The Muck Between the Bucket Seats

"Inspiring you to reinvent yourself."





Dear Friends,

I'm just sitting for a moment. Recapturing my breath on a cold and accomplished day. Homemade sipping chocolate rests cooling close at hand. More to do, more to do. In a bit, I promise.

May this fibro-woman hear an "ooh, ah," for each of these accomplishments?

• Get out of bed. Get dressed right away. (Huge.) 
• Feed the cats, water four creatures and let the dogs out. Give each some one-on-one loving. 
• Resolve a TurboTax issue by seeing if it would resolve itself: It did. Taxes filed. 
• Fail to design a business card on Moo.com. If at first you don't succeed, procrastinate. 
• Phone meeting: brief, warm and productive. 
• In-person meeting: brief, warm and productive. 
• Get bank paperwork done in under fifteen minutes. (I'd prepared ahead.) 
• Eat lunch while chatting with my niece. 
• Get snow tires changes to all-weathers. This meant: clear heavy things from car; put heavy things in car; do crossword puzzles and email; shop on Amazon Mobile; and clear heavy things from my car again. 
• Remove car muck. I believe the Talmud states that car muck over a k'zayit ("like an olive") must be removed by hand two weeks before Passover. Four freezing months' worth of fallen popcorn, dried pear stems, gluten-free cookie crumbs, seltzer can tabs, faded gas receipts, lozenge wrappers, used napkins and broken tooth-flossers. 

It was the muck that got me. Leaning across the driver's seat, right elbow up on that storage thing, left arm stretched full length into the passenger foot-well, I realized that I could not move. My legs were straight back, toes barely touching ground. My arms had no leverage; whatever muscle tone in the past would have popped me right back up was gone.

This was slapstick. "Stan....ley!" (Young 'uns, no one alive should miss Stanley Laurel and Oliver Hardy’s work: http://www.laurel-and-hardy.com/)

I scissored my legs, seeking traction. Nope.

I collapsed my right arm. Really!? Why?

I clutched at the crushed pen cap, flopped over sideways and, finally, wormed myself backward until my toes gripped tarmac and I could bend my knees.

Up I bounced, practicing what my feline friends have taught me: Land on your feet; shake yourself off; say, "I meant to do that," then walk away slowly, with your tail in the air.

No one saw. (A wiser woman might not have blogged about it.)

Tonight, you ask? There's a bedroom to tidy, laundry to load, a Paypal account to open, and an office to organize. So if you need me, look for me in front of an episode or two of NCIS.

Please share, follow, like, and comment. I don't yet understand why, but I think it matters.

Thank you.

Love, Rhonda

Here's what warmed me, besides your company: Rhonda's Almost Vegan Sipping Chocolate:

6 oz        Silk Almond-Coconut Milk
6 chips   Ghiradelli semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 packet Stevia, any brand
1.5 Tbs   Unsweetened cocoa, Hershey's or finer
1 dollop  Whipped cream, chilled

Microwave nut milk for 1 minute. Assemble other ingredients. Add cocoa, chips and stevia. Stir with a fork to dissolve powders and attain a foamy top. Heat again, 30 seconds at a time, until desired warmth is achieved. Peak with whipped cream. Sip, being sure to establish nose-tip to whipped cream contact. Moan happily.

Travel Adventures of an Energetic Fatigued Woman: Schenectady, NY

“Inspiring You to Reinvent Yourself”

Friends,

Walls of snow notwithstanding, it is time for me to start my travel writing career. I plan to practice on you by regularly devoting posts to this endeavor. 

I live in New York’s Capital Region, which stands at the crossroads (90 and 87) of the Shawangunk, Catskill, Adirondack, Berkshire, and Green Mountains and en route to New York City, Boston, MA, Burlington, VT, and Montreal, QB. 

I've got access here to local bands, musical superstars, home grown theater, traveling blockbusters, dance, horse racing, and every sort of ethnic restaurant except, sadly, Ethiopian. I can shop at a farmers' markets four days a week and indulge my slothfulness at idiosyncratic coffee shops and drinking holes. An international airport is ten minutes’ drive from my home, yet my backyard window offers a wild things peepshow daily.

While my travel experiences are geared to what's possible for this energetic fatigued woman, others can easily bike a canal trail, kayak down a river, bet on horses, drink in the Impressionists, ski the slopes, and sip cocktails lakeside from here. 

My affection for this area, rich in natural beauty, kind people, quirky places and cultural marvels, is new. Camping near Ithaca, studying in Binghamton, practicing a Pepé le Pew accent in Quebec and getting my Om on in Lenox, I always passed through Albany. At Albany's highway intersection, the car turned right, left or not at all. No, I understood, we’re not there yet. When I found reason to evoke an image of the city, I saw author William Kennedy’s bone-chillingly gray backdrop for weary souls who clawed at the bar to slow a slide into despair. 

Only one place seemed grimmer than Albany: her abandoned, industrial neighbor Schenectady. So I'll start right here, in Schenectady. 

State Street, Schenectady, N.Y. (Michael P. Farrell/Times Union)

With your indulgence, I will introduce you to her Electric City legacy along with her cafés, pubs, theaters, shops, outdoor spaces, and an oddly tasty thing called a Pickle Back Shot.

These places may be five minutes drive from my house, but they comprise the very stuff of travel the way I like it. I hope you enjoy taking the adventure with me.

Love, Rhonda