Branching Out

For the last 10 days I have had the luxury of sitting in the passenger seat of a very fancy SUV and watching the world go by. My sister did all the driving from Atlanta to Cleveland, where we arrived a few hours ago. We took our time along the way and stopped wherever we felt like stopping. Our route took us through two national parks, miles of pastoral scenery, alongside placid lakes and rushing rivers. I saw a million postcard-worthy views of this beautiful country. I had time to get lost in my thoughts and come down from a life at home that is wonderful, but often crazy busy and jam-packed with stress. Every day has been both an adventure and a dream. The whole trip was planned out perfectly so all we had to do was show up to our next destination and enjoy the sights in between. We shopped, we antiqued, we dined at local eateries and we took in the points of interest at our own pace.

If all that wasn't blissful enough, sister and I got lots of time together in the car to talk. Between the oohs and aahs of appreciation for the exquisite scenery, we talked and planned and even schemed a bit. We kept the CD player playing our favorite songs and we snacked on goodies we don't indulge in often. Skittles never tasted so good. We got up in the morning whenever we woke up. No alarms, no wake up calls. We followed our whims and did what we felt like doing. After over a week of living like this I can truthfully say that being irresponsible is highly underrated.

This is a trip I will never forget for many reasons. I think my brain and my body have finally learned to truly relax. Sitting there and appreciating the wonders of nature while traveling down the road with no demands on my time has been so good for me. All I had to do was suck in all the beauty of my surroundings and let my mind run with it. And that's just what I did.

From the moment that we hit the road, I have marveled at the trees. It's fall, so the trees along the way were particularly spectacular. The more trees I saw, the more I thought about them. No matter where we traveled, the trees were amazing. I thought about how long it took them to grow to be so tall and grand. I thought about the significance of trees in our lives. They shade us from the heat, they give texture and beauty to every landscape, they make a brilliant playground for kids and squirrels and their trunks provide a permanent monument for lovers carving their words of undying love.

This trip has opened up these green eyes to so much and I am so grateful for the experience. I have even seen the true meaning of what Brenda Bettencourt wrote in huge writing on the first page of my high school yearbook. I was a little insulted at the time but now realize what a fantastic compliment she gave me.

"Remember the mighty oak tree was once a nut like you."

These words are now music to my ears. Thank you Brenda for likening me to something so awesome.

Falling In Love Again

I am feeling dreamy right now. Come along with me on the ride. You will love where we're going... I promise. I am deliriously happy and exhilarated right now. I am admittedly high. Have I taken some kind of potion or eaten some kind of wacky brownies? No, no, no. It's October! It's officially FALL.

I am mad for this time of year. Everything about it is fantastic. Considering that I live in Southern California where summer and hot weather hang on for as long as they can, snippets of the fall season to come break through the heat to let me know that my favorite time of year is arriving. Although the temperature was in the 80s yesterday, there was a cool breeze wafting through, starting in the late afternoon. By early evening it had cooled down into the 60s. The night was clear and crisp outside when I sat on my patio after dinner with my last cup of tea before bed.

What is it about fall that intoxicates me so? Let me tell you... you know you can't stop me.

It's the crisp air. It's the delicious aromas of logs being burned in fireplaces when you walk the dog. It's the exquisite colors of the leaves turning and so much more. I am not a big fan of football but you don't have to ask me twice to go to a game with a group of friends. Fall is all about football and tailgating and having a great time. I am actually pretty good at feigning excitement at football games. Even though I never know which inning it is, I am usually eating or drinking something and looking happy. I have had my friends fooled for years.

Speaking of eating and drinking, the food of fall is amazing. Traditionally harvest time, the cuisine turns from summer salads to warm foods that are hearty and robust. Soups, stews and freshly baked bread. Love it!

One of my favorite things about this time of the year are the clothes. I have more sweaters than I like to admit and I just took the bins down from the storage shelves and visited with every pullover and cardigan I own. Soon I will get to wear them and I can't wait. My dogs will be able to wear their many sweaters, too, and they can't wait either. There's something about wrapping yourself in a sweater that feels so special. And pulling on a pair of boots only makes it better. You just don't get that feeling when you throw on shorts, a tank top and flip flops. I'm sorry, but you just don't.

With fall comes Halloween and pumpkins and all that. People are decorating the outside of their houses more and more and it makes me smile. I will be in Virginia this Halloween so I will get a big dose of fall on the East Coast of the United States. It doesn't get any better than that. One of my dear friends who lives on a huge farm is having us to dinner followed by a bonfire and after dinner drinks. Dreamy!

I do love Halloween and it will be fun to experience it so far from home. People who know me know that I am a crazy good gramma and are probably wondering how I could possibly leave my grand babies on Halloween. They are 2 1/2 and just-turned-7. I always buy them their costumes so they are all set. I have already earned my stripes in the Trick or Treating department years ago with my girls, so I won't be needed there. When they are out gathering up goodies, I will be sitting on my best friends back porch sipping wine and listening to Mozart. My babies will FaceTime me in their costumes before they go out with their parents. I will get a slew of fabulous photos of my own little Elsa, from Frozen, and Spider-Man and will be able to share these images with all of Virginia. Everybody wins.

I want to warn the über-intellectuals who read my columns that my next fall favorite might not make any sense to either of you. I love the new Fall Television Season! I look forward to finding new shows to watch on the regular networks. You can't watch cable all the time. I need some drama and comedy to intermix with my regular diet of real life crime and house flipping.

At the top of my list of why I love fall is that soon I can come home in the evening and light a fire. There is something about a crackling fire that soothes me and makes me so content. The only thing that could make it better is if I had a fireplace. Just kidding! I have a great one but I made you laugh.

Taking a Tranquil-izer

I just finished my third week of yoga and I really love it. It has been a pretty life changing experience for me so far. One of the life lessons I never learned was how to relax, so the prospect of getting to the point of being “at one” with myself and the universe seemed nearly impossible for this crazy girl.

I owe a lot of my positive feelings about yoga to my yogi, my teacher. Before I met her, my only knowledge of a yogi was the one who was a bear and had a sidekick named Boo Boo. She is an older woman who speaks in poetry and never hesitates or falters. Her words are seamless and flow in continuous perfection every minute of class time.

On my first night, I got there what I thought was right on time. It was 10 minutes before the start of class. I was surprised when I found the room and there were already 15-20 pairs of assorted Birkenstocks, sandals and flip flops all lined up. I knew I was in the right place until I removed my shoes and added them to the rows of discarded footwear. When I looked at their shoes and then looked at mine, I thought for a moment that I might not belong.

“When I looked at their shoes and then looked at mine, I thought for a moment that I might not belong.”

I entered the dark-ish room and everyone was sitting in what I now recognize as the lotus position. The teacher welcomed me and beckoned me to find a place for my mat. Easier said than done, I want to tell you. I have had more luck finding a parking place at Macy’s on Christmas Eve day than finding a space in the makeshift yoga studio. It seems that the room is normally used as the playroom for child care. It’s carpeted, but all those places were taken. All that was left for me was a space in the linoleum lined “kitchenette” alcove behind the teacher. At least I was alone and wouldn’t be bumping arms and legs with anyone. Even the cushy new yoga mat I had just purchased at Marshall’s couldn’t protect my old body from the hard floor. As she began her melodious instructions, I had a hard time paying attention at first because the man in front of me was taking up two spaces on the carpeted area and it pissed me off. I quickly got a hold of myself and paid attention, although I was finding great pleasure in plotting the carpet hog's death.

The hard floor made everything hurt but I listened attentively to her direction. “Cultivate stillness in your life”, she purred. “With yoga you have the power to break through that which holds you back”. I liked the sound of that and did everything I could to emulate what everyone else was doing. She had us lie down and asked us to “flower” our toes. It didn’t take me long to realize that there was a yoga-speak that went along with the yoga routines. I had to listen really closely because the sweet yogi lady spoke very softly and the boom box with the accompanying yoga music was right over my head on the kitchen counter. She then asked us to raise our knees towards heaven with feet planted on the floor. “Establish a friendship with the floor”, she prompted. She then took us from the tops of our heads, down the back, hips and to the feet with feeling our relationship with the floor. I kept thinking that the floor and I could have gotten off to a better start if I were on carpet, but I did as she asked for the next hour. I muddled my way through the first class and she had only praise for all of us and thanked us all profusely for allowing her to teach us. Thank goodness she couldn’t see my sprattle-legged attempts to follow along. I may not have made friends with the floor, but the kitchenette cupboards and fridge and I are very well acquainted.

The next week was so much better. I got there 20 minutes early and got the best mat space in the room. I close enough to the teacher to see and hear her. Even though this was described as a class appropriate for beginners, most of the participants were obviously yoga veterans. When it came time to do the pigeon pose, my teacher promised it would be a gift to the hips. My hips probably won’t write her a thank you note, but I did feel things I have never felt before and I liked it. By the middle of the second night, I had thrown my heart and soul into trying to do yoga. I was feeling pretty good about it when all of a sudden the teacher rose to her feet and started to roam around the class room watching us. Who do you think she sought out first? Me. Oh crap, I thought. She is coming to personally escort me to Special Ed Yoga. But no, she just wanted to “align” my movements. As she looked directly, but very nurturingly at me, she told the class to draw attention to the core of our bodies, the epicenter of all movement. She smiled at me like she understood that my core had quite a little tummy that went with it and not to worry.

I will tell you that when you get into to doing yoga you cannot be shy. You spend a great deal of time with your ass in the air and your legs fully apart like a human wishbone. None of my gynecological appointments ever made me feel as exposed or vulnerable. My biggest revelation is that even though I am a damn good dancer, I cannot coordinate yoga moves with breathing in and out. If we are supposed to be lowering our arms and legs on the exhale, you can be sure that I am on the inhale. But I am getting better and I must be really honest. Even though I am awkward and stupid when it comes to yoga, I feel fantastic afterwards.

Right now my favorite pose is Savasana, or the corpse pose. You lie down at the end of the session, close your eyes, hands at the side with palms up. You let your bones sink into the earth, allow your whole body to melt like ice on a sunny day and think to yourself “welcome into the world of bliss”. You get to stay like this and enjoy the peace until she gently rings little brass bells. It’s fantastic.

We all rise up into lotus, put our hands together prayer style pointed towards the sky and say Namaste. When I went home, I looked up the word and it translates as follows: Nama means bow; as means I; and te means you. I bow to you.

Your Miss Fifi is becoming “at one” with the world and it feels so good. Talk to you next week. Namaste, my dear readers, Namaste.

Nothing

I took a few days off recently to try to unwind. Life has been demanding and I found myself running on empty. I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. I have always had a problem with knowing how to relax, so I decided I would just check out and go underground. I was going to stay at home and veg out. They say you live longer if you know how to take it easy. I had a boss years ago who is now in his eighties and plays golf and tennis several times a week. He believed that the secret to long life was simple. He believed that you should never stand when you can sit and never sit when you can lie down.

I felt it was high time I learned to relax. I took a day off on either side of a weekend. I told everyone that if they needed me I could be reached by text or voicemail. I shopped for food and sundries, did a few chores so I wouldn’t have a thing to worry about, and me and my dogs curled up on the couch without a care in the world. Our mission was to do nothing. It was barely 10 a.m. on a Friday morning and I could do whatever I wanted.

I have always worked. I have had at least a part time job since I was 13. Being at home on a weekday reminded me of growing up and having days off from school. I always wanted to plant myself in front of the TV, but my mom didn’t think that was a good idea and always found ways for me to use my time productively. I did get to watch The Price is Right because mom liked it.

So here I am, in MY home where I live all by myself. I have no deadlines, no commitments. Nothing, nada, zip... until I return to work on Tuesday. The only decisions I have to make are what I will have to eat and what to do with my time. Heaven!

I turned on the TV and switched the channels randomly until I came upon of all things... The Price is Right! It’s got a different host, but it is pretty much the same. It’s fun to play along and try to guess the prices of things, but I am really bad at it. I don’t know where they get the prizes, but they obviously don’t shop where I do. Everything seemed so expensive, but then again I haven’t bought a jet ski or a brass cappuccino maker lately.

I watched back-to-back various crap on TV all day long. I had a huge dose of celebrity news, although I didn’t know who some of the celebrities were. I watched an entire hour of paternity test results to find out who the real baby daddies were. I saw a rerun of Bewitched and snippets of dozens of other shows before I realized it was nearly 5pm. Whew! Where did my day go?

The one thing I learned about daytime television immediately is that the audience is divided into 3 basic categories. Moms that stay home, people who don’t have jobs and people who are WAY older than me.

Funnily enough, I learned about both the absorbency of baby diapers and adult diapers on the same day. Life is crazy, huh? You need them at the start and at the finish.

Throughout the day I was personally encouraged to think about a career in the medical field. The commercials are staged so it feels like they are speaking directly to YOU. It was very effective, indeed. A new career as a medical assistant was only a phone call away! It was thoughtful that these teaching academies were concerned about my future, but I am plenty busy just being Miss Fifi.

As you can see, I was just as fascinated by the commercials as I am with the programming. I was left with some guilt, however. I had no idea that the average funeral costs over $10,000 nowadays. Of course I don’t want to leave the burden of my funeral expenses to my children when for only $33 dollars a month I can leave them 10 grand when I croak. Here is the problem. I don’t want an average funeral, so can they figure out how much it will be with fireworks and a Motown cover band? I will have to find out.

It’s amazing how fast the day flies by when you are doing mindless things. Besides watching junk on TV, I played games on my iPad and read the magazines that have piled up.

I honestly don’t know if I am better off after my day of doing nothing productive. I don’t feel anymore rested. I did learn that when you watch a lot of daytime TV, it gives you so much to think about. It’s actually pretty exhausting. I spent Saturday doing chores and thinking about my day of brainless leisure.

As I loaded the washer, I pondered how I am going to get more fiber in my diet and wondered what else they can possibly do with Greek yogurt. Isn’t it crazy how when something catches on, everyone gets on the bandwagon? Maybe I should come up with a bra that can hold a cup of Greek yogurt between the breasts. What do you think?

After my day of daytime TV and relaxation, I don’t think it is for me. I am a little concerned that I lost a few brain cells so please tell me if you notice a difference in my articles.

Since I am not a stay-at-home mom or an unemployed person, I guess the category I fall into closest is senior citizen. Ugh! BUT... even though I live in a 3 level house, I am not even close to being ready for one of those stair chair lifts that I saw advertised repeatedly. My 10-year-old Malti-poo, Babydoll, would probably appreciate it, however. Nope, the old people commercials were lost on me, but I DO have to admit that those walk-in bathtubs are pretty awesome.

Pioneer Days

I was lying on the massage table at my spa over the weekend, having my troubles and woes kneaded out of my old body, when I realized that something was terribly wrong. My massage therapist was rubbing me just right, the oil was my favorite orange scent, the lights were low, the blanket over my body was pre-warmed, and the candles were flickering, but why was I not enjoying it like I usually do? OMG, there was no music! When I mentioned it, my masseuse apologized profusely and let me know that the system had gone out and would be fixed the next day. I didn’t say much but I couldn’t stop thinking. I was all out of sorts because there were no flutes and violins. No birds chirping, no sounds of the ocean blended with symphonic music. All I could hear was my massage girl breathing heavily as she pummeled my back and the occasional sound of the oil being “farted” out of the plastic bottle. Something inside of me wanted to be irate about not getting my monies worth, but the nice girl that my parents raised kept me from saying a word. I sobered up pretty fast in one terrifying moment when I realized that I could have been born in pioneer times and I would never know the bliss of being pampered at the spa. The only pampering I would have gotten back then was finally getting to sit down after a 14 hour day of spinning yarn, making soap from animal fat, and doing the laundry in a stream.

I laid there and had a silent talk with my inner self. Myself and I talked about how it was not a big deal that there was no music and I felt a little ashamed. I am a lucky girl to live now and push a button to do most anything. The pioneer image kept creeping back in my thoughts and I could only feel grateful for not being chosen to live during that time. Someone must have known that although I am a tough cookie, I would have completely sucked as a pioneer woman.

These ladies had to do everything from scratch. If the family was to have biscuits and butter and jam, they made the biscuits, often over a campfire. I can’t even imagine trying to bake biscuits over an open flame. It’s hard enough to get the dough completely out of the can no matter how exactly I whack the damn tube until it pops. They would churn the butter and make the jam out of berries they grew themselves. Think about it… no gas stoves, no refrigerators with ice and water windows, no dishwashers, no grocery stores. If the poor things actually did get to relax in the evening, they would use the time to mend the clothes or read over candlelight from candles they made themselves. And they did all this and more wearing voluminous skirts to the floor which was de rigueur pioneer chic. And yes, they made these ensembles themselves.

My massage was coming to an end and my masseuse laid her hands ceremoniously on my back to indicate the end of the session. I thanked her, and as she thanked me for being her loyal client, she again apologized for the absence of music. As I told her I barely noticed, a scary vision of me sweeping the floor of my covered wagon with a broom that I fashioned out of pine needles popped into my head. As I quickly pushed that mental image away, I assured her that the massage was perfect.

I get my life lessons from little things and I am changed forever. It is ok to be spoiled, but you need to appreciate it with your entire being. Soooo… if you ever get bratty, just imagine life on the prairie. No air conditioning, no water for a bath, mattresses made from scraps of cloth and chicken feathers, no TV, no iPad. Are you getting it? Good. End of sermon.

This Little Fifi Went To Market...

There is probably no task that I hate more than going to the grocery store. If I ever win the lottery, the first thing I will do is hire an assistant that goes to the market for me.

When I was raising a family, I took food shopping much more seriously than I do now. It was part of being the mama lion and nurturing my family and nobody did it better than I did. I used to shop with a shoebox full of carefully catalogued coupons. I was constantly clipping the cents-off coupons from every magazine and newspaper I could get my hands on.

On marketing day, I would spend hours going up and down the aisles stretching every dollar as far as I could. I often filled up two baskets to the brim. At the end, I turned in all my coupons and tried to guess what my savings would be. It was a game to me and I was good at it.

As I stood by the open tailgate of my “mom van” (yes, I had one of those, but please keep it to yourself) and watched the box person load bag after bag of discounted grocery items, I felt such pride. I stood there clutching my yards of register tape as triumphantly as if I had just won an Oscar.

I would spend hours going up and down the aisles stretching every dollar as far as I could.

Grocery shopping was a huge deal back in those days. It took the better part of a day to accomplish and you had to have an unstoppable rhythm. I also learned early on that your success as the household shopper had to have a set of stringent rules.

Rule #1 - You NEVER let your husband go with you. Despite the fact that he is good for any heavy lifting of 50lb. bags of dog kibble or the ginormous size laundry detergent, there is no amount of budgeting and coupon clipping that will offset what he sneaks into the basket. It does you no good to scrimp and save and wait for double coupon day, if you end up with garlic-stuffed cannonball olives, an extra large bag of beef jerky, and Macadamia nuts carefully concealed and then revealed at checkout. Men can’t help it, so leave them at home.

Rule #2 - Never ask if anyone needs or wants anything. When you shop with coupons and are a slave to sale items, no special requests. They get what’s on “special” and the fact that someone else is filling the cupboards for their eating pleasure is special enough. Let your family know not to fall in love with anything you bring home, because they might not get it again.

Rule #3 - If you are shopping for a lot of people, it’s a very tiring job. I believe that the shopper is entitled to at least one food favorite as a reward for all their good work. I love Fig Newtons and tried for years to find a hiding place that no one could discover. I sucked at it, because when I was ready to relax with a cup of tea and some Newtons a few days later, I would go to the hiding place in the kitchen to find an empty Nabisco package. Kids and husbands have food radar. I should have hidden them behind the ironing board or behind the folded sheets in the linen closet. Not a chance anyone in my family would have found them. You live and learn.

Those days are all behind me now. It’s just me and the dogs. Although I haven’t clipped a coupon in a long time, I still hate going to the store for a whole different reason. Now instead of calculating how much I am paying per ounce to get the best bargain, I calculate if I will be able to eat it or use it before I die.

I usually only make myself go to the store if there is nothing for my dogs to eat and/or there is no creamer for my coffee. Once I am there, I am THERE, so I just move down the aisles as fast as I can. There are no bargains for people who live alone. I don’t need a multi-pack of anything and I don’t want to carry it. I get the essentials, fruit, vegetables, English muffins, milk, eggs, Brie, wine, etc.

Nowadays you bring your own bags for the groceries. I am grateful I did the family shopping in the paper or plastic days or I would have to have brought a complete set of Samsonite. I keep my purchases down to a minimum because I like the convenience and speed of the 15 items or less lane. Nothing aggravates me more than people who abuse this. Often times there is still a line but I keep myself occupied by counting exactly how many items each person puts on the conveyer belt and plotting their death if they go over. It’s not the healthiest thinking, but it keeps me completely amused until it’s my turn.

By the way, don’t ever get talked into doing Self Checkout. It’s some kind of trick. First of all, it’s not that convenient or easy. The people who do it easily think they are so cool; they really think they are brilliant. If you look befuddled or don’t go fast enough, the Self Checkout “associate” comes around and flippantly pushes the start button and shows you how to swipe the bar code and then disappears. You start off fine and then you make the mistake of touching the bag at the wrong time and get scolded by some automated voice. I tried to do this before, but if you don’t do it quickly, the guy behind you in the flip flops with a 12 pack of Corona gets antsy and makes you nervous.

The last time I tried to do this, I bought some produce that was missing its sticker and I didn’t know how to continue. Out of nowhere comes the “associate” to help. I don’t know where the Self Checkout helpers fall in the hierarchy of grocery store employees, but these are not happy people. I described my produce problem and she gave me a look that clearly said “Moron!”, shrugged her shoulders, and pushed me out of the way. She made a clicking noise with her tongue while rolling her eyes in disgust. Then she whipped through several screens, pushed too many buttons and asked me for my debit card. She “helped” me complete my transaction and gathered up my bags abruptly, handed them to me and motioned towards the door. Then that brat actually told me to “enjoy the rest of my day”. If I was going to clean the garage for the balance of my day, it would be much more enjoyable than my experience with those people in what I now fondly refer to as “Self Righteous Checkout”.

I think I have let off enough steam for one day. Now I shall go relax with a nice cup of tea... and Fig Newtons.

Going Places

I have such vacation fever, it’s crazy. I love to get away at this time of year because the kids are all back at school and some of the best places to go are reasonably quiet and inexpensive.

I sat down at the computer and started shopping for a place to get away from it all. I live in California, so sun is not a novelty to me. I wanted to go somewhere that I can just be me. No make up, no hair-dos, no muss and fuss. I just want to relax. I am planning on going alone, so I don't have to make anyone happy but me. Contrary to popular belief, I am not hard to please. I just need a comfortable bed and some peace and quiet. I don't ski or toboggan, but I do like the snow. Sitting by a nice fire and sipping cognac is sport enough for me. If I went somewhere tropical, that would be fine. As long as they have air conditioning and a pool where I can dangle my feet while drinking a mojito, I would be happy. I don't drink much in real life because I always have work to do or a place to go and alcohol doesn't fit into my life style. But I do enjoy cocktails when I don't have anything to do but take it easy.

Okay, so back to where I am going to go. I wanted something out of the ordinary. I don't have time to go to the Galapagos Islands or Katmandu. Going to Hawaii or Acapulco is too touristy. Where can I go that is unexplored, but not too primitive? What kind of vacation spot will I be able to talk about when I get back and have everyone fascinated? Here are some great REAL places I found. Wanna come along?

I bet we would have a great time in Happyland, CT. We could turn a frown upside-down in Smileyberg, KS. If we were especially hungry, we might visit Sandwich, MA. I love animals, so Hippo, KY, Chicken, AK, and Monkey’s Eyebrow, AZ could be fun. You know, if we just want something not too exciting, Okay, OK, Ordinary, KY, or Boring, OR would be perfect.

Alright, I am done being silly, but these are real places... no kidding. But when all was said and done, I have decided to spend a few days in Palm Springs, CA. It's close and the desert is lovely at this time of year. In Fifi speak, that means it's not hot. I hate to be hot. I am speaking of the temperature way, not the "oh baby, you look hot!" way.

You see, in the quiet of Palm Springs, I can take in the serenity of the desert landscapes, experience a sunrise, or perhaps even one of those magnificent desert sunsets that are so often captured in photographic art. I can explore my inner self, meditate and even begin a spiritual journey that may carry me the rest of my life.

On the second day there are shopping outlets, restaurants, and casinos. Woohoo! I am all set!

By the way, so many of you have asked what is going on with that new man in my life. He is still around and we still see each other, but we have decided to be friends. To be honest, he just wasn't husband material. Sadly, the only men I seem to meet that ARE husband material all have the same imperfection—they have wives. Well, I'm off to the springs!

Lady In De-Stress

Miss Fifi has been away this week on a fabulous adventure. She will tell you all about it in next week’s article, complete with photos!

In her absence, we, her loyal staff, decided to run one of our favorite Fifi Articles from a few years ago. Her daughters were in their late teens and early 20s and still living at home. Since Mother's Day is just around the corner, we thought this one would bring big smiles.

I was having a bit of a heated conversation with one of my teenage daughters a couple of weeks ago (imagine that!), and just as I was making my point, she patted me on the arm and said, “Chill, Mom, you need to chill out”.

A few days ago, my “assister”, Del, (she’s my assistant, but also my sister... get it?) heard me on the phone giving up the last piece of my mind to someone I do business with. She hurried in after I slammed down the phone, held my hands and said “Breathe, honey... breathe”.

So maybe I don’t deal with stress well. I have a lot on my mind. It’s not like I am the only one or something. I have seen zillions of talk shows where they discuss how women can learn to deal with stress through yoga, aromatherapy, mountain climbing, knitting, and a myriad of other ways.

As I was standing in line at the market the other night, I was thumbing through one of those magazines that have the world “Women” in the title. An article caught my eye that claimed you could alleviate a week’s worth of stress in less than an hour by turning your bathroom into a spa. It sounded dreamy, so I threw the magazine down on the conveyer thingy with the rest of my groceries, being careful to toss it face down so no one would know what I was buying. I sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone to think I was going to be making the “spring bouquet” from egg cartons and pipe cleaners that they had on the cover. I may be a hot mess in the stress department, but I have some pride.

When I got home, I called my sweet daughters down to haul in the groceries (I love kids) while I hurriedly made my way to the bathroom and threw off my clothes. I gave a sigh as I opened my article and anxiously began the first paragraph.

Run a tepid bath, it advised. Tepid? What is tepid? I’ve heard the word before but I have gotten through a lot of years with cold, warm and hot being the only temperatures in my repertoire. No wonder this world is so stressed out. You need a dictionary to take a bath. I filled the tub with warm water and continued to read: Add 3 to 4 dozen fresh rose petals to the drawn water, it went on. Damn! How am I going to get fresh roses from the yard when I am already naked? And then I remembered the little vase of silk flowers that grace the back of the commode. These will do, I said to myself, as I sprayed the fake roses with perfume and threw them into my spa bath. They then suggested soft music to accompany the experience. Ah ha! I have a radio right here in the bathroom. I turned it on but nothing happened. Funny, it was working this morning when my daughters were taking their showers. At second glance, I realized that the cavity that holds the batteries was exposed and the AA batteries were gone. I was not happy, but I was not about to break my Zen-ny momentum by trying to find out who stole the batteries. It won't be any of my daughters who live here, I can assure you. They will all be innocent. So, it must be those same gypsies who come through and eat all the cookies and take all the pens and pencils. Mystery solved. As I slid into my bath, I was not about to be undone because of the radio. I decided that I would just sing my stress away. The article insisted on music, so I will just make my own.

The next step, according to the magazine, was to pull the plug in the tub and let very warm water “gush luxuriously” into the bath. The only trouble is that I live in an old house so you can’t take a shower or run the bathtub when someone is using the washing machine. Someone obviously was doing just that so the water was just dripping annoyingly on my toes.

Defeat is not in my vocabulary, so I closed my eyes, sunk into the warmth of the perfumed water, and sang the only song I know all the words to. For a moment I was delivered from the chaos of the real world. I became deliciously lost in my own private sanctuary. Heaven!

It wasn’t until I noticed a draft on my shoulder that I opened my eyes and saw that my two youngest daughters (18 and 19) were watching me in horror as I sat in a tub of fake roses, singing “Puff the Magic Dragon” with all I had in me.

Before I could say a word in my own defense, the girls were gone. As I arose from my bath feeling stupid, and cold, (I think I figured out what tepid is), I was bound and determined that I would emerge from this experience with a new sense of well-being despite a few setbacks.

I got dressed and decided to get in touch with my artistic side. I gathered up a few things from around the house, poured myself a glass of wine and retreated to a back bedroom and allowed my creativity to emote. You know, it’s amazing how attractive egg carton flowers can look if you know what you’re doing.

An afternoon devoted to my body and spirit was really good for me. Not even my girls were going to ruin my personal renaissance. I was never going to mention or explain what they had witnessed. This day belonged to ME. I honestly felt the stress of my crazy world float away. I felt renewed and completely marvelous.

It wasn't until I heard my daughters on the computer in the next room and the gales of giggles that followed that I realized that my stress free day was officially over. Crap! I forgot about Facebook...