Posts Tagged ‘toilet’


I was in Vermont at the end of June with my daughter who is preparing for university. We were in a hotel room getting ready for the day.

She was in the bathroom drying her hair and her bracelet somehow became unclasped and flew across the room and plunked right into the toilet.


What are the chances? Even considering the smallness of a hotel bathroom.

Why didn’t it land in the sink, tub or behind the toilet?

I glanced down at the clean bowl of water. The “Evil Eye” bracelet was staring up at me with something like eleven blue eyes.

Hmmmm. What to do? I’m not overly superstitious but did think that maybe we should attempt to save a piece of jewelry that was designed to ward off evil spirits. Didn’t seem too cool that it was sitting at the bottom of a toilet bowl.

I said hesitantly, “I’ll………”

She replied, “No, Mom, it’s okay. No, don’t.”

“Okay, but I would have totally done that for you.”

“We will see what housekeeping will do. Maybe they’ll flush it or retrieve it.”

Arrived back to the room later in the day and it was gone. We will never know if it was flushed, retrieved, trashed or repurposed on someone else’s wrist. And that’s just fine.

I did, however, have to ask my daughter this question.

“Honestly, what would you have done if it was your iPhone that ended up in the toilet?”

Don’t have to be a genius to figure out that answer.






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Just thought I would share some photos that made me smile. Or pause. All taken in Malaysia. I hope you enjoy them.



Just wondering if it’s the real thing?


I see these all the time. Always think it’s some type of obscene gesture.


Maybe the kids will eat their peas if we make them into cookies.


This guy washed up on an uninhabited island in Langkawi.


Repurposing taken to another level. A couple of my chums live on this street so I see this piece of art on a regular basis.


This is not my dog, Thumper. Rusty is a Thumper look-alike who belongs to a friend but I just love this photo. Because of Rusty, his shadow and the view of Kuala Lumpur.


It’s not a crime but it sort of is.


Fabulous mural but not sure about that gaping hole.


True confession time. I hit up McDonald’s once in awhile when I’m jonesing for a Big Mac. I was quite surprised to see that the Taro Pies had sold out so quickly.


Is the tailor a fat man? Or just his customers?


This is my Thumper. Always finds a sunbeam to soak up the sun. No matter the location.


Watching workmen and their safety practices across the way is enough to cause anyone anxiety. What I don’t understand is why the three ladders? No key to the house? Notice the first one-barely touching the landing.


This little lady was spotted by my friend while we were sitting at a lovely beach side restaurant in Langkawi. In the middle of the photo- not even a quarter of the way down. Mona Lisa? Jesus’ mom? Orphan from Les Miserables? Hey, is that Frankenstein about half way down to the right?

Have a wonderful week! I hope it’s filled with many smiles and a few pauses.


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A couple of weeks ago I decided to accompany husband to his gym on a Saturday morning.

That sounds like it was initially my idea. Nope. He asked me. Then I felt guilty for immediately saying no.

He had a meeting with his trainer for a workout session. He can’t avoid training if it’s in his building and under his nose.

I don’t usually go with him (never) and it’s not really my idea of the ideal setting to cavort and the like. But I have been wanting to get out and do more with him. Spend that quality time. And, no, it’s not just because I have a high schooler, mother-in-law, her aide and a hyperactive pup in the house. Honestly, I’m not escaping.

Kidding aside, I want to spend time with him because he’s always working and/or traveling. I’m quite busy. So we need to grab the moments when we can.

So, against all better judgement, I said, “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll just wait in the car for you and start deleting some of my 7000 old emails or something. I won’t be bored. Promise.”

Rolling of eyes.

So, I go. And I find me a treadmill and I get going. So much better than the stress test at the hospital where I was looking like a sweaty little lab animal or a monkey heading to space with all those leads sprouting from my body.

I watch television. I don’t usually view it at home so it was something different. I enjoyed it for about half an hour.

Then HE comes back. I say, “Hey.”

He says, “Come on over here.”

I reply, “I’m good.”

He cajoles, “C’mon, Mare, come here for a few minutes.”

Deep sigh from me. I don’t want to!

Leads me to Edie. Pronounced Eddie. I am glaring at poor Edie. Husband is like, “Whoa, settle down there. He didn’t do anything.”

So, I turn my head and glare at him.

Long story short. I go through the motions. Literally. Squats, sit ups, lifting barbells, etc. I knew it all. I used to attend a “boot camp” in Dallas with one of my girlfriends. I think it was called,”Paying to Get Beat Up” or something similarly masochistic.

So, I also knew what the first session would feel like. Afterwards. For about a week.

I mean, I avoid these (see photo below) like the plague for many reasons. One being that I am afraid I will actually get the plague. Secondly, is because of all that moisture on the floor. I just do not like wet and damp. Thirdly, because I will do almost anything to avoid squatting. Like I am in the middle of some God forsaken field.


Couldn’t walk for about a week. It was reminiscent of Mondays at work following beautiful New England weekends in Autumn. I remember shuffling into the office after raking and bagging tons and tons of leaves. And I saw Charlie hobbling along.

“Hey, Mr. Wiseman, how did that raking go?” I asked as I gingerly walked past him. Ben-Gay ointment wafting behind us. Then seeing three other people who could barely make it to their desks.

I am programmed to remember this stuff.

My daughter thought I was being dramatic. I wasn’t. It hurt. Almost shouted, with glee, when I reached the escalator at the mall.

And this is the reason for my post. I really hurt. No one could be expected to move muscles, that aren’t being used, close to one hundred times and not hurt. We all know the process in muscle-building.

Back to my point. When I hurt I am not myself. Not a baby. Just realistic. I cannot do the things I normally do. Therefore, I am wasting time. Days, in fact.

Plenty of time slips though our hands in which we have no control. Childbirth and hospital stays. Illnesses. Jet lag. The list goes on and while we might have some control (don’t get pregnant, don’t travel) we all know time flies in this very short life.

From now on, I will be mindful of pushing myself too hard. And if I am not, I just need to remember (see photo below) that I was hurting so badly that I actually thought this looked quite attractive. Not from the squatting standpoint. Oh, no. I was actually contemplating standing up like a man and seeing how successful that would be. That’s how much it hurt.


Note to self. I know me. Better than anyone in the world. I just need to listen to myself.  A little more often.


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