In the past year I’ve acquired some pretty rings that I tend to wear on the 4th finger of my right hand or on the third finger of my left hand. If I wear them to bed, I nearly always wake up with them on the ‘ring’ finger of my left hand.
Category: ssc
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short shameful confession #15
I’m so jealous of Lavinia’s passion for travel journaling. I need to be better at this! From all my travels this past year (and they are legion), my sole journal entry was on the first day of my first trip to Portland. After a heinous mountain drive where we nearly slid off the road more than once because of black ice and white ice and blue ice and every other color of ice (it was so bad that we couldn’t even stop to put chains on the SUV, we had to just keep driving) and then finally getting settled into our small cabin retreat on the coast, where I snuggled into the couch cushions in front of the fire and started writing…
My entry reads, “Yesterday it began to snow…” And that is all.
Previous Short Shameful Confessions
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short shameful confession #14
Back when I was in high school and had limited mobility due to having recently lost my leg (to cancer), my boyfriends often carried me wherever we were going. It got me there faster than if I were to ambulate myself, and also fed my uber-romantic teen desires to be swept off of my feet by a beau (I will confess that such moments fueled many a Twilight-like fantasy).
But now it’s been years–if not decades–since I’ve gotten a ‘lift’ from anyone (the one exception might be that time a few months ago that a wave was pulling me away from my canoe and a teammate picked me up and carried me to safer waters). I’m rather proud of my ability to get places on my own two feet, so I tend to look back on my years of being ‘carried’ by men as a bit shameful now…
However, a few days ago I got a piggyback ride up the stairs to the second story of my house…and I enjoyed it far more than I imagined that I would. What a sweet feeling it was to trust myself to someone else’s strength for a few moments…
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short shameful confession #13
The first night in my new house I spent a long time getting ready for bed–it was hard to find everything that I needed in the moving jumble. In the meantime I left the curtains wide open–enjoying the night view of my neighbor’s garden and my own. So, for about fifteen minutes I walked around the room rather naked (sort of my version of what a friend calls “the naked walk”–how when you have your own home you can have the pleasure of wandering around in the nude whenever you want to). It wasn’t until last night when I was driving to the house at night, approaching it from the back rather than the front–that I realized my bedroom window is in full view of the street running alongside it. It’s a fairly quiet street, but it’s not *that* quiet.
Oops. :)
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short shameful confession #12
Lately I’ve noticed the most amazing floral smell every time I sit in the middle of my living room couch. I’d thought it was the cut flowers on my sidetable, but figured out that definitely was not the case (if anything they were a bit stinky), and then I thought it was the heliotrope blooming on my back porch, but the mystery smell was not really vanilla-y enough to be heliotrope.
Then today, while packing up some living room stuff, I figured it out. It was a broken bottle of shampoo from a hotel in Provence, that had leaked into my as-yet-unpacked suitcase from Europe. Oops!
(I suspect there’s some part of me that thinks that I can hold those Europe memories closer as long as my suitcase is still intact.)
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short shameful confession #11
(It’s been awhile since I’ve posted one of these, you can see earlier entries in this series here):
On the night before I Easter I ate a grilled lamb. Not the entire thing, exactly, but a meal that had pieces taken from all of the very best lamb-parts, including the skin. It was tasty and made my inner carnivore quite satisfied.
The irony of eating a lamb on Easter weekend didn’t hit me until the following day (when I was ooh-ing over the baby lambs frolicking in the pastures as I drove along). My mind just doesn’t ruminate on Jesus anymore. And my ethical vegetarianism seems rather far behind me right now…
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short shameful confession #10
As soon as I get my paddling gear together and start heading out the front door, I begin salivating like Pavlov’s dogs. The reason why? As I drive down to the outrigger launch site in Newport Beach I munch on sport blocks, gels or goo. It’s one of the only times I eat refined sugar and my body loves it (craves it, is addicted to it) so much.
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short shameful confession #9
My kids like to eavesdrop on the “adult” conversations I have with my friends (not that they are triple-x or anything like that…you know what I mean)…
So I’ve learned that the best way to clear the room of tweens is to simply say:
“Nipple, nipple, nipple, penis, vagina.”No way do they want to hang around when Mom starts talking vagina.
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short shameful confession #8
I once had a pet fish that I named Sushi.
It died shortly after the birth of my son. It was weeks before I noticed.
After that I vowed never to have a pet again.
Then broke that vow about 6 years ago when I became a cat lady
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short shameful confession #7
I love Amy Grant’s Home for Christmas
album and can (and do) sing every single song with gusto.
**Previous short shameful confessions
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short shameful confession #6
To John, a few hours after trimming off some wiry black hairs around my scabby leg wound:
“Do you think my leg is scary-looking?”
“It’s a lot less scary now that it doesn’t have a beard.”
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short shameful confession #5
I hate drawing attention to myself.
Today John was taking some artful pics of me (one tall building to another on-campus) and I was too self-conscious to pose because there were a few folks milling around on the balcony. So I’m sure that said artful pics turned out way super-boring.
[Note: I have a penthouse office with a lovely shared balcony and view out towards UCI’s central park].
