just cuz I'm bitter

so once in a while a girl's gotta vent. So, I live in Europe, in a gorgeous city, work with Good Folk, have a particularly Good Folk as a husband, like my cat a lot, verging on crazy cat lady (can happen, yes, even with only one feline, and not actually living alone on tins of tuna)since ccl is a state of mind. And everything's hunky dory. But I'm bitter. Why?

because tonight I'm reading some blogs on organizing, which is so much more fun than actually organizing, as that resembles work.

I drool, I stare at photos of perfectly appointed storage areas, I go to my mental happy place, then...I read the forums. Ah. The forums. Great stuff. Creative ideas for living more harmoniously with fewer things, living more deliberately, and with more purpose. I'm at peace.

Ahhhnnnddd then, it invariably happens: someone suggests that (Extra! Extra! Read all About It) you could maybe clear out some boxes of, I dunno, mildewing books/clothes from 1981/rotting garbage/whatever, from the double garage/1200 sq. ft. basement/4th bedroom/guest room ensuite/linen closet, whaddeva. It worked for her, after all, and now she has all her extra stuff neatly organised in plastic bins and one of the cars can now park in the garage! Hurrah!
Are you people on drugs????? This is helpful in real life in a small space with no cellar no storage no nuthin'---how?

I shake my head. Who are these people who are so chaotic that they fill enormous spaces with junk and then sanctimoniously write useful tips to small-space inhabitants such as "use the space under your bed to store blah blah blah" Telling someone who lives in a tiny place with spouse and cat to think outside the box by using under-bed storage is nonsense. That's a given, people. Grrrrrr....

Now just because I live in a tiny crack shack flat(nice ring to it, no?) doesn't mean that others' experience may not be useful to some, but you get my point. I'm jealous.
I want to live in such space that I get to ponder which of the storage areas I should purge first.
And until then, I want information to be truly useful, not facile crap from some la-la-land-get-thee-to-a-talk-show hoarder who thinks that using vertical space is nouveau.

EOM, EOR
(end of message, end of rant)

Vancouver 2010

As I watch bodies fly into the air and crash on the icy slopes in Whistler during the men's Super G, I contemplate the sheer bravery, discipline and athleticism of these athletes. Of course I get extra excited when I see Canada or Austria do well, but I applaud all of these amazing people who throw themselves into years of bloody hard work to even get to the point of being eligible for the Olympics. As sentimental as it may sound to those of us who are usually a bit cynical, every single athlete who makes the rigorous Olympic qualifications is a champion, and as a member of the same human race I'm proud of them, regardless of country. To be declared a "winner" or "loser" based not on seconds but 1/100 of a second is purely arbitrary. Even the slowest on an Olympic course moves faster down the slopes than I could fall down them. So while I want Canada to be successful--and rightfully proud--of our Games, I am
cheering for every amazing athlete giving his/her all.

Testing, testing, 1,2,3

Isn't technology amazing? During the day I have so many ideas about
blog posts, but then I'm so tired by the time I get home, and all
those impressions and thoughts have disappeared. Now I can email from
my phone, et voilà! A blog post appears.

lesson learned, or, if you keep this up you'll get your eye washed out with soap

well last night I splashed raw soap into my right eye, necessitating a trip to emergency last night and a follow-up appointment this morning. To my relief, there doesn't appear to be permanent damage and it is healing.

For those unfamiliar with soapmaking, it is a simple but artistic process of adding NaOH (lye, or, caustic soda, aka sodium hydroxide) to water (or whatever liquid one chooses), then adding that to oil, stirring like a madwoman, then pouring the liquid into moulds of some type. The countless variations vary from peculiar (breast milk soap can be made, for example, although I can't begin to imagine the market for that. Or the marketing) to the most complicated and gorgeous concoctions marrying delicious scents with rainbow colours.

For me, though, soapmaking is primarily to keep unnecessary ingredients/potions off my skin--which has proven to be my best skin-care tip ever--and when I control every aspect of my soap's production I avoid a lot of troubled skin. Bonus! So if I pass on soap to you--don't expect bright colours (those are dyes, and can be a lot of fun for creative purposes but my skin doesn't like them). And when you lift a block, bar, or cake to your nose (very first reaction of EVERYBODY when looking at soap) it will be unusual if you smell strong, flowery or perfumey scents, because I use essential oils and not artificial fragrances. And for essential oils to survive the reaction that creates mild, pure soap, you'd have to use an enormous quantity, with a few exceptions (peppermint, patchouli, lemongrass etc.) And essential oils are very expensive to use, for very faint final results. Nonetheless, I like them.

I also love the nostalgia factor of soapmaking. That's probably why I prefer big rustic blocks in the style of Savon de Marseille, with its "72% Olive" stamp on it. I also love how they warp as they cure.

A lot farther to go...

according to this website, I have been to 9% of the world. So much more to see and do!
it makes me want to travel much more...

Pigeons. Those flying rats

the other day I was waiting for my S-Bahn at Rennweg and was watching the behaviour of pigeons on the tracks. They are quite bold, and scavenge around until the very last minute possible when the the train came snorting in before lazily taking flight and going either up, or on the platform, to get out of the way. The next day, I was in the same spot, off in my mental happy place. This is where commuters, I being no exception, go whilst waiting. Also recognised as the condition of being off in space. I noticed a wing sticking up above the track. Some morbid curiosity compelled me to move closer to the edge to look. So one bird didn't accurately judge train speed. I wonder about the pigeons here. Somewhere along the line, they've sunk in my estimation from European local colour and charm to being annoyances. Could have been being shat on (but that was Karma. I howled with laughter when CK got shit-bombed; less than a week later it was my turn. In my latte, no less. Then on my leg. Or maybe my attitude changed after being smacked in the head on several occassions by strong, beating wings as they take off. I've also had my hair combed a few times by befouled bird feet when the landing gear hasn't been raised yet in flight. They're either not good judges of speed/velocity of approaching trains and/or people, or, they simply don't care if their unmanicured toenails rake my head. So I'm not too troubled by a dead one.
However, there was a spate, last spring, of dead birds on the streets. I still can't figure it out. There's a carcass in our garden courtyard which interests Hazuki greatly, and periodically on the street I see one that's reached the end of its natural life, but last spring I saw 2-5 new corpses daily. The question is--was something in bloom that enticed them and then made them drunk or high and unable to avoid cars? Or made them fall over dead? It was weird. Nothing says winter's over like a spate of dead pigeons. Hmmm...

German words I love

Okay, literal translation is a minefield for miscommunication yada yada yada. I know. But I LURV how literal the language is:
gums--Zahnfleisch. Tooth meat.
mulled wine--Glühwein. Glow wine.
light bulb--Glühbirne. Glow-pear (think of the shape)

and then there's the -zeug ending. Zeug roughly translates as "thing/stuff":
Feuerzeug--fire thing (lighter)
Flugzeug--flying thing (airplane)
Werkzeug--work thing (tool)
Fahrzeug--driving thing (vehicle)

I snort every time I learn a new one:)