Help! I’ve Fallen and I Can’t…

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No, no.  Not the typical kind of Meggie fall that results in a trip to the ER or chiropractor.

The kind of fall that occurs when you meet Mr Right.

 

mr-right

 

The Brit has decided that we have called each other “fiancee’/fiance’” long enough.

We’re getting married.

HELP!

I’ve been married once before, this is his first sentence time.  We are doing something intimate and small, as most of our family are across the country, or across the pond.  His sister, et al, Shoosh and her intended, and maybe a couple of local friends are on the invite list.

I am finding it was easier to plan the big wedding I had with my first marriage mistake.

We want something personal and special, of course.  A courthouse wedding is fine if that’s what you want, but we don’t.  Neither of us are religious, so we are looking for a personable officiant that would be willing to go “on location” and not be all “official” and blah.  There are a bunch of choices here in So-Cal, but it’s hard to think of choosing a stranger.  I considered presenting the idea to one of our friends of getting ordained with one of those online “ministries”, which a lot of the wedding officiant companies that I looked at use.  But which of them to ask to do such a “big deal” thing without hurting feelings?  There are tons of parks and beaches we could use as the spot if we decide to do an out-door/garden event.  Vows are fairly easy since we both have writing talent and know each other well enough to make it special to “us”.

What we have figured out:

The rings: 

Mine is coming from an interesting designer who creates pieces featured in the shop at the Animal Rescue Site, so while I am getting something lovely and unique, I am also helping to feed shelter animals.  This makes me extra happy.  His is coming from an Etsy store that has just the right unique style for him with Doctor Who-ish overtones.  They will coordinate well, too.  We wanted unique and personal, and liked the idea of supporting non-corporate, small-business types.  (Sorry, kids, you have to wait for pictures until after the event.)

The date:

August 31, 2013.

Yes.  That is it.  You see my dilemma.

What we need to figure out:

Where?

Who will do the ceremony?

How much photography is enough without going Hollywood about it?

What then?

What should I wear?    Is this not the dilemma of ALL women MOST of the time?

And so I appeal to you, dear readers, for any tips or ideas you may have to help me put together a small, simple-yet-memorable wedding.  You have 2 months.

E-gads!

allons-y

 

Of Mice and Men

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I was excited to post pictures and a story about the mouse habitat I built last week.

But it was a rough weekend.  It’s still hard to talk about.  It’s taken me a week to sit here to write.  I hate imparting sad news.  Unfortunately, sad stories are sometimes part of the larger tale, and always a part of life.

I have posted about my mice a few times before.

In perusing the Internet for mouse info, I found out about people building amazing mouse/hamster/rat houses from furniture.  Many “hack” Ikea furniture for these purposes.  With Amelia Pond Mouse being so large, and it being hard for her to get through the Habitrail tubes meant for these little furballs, a habitat was especially beneficial for her.  The habitat allows them to live more naturally, which is just better for them.  Thus, I ventured to that home furnishings playground and found a kitchen cabinet floor sample in the “As-is” section for $20 and began my project.

Last Friday, I ended up in the emergency room.  I was putting the last blasted screw into the plexi-glass door for the mouse house when I suddenly felt a strange pain and notice a fountain of red coming from my hand.  I am not sure at what point of the “in and out” I realised something was wrong, but I managed to flip the switch to reverse the drill to bring it back up, so I figure it must have been on the way out of my flesh that my brain registered.  Fortunately, I was using an 18 volt drill, so it was fast, and I was using the smaller of the 2 bits I was alternating between at the time.  Unfortunately, I broke the damn bit and drilled a hole all the way through my thumb- entry wound, exit wound.  It’s OK.  Shoosie found the bit on the floor, so I felt better knowing that it broke off NOT inside my thumb.  The Brit was a little upset that I didn’t go the ER right away, rather than waiting until 10 hours later when my hand was so swollen I couldn’t move my fingers and it was turning red, but…

I’m fine.  Mad because this really inhibits my ability to do ANYTHING easily, but I have done far worse.

Saturday, as I was filling the mouse house with bedding and toys, The Brit noticed Amelia sitting in the tubes of the Habitrail.  He went to look at her and thought she looked odd.  She wouldn’t move, so he pulled the tubes apart and slid her out.  She was obviously un-well.  I snuggled her in a piece of fleece I had just bought to make mousie hammocks for the new house, and she cuddled up under my chin as she was prone to do when she didn’t feel well or was sleepy.

She moved around a little and seemed perkier.  Her breathing and heart rate felt normal.  Half an hour later, it all stopped.  Just stopped.  Amelia drifted to sleep, and that was it.

That night, missing our Amelia so much, we put Marcella and Ruby into the new house.  They loved it.

On Sunday, Shooshie woke to a noise and came into the living room to find Marcie dead on the rug.  My cat had knocked the trap door that Habitrail tubes can attach to off.  It was screwed tight- I checked it 5 times before I went to bed and piled stuff in front of the barred end of the cage so he wouldn’t scare them.  Marcie, not knowing to be afraid of the cat and wanting to play, came on out.  Finnian didn’t eat her.  He just played, and that can never end well.

We were all stunned.  We still are.

On Monday, we took Amelia and Marcella to our local no-kill/third chance animal rescue where they were cremated with other animals that had deceased.  They were very kind and compassionate.  Shoosh and I toured the facility.  It is amazing.  She has already decided to adopt a dog and maybe a bunny from them when she gets her own place out here.

But back to Sunday…

My first thought was to get rid of the cats because I would never be able to even look at Fi without thinking about what he had done.  A few hours of sobbing, and I realised that he didn’t mean to do it.  He wasn’t being malicious.  He just wanted to play.  Fi is a thick-headed cat and forgets that he has been told NO about things before.  He knew we were upset with him, and he still looks puzzled and slinks off when I look at him in just the wrong way.  He really is a sweet boy, and I KNOW he wasn’t trying to hurt Marcie.  Fortunately, Ruby is still afraid of the cats as well as us, so she ran away from the open hole.

Female mice are not happy alone.  The best thing for them is to keep them in odd numbers.  Three female mice are better than 2 or 4.  Male mice, however, are a different story.  You could keep multiple males as long as they are from the same litter and have never been separated.  Girls are chatty and social.  Boys fight for the top dog position.  This applies to many species of creature.

Ruby had gone through a trauma, too.  Mice make noises on sound levels that humans cannot hear.  We have no way to know what sounds of distress she may have heard from Marcie.  Leaving Ruby alone in a new place, with humans she is not quite accustomed to, after the incident of the morning…  It seemed detrimental to Ruby.  After brief discussion, The Brit, now referred to as “The Mouse Whisperer”, took me to get company for her.  We went to the same PetSmart we’d gotten her from the week before with the plan to buy whoever was left.

There had been 4 babies about 6 weeks old when we got Ruby.  Two remained.

From left, Pippa, Ruby, and Teddy at bed-time

From left, Pippa, Ruby, and Teddy at bed-time

 

 

Pippa and Teddy (Theodora) now live happily with Ruby in the “kitchen cabinet”.

 

 

Had it been up to us, we would have waited to get more mice.  At least until I could walk past the old Habitrail cage without crying, a cage that sits in the garage for now because I still cannot bring myself to empty it out.  We got the babies for Ruby.  She had been cage-mates with them for a brief time, so they were somewhat familiar.  She has taken to the role of mother-hen, like Amelia did with little Marcie, ushering them around, building nests for them all, and making sure their ears are clean before bed.  It’s so cute.

For now, the mouse cabinet stays in our bedroom at night, even though I attached a safety panel of cage bar over the trap door.  It’s on wheels, so we can roll it out when we are home and awake, and back into the bedroom behind the closed door when we’re not.

Everything inside is adjustable and re-arrangeable

Everything inside is adjustable and re-arrangeable

 

 

I am sure I will sleep on the sofa the first month week night we leave it in the living room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In a few days I will post the progress pictures of the mouse house.  For now, here’s the finished to be added on to later project.

We miss Amelia and Marcella, and while nothing could ever replace them, we love our new “children”.  The Brit is an amazing man to encourage me to build anything I want for our mice, no matter how absurd it may seem at first, to humour me through all of this silliness, and cry with me over our losses.

Ruby

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As you may know, I have pet mice.  I love mice.  It started when I was a child collecting mouse figures and toys and watching way too many Disney films (if that’s possible).  When I got older and had money to spend, I started a collection of Charming Tails figurines.

When Shooshie was a teenager, I got my first pet mouse when she brought home one she rescued from the feed store- a mouse who was about to be food for someone’s snake.  When Mousie died (Shoosh had some crazy name for her, but I called her Mousie) of a respiratory infection at the delicate age of only 6 months, I cried for 2 weeks until my then boyfriend took me to buy a new mouse.  Stewart Mouse lived for over 2 years and traveled all the way from California to Virginia to Florida with us.  He is buried in my parents’ backyard under a hibiscus tree.

It has been several years since I had a mouse because I lived with my folks for a while and Mum has major issue with rodents.  She still will not accept the fact that one of her favourite pets was really a rat with a bushy tail.  Yes.  I had a pet squirrel when I was a kid- one of our many animal rescues.  We set him free when he was a year old on a friend’s acreage where he would be safe from hunters, cars, and neighbourhood dogs and cats.

Just before this past Christmas, The Brit took me to PetSmart and bought me a pet mouse.  She is a ginger and white called Amelia Pond.  We don’t know what kind of mouse she is except that she is big and fluffy.  A few weeks later came Marcella because The Brit was worried that Amelia was lonely when we were too busy to play with her.  Marcie is a chocolate belted mouse about half the size of Amelia.  She has an almost perfect O on her belly that looks like someone drew it on with a white marker and a white triangle on her back, both connected by a thin white line.  They called her Doughnut at the pet store because of the O.

One of Marcie’s cage mates at the store was a grey mouse with pink eyes.  A month later when I went for mouse supplies, she was still there.  A month later when I went for more supplies, she was still there.  I was truly upset by this and lamented my devastation now and again to The Brit that “she might live out her poor delicate little life never having a true home with humans who loved her”.

*insert sniffle, watery eyes, and pathetic mopey face here*

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This was answered by a gentle silence accompanied by “the look”, a hug, and a reminder that I could not rescue every homeless mouse I came across.

WHY NOT???? 

Suddenly, this past Sunday, he changed his mind about having a third mouse (we have 4 houses, after all!), and told me if I could #1 find my way back to the store without the GPS (I get lost a lot, so this was quite an accomplishment), and #2 the wee mouse was still there, that I could get her.

It is, thus, with happy heart that I introduce the newest and (I promise, Brit sweetie), the final member of our mouse-household…

Our Ruby- a silver belted mouse.

Ruby Mouse

Ruby Mouse

Supporting cast:

Amelia Pond Mouse

Amelia Pond Mouse

Marcella aka Marcie Mouse

Marcella aka Marcie Mouse

Ruby is not quite as long as Amelia, and much thinner.  They are different breeds of mouse.  Though Marcie and Ruby are the same, Marcie is still a lot smaller than Ruby.  We figure she was the runt of her litter.

Having had mice myself, as well as having had several other small pets (hamster, guinea pig, rabbit, ferret, squirrel), and having experienced my friends’ gerbils and rats, I feel that ferrets, rats, guinea pigs, and mice make better small pets.  They are smart, trainable, tameable, litterbox-trainable, social, and clean.  Yes, folks, rats are CLEAN.  Guinea pigs not as much, though.  Ferrets love to take baths.  Rats and mice groom themselves and do not like to be dirty.

I hope to get to a mouse show sometime in the next couple of months.  Mouse show, like dog show.  Really!  AFRMA has a few coming up about an hour from where I live.

If you plan to get pet mice from PetSmart, be aware that stores will carry either ALL female or ALL male small animals- mice, hamsters, etc.  So call ahead to see which your store has.  This helps prevents “mishaps” of mixing boys and girls which will quickly lead to LOTS of mice.

Based on my own experiences with the little cuties, here are some decent sites for information on pet mice:

http://www.aquaticcommunity.com/mice/

http://exoticpets.about.com/cs/careofmice/a/mousecare.htm

http://www.afrma.org/rminfo1.htm

The Recovery

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Still recovering from my cross-country drive.  So until I get back on track and into creative mode, here are a few pictures from the route taken from the window of a speeding van between New Mexico and the California border..

DSCN0395 DSCN0400 DSCN0463 DSCN0505Except this one which I took outside the fuel/food stop in the historic and adorable town of Gila Bend, Arizona

cactusflowers

In Response to: To See Consent Crushed Before Us: The Lamentations Of Nerd Women (Redux)

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Shooshie has written an article about the tribulations of “nerd women” in reaction to an incident of harassment that occurred at a gaming conference this past week.  Being a gamer chick, myself, I know that there is harassment of girls in the worlds of gaming, cos-play, and general super-hero dorkery.

This, of course, spills over into general life, too.  I don’t dress to be sexual in public, but being a woman of rather curvy proportions, I have endured a lot of leering and rude comments in my lifetime.  As Shooshie says:  “We can’t even hide our cleavage in a turtleneck sweater.”  The curse of Mediterranean heritage.

I started writing a reply to Shoosh’s article, and found it was getting a bit lengthy, so here are a few of my own thoughts on the matter of sexual harassment and the objectification of women in the media, entertainment, and in the minds of a lot of men.

To See Consent Crushed Before Us: The Lamentations Of Nerd Women (Redux).

It has been suggested to me, in light of this issue, that companies create female characters to induce men to buy and play their games/watch their films, basically by giving them the urge to “engage in self-abuse”.  The thinking is sick, but unfortunately correct, I believe.  Basically, it seems, we have a society that perpetuates and even encourages men to be pigs, to use the slang.

I went round and round with this guy I know last night until we had to agree that there was no resolution, nor could either of us agree on who was truly to blame as far as the guy or the girl.  We both agreed, however, that the media using the tactics of objectifying and sexualising women for the purpose of profit is wrong and causing a lot of problems in the general attitude of men toward women.

Hello, people… it’s not 1432!

I wonder if we will ever see a day when women are not objectified in some way.

Is it appropriate for women dress provocatively in public?  I’m no prude, but I see a lot of outfits that women wear in public that make me cringe.  Does the way a woman dresses justify anyone to harass them?  Easy answer:  No.

Is it appropriate for women to “dress like sluts” in public?  Playing the morality police, here, again, No.

So we end up back at the question of harassing these “women of poor dress choice”.  Answer still, No.

Should all female cos-players be limited to playing female toons from games like Mass Effect?  No.  I don’t play that game.  Why would I want to dress up as them? Why should I have to be limited in my cos-play choices?

Let’s look at Wonder Woman.  Intelligent, sophisticated lady, upstanding citizen who wears a completely impractical costume when she becomes the superhero.  But how many WW costumes appear at Halloween?  Sure!  She’s cool!

Is Lara Croft really so much about sex?  I don’t know.  I have never played the game, but I found the movies quite entertaining.  I look at Lara Croft as a female Indiana Jones; as a girl who can be ladylike in a dress and picture hat one minute, and kick butt the next.  I am told there is some pretty dark storyline to Croft, and while there may be, I see her as something other than that.

Could it be the individual perception of a character that influences to like, dislike, or want to cos-play that toon, or to harass someone who is cos-playing that toon?  If a man looks at Lara Croft as the sexualised character she was allegedly made to be, then he is going to act toward that character or a person playing that character in a sexually aggressive manner.  If he sees her as I do, he may be more apt to react to her with more respect.

I think most gaming companies are guilty of sexualising female characters.  Even the Great And Almighty Blizzard.  Aside from dwarves, the females in, for example, World of Warcraft are all big boobs and skimpy costumes.  Ugly as they are, even the orcs are curvy (ewww).

The Barbie Doll Syndrome…  A dear friend of mine subscribed to that idea and would not let her daughter play with Barbie dolls.  I agree that Barbie is a bit “over the top” (pun intended), but the way you present a thing to a child or an adult will determine how they feel about it and react to it.  If I had handed Shooshie a Barbie doll (she had 112 of them, by the way (/facepalm)) and told her THIS is how you should strive to look, then yes… I would have needed to be smacked in the head.

But Barbies in our house were simply innocent vehicles to play at grown up things like having a house, driving a car, and being a veterinarian while also having the fun of setting up entire towns (you have no idea how much Barbie stuff invaded our house) with everything a neighbourhood needs, and learning that stripes do not go with plaids, even doing Barbie’s hair does not always work out the way you pictured, and sometimes you just cannot squeeze into a pink fuzzy sweater.  Honestly, with the grocery store, post office, bank, boutique, vet clinic, people clinic, and whatever all else we had, with roadways between them all, Shoosh could have become a city planner. Barbie was a business women in our house.  If anything, it gave Shoosh the message that a woman can be anything she wants.

When we present female characters sexually, that is how people will see them.  Present them, as Lara Croft came across to me, as people with skills and intellect, and the perception and attitude changes.

We live in a Victoria Secret society.  Yes, I am laying some blame there, too.  The media pushes this stuff at us, telling us THIS is what we want to see, that THIS is what makes us want to buy stuff, and that is all just psychological B.S. that some gullible people fall into.  Like the day after Thanksgiving “Black Friday” sales.  If the marketing teams didn’t hype it up, people wouldn’t be trampling others at these ridiculous events.

We need to say NO to the media and marketing people.  We need to think for ourselves.  We need to look at women and men as human beings, not as playthings to manipulated for the purposes of commerce.

How do we change it?  CAN we change it?  I do not know.

What Is It With Evil Bunnies?

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Eight years ago, Shooshie played the beta for a new game by a company called Blizzard.  I bought it for her as soon as it was released.  I didn’t pay it much mind at first, but then, one fateful day- yes, seriously fateful- I saw a purple-haired night elf galloping through a sparkly, ethereal forest to the dulcet sounds of orchestral music.

Teldrassil.

Shooshie enjoys relating to her friends how her mother would: “with a wistful expression on her face…” muse that: “‘It’s like D&D but without the paper’”.

(By the way, if you like Cheetos, she shares my awesome gamer sandwich recipe in that article.)

Shoosh hooked me up with a toon- an aqua-haired night elf druid called Talwyn- and, thus, began my own foray into the world of Azeroth, MMORPGs, and being a gamer chick.

Watch out for dragons and chiggers

Watch out for dragons and chiggers

OK, so I guess having played Voodoo Castle on the Commodore VIC20 and Dungeons and Dragons already qualified me as a gamer chick, but we didn’t call it that back then.  I was just a girl who played games.

A couple of months into it, and we started arguing over game time, so she bought me my own game for Mother’s Day, which was even more neat because we could play together, which was even MORE neat when she moved across the country and we could hang out and play together despite 3000 miles between us.

I have been playing World of Warcraft for 8 years, almost since the very beginning.  My techno-tardedness keeps me from being the expert Shoosh is, despite my long history with the game, but I will fear you into next Thursday with my level 82 human warlock, and death grip you like a python with my 81 DK.  I’ve tried every race and almost every class on alliance, and have remade a few old ally toons onto the horde side to join up with the guild Shooshie started a few months ago.

Aside from a year interruption because I thought real life needed more of my attention (turns out it didn’t), I played until just before Catalclysm, starting up again with the release of Pandaria.

Now, I was a protestor of the pandas as soon as I heard about it.  Pandas seemed completely ridiculous and nonsensical to me.  However, on release night, The Brit made me promise that I would make a panda and join in The Event that is a Blizzard expansion release.  I zoned in to Panda-land on the stroke of midnight with a smirk and a sigh.

I was wrong.

Did you get that, people?  You won’t see/hear me say it often because it so rarely happens.  I. Was. Wrong.

Though the idea of the panda race is still odd to me, Pandaria is absolutely fantastic.  I love the messages Blizz has put forth.  Among the monsters there are lessons to learn, respect for all Being, and spirits of woe to defeat to bring ourselves to a higher awareness of the Cosmos and our place in the scheme of things.  Sure, the lesson will be lost on some, but I get it.  All of us in our group of game dorks do.  And we like it.  Others do, too.  I know of one person who liked it so much, she has chosen to create her own blog as The Sha of Happiness to spread her own positive messages through the game (from what I am told, she is not affiliated with Blizzard, but is merely a player who saw an opportunity to make sure the message of the pandas is not lost).

I digress.  This whole post has been a digression, actually.  Oops.

I started this post to share my pride at my Shooshie’s accomplishments in inserting herself into the gaming community, particularly Blizzard and World of Warcraft as “a pinoneer in the community”.

Bunnies.  Not evil.

Bunnies. Not evil.

What I came here to say is:  I am the proud mother of “The Tardbunny”.

I’m having t-shirts printed next week.  Seriously.

(NOTE:  Shooshie’s “handle” is not meant to offend any group of people in ANY way.  She is not that kind of person.  I will let her explain:  Overlord Tardbunny on 01/22/2013 at 6:22 pm said:

You do make a good point, but I feel I should defend myself here a bit. “Retard” in French (which I speak) also means “behind” and does not carry a connotation of being “retarded” in the English sense. For instance, “un jour retard” would be “a day behind,” as in being behind schedule. This is really the “tard” to which I refer, as it describes me quite well…  I taught an art class for one of the [Down's Syndrome] group homes when I was a teenager. Please rest easy knowing that I certainly have no hate or derision in my heart for anyone suffering from a mental illness or disability.

Oh, I mentioned that getting into Warcraft was “fateful”.  This was not an exaggeration.  I have met a bunch of super people playing the game, from all over the world.  Some of them have become friends with who I keep in regular contact outside the game, and even exchange Christmas gifts with every year.  Some I have met in person.

I met The Brit playing WoW 4 1/2 years ago.  I’d consider that pretty fateful  :)

Drive Me, Baby, One More Time

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Busy, busy…

I have not been blogging much recently, obviously.  Lots of things happening that need to be prepared for.  Mostly, the imminent arrival of the infamous Shoosie and her Fiance’.

I will be flying to Florida in a few weeks, spending a few days with the old folks and friends, and then hitting the road.  Yes.  The ROAD, not the sky.

ONE MORE TIME I am making the drive across the continent.  This will be #4 in the epic long distance travels of Meggie.

United-States-Map-2

Green states = have lived in
Blue = driven through
Pink = visited for at least a day

To paraphrase Danny Glover:  I’m getting too old for this *stuff*.

Lines indicate states I’ve moved between (ignore driving through Utah; the I40 actually took us through the top of Arizona).  We moved- drove- from New York to Florida when I was a kid.  From Florida, Shoosh and I loaded the SUV and moved to California.  We had a place in Nor-Cal and one in So-Cal, so we drove the 500 miles between the two on numerous occasions.  Then, I drove from Nor-Cal to live in Virginia.  Virginia eventually led me back to Florida.  When The Brit came along and we decided we liked each other, I drove from Florida to Texas (19 hours straight by myself).  Ten months later, upon his accepting an amazing offer here in Cali, we drove from The Lone Star State to So-Cal.  Every summer from the time I was 6 until about 12, we drove from Florida to Pennsylvania and New York to visit family, too.

This is the last time…

It will be easier for the kids to have a second driver on board- Shooshie Lou, you will learn to drive very soon!  The trip will be faster for not having to stop over.  We should be able to easily make the 38 hour drive time in 48 hours.

I pity the Fiance’, though.  I’m heck on wheels when it comes to long trips.  If you don’t wee and get food/drink when we stop for petrol, and if you are not AIS in 15 minutes, you will be hitching a ride the rest of the way.  People hate traveling with me.  Shooshie knows the routine.  This will be The Fiance’s first time.

We’re going to need a theme song…

California Dreamin’

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*cue music*

 

Did you ever have one of those moments that hit you out of the blue where you feel a shift in existence, in The Now, in yourself?

I drove a friend to LAX this morning, and saw, for the first time in 10 years, the smog of The City of Angels up close.  Why anyone would live *in* LA is beyond me.  I like the trees and space and quiet and clean air of less concrete places (I’ll let you interpret that as you will).  40 miles south of LA is close enough for me, thanks (maybe even still a little too close).

And yet, LA has its own energy, it’s own place in the reality of what it is to be human.  Places everyone should visit if possible, but I wouldn’t want to live there would include: Los Angeles, New York City, Edinburgh, and Paris.  I am sure there are more you could add to the list, but beyond those places, I do not have enough experience to know them.

So was it the LA vibe that inspired me?  No.

The ride along the Pacific Coast Highway from Huntington Beach to Newport Beach?  Nice, but no.

The bright blue sky and breeze blowing through my windows on this lovely 80 degree (F) first day of March?  That happens most every day, so no; won’t give that credit, either.

The cosmic tumblers clicking into place on the next bit of the combination to my own little vault of Universal space dust?  Maaaaaay-be.

Not only am I an empath, I also get “feelings about things”.  I have been saying since October that March (2013) was going to be the magic month for some of my friends and family, and so far, it’s turning out that way for even more of them than I thought.

I think, today…  I *felt*, today, a definitive shift.  What I have been feeling settling in to stay.  I really can’t explain it.  Maybe some of you, gentle readers, will understand what I mean.

Live in The Now and let the future unfold as it will.  Appreciate every little thing because they make up all the big things.

Hope you enjoy the pictures- a few shots of my trip down the Left Coast this fine morning.

mountainsfromocean

A view of Catalina Island from Huntington Beach

onthehills

Houses on the hills above the McDonald’s on the PCH along Newport Beach.

reflecting

Palms reflecting in my side-view mirror, driving along Huntington Beach.

Snowy peak of the San Jacintos from the coast

Snowy peak of the San Jacintos from the coast

 

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Meggie’s Window

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Meggie's Window

Handmade key necklace with dragon fly and bead charms.

Please visit Meggie’s Window on Etsy for trinket boxes, jewelry, ornaments, crochet, and other handmade gifts.

All seashells used in my items are picked by ME from the beach.

Use coupon code BUNNY13 for 20% off your purchase from 2/28/13 through 3/10/13

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