A Beauty Jig. And A Trip.

Last Wednesday, I went to the gym. Because we all know that I am a Health and Fitness Guru and Gym Going Machine. (You can stop laughing now.)

After I left the gym, I went across the street to CVS to pick up an eyeliner pencil, which is one of my (few) must have beauty items.

Take just a moment if you would, to picture me as I’m standing and perusing the beauty aisle. I’m wearing no make up (except for a forlorn dab of lipstick that somehow survived my semi-intense workout), I have an old ball cap pushed down on top of unwashed, mostly unbrushed hair, and I’m wearing a non-too-inspiring t-shirt and sweat pants ensemble that’s perfect for the gym but just slightly less than perfect for wearing out in public.

I’m sure that anybody walking by me would have thought, “My, my! If anyone could use some items from the beauty aisle, that unwashed, uncoifed, unkempt woman surely could.”

After I had picked up my eyeliner, I thought that I would take a few extra minutes to just look at some of the other stuff in the beauty aisle vicinity which turned into a quasi-overwhelming, semi-frustrating task.

Have you ever done that? Have you ever stood in the cosmetic aisle of a store for a month of Sundays, picking up one item after another, squinting at the small type as you read about how this particular miraculous item was being touted to transform your very existence?

And the thing is--while some of those products are an unmitigated waste of money, there are other products that really are excellent. Unfortunately, I am not really on the cutting edge of many things fashion and/or beauty related, so I am generally in a highly clueless state as to what products might be worth trying.

So I continued to stand there and contemplate all the promises of beauty. I sighed a little, squinted a little, read a little, and thought a little. And then I said to myself, “It would sure be nice if I had a hundred girlfriends lined up in the store with me so that each one could recommend her all time favorite item(s) that she just can’t live without.”

And then? Then, I thought about you! And I suddenly got happy! And inspired! And I did a little jig right there in CVS! (Well actually it was an internal jig. Which is much less alarming than my external jig.)

It occurred to me that I could just throw my clueless self on your mercy and ask you to take one (teeny little) minute and leave a comment about what item(s) you truly love when it comes to lipstick, eye shadow, foundation, cleansers, anti-wrinkle stuff, moisturizers, hair products, etc.

If you all will do that, two good things will happen:

• I can get some much needed input
• Each of you could get some new ideas when you read what everyone else contributes

So it’s a win-win situation. And plus, the whole idea just makes me want to jig! And that’s really saying something ‘case I am generally a genuinely non-jigger.

So that’s my request for the day. As a (newly turned) 49-year old woman (headed quickly toward being a newly turned 50-year old woman) I really could use a little bit of fresh beauty inspiration in my life.

Can’t wait to hear what item(s) you just can’t live without.

____________________________________

In other news . . .

I mentioned on Monday that I was going out of town briefly. Which I did. And it was a most lovely time.

It’ll take me a day or two to get some of those trip experiences processed and written down but for now I’ll leave you with a couple photos I took on my way home.

I love the scenes of spring.

Unexpected Inspirations

Saturday afternoon, I got an unexpected phone call from a pastor of a church across the state. He said a lady who's attended his church for a long time often talked about Steve and me, and also about my parents and sisters. (My dad was an interim pastor at this particular church back when my sisters and I were teenagers and then later, when Steve and I were on the road, we sang a couple times at that same church.)

The pastor said that this woman (who was only 63) passed away unexpectedly and it occurred to him that it would be especially meaningful for her family if someone from the Smith/Campbell clan could participate in her funeral. He called Steve and I to find out if it was even a possibility before mentioning it to the family.

As it turns out, I was able to arrange my schedule to go and when he called the family to tell them of my availability, he said they were just absolutely delighted. I am so honored to be invited to be a part of their lives in this special way, especially after twenty-five years!

So I’ll be leaving the house in just a few minutes (at 6:30 am) for the 6-hour trip. I’ll sing at the funeral, stay overnight at a hotel, and then be back home by Tuesday evening.

Unfortunately, Sarah woke up with a fever this morning, mixed in with a case of overall lethargy and “blah-ness;” however, since she doesn’t seem to be terribly sick, I feel quite comfortable leaving her in Steve’s very capable hands.

Sarah just came into the room a minute ago to recite a poem she’s memorizing for a class at school. I was so taken by the beauty of the poem that I wanted to share it with you here. There’s nothing like starting off a new week with an unexpected inspiration and I most am happy to share the Smithellaneous Stage with Maya any old time. (I emphasized in bold the phrases I especially love.)

Touched by an Angel

by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.

Ahhhh. I am leaving on my trip feeling inspired.

May your day be full of loveliness and unexpected inspirations.

For Your Weekend Perusal And Happy Inspiration.

As springtime tentatively peeks her head around the corner and as Manteo begins to burst back into bloom, I thought it would be fun to recap local loveliness from some of my past photos.

Happy springtime, y’all!

My Giggling, Pig Snorting, Sleep Study Story

(Note: A few years ago I had to have a Sleep Study done, which I wrote about on Sarah’s site. However, just this past week, I got to thinking about that whole experience again and the thinking made me giggle and the giggling made me decide to share the (slightly re-written) story here on Smithellaneous, too. We can all use a good laugh!)

My Giggling, Pig Snorting, Sleep Study Story

Since I had no idea what to expect, I was just slightly nervous as I drove toward my Sleep Study appointment. When I arrived--favorite pillow in hand—the first thing I discovered was that it takes about ninety minutes just to get all the monitors and sensors attached. My tech guy had stuff laid out everywhere and all of it eventually had to be attached somewhere to my person.

This is only about half of the stuff-to-be-attached.

At 10:30 pm, when he had finally finished wiring me up, I asked for one last trip to the bathroom before the final plug-in procedure took place. When I got to the bathroom (trailing numerous wires behind me) and saw myself in the mirror, I broke out into laughter.

Because I looked like this . . .

(I’ll let the laughter die down a bit before moving on.)

After I had finished giggling at myself, I took my strange looking little self to the bed and arranged my tired, wired self upon it. The technician got all my wires plugged into a large, mysterious looking receptacle and then told me that he would step into the adjacent control room and give me some instructions over a speaker about calibrating the equipment before the actual sleeping commenced.

I lay there feeling oh-so-foolish, not to mention oh-so-self-conscious as I followed his instructions to roll my eyes to the left and then to the right, to open and then close my mouth, and to take a few deep breaths and let them out. I obeyed the instructions as well as I could, even though I felt incredibly goofy, lying there looking like an apparition from a low budget science fiction flick.

Everything was going along as well as could be expected until my technician pal said to me over the room speaker, “Now I would like you to please make a noise like you’re snoring.” (I guess he had to make sure that the “snoring sensors” were in the right place.)

Well, it took me just a moment to fully assimilate that request because no one has ever asked me to “make a snoring noise” before. (Just for fun, try to make a noise like you’re snoring. It wasn’t easy, was it? And didn’t you feel like giggling, just a little?)

When I realized he waiting patiently for me to comply with this relatively simple request, I finally took the plunge and launched forth into my very best snoring effort. Unfortunately, my sample snore came out sounding very much like the unattractive sound that a portly pig might emit while rooting around in the mud.

Well, that sound escaping from my very own mouth, coupled with the surreal experience of being wrapped in wires and lying on a bed at 10:30 at night while being observed through video cameras by two strangers --it all just struck me as being incredibly funny.

And unfortunately, the more I thought about my perfectly executed “pig snort,” the funnier it got. It didn’t take too many more moments of “pig snort pondering,” before my weird looking, wired up self was inexorably overtaken by uncontrollable giggles.

That would have been perfectly fine except for one small thing. The sort of funny-ish, pig snorting, calibrating moment—the moment where a little laughter might have been appropriate--had already come and gone. In fact, it was already several minutes gone.

So in the minds of the technicians, there was no reason in the world why their wire-wrapped guinea pig should suddenly start chuckling cheerily in the midst of their sober and scientific calibrations.

It got very quiet in the control room and then I heard a worried voice inquire over the speaker, “Um. Are you okay, miss?”

I could just picture them calling the hospital across the street and asking them to send one of their psych people over (STAT!) to evaluate this odd woman who was lying on the bed laughing for no apparent reason.

I eventually got myself back under control and the reassured techs finished up their little round of calibrations and then turned off the lights in my room.

It was then that the pressure started. It was then that I realized it was up to me to produce some sleep. So that it could be studied. Which, after all, was the whole reason I was even there.

I did my very best. Really, I did. I tried my utmost to be a calm, cooperative patient. I lay there quietly. I attempted to think peaceful, sleepy thoughts. I tried to take deep, relaxing breaths. Everything was going along fairly well, all in all.

But then? Then a crisis came calling. A crisis in the form of a pig snort.

Yes indeedy, before I could stop it, that whole “snorting pig” thing hit me again, full force. And then the funny image of myself in the bathroom mirror added itself to the “snorting pig” memory and I proceeded to guffaw merrily for several long moments. Too late, it occurred to me that every single bodily response I produced during the overnight hours would be recorded (on hundreds of computer pages) and then minutely examined by highly analytical medical persons.

I belatedly realized that the little machines in the control room were probably going crazy and the graphing needles were probably flying all over the place as the two technicians looked worriedly at each other and started wondering again about calling the psych team.

I could hear the conversation now. “Hello? Um, we are currently working with the strangest subject we have ever studied, the only woman in the history of our sleep clinic who makes pig snorts and then bursts out laughing several minutes later for no reason whatsoever, even when nothing is funny.”

Well, I am to happy to report that I finally got myself settled down. However, all of that laughing followed by all of my frantic attempts to stifle said laughter had caused me to feel just a wee bit hyper--so hyper in fact, that I had one of the worst night’s sleep I’ve ever had. I lay awake for at least an hour, drifted off, popped back awake (trying valiantly not to think of pig snorts), lay there again, drifted off briefly, and woke back up.

I finally got into a deep sleep at about 3 am, only to have a happy voice chirp over the speaker at 5:30, “Good morning!”

Uggghh.

The technician came into the room to unwire me and as he did so, he said that they had been able to record some things "of interest." (Which was probably a scientific term for the recording of a wacked out patient’s uncontrolled giggles.)

I got back home at about 7 am and found Steve eating breakfast and Sarah packing her school lunch. They asked me how it went and when I started telling them the “pig snort” story, I got tickled all over again.

Sarah regarded me with concerned but cheerful alarm while Steve looked at me and said, “Becky dear, I think you might need to go on to bed.” (He’s been married to me long enough to recognize the signs of sleep deprivation.)

So off to bed I went and slept deeply till 11 am, reveling in the fact that there were no tubes stuffed up my nose, straps wrapped around my chest and stomach, or wires extending from my limbs.

And the best part? If I wanted to think about a pig snort and laugh, I could.

And so I did.

The End.

___________________________

Quick note about yesterday’s post:

It has occurred to me that I might have stated a little over dramatically the “liver damage” possibility connected with taking a toenail fungus medication.

Actually, what the doctor said was that I should have blood work done halfway through the round of medicine just to make sure the liver was processing the medicine well. If it wasn’t, I would just discontinue the medicine.

But no actual liver damage would be done.

Which is a good thing.

Okay. I’m done.

Underappreciated Toe Nails

Do you see these sandals?

I got them for 70% off about four years ago and have worn them and worn them. (And then worn them some more.)

In fact, these particular sandals are the backbone of my entire summer wardrobe because they go with pants and skirts and dressy Capri’s and even better than that, they’re incredibly comfortable. Every single winter, I count down the months, days, and weeks until the weather is finally warm enough for me to pull out my golden standbys and wear them twenty-seven (or even twenty-eight) hours a day.

I really do love them that much.

However. I have some sad news to share with you concerning these beloved shoes. (I’ll pause here for just a moment so that you can go find your Kleenex box and prepare to wipe away a few sympathetic sniffles on my bereft behalf.)

The sad news is this: This summer, I will not be able to wear The Sandals. (sniff)

Well, let me rephrase that. Actually, I can wear The Sandals, but the experience would not be terribly inspiring for anyone in my immediate vicinity.

Let me ‘splain.

You may recall my post yesterday about my pending visit to the podiatrist. Well, I did visit said doctor and it was not a happy moment in my life. (If you’re squeamish about reading about toenails, you may want to skip down to the place where it says it’s safe to start reading again.)

For those of you still reading, here’s the toe nail scoop. Not only do I have ingrown toe nails on both sides of both big toes but I also have a fungus underneath each of those nails. (Lovely, I know.) I was actually tested by another doctor a year ago for the fungus (a culture was taken and sent to a lab) and was supposed to have been put on medication back then. After two weeks and half a dozen phone calls to that doctor that weren’t returned (trying to get a prescription), I was diagnosed with breast cancer and sort of lost the momentum to pursue a fungus medication when a double mastectomy was pending.

So when this new doctor looked at the results of last year’s culture (that I had brought with me) he said, “Oh yeah, you should have had this treated last year. The longer it sits, the harder it is to get rid of.” Sigh.

At any rate, he ended up removing half of my nail on the left big toe and just a little less than than on the right big toe.

And even when both nails grow back in sufficiently, I will not be allowed to polish them for twelve months! Also, I have to take a prescription med every day for three months, plus brush a certain prescription liquid on them every day for a YEAR. A whole year! (And halfway through the course of the prescription med, I have to get blood work done to make sure my liver isn’t being damaged.)

I left the podiatrist’s office yesterday afternoon and hobbled back to my car like a 103-year old woman, my aching back exacerbated by my assaulted toe nails. Needless to say, I was not the happiest of happy campers.

(OKAY. IF YOU STOPPED READING EARLIER, YOU CAN START READING AGAIN!!)

So. What’s a girl to do?

I guess what this girl is going to do is try and find some sort of versatile, dressy (inexpensive) sandals that will be lovely, perky and feminine and yet completely enclose the toe area. And then I will also have to try and find something casual in that same, toe-covered category as well.

Do you know how hard that will be? Do you realize how few summer shoes have closed toes? Not many!

I think I shall have a small period of mourning today for my lovely, favorite sandals before I stick them way in the back of my closet so that I don’t see them every day and get plunged into yet even deeper sandal grief.

Of course, this just has to be the summer that Nathan is graduating from college and getting married, which are two really big occasions for pulling out perfectly pedicured toenails and fancy shoes.

Okay. I’m done with my whining, ranting and raving about this particular toe and shoe crisis. I do realize that this is a very small thing in the light of huge medical crises that people face; in fact, having just come through my year of breast cancer treatment, I know that fact extra, extra well.

But since this is a blog about what’s going on in my life—well, that is what is currently going on.

Snowy’s Post

Snowy says to thank you all for your responses to his post yesterday. He and I especially got a lot of good giggles over your comments about his hair styling technique. You all are so funny!

You know, after re-reading that post in addition to your comments, it has occurred to me that Snowy and I truly are kindred spirits because I actually use a similar hair styling technique on my very own personal hair.

I had a hairstylist several years ago who showed me a little trick: When my hair was just about dry, she would take the heel of her hand and move it in a firm, circular motion on various parts of my hair, making each part really messy; she especially concentrated on the crown of my head and the area around it.

Then when my hair looked like it was completely ruined, she would brush it out a little and smooth it into place and it would provide nice volume in those “circular hurricane” areas.

I still use that technique now and while I was doing my hair this morning, I thought, “This is basically what Snowy does for his hair!”

Well, except that I like my technique a bit better because it can be done standing up and does not require my ancient, aching body to get itself down on the floor in order to rub my head on the the carpet. Like this:

We 49-year old women have to draw the line somewhere.

So there you have it. Hairstyling tips that work for dogs and humans alike and a Toenail/Sandal Crisis Story that is guaranteed to make you feel extra appreciative of your very own toe nails.

Because just so you know?

There are few things in the world any worse than an underappreciated toe nail.

Hi. Becky Here.

I just wanted to publicly thank my marvelous dog, Snowy, for so capably updating the blog earlier today. What would I ever do without such a wondrous assistant?

I also wanted to check in with you myself and let you know that the very frantic, extra stressful pace of the last week is over and today I am actually able to breathe in. Not to mention out.

Unfortunately, stress has a way of making my lower back extremely unhappy and I'm obviously one of those people who carries stress in her back. Consequently, I've spent the past 24-hours on pain killers and muscle relaxers which have sort of thrown me for a loop.

However, I'm coming off all that stuff today so that I can head out to the podiatrist this afternoon to have my (painful) ingrown toe nails cut out. Can you sense my immense excitement?

I've had nails cut out four or five times in my life and each time the doctor has solemnly promised, "This should take care of your problem."

Alas. It is not true. The problem continues to recurr with discouraging regularity.

And may I just say that I have chosen such a great time to have this done? Toe nails mauled right at the beginning of springtime sandal season? Sigh.

Well, that's all I have to say at the moment except to answer a question that has come up a couple times since I started posting the Official Engagement Pictures which is, "Did you take those pictures?"

And the answer is, "No. I will never be that good!"

Those pictures were taken in Florida by a professional photographer, Kristen Czuchra; she will also be shooting Nathan and Meagan's wedding.

Okay. Now I'm off to my happy podiatrist appointment.

(And just a quick giggle for you--when I was a young adult and not real "up" on the proper pronunciation of things, I used to pronounce that word, "poddy-a-trist.)

Don't try that at home. (Or anywhere else, for that matter.)

P.S. Also, a question just came in about Snowy's earlier post, "What is the yellow thing on the floor with Snowy?"

That is Snowy's favorite "toy." It has a squeaker in it which he loves to "squeak;" he also loves to put one end of it in his mouth and have one of us grab the other end so that we can engage in a major game of tug of war.

It's a dog thing.