Top 5 Products I Wish They'd Bring Baaaack

These WERE a few of my Favorite Things:

1. AVEDA Self Control Hair Wax - I am sadly "waxing poetic" over the cancellation of my favorite hair styling product - the one that was shaped like deodorant and did indeed confuse a few house guests. Aveda Self Control is the Holy Grail of hair styling products. I used to work at an Aveda salon (in the 90's when it was still Aveda). I became a Self Control Junkie, sporting my freshly cut pixie, smelling like Jorst's signature "purefume" goodness, and knowing that my superpowers could be found in a 2 oz. stick of solid hair magic. I never ever dreamed that AVEDA (now Estee Lauder) would pull the plug on this desert-island product.  I recently saw a single (new) stick on ebay for $199.  I offered the woman fifty bucks and she turned me down.  I swear if I ever make a million dollars (or more), I am going to buy every last stick on the planet.  If there are any left. (*end note - that stick went for a grand total of $56.00 - she coulda just taken my $50...)

2. Pacifica Indian Coconut Body Wash.  At Sephora one week. Gone the next. This perfect signature coconut scent exists in every other format, including a solid perfume.  And almost every other scent they produce has a body wash.... so what happened?  I don't want the Indian Coconut perfume (well, maybe the spray of you're wondering what I might want for my birthday).  I want the body wash.... I want so much natural tropical splendor in my suds, that the only thing missing is the Jamaican rum.  And the palm trees. I still scour the shelves at Ricky's when I'm in the city... hoping to find that one last, dusty jug.  *weeps silently*

3. Coconut Flavored YooHoo.  A gift from the gods. Mother's milk from MobilMart.  Oh, how I miss it.

4. Old Navy Cami Tops without the shelf-bra. Newflash!  Post-mastectomy women covet them.  At six bucks apiece, I haven't worn anything else under my clothes since I went through breast cancer in 2005.  They slide on and up like tube skirts (so no arm lifting necessary) and they provide a comfortable, almost necessary, snugness that reconstructive surgery begs for even years after sutures are removed. They came in a myriad fashionably normal colors (so it was okay if a strap showed from time to time) and they lasted (well, the quality declined over the years, but I hung in there). I could wear them all the time, with or without anything over them and they made me feel GOOD.  Well, I recently went to order new ones... at six bucks each, the white ones are worth replacing every few months... and they don't make them anymore.  They put a "shelf bra" back in them - an itchy, jock strappy strip of elastic that just messes with my implants. I beg you, Old Navy, please... I just want my daily "go-to" snug, soft, tank top/bra/nightshirt cami back. In white, black, brown, pink, ocean, berry, slate, hunter, navy, violet, and lime.

5. My old eyeglass frame company Planet I discontinued my favorite style. Ugh. Picking new eyeglass frames is like picking a husband.  You're committed, man.  And I ain't no spring chicken. I'm almost into tri-focal territory!  All the better to see my handsome hubby, though.

Snow Day

Snow Day at Porcupine Farms isn't really a day off.  It's just more time to deal with the snow.  And firewood.  And the wood stove.  And more firewood.  And ashes.  And wet dogs.  In the ashes.  And I get wear my Carhartt and smell like Aspen 'cause everything I own smells like my ass been coddling the wood stove.

Isn't this what husbands do?

In truth, I am spending this snow day writing about that husband because he isn't here right now  hee hee... I devote today to Chris, the husband who has put up with me for over 11 years.

The one who still leaves me love notes in my "regular routine" early morning cabinetry... the one who packs me a healthy lunch (so he doesn't have to deal with my bottomed out sugar levels at the end at the day)... the one who says "honey, you look so sexy sometimes"... the one who still has my PMS programmed on his Palm Pilot even though I haven't menstruated in 6 years.  He still stocks up on chocolate, though.  He rubs my aching feet when his hurt more.  He picks up pizza in blizzards.  And he is the one who reassures me that everything little thing is gonna be alright. Oh, and he lets me love Bobby Labonte.

This is why I want to thank him for his supporting my decision to take part in the Avon Walk with my sister.

There's a part of Chris that cringes when he sees "pink ribbonism"... my new pink iphone cover or a pink ribbon tote bag, or pink pens and paper.  I don't blame him.  It sucked for him too.  And for the last few years I consciously tucked many of my tell-tale apparel and key chains and magnets banners and return address labels and tic-tacs and dog collars and license plate frames and tattoos (well, I can't really hide my tattoo, but that's different) away.  A new beginning for us as a married couple where the "new normal" for us wasn't patient/caregiver.

He helped me through breast cancer.
He helped me bury my father, his best friend.
He is my mirror (I could use a shave).
He is Santa Claus at the SAL in T-Burg.
And he is probably blushing like crazy right now!

So, Chris... thank you for letting my repressed inner "peeeeenk" come back out so that my sister and I can make this happen.

Thank you letting me go down this rabbit hole with my sister as the Mad Hatter.

Evolution of My Knockers

This is a good one to file under "Be careful what you wish for."

...and please get a mammogram if at all applicable.

When Love Comes Knockin' At Your Door

You're gonna see - and probably hear - this phrase (ahem, song title) a lot.

File it under "Couldn't Plan It Any Better".

To understand the journey my sister and I have been on over the last 40-50 years is to realize that as difficult as some of our childhood situations may have been, we do share some happy memories... and on the list of funnest happy memories that haven't disintegrated with aging brain cells is a hazy duet performed at the family piano.  The song? The Monkees' "When Love Comes Knockin' At Your Door".  I don't know if I was even old enough to understand the words. But I love the Monkees. Enough so that my sister - in another grand act of sisterly love - took me to see Dolenz, Jones, Boyce and Hart at The Riverboat in the Empire state Building for my 10th birthday (read: she was 16)... but I digress...

I can't remember if we did it for fun, or for Henrietta, or because our parents "had company over".  Did we even practice?  To this day that song reminds me of bopping my head to my sister's piano chords and sharing a "wow, she really loves me" moment, and it has been on every mix tape we have sent to each other over the years.

And now we really are Knockin'... as in Avon Calling...  and it's gonna be a magic carpet ride, so little girl now don't you run and hide... oh wait... here.  Although THIS is even better! (Lisa... acoustic guitar... hint hint).

Knock Knock

That's a Mezzuzah, Not a Bill Holder.

We live waaaaaaaay out in the country.  So far out in the boondocks that at night the stars look like they're actually on the horizon, and you don't have to squint to see them.  You may get skunked while taking a midnight pee in the yard (my husband did), but otherwise you could feel like you're in Night of the Comet... except for the 80's hair... anymore...

Apparently, though, we do not live far enough out to prevent the Jehovah's Witness boys from knocking on our door. This isn't like taking an elevator to 11-C, ringing a bell, and delivering some Moo Goo Gai Pan for a three dollar tip.  These boys have to walk and walk and walk... or bike... whatever... then they TRESPASS (yes, we have "no trespassing" signs, but they may just be to keep jealous hunters off our fertile land)... and for what???

They walk because they are devoted, to say the least.  Or maybe they just have no where to go, being all dressed up and everything, so they look for events to crash.  No, I think it's the latter. Or, as I find out later, it might be my husband's lemonade because he likes to offer them refreshing drinks and chat about God.  Did I mention my husband is an angel?  More on that later... can't talk about angels or they may send me away...

I, on the other hand, get annoyed when they come around.  The dogs start barking (actually every dog on the road starts barking),  I have to make sure I'm "decent" before I see who trekked up our driveway ('cause I didn't hear a car)... more than not, I do have to add some sort of item of clothing to my homebody self, and I get aggravated that I have to be rude and say "no thanks".  I mean, DID YOU NOT SEE THE MEZZUZAH?  Maybe the fuel delivery people think it's a bill holder, but true religious zealots should know.

So how is what they do different from what I am doing right now for our Avon Breast Cancer Walk team?  Aside from walking AFTER the soliciting, how is asking for support for Winston Cups: Hope & Diamonds any different from walking one's feet off to bring you an important message from our sponsor?  In just 90 days, my sister and I will dress alike (probably something pink and blingy instead of starched and white). We will carry a message of HOPE. We will drink lemonade squeezed from the lemons of strangers (or mixed by fellow lovers of Countrytime). And we will walk and walk and walk and walk and walk and walk to deliver that message.  And hopefully, someone's life will be saved because of it.

I may have just opened a Pandora's Box, but my point is this...  when life hands you lemons, make lemonade slushies.  Add little umbrellas!  Use decorative glasses!  Just don't count on the Jehovah's Witness guys to bring the rum.  Or egg rolls.

Can I offer you some tomato sauce?