sweet Zee Zee Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When we had to let go of <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2016/05/theres-cat-shaped-hole-in-my-heart-in.html">our dear boy Monty</a> last May, I never would have thought that we'd be doing the same with Zoe eight months later. Throughout the bulk of her life, Zoe was the epitome of health and energy. People often mistook her for a youngster even in her golden years. Being thirteen - fourteen - fifteen didn't stop her from pouncing all over the couch or taking running leaps from the step between our dining and living room during her hyperactive races through the house. <br />
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I first met the spazzy little ring-tailed lemur when I was 24. She came from the family of some friends who happened to have 3 pregnant cats at once. I can remember visiting after the litters arrived and it was like a kitten amusement park. There were stumbly fluffballs everywhere. Zoe stood out from the pack because every time I picked her up, she instantly started to purr. When she was 6 months old, I asked to bring her home to my little studio apartment and lonely cat, Monty.<br />
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From day one, she was a sweetheart. And a saint for putting up with Monty, who was about twice her size (probably three-times at his height) and hell-bent on asserting his dominance over her (read: beating her up). The bully at her bedside didn't ever stop her from being upbeat and ready to snuggle at any time.<br />
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Her signature move was to get so over-sensitized when she was rubbing her head all over your pantlegs, that she'd blow up like a <a href="http://melissa-hetherington.blogspot.com/2009/03/mad-catter.html">bottle brush</a>. It was like her joy overwhelmed her hair follicles and made them all stand on end. <br />
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She also had this knack for sneaking into chairs where you were sitting. "I'm so tiny, you'll barely notice I'm here."<br />
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She was always consistent. Highly predictable. Filled with nothing but love and affection.<br />
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Because I adopted her a little later in her kitten life, she also had a sense for adventure that Monty never seemed to share. On more than one occasion, Zoe snuck out the kitchen door here and went on safari through the yard. Once she got out when we were in Santa Barbara for several hours—we came home to find her obediently sitting on the porch. Apparently she'd covered all the ground she needed to cover and was ready to get back to her cozy couch. I think she slept for five hours straight when we let her back inside. <br />
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In spite of the fact that her big brother was a bully, she really seemed to take a turn after his death. She was more anxious without him and small health issues seemed to quickly balloon once he was gone. In September, we found out Zoe had a mass on her bladder and because of her relatively advanced age we decided not to put her through any sort of surgery or treatment for it.<br />
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Giving her <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2016/08/sneaking-new-cat-into-kitten-coop.html">a kitten</a> during her final time here may not have been a fulfillment of her long-held dreams, but she seemed to at least somewhat enjoy the company of another feline during the last couple months. She and Ollie spent many afternoons curled up on the couch near each other.<br />
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Even though she'd been in less than great shape for awhile, it feels strange in our house without her. It feels like, at any moment, she could race out of the hallway door at top speed and launch herself off the dining room step to greet us with head rubs and her bottle brush tail.<br />
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I hope she's on safari in cat heaven right now. She deserves and eternity of adventure and joy after all the joy she brought to us. We'll miss our little Zee Zee so very much.<br />
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Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-41027271802346910132017-01-15T13:22:00.000-08:002017-01-15T13:22:14.060-08:00Dirt Pushing, Barn Raising, and Mid-Life Crisising<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our lower backyard feels like the perfect metaphor for our lives right now: A vast swath of loosely executed, bare bones possibilities. It feels a lot like the headspace Mr. W and I seem to be sharing about our next big life endeavors. Where should we focus? On wine? On writing? On coaching? On opening a coffee shop or launching an app? On kitten rearing? We've spent a lot of time staring blankly at one another across dinner tables and bed pillows lately.<br />
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I'm hoping that maybe, if we're lucky, our next big dreams will take shape in tandem with our wily back acreage.<br />
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Just as I've been devoting time to self-help books and journal entries to begin carving out the foundation for my next move, Mr. W has been tearing out old groundcover and grading dirt to start reinventing our yard.<br />
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I think he's having more fun than I am. I mean, look at that grin. Only a tractor could bring that puppy out, I think.<br />
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He worked for days carving out the framework for steps that will lead from our back patio down to the meadow we hope to turn into a relaxing retreat and garden. Thankfully, the much needed rain didn't wash the steps away.<br />
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Here's a reminder of what it looked like before:<br />
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The slope (which will ultimately hold grenache and maybe some viognier and syrah grapevines) is now pretty much a nice, clean, blank slate.<br />
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Everything that was on the slope is piled up in nice, big, dirty blobs of mud and iceplant and debris.<br />
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We're nowhere near having the lovely, structured yard we want, but we're making progress.<br />
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I never wrote about it, but we also got the agrarian needle moving a bit when we assembled a storage shed in the lower yard back in August. The instructions for the thing make it sound like such a breeze—5 Steps to a Completed Mini Barn.<br />
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It was more like 38 steps. Mr. W had to assemble a bunch of individual panels to build each of the 4 walls. Then he and I had to carry them down to the lower yard (they weren't light, lemme tellya). And then we had to unleash our inner Amish farmers to lift the walls and get them bolted together securely—at perfect 90° angles—so that we could attach the roof....which Mr. W did using semi-superhuman strength while I fretted and yelped from the top of a ladder (not really doing anything to genuinely help the process).<br />
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When it was all finished, I'm pretty sure I renounced my Amishness as fast as possible and went inside to get a beer...<br />
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So that's where things stand with the next big piece of this whole attempt at living the wine country dream life business. Hoping that many future blog posts will include charming and painless recounts about how easily all the rest of it comes together. In parallel with how effortlessly the two of us figure out our middle-aged lives... Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-74757192478966646702016-11-02T13:07:00.000-07:002016-11-02T13:07:03.678-07:00A Couple of Midcentury Makeovers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It occurred to me while typing the title of this post that Mr. W and I aren't all that far off from being "midcentury" ourselves. Eesh. Where does the time go? It seems like just yesterday we were dreaming up our ideal midcentury-style house in the wine country and now we've owned this place for four years.<br />
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Speaking of which—when we first purchased it and were coming up to work on it on the weekends, we bought a $20 IKEA coffee table to tide us over until we moved our real furniture. That terrible little laminate table survived even after we brought our Hollywood belongings, and in the corner it sat for three whole years, bowing slightly under the weight of the TV, stereo, and various other media components.<br />
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Sometimes I would catch myself sneering at it in disgust. It was never anything but faithful to me, and yet, I loathed that cheapie coffee table.<br />
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Mr. W promised to build me a custom media console...but he had about 850,000 other projects ahead of it. <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2016/08/sneaking-new-cat-into-kitten-coop.html">And then we got a kitten</a>. And the kitten took to climbing behind Ugly IKEA Coffee Table and chewing on all the cords to our various viewing system boxes.<br />
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Thus began my renewed crusade to get something else in the corner of my living room.<br />
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Mr. W went to work in Sketchup <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/search/label/Sketchup">as he likes to do</a>, and drafted some plans...<br />
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Execution proved a smidge difficult, as after he applied walnut wood veneer to one side of the actual construction wood, it warped a bit. So I was called into the garage to stand on the wood while he screwed it together. Ah, the life of a DIYer's wife...<br />
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Thankfully, he was able to get everything together right and after a couple short weeks, we had an amazing, very authentic-looking midcentury-esque piece of furniture to take the place of Sad, Sad IKEA Coffee Table.<br />
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Of course, once the TV was mounted to the wall, I had a funny empty spot next to it that felt like it needed a something sparkly. Not like glitter on a stripper sparkly, but like 1960s starburst clock sparkly—only, without the $100+ price tag. Instead, for a mere $15 at Target I was able to construct my own makeshift burst mirror. <br />
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Not wanting to be shown up by Mr. W's redecorating skills, I decided I would also recover the cushions on the cute midcentury chair that sits across from the TV stand. The cover it came with was in ok shape when we first bought it last year...<br />
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But after many tooshes smooshing its surface, the fabric finally began to split. So I headed to Joann's, watched some videos on YouTube, and undertook my very first reupholstering project with piping.<br />
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I got the job done, but there was an inordinate amount of cursing involved. I may have also punched the sewing machine a few times. Not in like a Fonzie "Eeeeyyy this'll make it start working for me" way but like an "I hate you and want to smash you until you're dead" kind of way... It took a lot of stamina and a lot of wine to get the project done. But I did it and although it's not perfect, it looks just fine. At least that's what the cats keep telling me...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FLUFFERNUTTER</td></tr>
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-76947645847557536032016-10-04T22:58:00.000-07:002016-10-04T22:58:33.374-07:00Hardly Roughing It: Our Second Annual Camping Trip<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6qtmyXw6z1HFnQJ0A3MZ8UCmoeWDrt2oSt3za-iBS-hO0W_POfnoKTquWkaW4_8kAMm1zIvIGDTEDw1TJ9vhUNxh3RmMFBbdvhyphenhyphenAtjUFfaOY_azL7PrxMfk9eBwrpdcxGeNbfKfxVj8/s1600/IMG_2792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6qtmyXw6z1HFnQJ0A3MZ8UCmoeWDrt2oSt3za-iBS-hO0W_POfnoKTquWkaW4_8kAMm1zIvIGDTEDw1TJ9vhUNxh3RmMFBbdvhyphenhyphenAtjUFfaOY_azL7PrxMfk9eBwrpdcxGeNbfKfxVj8/s640/IMG_2792.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quintessential camp beverages</td></tr>
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When Mr. W and I first started talking about camping a few years ago, I immediately mounted my high horse and regaled him with stories of my extreme outdoorsiness. I could survive in the desert with barely more than a canteen and a bandana. I could go days without a shower. I'd practically earned a PhD in s'more making. I certainly wasn't <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cheryl-Strayed/e/B001HCXFIE/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_3?qid=1475644992&sr=8-3">Cheryl Strayed</a>, but I had backpacked in Angeles Crest, Joshua Tree (multiple times) and even the Sierras—where it unexpectedly snowed on us in the middle of the night. I pretty much considered myself a camping pro.<br />
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So when Mr. W insisted we bring aerobeds and pillows to sleep on last year in Big Sur, my eyes almost rolled out of my head in judgmental disgust. That was way too luxurious for camping. We needed to rough it!<br />
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One night in Big Sur, and I decided I'd pack my pillow (like he had been smart enough to do) on our next trip...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OPwTAOK85aGuxootsSYpzBmBG7h8hWPfs7Ti3YHM44hhyphenhyphenapn-2nAaVKruMb4AdYnLbuSRxgqWi9aQB0LJunPKrkMDPrUCdLHMiBwLPAZl14P8sOj3-kCBQTWD-sRYq8bM-tLsezeOAw/s1600/IMG_2766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OPwTAOK85aGuxootsSYpzBmBG7h8hWPfs7Ti3YHM44hhyphenhyphenapn-2nAaVKruMb4AdYnLbuSRxgqWi9aQB0LJunPKrkMDPrUCdLHMiBwLPAZl14P8sOj3-kCBQTWD-sRYq8bM-tLsezeOAw/s640/IMG_2766.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just another spectacular California beach</td></tr>
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Fast forward to this week and we had the car loaded for Montaña de Oro State Park with everything from the aerobeds to my silk pillowcase-covered pillow, to a down comforter for extra cushion. He had turned me.<br />
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When we stopped off at Target in San Luis Obispo on our way, it was only supposed to be for some drinking water to last us during our two-night stay. But the next thing we knew, we were loading a bottle of wine, some extra cheese, and a few random necessities, like vitamin D and cat food, into our cart.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp Maris</td></tr>
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As we set up our tent, Mr. W used a bluetooth speaker to broadcast Coldplay from our picnic table so we had a work soundtrack. Our aerobeds were inflated courtesy of a power adapter plugged into the Prius. We used a firestarter packet to get our campfire raring for bratwurst cooking. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note to other campers: Potatoes on skewers take about 3.5 hours to cook...</td></tr>
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We were cheating up a storm. And it only got worse.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaAsfKBwhM5dkBCx0dkT9I7gIFASlCT5LFqq2KRZk-inu4N3wap7etp9d7hSSrOmhFBQBVXr2DYGddrJIhbi19ARK2QYl6Ow-2oArPPJc6zu8SSxgrRMt0b93grbfzW_IYIetTF152GE/s1600/IMG_2298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWaAsfKBwhM5dkBCx0dkT9I7gIFASlCT5LFqq2KRZk-inu4N3wap7etp9d7hSSrOmhFBQBVXr2DYGddrJIhbi19ARK2QYl6Ow-2oArPPJc6zu8SSxgrRMt0b93grbfzW_IYIetTF152GE/s640/IMG_2298.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I couldn't have Photoshopped this better than it was. Nature. Sigh.</td></tr>
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In the morning, we decided to drive into town for a coffee...except the car wouldn't start because we had drained the battery blowing up inflatable beds and charging our iPhones! After a jumpstart from a neighboring camper, we not only headed for a coffee but went BACK to Target to buy a brighter lantern, some more paper plates, aluminum foil, gloves for Mr. W...and a birthday gift for my niece.<br />
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People, that is not camping. Camping should not involve two trips to Target and a superfluous bag of candy corn.<br />
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Camping is about unplugging from civilization! Communing with nature! Problem-solving instead of running for the easy fix!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tidepools were like little ocean forests. </td></tr>
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The funny thing is, now that we live in the country (yeah, I know, we're 3 years in here) it feels like we're unplugged from civilization and communing with nature and problem-solving A LOT. So maybe it's ok for our camping trips to involve a little luxury and ease.<br />
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Or maybe our next trip will involve backpacks and dehydrated dinners instead of down comforters and 3-course meals to make up for our sissiness.<br />
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Either way, we'll be sure and document the entire thing on our iPhones so we don't lose any of our technological prowess to actual creative thinking...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWbyVZsFWejJVGQgNW3K9m30ZAKPMrq8cYQYso81OLWkZqLXw8mQ5G1WfhF-YNoxRYD2G7kQD9Zj8az1ZR-Q4FGdiMPyI4n_6Rq0DbW7_L7d35rMhu5GA7xo1_DqHTHmU2eeXnk8o1IQ/s1600/IMG_2794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWbyVZsFWejJVGQgNW3K9m30ZAKPMrq8cYQYso81OLWkZqLXw8mQ5G1WfhF-YNoxRYD2G7kQD9Zj8az1ZR-Q4FGdiMPyI4n_6Rq0DbW7_L7d35rMhu5GA7xo1_DqHTHmU2eeXnk8o1IQ/s640/IMG_2794.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bet that water is about 45°.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACK7U5Ejev4Lfbr2O3hXQa3W87_mYUz3VZ7dK33Y42OihKxCHREIUssZxTzQXd8EWcUIsUEcIdfqmksdBrqYsnwWOoS4oRfT8Y29vVXrJ8LvSVQ0zkKg0tvz1lrL6xCGqpTIlRQWTu1g/s1600/back_sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACK7U5Ejev4Lfbr2O3hXQa3W87_mYUz3VZ7dK33Y42OihKxCHREIUssZxTzQXd8EWcUIsUEcIdfqmksdBrqYsnwWOoS4oRfT8Y29vVXrJ8LvSVQ0zkKg0tvz1lrL6xCGqpTIlRQWTu1g/s640/back_sunset.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunsets are for lovers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74aLGgiojjbXUevpPvGooBxjImCgBw2GHaDlLbuDKsw8IKzJbwQwsbff4lMAO4Aw0k2U5R0poi39ZUPpu3_EpNnPJ5cJLl2ezak0KQK2UC48wBBcm6M-nsZKQBdABH3GEaCP4jg_WhjQ/s1600/IMG_2769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74aLGgiojjbXUevpPvGooBxjImCgBw2GHaDlLbuDKsw8IKzJbwQwsbff4lMAO4Aw0k2U5R0poi39ZUPpu3_EpNnPJ5cJLl2ezak0KQK2UC48wBBcm6M-nsZKQBdABH3GEaCP4jg_WhjQ/s640/IMG_2769.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like how the rocks look like stacks of capsized crackers. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-77291148295490222172016-08-30T22:37:00.000-07:002016-08-30T22:37:44.919-07:00Sneaking a New Cat into the Kitten Coop<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG-T_tPvyiYFN6jhe-mE6SLbxkkLd019tJQoz8KrHGPe2hFbe8XStRf2WSt-4m3QyPNnDyR8-fw1kPFjhs7rRXE11O8ogAP_C65K_IvCOxEIUML0nBZFERqgivKDKMHXyjGYj4r35ar0/s1600/IMG_2736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG-T_tPvyiYFN6jhe-mE6SLbxkkLd019tJQoz8KrHGPe2hFbe8XStRf2WSt-4m3QyPNnDyR8-fw1kPFjhs7rRXE11O8ogAP_C65K_IvCOxEIUML0nBZFERqgivKDKMHXyjGYj4r35ar0/s640/IMG_2736.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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According to the rules of country living, when a farmer is ready to add new hens to a flock, that farmer is supposed to sneak the new chickens into the coop in the middle of the night while the rest of the girls are asleep—or at least groggy—and the next morning, the old chickens won't even realize there are new members in their gang. Though we haven't yet tried this with our girls, the premise sounds pretty simple. A little sneakeroo and you're done.<br />
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Adding a new cat the flock...not so simple.<br />
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After our <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2016/05/theres-cat-shaped-hole-in-my-heart-in.html">beloved, billion-dollar Monty</a> had to be put to sleep in May, we knew we'd eventually be in the market for another kitty. The trick was knowing how and when to introduce one to our snappy, sixteen-year-old crabcake, Zöe. Her anxiety seemed to skyrocket after Monty's passing, so we wanted to make sure we had her calmed down before trying to sneak in a new flock-mate.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnYOa1ExpTrueDktLIr2KxO4Bid_CbDREe3KeTr_FXA35b2vwRMbkY-W71ceqBFH-2y6go-UycXnP7kBsVCqidsLSRvoenPUlXwrvhMDypL-7kiQu2h0kGk90fbPpJ1ApITd2wymcwJE/s1600/IMG_2732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZnYOa1ExpTrueDktLIr2KxO4Bid_CbDREe3KeTr_FXA35b2vwRMbkY-W71ceqBFH-2y6go-UycXnP7kBsVCqidsLSRvoenPUlXwrvhMDypL-7kiQu2h0kGk90fbPpJ1ApITd2wymcwJE/s640/IMG_2732.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting on Mr. W's lap is a good coping mechanism...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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A couple weeks ago, I decided it was time. Mr. W complied with my request to begin the shopping process, likely because he just bought a bunch of parts to build a freaking airplane (YES an actual airplane that he plans to fly). <i>You get a plane, I get a kitten. </i><br />
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We agreed that we wanted to try to find a Monty version 2.0, so our goal was to adopt an all-black, male short-hair that was somewhere between 8 and 12 weeks old. Although there appeared to be lots of contenders online, our first stops at a shelter and a cat rescue facility didn't turn up exactly what we were looking for (but there are tons of cute kitties out there and you should totally go adopt one...)<br />
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I was pretty depressed to come home empty-handed after hauling off to the humane society with my cat carrier in hand and a fresh bag of kitten food in my pantry. So last Monday, I talked Mr. W into driving to San Luis Obispo with me to check out some more options.<br />
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When we got to the front desk of the Animal Services office, the lady asked us what we were looking for. I told her our criteria and she said, "We have THE cutest black and white kitten in room one. He is absolutely adorable." I blew her off, determined to stick to my shopping list.<br />
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And then we went to Cat Room One and this little face pranced back and forth in his cage batting his eyelashes at us and being 10x more lovable than any of the other cats in the running.<br />
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He wasn't all black. He wasn't short-haired. But he was a boy and he was only 3 months old. With that face and that charm, he would do just fine.<br />
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Mr. W took some convincing, but shortly after meeting him, we were packing up Oliver Montrose Maris and taking him back to his forever home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAZwB7ov0Tsogavw0iyU_jGEt2GnkfOEUUyQZijOWEMXGRl-px6-2dZbF_ir1QEhP4-5FmLHbpzc0V5zIeS4CMou4RiLK5h0Poe2d0dbKRlFnjwTtaEMeZaBxUdmkqEBYWsOjsGsnHQc/s1600/IMG_2712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAZwB7ov0Tsogavw0iyU_jGEt2GnkfOEUUyQZijOWEMXGRl-px6-2dZbF_ir1QEhP4-5FmLHbpzc0V5zIeS4CMou4RiLK5h0Poe2d0dbKRlFnjwTtaEMeZaBxUdmkqEBYWsOjsGsnHQc/s640/IMG_2712.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His favorite spot is on top of the wine fridges. Boy after my own heart. </td></tr>
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The introduction process with Zöe has been a very slow, calculated one with lots of back and forth solitary confinement, some supervised visits, and a fair amount of hissing. I'm hoping one day she'll wake up like a clueless chicken and just think Ollie has been here all along.<br />
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In the grand tradition of being <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2016/07/this-is-not-life-i-ordered.html">a panicked pet parent,</a> I've already worried about Oliver not eating enough, accidentally getting stepped on when he camouflages with the black kitchen rug, swallowing a poisonous spider, and strangling himself with his fishing pole toy (he's not allowed to have it in the middle of the night when we're not there to save him). Needless to say, it is better for the entire world that Mr. W and I did not produce any human children together.<br />
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We are happy enough with our little furry flock. Especially this guy
whose purr motor runs at high speed every day and turns my heart to a
puddle of mush. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAPlJCrKHOrV64KS6Ws9eLOzGxW5_qEvDjoRvX1Fn0uey-p4j4EyJIlPaX_Zr1gLCOsDKBZ_M4ZTnInXs3-cfViS3wK4eqSMf0haC4BNl3H0y5yhZgL95c-Caujtw5rfw3VGKu3roaaM/s1600/IMG_2232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAPlJCrKHOrV64KS6Ws9eLOzGxW5_qEvDjoRvX1Fn0uey-p4j4EyJIlPaX_Zr1gLCOsDKBZ_M4ZTnInXs3-cfViS3wK4eqSMf0haC4BNl3H0y5yhZgL95c-Caujtw5rfw3VGKu3roaaM/s640/IMG_2232.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-22852415154817489742016-07-30T16:49:00.000-07:002016-07-30T16:49:42.551-07:00This Is Not the Life I Ordered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93I9_nWV-o9CQAYjdE3brUA5juF0tkjOHoa8bG0uc4Ww5YmOHyRhj49ZybuhVl292bm14VUn6xrf0H1SlFqYtUC-1DnjcihEtIk64z7lupcEC7msBepxFj8o69ueUCT_qNjydZ6YZ9Y4/s1600/Miran.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93I9_nWV-o9CQAYjdE3brUA5juF0tkjOHoa8bG0uc4Ww5YmOHyRhj49ZybuhVl292bm14VUn6xrf0H1SlFqYtUC-1DnjcihEtIk64z7lupcEC7msBepxFj8o69ueUCT_qNjydZ6YZ9Y4/s640/Miran.jpg" width="640" /></a> <br />
For about the last 8 months, Mr. W has been commuting to LA two days a week for a film project. During the last 5 or 6 weeks, he's only been able to come home on weekends. Though <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2013/01/long-division.html">we're no strangers to living apart</a>, after awhile his absence starts to wear on me. Big time. Especially since we've moved, just because the responsibility list is longer in <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/search/label/Santa%20Ynez">Santa Ynez</a> than it was in Hollywood.<br />
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So Monday, when I went to let the chickens out to free range and saw our little Wellsummer hen, Miranda, looking under the weather, my already weakened husbandless constitution began to crumble.<br />
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At first, I thought maybe our girl was just overheated. She was panting. Her comb was pale. Her usually perky tail was pointed toward the ground. I led her to a container of water and of course couldn't get her to drink (<i>the saying's not just for horses..</i>.). Though it was the middle of my workday, there was no way I was going to leave my ailing chick. So I took to Google and read every blog post and chat thread I could find about her symptoms.<br />
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The thing about chickens is that they're really hard to diagnose. Or maybe, when you're a total avian novice like me, they are. I needed Mr. W here to tell me what to do! In between my frantic visits to hen-devoted websites, I was IMing him like mad.<br />
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The first thing he told me was that I was forbidden from calling the vet. He was not going to shell out $100 to save a $4 chicken. He told me that if she died, I should just put her in a garbage bag in the garage freezer and he'd deal with her when he got home. <i>Um, not the scenario I hoped would play out. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg844anNfGIc_7bhpZ3KCUMlmF0ZxHG87MA_OERMTb6sYhBw3PhljbPo-A9T88DWKdj5YIpHbANPR7qszvyi332eS_2aIZoUc8U9stXjK4lRRfI7OFH4aQOM1lp4QUap56t2dEvUAOinTQ/s1600/IMG_2131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg844anNfGIc_7bhpZ3KCUMlmF0ZxHG87MA_OERMTb6sYhBw3PhljbPo-A9T88DWKdj5YIpHbANPR7qszvyi332eS_2aIZoUc8U9stXjK4lRRfI7OFH4aQOM1lp4QUap56t2dEvUAOinTQ/s400/IMG_2131.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad chicken soup</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I decided to do the only thing I knew how to do: give her the "spa treatment" we'd given <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2014/11/freshly-cut-tiles-and-chicken-in-bathtub.html">Samantha when she got sick</a>. I drew her an Epsom salt bath in a Rubbermaid container, put the container in the master bathtub, then loaded her into the chicken ambulance and brought her in the house.<br />
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Desperate to do whatever I could to make Miranda feel better, I decided to try a second step in the "spa treatment" that I hadn't done before. I decided to give her some clean Epsom salt water by mouth. The article I read clearly warned to administer the liquid very slowly so as not to make the chicken aspirate any of it into her lungs. Armed with my syringe, I dripped dots of water along the sides of Miranda's beak and she tiredly gobbled them up. I thought we were making good progress until I noticed a low wheeze starting to build with her breathing.<br />
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Thinking she might just have a little chicken phlegm, I gave her some more water. The wheeze turned into a gurgle.<br />
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OH MY GOD, I'VE KILLED THE CHICKEN.<br />
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I was sure of it. I'd gotten water into her lungs and that was the nail in the freezer-garbage-bag coffin. My mind ripped back to a familiar place it likes to visit when Mr. W is gone and things feel tough.<br />
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"This is NOT the life I ordered," it screamed.<br />
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The life I signed up for was one where my husband and I were under one roof, throwing our heads back in synchronized laughter as we expertly remodeled our home. One where we spent warm summer evenings harvesting ripe tomatoes and admiring how tall the corn stalks had grown. One where we grew grapes in our backyard and turned them into delicious vintages which we served to friends at dinner parties. <br />
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Nursing a half-dying hen in my master bathtub was never a line item on the order sheet.<br />
<br />
I IMed Mr. W and told him I thought I'd just sealed Miranda's fate. He told me to put her out with the rest of the flock and hope for the best.<br />
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So, fighting back tears, I did.<br />
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About an hour later, I took some apple slices out to the girls and Miranda appeared to have a little more life in her eyes. She pecked at the apples. She drank water from the pan I'd tried to cool her feet in earlier. Her tail was no longer pointing toward the ground.<br />
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As my fight-or-flight response began to dissipate, I realized how incredibly stupid it is to even think "This is not the life I ordered." I thought of Elizabeth Gilbert's line from <i>Eat, Pray, Love </i>about how she "had actively participated in every moment" of the creation of her life.<br />
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Duh. This was totally the life I had "ordered." Um and by the way—like any of us even have the power to command or control life (okay, well I do believe in The Secret and manifesting and all that jazz so I guess I do...um...but still). Anyone's life can suck at any point—it's all about where you choose to rest your attention.<br />
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Telling myself this sad story on top of my already dismal poultry predicament just made the entire situation feel that much worse. Ah, the pity party. <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2013/10/not-exactly-what-i-had-in-mind-when-i.html">I'm really good at throwing them</a>, but they're sure no fun to attend.<br />
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I'm happy to say that Miranda is still with us. Her comb is still a smidge pale, but her gurgle is gone and her neurotic nervous cluck is back. I'm also glad to report that Mr. W has returned to town full-time. Having my right-hand guy here always makes me feel better. Though I'm eternally grateful for both of those things, I'm also thankful for the reminder that lopping a sad story onto a stressful situation only makes everything feel 10x worse. Or as a wise farmer somewhere once said, "A resistant, defeatist attitude never kept any chickens out of the freezer." <br />
<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-13739393833209140972016-06-21T23:13:00.000-07:002016-06-21T23:13:04.214-07:00One-Acre Angst<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There's nothing quite like having loaded fruit trees in your backyard—where you can just pluck a plum off a branch, polish it on your shirt, and eat it right there at its very freshest. So juicy and delicious. It makes me wish I'd met Mr. W in his 20s when he was all ripe for the pickin'. But I digress...<br />
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My point is, I love summertime in our yard. I love that we can harvest peaches and plop them into our caprese salads. (If you haven't done this, you MUST try it. Trust me.) I love that we made fajitas this weekend with an onion we grew. I love that Mr. W and the chickens worked together (he dug the hole and they kicked dirt back into it...) to plant zucchini on Sunday. And I love that the shoulder-high weedfest we had going in our back 40 got mowed down and tilled.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Troublemakers.</td></tr>
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But that also brings me to something that doesn't feel so lovey: having so much freaking land it's like we're Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball adrift in an infinite sea. Every time I look at that big swath of acreage in our backyard, I get a little touch of vertigo. It's. Just. Too. Much.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See what I'm sayin'?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our house is like a child's-sized shoebox up there.</td></tr>
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As a registered control freak, it completely stresses me out to have that area growing wild and looking so unkempt. And after Mr. W and I went to a birthday party on a beautifully manicured piece of property recently (think freshly mowed grass and white lights draped from the canopy of a beautiful oak) we're both antsy to get this part of the yard into better shape. So he has put his <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/search/label/Sketchup">Sketchup</a> skills to work once again, and has begun drafting ideas for our open space. Behold:<br />
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Of course I have grand visions of hosting outdoor yoga and coaching classes down there, followed by micro-farm-to-table dinners. And of course we'll be drinking wine made from our yard's own grapes. While Mr. W plays the fiddle and I sing folk songs. It shall be dreamy.<br />
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In the meantime, we'll just have to enjoy what we've accomplished so far—like the fire pit Mr. W installed. It's made of cortex steel like the edging in our front yard planters, so it'll get a cool, rusted patina over time. Mr. W sort of built it himself (someone else bent the metal but he riveted it) so no one else has one exactly like this. Pretty sure if it went up on auction it'd fetch like a mil.<br />
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We also got the chicken yard fence all completed. Now those little buggars can't escape and poop all over our back patio. <br />
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Anyway, that's where we are with the yard accomplishments and growing angst. I'm sure I'll be cursing and <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2015/10/grumbling-and-graveling-in-backyard.html">shoveling gravel back there</a> again at some point in the not too distant future...Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-39761581855849174712016-05-13T21:18:00.000-07:002016-05-13T21:18:54.401-07:00There's a Cat-Shaped Hole in My Heart: In Memoriam of Monty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm not sure whether it's fitting or macabre that we chose Friday the 13th to put a black cat to sleep. I recently read online that black cats are the hardest for shelters to find homes for, and they have the highest euthanasia rate. Truth be told, 17 years and 3 months ago when I headed to the pet store in search of a kitten, I wasn't looking for a black cat either. Superstition would have swayed me to another option.<br />
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But I had only three black kittens to choose from and when one clung to me like his life depended on me, I had to take him home.<br />
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It seems silly that a housecat could turn out to be a pillar of my existence for nearly half my life, but that's exactly what happened.<br />
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I bought Monty when I was trudging through my fifth year of college, and had just reconciled with my boyfriend after a breakup. Knowing that another breakup was probably inevitable, I decided it would be wise for me to get a pet.<br />
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Cats were easy. Low maintenance. And familiar because I'd grown up with them. So I brought Monty into my 450-square-foot studio and never looked back.<br />
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I had no idea at the time that I'd end up spending tens of thousands of dollars on him throughout his life. And I had no idea he'd end up repaying me in tens of thousands of hours of joy.<br />
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He was a funny baby—I remember him running up the back of my jeans and perching himself on my butt like I was his chauffeur. He used to steal q-tips from me and flip and twirl them around on the carpet like a miniature baton thrower. At night, he'd curl up on my pillow and nuzzle in my hair then ever so gently close his little kitten teeth around my earlobe—chomp.<br />
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Cuteness aside, he quickly became my companion and the one dependable man in my life (other than family) throughout my single years. He cuddled with me when I lay crying on the floor after ending love affair after love affair in my 20s. He napped on the couch with me when I was home sick with the flu. He rested against me when I'd camp out in front of my wall heater on cold days, reading the latest Harry Potter book.<br />
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No matter what was going on in my life—how bad work was, how sad I was about being single, how little money I had in my bank account—I knew I could always come home to him and find comfort and unconditional love.<br />
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We also worked out a great deal when it came to my dating life. Monty was an alpha and he put each and every one of my prospects through an aggressive vetting process. Even after Mr. W and I moved in together, there were occasional challenges about who was in charge and who would take up the most room on the couch. He knew he was my main man and he wasn't just going to step aside for anyone.<br />
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Initially, Mr. W was suspect of my chubby little bodyguard. He was allergic to Monty and not very eager to spark up a friendship. But Monty won him over. <br />
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Pretty much everyone he met, he won over. One of my girlfriends once said, "It's like you own a living version of Garfield." He was fat. He was funny. He was smart. He was kind of irresistible.<br />
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He would snuggle his face in your leather shoes and talk back when you talked to him. You couldn't help but find him charming.<br />
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Two and a half years ago, he was diagnosed with chronic renal failure, and not being able to let him suffer or leave me yet, I took on the painful task of administering subcutaneous fluids to him every other day to keep him hydrated as his kidney function slowly shut down. His needs quickly shifted to every day treatment, and eventually to fluids twice a day—IV bag, needle, the whole shebang. On top of it, he developed diabetes, so he had to get insulin shots with breakfast and dinner as well.<br />
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But he was used to fighting. He'd almost died from a liver condition and something that seemed to be pancreatitis in his younger years—even had to be syringe-fed through a feeding tube in his neck twice.<br />
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The cat had about 90 lives to the usual nine.<br />
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We are so fortunate that he decided to stay with us as long as he did, particularly because we really wanted him to enjoy his golden years in Santa Ynez. And I think he did enjoy them. He loved laying in the sun patches that would come in through the sliding glass doors. On cold days when we used the oven, he would stretch out on the tile in front of it, soaking up the heat. He loved hanging out in the kitchen when we were making dinner. He'd listen to whatever was cranking on the iPod and beg for scraps of food. <br />
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Despite being in not so great physical shape, I think these last few years were pretty good for him. And although it's awesome he survived so through so much and lived such a long, fat, happy life, it was completely heartbreaking to say goodbye to him today.<br />
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There will never be another like my Montrose P. Maris.<br />
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He was the kitty king.<br />
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Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-1158868513431477652016-04-24T22:36:00.000-07:002016-04-24T22:36:29.847-07:00What's Springing Up NowAfter <a href="http://www.ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2011/05/how-does-our-garden-grow.html">years of gardening</a> and micro-farming, you'd think we would be desensitized to the debut of new buds and veggies each spring, but I tell ya it gets us every single time. Each year when our first artichoke pokes up its head, we cheer. When we uncover the red of a strawberry hiding beneath the plant's leaves, we get giddy (which, lately, is quickly squashed when we find that the chickens have eaten the berries...). The most fun of all is seeing growth we've never seen before—like the emergence of almond fruits on our young tree. Here's a springtastic look at what's going on at our house right now:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many Meyer lemons. And a mockingbird nest in the tree. Watching Papa bird ferry twigs over all week has been my favorite break from writing marketing copy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've been eating a lot of artichokes. There are dozens in the front yard right now and we just can't keep up. Mr. W decided today that we need to make spinach-artichoke dip with them, so that's on the dinner list this week.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buddha-guarded basil tastes extra good.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friend kept bringing me chard from her garden because she had so much. Then Mr. W decided to plant some and we have such an abundance I'll probably start giving it away soon. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our first almond fruits! Woo hoo!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet onions mixed with a couple marigolds to try to keep the bad bugs away.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFU2-PWf-x8i7SA6wbBAxwnTQlEHDhOyUOgCo41XpwfE0_EeTpDJrVgnt7kmjWXDv1NaeM32c29TB2QjRLSuQTJY1_lsaQ6iDLhLKZUQKEWzcKZwkCPD3vlYI80og-oENJ1-dXBG9qAI/s1600/IMG_2467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFU2-PWf-x8i7SA6wbBAxwnTQlEHDhOyUOgCo41XpwfE0_EeTpDJrVgnt7kmjWXDv1NaeM32c29TB2QjRLSuQTJY1_lsaQ6iDLhLKZUQKEWzcKZwkCPD3vlYI80og-oENJ1-dXBG9qAI/s640/IMG_2467.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A half-eaten strawberry. It would have been our first one of the season but someone else got to it first. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buds breaking on one of Mr. W's many grapevines.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Purple broccoli. We tried to eat a fair amount but it goes to flower so quickly, it's hard to keep up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funkytown purple broccoli. I have no idea what happened here but it looks like a caterpillar took over the plant.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These suckers had been in their box for months but they still turned out ok and tasted quite good with a little sea salt, olive oil, and rosemary.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New plum tree (we think...it was a freebie from Mr. W's dad).</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sweet little cactus flower that bloomed and fizzled out in 3 days. So pretty while it lasted. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby tomato plant that I so badly want to grow and start gracing us with the fixins for Caprese salads. </td></tr>
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Each season is a delight and I'm hopeful that we'll have more time to devote to the garden-farm (farden? farmden? garm?) now that our major renovation projects are winding down.<br />
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Wait, what am I saying? The construction around this place never stops. In fact, just this weekend we started building a new fence in the side yard because those feathered little wienerbeaks <a href="http://www.ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2014/06/our-baby-girls-gone-done-and-growed-up.html">Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha</a> kept breaking out of the "fence" we had. Yes, the quotation marks are more than necessary because the "fence" consisted of one of the closet doors we ripped out of our bedroom + a piece of the previous fence propped up by 4x4s and a metal pipe + a scroll of chicken wire, under which the girls kept escaping. It was a sad, sad yard barrier.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naughty, naughty sneaker-outers.</td></tr>
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The new fence should be a heck of a lot prettier than the ramshackle one we had, and will hopefully do a far better job of keeping the chickens where they belong. You know, in the planter boxes, eating all of our strawberries...Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-91687012680091953182016-04-14T22:49:00.000-07:002016-04-14T22:49:31.668-07:00Turning 40 with a Different Take on Life Accomplishments<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">26. I took a helicopter flight once. And didn't pee my pants.</td></tr>
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The milestone birthdays are always a little tricky, aren't they? They're the ones where you find yourself kind of taking stock to see if you met the goals you set years ago.<br />
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I can remember sitting down with a pen and paper many times in my 20s, listing out everything I wanted to accomplish by 30, 35 (never beyond because hello, that was WAY too old). I wanted to be married by 30. A homeowner. And of course, a published author.<br />
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None of that happened.<br />
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Single at 30 was a hard one to swallow. And it's no coincidence that my husband and I got hitched the month before I turned 35. The house came with that. The book... Well that one gets to haunt me now that I'm officially 40. <br />
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<i>It's really easy to want to beat ourselves up when we don't tick the boxes, isn't it?</i><br />
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Sure, I have a whole lot of amazing things in my life, but as I sat alone on my couch Monday night, watching the fleeting minutes of my 30s tick away, I started thinking about that unwritten book. And I decided that instead of dwelling on its non-existence (or not-yet existence) I would start counting up all the other achievements I've made over the years. The ones that didn't make my gilded life to-do list. Stuff I had no idea I would be glad to accomplish, and yet I am.<br />
<br />
I think it would do people wonders to spend time thinking of their own forgotten triumphs in this way. I mean, what could be more important than feats like these...<br />
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<b>1. I still have all my teeth, including one baby tooth.</b><br />
It ain't in good shape and I'm going to have to get it pulled so I can have a dental implant installed, but I've kept it in my mouth this long. Score one for Team Maris. <br />
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<b>2. I can still do the same step aerobics workout I did when I was 19. </b><br />
Kathy Smith, circa 1995. Used to own it on VHS, now on DVD. I still do it at least once every 2 weeks as part of my living room workout rotation. <br />
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<b>3. I'm friends with people I've known since kindergarten.</b><br />
With so many burned bridges and ended friendships in the world, I take immense pride in the fact that I'm still close with people I knew in elementary school, junior high, and high school. Particularly when I've given them plenty of reasons to dump my body in a river over the years. <br />
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<b>4. I (mostly) wrote the script for an Auto Club TV commercial in my 20s.</b><br />
I believe it aired in 2003 and involved a guy sitting in a giant balance scale. It would totally make you buy Auto Club car insurance if you saw it now. <br />
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<b>5. I was a single mom to two cats...and resisted ever getting more than that.</b><br />
You get one cat because you want a low-maintenance pet (good joke now when I have a geriatric bank account-drainer...) then you get the second cat to keep the first one company. But there's no reason for a third. Unless you're a crazy cat lady. Which I, according to my cat parentage, am not.<br />
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<b>6. I can make marinara sauce from scratch. (Know the recipe by heart.)</b><br />
And I'm sorry but the stuff in the jar—even the really good stuff—just does not compare.<br />
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<b>7. My family is still all speaking to me.</b><br />
Like the friend accomplishment, I feel like this one is pretty significant. We've had some good knock-down, drag-outs, and no one has cut me off. Yet. <br />
<br />
<b>8. I've never been arrested. But I have gotten out of speeding tickets twice.</b><br />
It's amazing how effective a smile and some jokey jokes can be with the policemen. I literally made a CHP double over with laughter once when he pulled me over. #winning <b> </b><br />
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<b>9. I've seen U2 in concert 10 times.</b><br />
Five tours from 1997-2015. I never threw my panties on stage, but did once hold up a sign for Bono that said "Make Me Move in Mysterious Ways." <br />
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<b>10. I've run 6 half marathons.</b><br />
Which, in my book is equivalent to running 3 full marathons. <br />
<br />
<b>11. I peed at the top of Half Dome.</b><br />
Some people only climb it. I conquered it and marked it as my own. <br />
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<b>12. I survived being laid off, twice.</b><br />
It was so scary the first time. And yet, I didn't end up in a cardboard box under the freeway overpass. I even ended up enjoying the time off. The second time, I think I went on 3 vacations in the first two months. <br />
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<b>13. <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2011/10/ides-of-march-on-over-here-and-take-off.html">I breathed the same air as George Clooney</a>.</b><br />
Friends, this was 100% as magical as you would expect it to be. Probably the highlight of my Hollywood living. <br />
<br />
<b>14. I fell on my butt rollerskating last weekend and didn't even get a bruise.</b><br />
Full left cheek land and miraculously, no bruise. Pretty good for a 40-year-old. I may have had a special beer cushion that settled in my posterior to break my fall. Not sure. <br />
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<b>15. I've survived a tonsillectomy, a gum graft, and basal cell carcinoma.</b><br />
And a really nasty mountain biking accident that I still have dirt in my knee from. Makes for good conversation at parties. <br />
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<b>16. I got to go to a taping of <i>The Bachelor: The Women Tell All</i>.</b><br />
And <a href="http://ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Bachelor">I ended up on-screen</a> at least twice. For sure it was my 15 minutes of fame and I didn't even have to get publicly dumped or accept a rose.<br />
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<b>17. I've gone to the movies alone dozens of times.</b><br />
This may not seem like anything big but I know plenty of people who have never gone to a movie by themselves. I think it's kind of a cool rite of passage into official adulthood. That said, I've never rented a car on my own, so it may be a wash. <br />
<br />
<b>18. I bought a car without taking my dad/boyfriend/husband with me to the dealership.</b><br />
I wasn't planning to do it; I was just going for a test drive. After it all went down, I felt like I'd officially become a grown-up (and I was 32). <br />
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<b>19. I went topless in Italy on my honeymoon.</b><br />
Now, this was actually on a "<a href="http://www.ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/search/label/40%20list">Things To Do Before I'm 40</a>" list I once wrote. And although I was supposed to go to a topless <i>beach</i> and only went topless in a boat near the beach, I'm counting it as a win.<br />
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<b>20. I've eaten pizza in <a href="http://melissa-hetherington.blogspot.com/2011/05/first-she-whacked-me-with-rolling-pin.html">Naples</a>.</b><br />
Nothing compares, my friends. Nothing compares.<br />
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<b>21. I've drunk Guinness in Dublin.</b><br />
All authentic-like, while listening to U2 music. <br />
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<b>22. I've savored fondue in Switzerland. </b><br />
And Gruyére in Gruyéres. <br />
<br />
<b>23. I've had a waffle in Belgium.</b><br />
I think it was chocolate and it was delish. <br />
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<b>24. I've toasted with a glass of burgundy in Burgundy.</b><br />
Pretty sure I invited a teenage waiter to come visit Mr. W and I in California on that trip. Wine is always the catalyst to great friendships.<br />
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<b>25. I have a half-baked outline for a book that maybe, someday, will be published. </b><br />
But when I consider that I also have a full manuscript for a chick lit novel I wrote in my late 20s sitting in the closet, my hopes fall a bit. We'll see.<br />
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No matter what, no matter how many boxes I check, I know that I'll be able to find important accomplishments scattered throughout my life before and between each and every big birthday. And I think every person reading this can do the same. If you feel like sharing, I'd love to know what's on your I DID IT list! <br />
<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-35734805384285926772016-03-13T21:43:00.000-07:002016-03-13T21:43:47.193-07:00Master Bath Reveal AKA Look But Don't Touch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was a little girl, I had this habit of setting up really elaborate houses and villages for my Barbies, Strawberry Shortcake dolls, Little Ponies—you name it—and as soon as I had them arranged to my seven-year-old satisfaction, I'd walk away. I didn't want to play because everything looked so great, I didn't want to mess anything up.<br />
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This was exactly the way I felt when we got the master bathroom to a state of near finish last week.<br />
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It's been a long time coming...<br />
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When Mr. W told me he planned to inaugurate the shower last Friday, I immediately wanted to seal the door and only allow people to look into the room through the windows from the backyard.<br />
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I knew the shower had hit its peak and would never, ever be the same after it had been used. Which is why I took all of the pictures below before Mr. W put his dirty body in there. <br />
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I might have also watched while he squeegeed it naked to make sure he did a good job. Seriously, I was only overseeing the squeegee job....while drinking a glass of wine...and smiling.<br />
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Anyway, we still have some sanding and painting to do on a few spots on the wall, and Mr. W is in the process of building the drawers and cupboard doors for the vanity—but for all intents and purposes, the bathroom is fully functional.<br />
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We've had some major ups and downs with this one (as with all of our projects, I guess). We initially bought a totally different slab of marble that had all sorts of issues when our counter top installers went to cut it, so we had to buy a completely new piece. I love the new one, so it was probably a blessing in disguise, but not a blessing for our bank account.<br />
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The cute little hexagonal tiles in the shower were also super problematic. We had a hard time getting the grout just right—which surprised me because these are timeless and you see them everywhere. Apparently the people who were laying them in the 1930s and 40s had way more skills and patience than we do.<br />
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Did I mention that the glass for the shower was also cut wrong when they first came to install it? Yep, kind of one thing after another with this room. But like Leo in The Revenant, in the end we triumphed.<br />
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Sorry if I just ruined that movie for you.<br />
<br />
Here are the winners of Best Supporting Bathroom in a Musical or Comedy:<br />
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I took my first shower in there Saturday morning and I have to say, it's pretty freaking awesome. Well worth all the long work days and long wait for it to be finished. It's a beauty. Can't wait until we finish the vanity and I can reveal its gorgeousness, too. <br />
<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-86366245980254313872016-02-25T22:45:00.000-08:002016-02-25T22:45:41.367-08:00Hanging Up Hollywood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last month marked the end of an era for Mr. W and me.<br />
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Back in December, Mr. W mentioned to the renter of our Hollywood house that he planned to sell the place in the next couple years and, a day later, she called to tell him she wanted to buy it. <br />
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As soon as escrow started, it was like the last tiny shreds of our youth and coolness slipped away. No more house to flit off to in the Hollywood Hills. No more tales of sitting next to famous people at sushi restaurants or running into stars on the local hiking trails. Even though we've lived somewhere else for two and a half years, it was like a big fat door was closing—and I immediately wanted to slide my fingers along its jam to try to hold it open.<br />
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To me, Hollywood has always represented a feeling of being alive.<br />
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When I was just out of high school, my friends and I went to an 18 and over club there and bribed the waitress to sell us Jell-O shots—our first booze purchase in the U.S. In my 20s, I spent many a night dancing, drinking, ogling boys, and making hilarious memories around Hollywood's streets. Mr. W has countless tales of his nights out on the Sunset strip, claiming Dublins as his own, hitting on way too many girls, and building a portfolio of inside jokes that will stay with him for the rest of his life.<br />
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When we met in our 30s, the memory-making took on a whole other dimension. My trips to Mr. W's house in Hollywood every weekend were like mini vacations. Little escapes to a kind of foreign land where you never knew what you'd see. One night we were out having burgers and beers, and two girls stood on the sidewalk outside our restaurant smoking cigarettes while wearing fake mustaches. I LOVE this about Hollywood. Its weirdness, its diversity, its culture, cuisine, ridiculousness, trend-setting—there is really no place like it.<br />
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Our house there was the last connection to that energy and that time in our lives. It was our last connection to being young and in love. To being newlyweds. To learning each other. To spending time with <a href="http://www.ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2012/04/for-love-of-pete.html">Pete</a>.<br />
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It was incredibly strange to pack up the guest house last month, collecting every last bit of evidence that we ever lived there.<br />
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It was equally strange to go back to Hollywood last weekend for a bachelorette party. I will say that I don't miss trying to find parking there after midnight, but when I drove down Hollywood Boulevard in the morning, past the famous Mann's Chinese Theater and the Kodak—where they're currently setting up bleachers for the Oscars—I felt that old familiar prickle of excitement. That feeling of being alive that only Hollywood can spark.<br />
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Admitting that we're officially done with the place feels like hanging up a precious suit we'll never wear again. Kind of like zipping my wedding dress into its storage bag in the closet. I love that dress. It was the perfect fit for the occasion. But there was a time and a place for it and that has passed. <br />
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Our time and place in Hollywood has also passed.<br />
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But oh how lucky we were to have it while we did. To be alive there and to be able to recall what that felt like even now while we're miles away.<br />
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Thanks for the memories, Tinseltown, and for serving as the spot on the map where it all began for us. We'll miss you.Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-822807868347854914.post-79047169761220776472016-02-17T23:01:00.000-08:002016-02-17T23:01:35.668-08:00No Crying Over Spilled...Glass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We're no strangers to <a href="http://www.ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2014/06/bathroom-renovation-bloopers.html">mishaps</a> here at the Maris house, but this past week has been a test of our collective wills.<br />
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The good times began last Friday when the glass walls around<br /> <a href="http://www.ourlifeofwonderful.blogspot.com/2016/01/renovation-relationship-balancein.html">our new shower</a> were supposed to be installed. Mr. W finished grouting the shower last Tuesday and, after a minor incident with the table saw that involved a sliced finger and blood spray on his face, he also installed the new bathroom vanity. It seemed like the old master water closet was moving right along.<br />
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But when the shower glass installers went to put in the surrounds, they discovered two of the panels were an inch too tall. So they laid the track and hung one little sliver of glass and promised to be back this week.<br />
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<i>Oh Glass Misfortune, how could you get worse?</i><br />
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Why, in the form of a broken car window of course!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiheRf377t-Rs2gr0GFs2hDnw-XkjEWFHwakmThDGMz0RVbN7xZ3V8SXuxW3OIkmusCXFyTe7jfswJqVvHbB81L_s0j_QpZNlpbWtgAbEcFaRZ_l69UMCRTJ-OBNmHhVKneLpYdwoCQ9oo/s1600/IMG_2388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiheRf377t-Rs2gr0GFs2hDnw-XkjEWFHwakmThDGMz0RVbN7xZ3V8SXuxW3OIkmusCXFyTe7jfswJqVvHbB81L_s0j_QpZNlpbWtgAbEcFaRZ_l69UMCRTJ-OBNmHhVKneLpYdwoCQ9oo/s200/IMG_2388.JPG" width="200" /></a>Saturday when Mr. W hired a helper to come load stuff into his truck to take to the dump, Glass Misfortune reared her head full force. We both heard the helper shout "Oh no!" while we were in the side yard and all I could think was, "Please don't be fractured or concussed."<br />
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We rushed out to where the guy was loading the truck and found him with his mouth agape—and a 4x4 wood beam in his hands that he had just smashed through the back window of Mr. W's truck. Did I mention the truck is only a few months old? Did I mention I have eczema and a strange rash on one of my legs?<br />
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Super fun times around here right now, ya'll.<br />
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After spending Valentine's Day drinking wine and laughing with friends, we thought perhaps our fates had changed and the pox had been lifted.<br />
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But then we got the call that the local building supply shop we'd hired to cut our master bathroom countertop was having major issues. <b>Never, ever buy a slab of marble over the phone after you leave a stone yard.</b> Back in the late summer or early fall, we saw a lovely slab of "French Vanilla" marble but weren't ready to pull the trigger to buy it on site so we called later that afternoon and asked if we could send the local builder to come pick it up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice big crack down the middle and cheap filler in some divots that turned a lovely shade of brown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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When we saw the slab again, it looked totally different from what either of us remembered. And it had a big fissure right down the middle. Our builder buddies thought they might be able to cut it in a way that placed one of the bathroom sinks over the fissure, but that didn't work out. And when they called us this week, it was to tell us that the marble was pretty much crumbling as they were trying to shape the countertop. Fail.<br />
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We drove over to the shop to look at it and agreed that even if they could try to fix is, neither of us liked the marble. It was just a crappy piece of stone and we never should have bought it without writing our names in permanent marker on the actual slab we wanted. So we told the builder to cut us one of their existing slabs of Cararra instead. Bye, bye Benjamins...<br />
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The good news is our building supply pal is going to try to sell the old marble on consignment, as it would probably work fine for a smaller vanity. So hopefully we'll recoup some of our cash.<br />
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The shower glass guys also came back yesterday afternoon and installed the walls they weren't able to set last week. After one more visit to hang the shower door, they should be done.<br />
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Friday is going to be a big day here—the new countertop is supposed to be delivered and the shower door is supposed to be hung. In the meantime, I may burn some sage and say some prayers to the glass gods that everything goes in a smooth, non-shattery direction from here on out...<br />
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<br />Melissa Marishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15216312159880277204noreply@blogger.com0