In the Battle of Woman V. Girdle....

As a rule of thumb, I don't dress up that much.  I am short and stumpy, and somewhat lumpy.  With no beautiful attributes to behold, I can say without malice that one part of my body just blends in with another. At work, I am only one step up from casual and on the weekend, I am your typical small town hoody and jeans type of girl. With a secret fantasy of my legs growing longer and my body becoming fabulous, I hoard away my share of accessories.  Purses, jewelry, shoes, shawls, scarves, you name it.  If it is feminine, its sitting in my closet pining for a day it will actually be used. 

So, when I was invited to a Murder Mystery party this past weekend by a friend of ours who really is the hostess with the mostest, I knew that I would have to bring my A GAME in the dressing up department! With the accessories needed to spruce this average girl up to a 1905 flirtatious tramp named Chastity Darling, I knew that the only thing missing was the clothes to cover my rather less than desirable body.  So with credit card in hand, I tromped off to the local clothing store.  

The moment I walked through the store, I instantly heard the sound of angels followed by a blinding light coming down from the heavens and shining on "IT" in all it's 1920ish glory.  Beautiful beyond words, delicate in appearance, the black and lace frock with a kick out at the bottom portrayed the look of a bygone era. With my size in hand, I ventured into the change room and tried it on!  And wouldn't you know it, the bloody thing fit!!! I stood and viewed myself with a tiny bit of admiration until I moved in the mirror.  What was that I thought... It couldn't be?  It can't be?  Oh my lord it is!!!! The only thing holding me and this beautiful frock from creating a binding love affair was the nasty betrayal of my jelly belly that was wiggling to and fro with every movement.  And just as I was about to declare defeat and send it back to it's place on display, words of wisdom were shouted from the great beyond, better known as my mother:  GET A GIRDLE FOR GAWD SAKES!!!! 

Huh?  They still make those?  Really? So as I scampered around the store, wouldn't you know that they had a seamless and promise to show no lines, guarantee to thin you by two sizes, spandexly happy version of the modern day girdle.

So with dress, nylons and girdle in hand, I arrived home to start the process of transforming this average woman into a character worth remembering.

Laying out all my wares on our bed, I scooched my better half out of the room, and emphatically stated "No matter what you hear, whether it be grunting, groaning, whining and howling, DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT OPEN THIS DOOR!!!"  Good lord it was bad enough that I had to witness the debacle of moving fat around on my body let alone subject my better half and cause him permanent blindness.  So with box in hand, I opened it to reveal a two inch by two inch square of stretchable fabric. Was this it? Seriously, I was suppose to get that around all of my body? Never one to back down from a challenge, I stepped one leg into the 16th century torture contraption. And with another leg in, I yanked, I squeezed, I tugged, I pulled, I sweated, I groaned, and I even whimpered once or twice until that two inch by two inch thing was made into a two foot by two foot thing which was then yanked unceremoniously up my body and secured into place.  With my stomach now pushed up into my breasts and my breasts now pushed up into my throat, I was ready to venture out.

At the dinner party, it became painfully obvious that with cutting off all amount of circulation to my stomach, the food was resting somewhere between my boobs and my mouth.  As the minutes ticked on and on, I could feel my stomach collecting gas and trying to expand beneath the torture device that was holding it securely in place.  With a shift here and a shift there, I felt light headed and dizzy and I was sure that a fart was going to explode out through my nostrils!  I moved from hip to hip and leaned as far back as I could in a desperate attempt to find some type of relief.  I spoke to my body silently willing it to conform, to adjust, to please just be good! But as the night progressed, I could feel my fat bubble into other free areas of my body.  I was developing a new form of a muffin top, a second set of boobs, and third double chin, GOOD LORD MY FRIENDS, I WAS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!

And just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, the game was over!!!  And with a run from my chair, I grabbed my bag that contained jeans and a hoody and comfy undies and sprinted to the bathroom to make my change from gaseous trollop to everyday average girl.  

And as I stood there in my lovely friends' washroom, all halloweened up, I did the only thing a really comfortable friend would do, I took off the girdle and let my rather large patooty explode!!!  And as my body parts then settled back into their regular roles, I proceeded to jump around like a maniac trying to wave the rather nauseous scent away, then I rejoined the group, prayed nobody needed the bathroom soon, drank some wine and relaxed.

And what I can say my friends is that in the battle of Woman versus Girdle, that damn Girdle won!!!  Well sort of that is because when I got home and deposited my nemesis into the garbage, this woman snidely looked at the evil little thing and said "you may have won the battle my friend, but your off to the incinerator which means that I won the war!!" 

And then I walked away cackling!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

BACK AWAY FROM THE MAGAZINE, AND NOBODY WILL GET HURT!!!

By this point (unless your new to my blog or new to my life), everybody is most likely aware that I have some odd idiosyncrasies.  One of the craziest things about me is my love of a fresh and never been handled magazine.  Oh how I adore them with their new smell, their feel, their glossiness, and the fact that I am the first to touch their clean pages. Why in fact, it is nothing short of utterly exhilarating.  It's a love affair I have had for more years than I can count and it probably started when I was a child. You know I use to have two subscriptions, one to the Annie Oakley Fan club and the other to Junior National Geographic (yea yea, I know I look like a dweeb, but please there were no junior/teen fashion magazines back then and probably is the reason behind the way I dress now!)  Anyway, I use to wait that long 30 days in between until the next magazine would come in, and when it arrived in that delightful brown paper packaging with my name on it, I would bolt to my bedroom to savour the excitement of opening it all to myself.  

Oh the joys of it all as I sat there staring at my newly minted magazine in all it's shiny, new and cleanly glory. Many years later, and I can confirm that I still feel the same way. It probably would come as no surprise to find out that I nearly burst a vein on the side of my forehead if someone else touches my virgin magazine before I do. Those who know me well, know that I must be the first to flip thru it's untouched pages and I must be the first to read it, and if I am not, don't even bother giving it to me!

Of course, it should also be no shock that I absolutely cannot touch a magazine in any office setting. You know what I mean? Those horrid disgusting, finger licked magazines that glaringly stare at you while you are sitting at your doctor's or at your dentist's office. All I can see is a zillion little fingers that have flipped thru those pages. EEEEWWWW!  It blows my mind that most doctors offices require you to put a face mask on during flu season so as not to spread germs, but leave out for everyone to touch, sneeze on, cough on, snot on, paper reading products! Like we aren't going to catch anything off those little germ collectors! *shudder*.

Ironically, I have been with my better half for eight and half years and he still does not understand this flaw in my personality. And I nearly get frantic when I come home from a store and he starts to empty out the bags and grabs my magazine and does a quick flip thru those virgin pages.  It takes all my strength not too leap across our kitchen island, put him in a choke hold and slap him silly!  He regularly looks at me as though I am some sort of maniac, and perhaps I am.  But it is only when I have read the magazine thoroughly and I mean every page from top to bottom, from side to side, from article to article that you may pick it up and view it. Yes I know what you are thinking and you wouldn't be the first to call me crazy!

I think I can say with total assurance that at this point in my life, it is highly doubtful that I am ever going to change when it comes to the virgin magazine. And if you are ever in a magazine aisle and you see this girl reaching for the magazine way way waaaaaaaaaaaaaay at the back of the pile, the likelihood is, that is just crazy old me!  Harmless of course, unless you touch my virgin magazine and then I take no further responsibility for my future actions.

Until next time.

Cheers

Tracy

...in the midnight hour

I live with a man who during the daylight hours I adore completely, but during the night hours, it takes all my control not to throttle him senseless with the pillow he rests his rather large head upon.

I am sleep deprived you see.  

My mild manner better half is driving me to the brink of exhaustion!

To wit:  the other night, I had curled deep within the warmth of my duvet and fell off into a lovely, dreamless slumber when I was ghastly awaken by the following:

"GET UP GET UP, YOU ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR WORK!!!!!"

With my heart beating fast and sleepy-filled eyes, it goes without saying that I hopped out of my warm and comforting bed and moved my decrepit body as fast as I could over to the loo where I dropped my pj's and scrambled into the shower to clean the old body in the most expedient way I possibly could!

Still feeling slightly tired, I came out of the bathroom to find my lovely better half deep alseep and snoring peaceful under a mound of duvets.  What was more curious was that it was still dark out. Usually by this time, there is a thin stream of daylight coming in from yonder window. However, the only thing that I could see was the glow behind my curtain of the mandatory street lights.

I stood there and scratched me head and proceeded to hobble over where the alarm clock was sitting and took it over to the window to get some light to read it. I stood and stared at perplexed, shook it a few times and wondered if perhaps the batteries in the back had finally died, as this time couldn't be right! On closer inspection, I could see the second hand moving without hesitation. In shock, I stood and watched that bloody second hand moving in perfect sync and felt a mad rush of warmth gather over my face. With a turn of my heel, followed by a thunderous over-exaggerated walk,  I stomped my way over to my side of my bed, grabbed my pillow and unceremoniously hit my better half in the head with the following screaming words:  

"IT'S ONLY MIDNIGHT YOU BLOODY FOOL....AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Stunned by the onslaught of my pillow, sleeping beauty looked at me with confusion, and then it dawned on me that the freaking stinker was talking in his sleep again!

The rest of my evening went something like this:

• 1:00 a.m. finding said better half sitting on the side of the bed, asking him what he was doing, his answer "nuttin" and then him falling back on his pillow and snoring.
• 2:30 a.m. finding said better half sitting on the side of bed, asking him what he was doing, his answer "nobody's business" and then him falling back on his pillow and snoring.
• 3:45 a.m. finding said better half standing at one of our bedroom windows peeking out thru the slit of the blinds and saying "did you hear that, did you hear that?" and then him walking back to his side of his bed, climbing in and not missing a beat to his snoring.
• 4:30 a.m. finding said better half standing over our dog's crate and saying the street light is keeping Fred awake and then him climbing back into bed and snoring once again; and finally
• 6:30 a.m. the alarm going off and better half waking up with a stretch whilst Tracy drags her sorry ass out of bed.

I don't care what they say, I am going to do my best to bring separate bedrooms back into fashion!

Good lord, someone help me now!

Until Next Time!

Tracy

This Post is not for the Faint Hearted

You know I have always been a pretty open blogger when it comes to my personal life.  And in doing so, I have lost readership and I have gained readership. It's life. I have always been honest in my posts and have shared many things about my aging droopy body, from my ever-reaching-floor boobs, to the odd stray hair poking off the side of my nostril, to eating fart bars at will just to get even with my better half.  All of which compare nothing to the tale I am about to tell you.

So if you are easily offended or grossed out by bathroom humour, now is the time to skip to the next blog. I promise, my next post will be all flowery and full of daisies.

But in the meantime, all ladies and gentlemen, are warned to avert their eyes.

On to my story:

If you are familiar with me at this point, you know that I am a chronic pain sufferer.  I tend to shy away from pain medication until there comes a point when the pain is making me so outwardly miserable to all those around me, that I just have to give in and take something.  Such was the case for the last week and half.

So with a click of my magic fingers, I blinked up my delightful cocktail of pain meds and happily went on my way much to the pleasure of all those around me. 

The unfortunate part of pain meds is that after a few days they back up my old garbage disposal, if you get my drift.  You know what I mean right? My engine gets a blockage, my cat gets a fur ball, there's a rat stuck in the wall... No? You still don't know what I mean? Oh for gawd sakes, I get constipated people!!!! 

And constipated good, I must say.  This time it had been three days, three long days of torturous agony, until I took it upon myself to drastically force a flushing of my radiator. 

It all started like this.  I finally could no longer take one more moment of the pain in my lower back or the bloating in my ever increasing stomach.  Not too mention the constant pressure on my poor tookis. So with toilet paper in hand, and a determination in my gait, I finally, on the third day, decided to get the deed done and reward myself with a warm bubble bath to soak my soon to be released from agony nether regions.  So with the bathwater running, I decided to disrobe, and plant my naked body on the toilet to give an old heave ho to my ill suffering bowels, and from there jump into my bath and soak my sore patooty.

While idly sitting, for what felt like an eternity on the toilet, and bursting several blood vessels on my face, a few odd and disturbing things popped into my mind, like:

What if it didn't come out before the water in the bathtub started to overflow and my better half came into the bathroom to see why there was an indoor flood happening only to find me in all my naked glory sitting there grimacing and grunting on the toilet with two inches of water around my ankle yelling "we're almost there baby, almost there!!"

Or

What if, gawd forbid, I pushed too hard and gave myself an aneurysm, fell off the toilet and my better half found me naked, lying butt up in the air, dead to the world, with half a poop sticking out.  Good gawd, how on earth would he explain that to the family!!!

And if that wasn't bad enough, I spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about taking a pair barbecue tongs and pulling and tugging until I set my bowels frees.  Of course, when I merely mentioned my fantasy to my better half, he raced into the kitchen at full speed, and lets put it this way, I haven't seen those tongs in two full days. Like I'm really going to use them.  Okay, maybe it is good thing I can't find them.

In any event, I am happy to report that I did survive the bowel gate scandal of 2011 and that I burst out into glorious song the moment it happened!

The fact that I am now sitting on a pillow and a heating pad, is nobody's business but mine, and well, maybe yours too, and anyone else who has the courage to ask!  Because, damn it, I am not ashamed!  Okay, maybe I am blushing a bit in the cheeks, well, the cheeks I am sitting on that is!

Until Next Time.

Tracy

In Shrouded Form

As mentioned before in past posts, I work in a haunted building. Yes, you heard me right, a haunted, historical building.  Once a beautiful church, the inside has been transformed to showcasing a sad and lack luster version of a 70's decor gone wild.  With golden oak trim, green speckled carpet and orange counter tops, the only thing missing is a disco ball.

But beneath it all tho, and in the untouched corridors of it's youth, the old building retains some of its original charm of thick trim and window casings, old bannisters, bubble glass windows and locked up rooms with the original dark stained hardwood floors still intact.

Time, along with the landlord, has not treated this beautiful gem with the kindness it deserves. With the less than inspired housekeeping staff, there is narry a corner of the building that isn't oozing in gauzy cob webs, decaying bugs, fast moving hairy little spiders and burnt out light bulbs.

Eleven years of working here and I have seen and heard my fair share.  From distant sounds of imaginary children running up and down the stairs, to spring loaded doors opening on their own, to closing up my office and then hearing behind the locked doors, the filing cabinets and inner doors being opened and shut, to standing in the foyer downstairs and hearing the sounds of running back and forth above me in my office, all after I, the only employee, have locked and alarmed up my office.

Much to the dismay of the doctor's office below me, they are unfortunately provided a full-on audio entertainment each morning from my offices above until I arrive to start the day.

And there have been other spine tingling and unexplainable moments like light bulbs being smashed on my desk even though all six light bulbs were still sitting in their track lighting above me, to forks and pens and keys disappearing and then reappearing in the same place I had just looked at a few minutes earlier. Or, the night my better half picked me up and as I walked to the car I noted the sheer horror on his face and turned around where I stood breathless and in shock as a fantastical lighting display was happening where only mere moments earlier I had been sitting and typing. 

You would think that I would be use to all these chill boning special effects that accompany my every work day. And by all accounts, with the exception of the odd hair sticking up on my neck, I am.  But lately, a new thing is happening that is so disconcerting that even as I write this, my arms are fraught with goosebumps. 

I am constantly seeing a shrouded form in my peripheral vision.  It happens so quickly and suddenly that for an instant, my senses are swirling and it takes all my effort to catching my breath in attempt to calm down and not go screaming into the night.  And while it is not all the time, a few times a week seems to be more than I really wish to experience. I just cannot shake the sense that I am being watched. Tall, dark and ghostly opaque qualities, it often stands and occupies a corner of one of the several empty offices that makes up the entire floor that I work alone on. Undoubtedly after several weeks of this, I am starting to sense the moment before it happens.  I see it there from the corner of my eye, but when I turn my head it evaporates into thin air.

And, as fall creeps in closer and the days get shorter, my concern about being alone in the building whilst I wait the extra hour for my better half to pick me up, is, I have to say, unnerving to say the least.

I suppose, it's all part of the fun of working in an older building, but I must admit that my dreams of owning an older character home have all been shattered since working here. It's nothing but new construction for me now, as I want to ensure that the only thing haunting my home, is my better half's lingering, wretched farting sprees.

In the meantime, I believe it is time for me to go as the hair on my neck is starting to stand straight up and my spidey senses are in full gear. 

Until next time.

Cheers

Tracy

Meh!

I think I have lost my mojo..

My umpf...

My witty repartee...

My imagination...

My zest (oh wait, did I ever have zest? Hmmmm.... nope, I am pretty sure I have always been a zest-free zone)

In short, I have those damn Blogger Blues.

You know where you are too tired to think of something to write in the waking hours of your life?  I mean it goes without saying that some of my best ideas for blogging come about in the middle of the night or when I am taking a shower, or gawd forbid, when I am sitting on the loo.  All of which leads to a very inconvenient time to blog.

I have barely even taken any photos in the last five weeks, which is so unlike me as usually my camera is surgically attached to my eyeball.

Even today, I posted a new post on my other blog As I Dream It  as it had been about 5 weeks since I posted over there. And guess what, the bloody thing won't show in the reader or on any blogrolls and for some reason, I am too tired to figure it out. It's kinda sad because it is a little thank you post for Mandy at Tatter and Wild and Nana at La Table De Nana for some lovely things they did for me, for which they will never see it, because it is yet another glitch with lovely blogger.

Anywhooo, since I have nothing worthy to say and I have snagged you this far into my meaningless clutches, oops I mean post, I'd like to take this time to say thank you for a couple of things.

First, there are several new people who have joined my possey, so thank you Justin, Rebecca, Elliot MacLeod-Michael, Liz it is and Twilightgazing.  Nice to see your lovely faces, and if you haven't already, and you want too, feel free to input your blogsite up on the above tab called the Meet and Greet Page so that other great bloggers can find out about you and what you have to write about.

Secondly, I have thank my friend, Paul, over at I took the One Less Travelled for passing on a lovely award to me. You are too kind my friend, too kind indeed!

Finally, I want to invite you all to leave a comment below with your blog addresses so that after you read my boring schmoozle of a post, you can actually go and visit a post worthy of a read!

Cheers for now lovely ones!

And if you were here in person, I would probably give you all a big smoocharoo!

Tracy xxoo

A MOVELESS RAIN DANCE

This is a post I wrote from last year, one that is near and dear to my heart and one that expresses how I feel today.... Happy Sunday to everyone!

It’s raining today, and out of nowhere, my senses have been exhilarated with this deep feeling that my soul is cleansing it’s self. The skylight above me renders a constant pitter patter noise and I am adoring it. I pull my sweater closer around my neck while my eyes flutter in an attempt to remain open and focused.

Thoughts and ideas flit thru my mind, but I am too relaxed to be able to retain them. I am having a moment where I feel peaceful. So ironic for me.

I jump up from my desk at the lunch hour and walk outside and stand there while the sky drizzles down upon me, doing my own version of a moveless impromptu rain dance. Drops are glistening in my hair and then silently rolling down my cheeks and it feels so good. People walk past and give me crazy looks. I smile back and even cheekily say “you should try it some time”. They scamper away from the lunatic on the sidewalk who allows the rain to soak her. But the rain is not soaking me, it’s saturating my soul. Curiously, I feel warm rather than cold. But I understand, the rain is washing away the accumulation of disappointments that I have been holding onto so tightly and for far too long. Slowly and ever so slightly, I feel small releases as each one leaves me. I tell myself it is time to move on from those things I have no control over.

And then, in a moment of haste, I almost miss her. The sweetest child with blonde hair and blue eyes looking up at me perplexed. She blinks and strains her lovely face my way until the recognition dawns on her and she smiles and looks up at the sky. I stand there mesmerized as I watch beautiful silver streaked droplets of water splash on her soft brown eyelashes giving her an almost ethereal glow. She slips her warm soft hand into mine. My heart beats hard because I know her. I once was her. Innocent and happy, kind and thoughtful, with the world before me. She tells me that all will be okay and for a fleeting moment I believe her. I bend down and kiss her forehead and say “I know sweetheart”.

And then, with a turn and a sigh and a yank of my warm duvet, I wake up to the beautiful sound of the rain falling gently on my roof. And my day begins.

Until Next Time...

Cheers

Tracy

She can’t be rosie and sunshiny all the time, can she?

I’ve got a friend and she is the epitome of happiness every day.  I mean every day!  Did I mention every freaking day of her life? She is so damn happy, that I want to throttle her at times.  Of course I wouldn’t because that would be paramount to the evil Queen giving Snow White a poisonous apple and since she has a large number of dwarfs and happy animals surrounding her, they would probably drop me like the sack of potatoes I am! 

 

I am not jealous, I tell ya!  Seriously, I am not (okay maybe a bit, but just a teeny tiny little minuscule amount).  And I just keep thinking to myself, that it can’t be normal, can it? Perhaps,  she is just sucking back some vodka infused lollipops every day and walks around with a goofy smile on her face that everyone interprets as happiness! And perhaps all her gooey rainbow happiness status lines on facebook, is nothing more than the silly verbiage of liquored up woman! 

 

In any event, this is where I step in and tell you, that this person is nowhere near my persona.  I am anything but, and this week has proved to all those around me that there are days that I put the “ass” in crabass.  Sorry to those who do not like swearing, please avert your eyes, I don’t swear often in my posts and would hate to offend any of you lovelies. 

 

The gist is, I want to gripe here but I am having a problem in doing that, simply because I look at my blog as a place to practice my writing, as a place to get better with my writing, as a place to grow in my writing.  It’s just my lovely little place in the blogosphere. 

 

But I am breaking the rules today, and here I go (now if you don’t like rants, can I kindly suggest that this is the moment you should go and check out another blog): 

 

Please do not ask me to work on a project for three consecutive days and finally get it organized between three lawyers, a Judge, a Doctor, three court houses, a video service and camera man and then cancel it the next day. 

 

Please do not ask me to hold your mocha while we are driving, and peal back the lid and have the foam splatter my face and clothes and wonder why I won’t talk to you for an hour. 

 

Please don’t tell me that you will take a certain amount on an item you have on ebay and have me submit the offer, only then to make me wait two full long agonizing days before you accept it, just on the off chance you might get a better offer. 

 

Please do not call me at 11:30 a.m. on a work day and tell me that someone else wants to look at my house, and tell me to go home on my lunch hour (via taxi) to clean my house, and then take a taxi back to work, to then take a taxi back home after work to get my dog out of there before 5:05 p.m. to accommodate a potential buyer who is RETIRED and can come at any time!!! 

 

Please do not arrange a viewing of another house for me to look at and then cancel it five minutes before I am suppose to be there! 

 

Please do not give me extra onions and no pickles on my sandwich after I asked very nicely for no onions and extra pickles. 

 

Please do not give me a mascara and tell me its not waterproof and then I spend the next two hours in my bathroom trying to peel off the mascara that is obviously waterproof. 

 

But mostly:  Please do not wake me up on a Sunday morning to tell me you want to look at my house and make me leave my house for five hours while you keep postponing your viewing and then tell my realtor that you want to offer me what I paid for it 6 years ago at the base price before I paid the provincial tax on my then new house, before my upgrades, before the built ins, before I put appliances in, before I put custom blinds in, before I put a built in vacuum system in, before I put an alarm system in, before I had custom built ins put in my living room and den, before I had custom lighting put in, before I landscaped it, before I put a fence up and I before I had a pergola put in. Because nothing ticks me off more than someone who wants to buy my house $118,000.00 under the assessed value and wants me throw in $50,000.00 in upgrades!!!! 

 

Oh my gosh, I think I feel better! 

 

Hey??? Maybe I can be rosie and sunshiny all the time! 

 

Yea right!!! Who am I kidding!

 

All hail the Queen of the Crabasses! 

 

Long Live my Reign!

FALL FLUTTERS

Summer came in a whisper and went out just as gracefully.  I opened my eyes to the sun and soaked in the warmth of it all.  I adore this time of year when summer runs into fall leaving an indelible warmth in my bones that carries me forward towards the harsh wet winters on the west coast.

My lush green garden has become over grown, my flowers have become straggly and weedy, and finally the growth of the hair on my legs has slowed down to a snail’s pace leaving me the need to only have to shave them every few days or so.  Yes, it is true my body runs with the seasons and so does my heart.

Never being one to love the parched direct heat of the summer months, I have found that as I get older, I now look forward to July and August perched within my well worn lawn chair.  I love those moments watching the clouds sail on by, reverting to my five year old self in an attempt to see faces and figures in the pillowy softness of the sky. 

We are experiencing an “indian” summer, if that is even politically correct to say anymore.  Warmth is in an abundance, my garden is still producing veggies and fruit, flowers strain to give a few last blooms and the insect life is in full autumn mode in an attempt to gather their last feasts before the inevitable rains knock the remaining vegetation to the ground.

For me, I enjoy this time of year with how the air changes and brings with it a distinctive smoke-filled hazy scent that reminds me of roaring fires from my youth.  Nesting creeps up upon me and I feel the need to bake and cook and hunker down for the cold winter nights. 

Quietly, I wander out on my lunch hour and head for the local bookstore gathering my necessary reads that will see me through the next several months.  I stock up on bubble baths and soaking salts for those moments later this year when I rush into the house frozen to the bone and emerge myself into a steaming bath full of flavourful scents and aromas. Oh, how I can already feel the sweet scented warm water as I let out that deep “ahhhhh” after the first foot in.

Moments of cuddling with my little pooch on our couch under soft warm inviting covers and evenings in my bed as I quietly inch my way over to soak up some of that arab heat that emanates from my better half’s body.

Creamy hot chocolates and chai tea lattes are already calling my name and deep within some suppressed memory, I can smell my mother’s spaghetti sauce bubbling and boiling on the overworked stove.

I look forward to that moment when the first set of maple leaves fall to the ground leaving me to crunch my way through them, or that first fall wind which is neither warm nor cold, but carries the last sweet infusion of earth before she closes her shop up for the winter.

Yes, I am in love with the amazing beauty of fall.  But more importantly, I am in love with how fall sets my heart aflutter.

Until Next time.

Cheers
Tracy

It's the Great Postcard Campaign Charlie Brown!!!!

Tis true my lovely friends... The witty JDay over at The Ramblings of Charlie Brown started the Great Postcard Campaign of 2011.

The gist, everyone who signs up, is assigned a month to send out postcards to everyone on the list in order to connect without the aid of social media.

The purpose: well trying to find a way to reconnect with each other on a more personal level.

I received my first postcard last month, and this month, it is my turn to send them out.  

Can I tell you that I had the worst time in the world trying to find generic postcards!  Secondly, I am so not use to writing very often and I needed an icepack and some good old pain cream to rub into my shoulder after all that freaking writing!  And thirdly, I, believe it or not, was stumped on what to write! Good grief Charlie Brown!!!!

Lastly, I think it will be fun... so if you haven't already, go on and skip over to JDay and sign up and be a part of connecting with other individuals from other countries, but for PITY SAKE PEOPLE, please sign up in October, I already did my freaking post cards and I can no longer feel my fingers!!!!

And on a side, I want to thank Ruth at Welcome to Me and The Frisky Virgin for both passing on such lovely awards to me! You two are way too kind *blush*!

Finally, I am going to be slightly AWOL over the next few weeks, or at the very least, blogging sporadically. This is a crazy busy time at work, lawyers and trials, you get my drift.  And already I want to pack my bags and head for the high country... Anybody want to put me up?

Will hopefully resume normal programming in the very near future, or, if not, send a search team out for me, you will most likely find me licking out the contents of a margarita drink pitcher in a dark back alley tearfully whining "why me, why me", whilst I scratch my head with my now permanently "postcardwritingitis" claw-like hand!

Cheers for now

Tracy