Monday, March 17, 2014

Ida Clare You look Irish Today!

This is my first celebration of St. Patty’s Day here in Big Thicket where I was aiming to go out into the world looking for the pot of gold which requires a rainbow.  Since it is all blue skies here, there isn’t a rainbow’s chance in Hades that one will show up, so maybe I’ll just go buy a lottery ticket and hope for the best.

In the past I might have settled for a handsome Leprechaun, but I am getting a little weary of them wearing those bright green outfits and then trying to charm me out of mine.  A woman can take just so much blarney. What the heck is Blarney anyway? I can think of Blarney Fife on the Andy Griffin Show and Blarney Rubble on the Flintstones and except for the purple dinosaur, (who couldn’t possibly be Irish) I’m at a loss.

If you don’t have time to Google it, I just did.  There is a legend that while Blarney Castle was being built, there was a lawsuit dispute and so the owner of the castle appealed to the goddess, ClĂ­odhna and she told him to kiss the first stone he saw on the way to court the next day.  He did and this stone evidently allowed him to use his wit and eloquence to win his case.

So the next time some Charming Blarney tries to deceive you with his wit, flattery, and smooth talk, know that he has probably been kissing a few Stones (Mick would be my first guess) or is stoned.

Still, I do love me a sweet talker and the Irish are champions at it.  So I would like to share some Irish blarney or blessings that appeal to me.  Where ever you are, have a Happy St Patty’s Day.  Maybe next year, I’ll Google St. Patrick or maybe I'll have him Google me.

Have a lucky day!
photo credit: Me2 (Me Too) via photopin cc

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Ida Clare, It's a Cold Day in the Neighborhood

Mr. Rogers stole my sweater and I want it back.

I'm just kidding.  I don't mean to disparage poor departed Mr. Rogers. In fact this is one of my favorite quotes from him.

I can’t seem to get warm in this darn climate change.  Maybe I have become one of those delicate flowers who are always cold.

You know who I’m talking about.  Those skinny women who invariably wear sun-dresses or skimpy little shorts and tops when the weather man has been bleating out the news to anyone who doesn't own a pair of earplugs that Mother Nature is about to drag her cold front through town.  These women are the human version of a shivering Chihuahua whose eyes are about to bug out from being so cold because they forgot that underwear is a form of layering.

I don’t care if you wear less clothing. I would too if it were summer and my wading pool had a hole in it.  I just can no longer dress like that because what used to fill my tube top is just north of filling up a pair of tube socks.

But naturally, I have gotten completely off the subject, if I ever had one.  I am cold and despite the fact that I may have to sell my car to pay the propane bill, I have been trying  to use my heating pad to keep my feet warm at night.

Sounds toasty doesn't it?  Well the cat population in this house thinks so too.  It turns out the heating pad is the exact size of one grumpy old lady cat who has the middle age spread, bless her heart, and one young male kitten who, considering the positions and the stretches he performs, must have been a yoga instructor in a past life.

Now one would think that since I am the lady of the house and the human that procures the kitty food, my feet would have first dibs on avoiding frostbite, but one would be wrong.  If you know anything about cat entitlement, you know that cats have the best self-esteem and the determination of...well, a cat.

So I just hunt me a pair of tube socks and call it a night.


Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Ida Clare Marches On

Well, maybe not so much marching as lurching.

My name is IdaClare and I am a recovering flu and pneumonia survivor!

If there were twelve-step meetings for what I had, I would have to agree that I have felt powerless over what ailed me and I was not able to get well by myself.  I had to resort a higher power to make me well. (And the ministrations of IdaMama’s healing home cooking and generous hospitality.)  Her homemade soups are epic.

The good news is that the cure appears to be working and I am able to sit at the computer and stare at a blank page wondering what the heck I am going to write about just like old times.  I confess that I often don’t know my own mind until I see what shows up - probably not the most productive way to communicate, but there it is.

I have been in some stage of getting sick, getting sicker, getting well, and ultimately getting much better since a week before Christmas and here it is March.  My world has consisted of doing jigsaw puzzles on the computer, anxiously awaiting the outcome of which house will the annoying couple select on HGTV’s House Hunter’s International and watching horrified as my three-month old kitten systematically wrecks my mother’s house.

I have since been convinced that His Royal Catness, Prince Harry needs more outdoor exercise and I must say that he excels at tree climbing (and looking adorable) which calms him down when he comes back inside.

However since the nasty winter weather is back, I don't have the fortitude to chase the little darling around outside in the cold.  Do they make kitty Valium?  Well since I can't get Harry some, maybe I can find some for my mother.

To maintain my sanity while recovering, I have turned to Zen.  Zentangle that is.  I have a few things here I will share to prove that I can still hold a pen while fending off a wacko kitteBN#?n who likes to jump on my little desk and keyboard on his way to climbing the draperies.  Shhhhh! Don’t tell IdaMama about the draperies.

Now here's your moment of Zen: