He recently posted a picture of them  with the caption “Thank you feet. For all the places we have been. For all the places we will go. ”

I mean they’re not ugly feet, but he’ll never be a foot model.  Fortunately for him he has about a dozen other talents to fall back on.

It got me thinking about being grateful to and for my body.  Such an odd concept that it felt weird just typing it.

I don’t do that.  I’m grateful for things in my life, but my body is never on the list.

It’s top on my list of things to criticize or compare to others.  Like most women (and I suppose men), I can give you a rundown of things I would change, things that need work and maybe a couple of things I actually like.

But for the most part I baulk at compliments and wonder why my legs don’t look like Jennifer Aniston’s.

The concept of appreciating and being thankful for a body, whatever the outward appearance, that gets up every morning and works for me, takes me places.

Arms that hold those I love, legs that are strong and skin that’s soft.  A body with a healthy heart and lungs that can really take in the ocean air.

I’m in love with this idea.  Being thankful for strength and health and what a body allows me to do.

I’ve heard all the positive affirmations “It’s what’s on the inside that counts”  ”Just be grateful for your health” but they always come across as silly and overdone and usually what people tell themselves when they’ve received bad news or they just polished off a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

It is easy to say the media or fashion magazines make people more critical of themselves.  We are a beauty obsessed society, right?

I think that’s a copout and no one makes me do anything.  I choose to pull myself into the pick and pinch game.

To really look at your body and thank it, regardless of whether it’s having a bad hair day or it won’t quite squeeze into your jeans.  I’m going to work on this.

Because at the end of my life I know, I just know, that I will not remember a single outfit I wore or whether or not my thighs looked good, but I will remember the places my body took me, the feeling of sweating or my heart pounding with excitement (ooh, that sounds a little risque, but I’ll leave it.)  I’ll remember climbing to the top of the Arc de Triomphe or the divide road on Catalina Island.  I’ll remember the wind in my face and my eyes that allow me to see it all.

I know all of these things and yet I’ll still wake up next week and decide I need to clock more hours on the treadmill or invest in some new cream for my face.  So stupid, but there it is.

But, I will work on this.  Thanks to Jason Mraz and his really quite cute feet, I will try to be grateful more than I criticize.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Your Body Needs Sleep.

Unless you count the one his brother bought, which really doesn’t count.

A lifetime, short as it was, without selling one painting.

Forget the monetary gain or the fact that he lived off people his whole life. What fascinates me is there’s no pat on the back, no acknowledgement that what he was doing meant something to someone.

Not one person that said, “Oh, that’s lovely. I want it for my house.”

He created 2,100 works of art. They were stacked in his apartment. His brother was an art dealer, so he had some connections, and yet not one person bought his work.

Amazing.

Of course now every single canvas or scrap of paper he touched is worth millions. If that’s not a perfect example of irony I don’t know what is, and I suppose for a lot of people Van Gogh is sad.

I mean he was said to be a little off (the whole ear business) and he took his life at 37, but I don’t find him sad at all.

How wonderful to create for the sake of creating, because you need to.

Most artists or writers will tell you they “need” to create, it’s almost cliche and very few continue without some encouragement.

But, it is an incredible human being that can fully allow their creations without any encouragement or accolades at all.

I write for myself, but I’m not sure I’d have it in me to continue if my books were never published.

I find Van Gogh inspiring and I wonder…sigh, I just wonder, crazy or not, what that freedom must feel like.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Dream in Color.

Just like a star across my sky.

It’s Friday.  This song is…perfect.  Enjoy!

I know we live out in the middle of nowhere and I know our house is down a hill, but if you can’t hang then don’t become a New River Mail Lady.

We have a fairly large mailbox at the top of the hill, but any time something doesn’t fit she will not drop it at our house.  I’ve called the post office only to be told that the mail lady is nervous about our road.

Nervous?

I get nervous about a lot of things, but it’s a road and I’m sick of going to the damn post office.  I wonder what would happen if I called the post office and told them I was nervous about driving forever to the post office.

Okay, now I’m crazy too.  Anyway, not the point of the post, but that woman just…moving on.

I was waiting in line at said post office and there was a family (mom, dad, girl and a boy) standing off to the side and the children were taking turns getting, what appeared to be ID or Passport pictures.  I’m pretty sure those are the only pictures you can get at the post office.

They were all dressed nicely and the children were happy and well behaved. There was no real reason for me to notice them.  They were blending in with the general post office scene.

Until I looked at the man.  He stared at the ground, occasionally at his wife or his children, but not once at the photographer or the other people standing in line or the occasional person smiling at his beautiful children.

Eyes down.

Now, if you are a chronic people watcher like I am you notice these things and because I am slightly odd I begin to wonder why this man is not making eye contact.  All the way through the line I tried to figure out why he seemed so still, unwilling to engage, almost uncomfortable.  He looked as though if he could he would make himself and his family transparent.

I’m not sure if he was new to the country, didn’t speak English, or hiding from something, or just stoic, but there was something that drew me to his face and I felt for him.

It has never occurred to me to blend in.  I’ve spent most of my life wanting to stand out, not in an obnoxious way, but I don’t want to melt in with the crowd.  I think, or I thought, everyone wanted to be acknowledged.

Not this man.  He just wanted to get done what needed to be done and slip away unnoticed.

I took a minute to wonder what it would feel like to be on edge like that, always looking over your shoulder.  Nervous.

Now, maybe this man was just…no, there was something up, I know it.

As I was leaving I looked back one more time at him and his family.  I saw them and I saw him, acknowledged.

I’m  sure I will never see them again, but I found myself hoping that someday this man got to a place where he felt comfortable looking around.  Not sure why I cared, but I did.

I know, why the hell can’t I just go to the post office and stand in line like everyone else?

Driving home I imagined the whole family in their car laughing and wondering who the crazy nut was in line that kept staring at them.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Wide awake.

Apparently it’s not easy to grow organic celery. I guess I can understand that, with all the layers and no pesticides, bugs could hide anywhere and ruin a crop.

That must be what’s happening because there are normally so many stalks to choose from and this week I’ve only found a couple that are even worth putting in the cart.

Sometimes you just have to choose from what you’re given. I’m okay with that as long as it doesn’t last forever.

Bradley Cooper was recently named The Sexiest Man Alive. I’m going to state the obvious first.

This is just silly. People Magazine doesn’t know every man alive so how can Bradley be The Sexiest of Them All?

Bradley Cooper is lovely and I read that he speaks fluent French, so that’s special, but he is not the Sexiest Man Alive.

The title should be Sexiest Man Currently Riding a Wave of Successful Movies. That would make more sense. Bradley is Mr. Right Now Sexy. He’s got the spotlight and people think he’s “hot damn” as Katlyn would say. That’s not a bad thing. Good for him.

There’s no way of knowing how many wonderfully sexy men there are out there.

Bradley Cooper is an attractive man and within the small stock of men People Magazine is pulling from, he’s it.

Kind of like the celery.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Quick nap.

I’m in a mood today, but not in the mood to write.   This song is perfect and so deserving of a post all it’s own.  Enjoy!

I suppose if the need for categories comes up I am Christian.  I don’t go to church and as I’ve said before I have a sense of God and my spirit, but I don’t do organized religion.

All that being said, I continue to see Tim Tebow’s name so I Googled him.

He’s the quarterback for the Denver Broncos.  Something about the youngest Heisman Trophy winner.  He was home schooled and he’s quite outspoken about being a Christian.

I guess he makes a point to kneel and pray before every game and he paints Bible verses on his eye lids?  Not sure what that’s about but people and often professional athletes can be odd.

Pretty much everything else is about his playing style and his stats and…I just get drowsy.  Lately I have noticed spoofs about his religion or his comments about Jesus.  I’ve seen cartoons mocking him and his beliefs and here is what I wonder…

If Tebow were Jewish, devout in his beliefs and outspoken about the fact that he gets his strength from Judaism would the country or the football community feel comfortable raking this guy over the coals?

If he were black or an outspoken homosexual would that be fodder for jokes and what sometimes, at least to me, seem like cruel statements?  Any other religion, any other race or gender for that matter, would this be acceptable, even in football?

I don’t think it would and I’m fascinated.  I’m not particularly offended, because as I said I have no investment in football or Christianity, but I am a human being and it seems unfair and hurtful to take something so personal and rip it apart even if your religion is mainstream.

Tebow a pretty good looking, white, Christian football player.  Not a lot of organizations assigned to protect his rights, eliminate defamatory remarks or make sure he’s adequately represented in television shows.

I know football fans are…enthusiastic and while I don’t quite get it, I understand feeling passionately about something.  I also understand fun and having a sense of humor, but this seems to be a little off.

If it’s not okay to rip on every other religion, and in my opinion it shouldn’t be, then why is it alright to blatantly and without regard joke about this one man’s Christian beliefs?

It seems like he puts it right up in people’s faces and maybe if you watch football that’s annoying, but that still doesn’t warrant this reaction and lack of sensitivity.

Ugliness and discrimination are ugliness and discrimination.

Nasty hurtful remarks about someone’s private feelings or personal beliefs are nasty no matter what the religion.

We should be, we say we are, a country of tolerance.  Is that just for some people?

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Peace and Quiet.

It’s not that I get claustrophobic, it’s more a matter of needing to be alone.

I’ve always liked time alone.  Being an only child and living within a family of five, I crave it.

We went to Paris after Christmas this year, all five of us.  Our hotel was lovely and clean, but crazy small.  The kids room wasn’t bad, but Michael and I had to turn sideways to get past the bed and into the bathroom.

Europeans are not big on space.  They’ve got a lot of other things going for them, so they get away with it.

We spent hours walking together, riding in cramped metro cars together, sitting at tiny tables or standing under canopies in the rain eating the best damn fallafels we’ve ever had.

Even the vast museums of Paris were crowded.  We stood in lines literally on top of each other for the better part of many an hour.  We shared bottles of water and sometimes ate off the same loaf of bread.

During our nine days in Paris we laughed and argued, got pissy with each other, took pictures and held hands.

It’s what I love the most about our trips together, especially trips out of the country where geography and language are unknown or challenging, we’re a unit, in each other’s faces and sometimes forced to work together.

Not a moment of personal space or time in sight and for that period I love it.

Wouldn’t want to do it forever, but I felt drenched in the people of my life. Connected to my family and on this trip even connected to perfect strangers fighting their way back from the Eiffel Tower on New Year’s Eve.

I had a moment of clarity about myself today.

Maybe I enjoy being alone, enjoy my own space because I know I don’t have to be alone.  I know that just beyond my door or hanging around my kitchen are people waiting to listen to me, talk to me and be with me.

Maybe that’s why I can revel in my own space.  I’ve never truly known what it is to be lonely.

I could not wait to get into my office when we got home.  I swore if someone asked me to hold one more thing or asked me one more question I was going to lose my mind.  Apparently the bliss of togetherness has a nine day, two plane ride shelf life.

I was looking forward to some time alone, but I’m feeling a little different about it after this trip. Believe me, I’ll still close my door and bark at Cotter when he comes barreling into my space, but I’m more…grateful for the people in my life.

Grateful I have a choice to spend time alone.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Scoot Over.

Every now and then a new Christmas Album comes out and I add songs to my list of favorites for the season.

Michael Buble’s Christmas Album is fantastic.

Frank Sinatra’s version of Jingle Bells was my favorite, but I’m thinking this one has taken Frank’s place. So Good.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Cold feet.

From time to time I look at the search phrases that bring readers to my blog. The goal is that people are searching for the name of the blog, or my name. Occasionally someone will stumble upon me while searching for something else, but let’s face it if I’m searching for “quotes regarding laundry” I’m not happy when that search gives me some lady’s blog that has very little to do with laundry.

So, I look to see if people are being referred from other sites, etc.

Anyway, the search phrases that bring people to my blog are usually the same. I see my name, laundry room quotes, from the laundry room, whitest whites, etc. Yesterday I saw “playboy bunny cattle prodded in the ass” in the searched phrases and I almost fell down laughing.

A couple of things…

1. Who searches for what I’m sure produced several…graphic results? That was a stupid question. People can be a little nutty.

2. How disappointed do you think the person was when they discovered my blog with that search? Although, who knows maybe they were so drawn in by my rambling prose that they turned from their dirty bird search and read all night. Probably didn’t happen.

I looked through some of my posts and tried to figure out how this colorful phrase would have anything to do with my blog. I do mention a playboy bunny and maybe that’s all it takes. Turns out fromthelaundryroom is a little racy. Who knew?

It’s always enlightening to see a little bit of the world I’m not privy to very often. Somewhere out there is a person interested in a playboy bunny getting cattle prodded in the ass. I should be appalled by such profanity, outraged.

Not sure why this makes me giggle, but it does. I’m picturing some librarian in a small town sitting quietly in a turtleneck searching risque phrases. I know, most likely not, but I like that idea more than some slimy in a stained t-shirt licking Doritos off his fingers and washing it all down with Schlitz Malt Liquor.

Hope he, or possibly she, enjoyed my blog.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Behave.