Salt and Distractions

(Note-I apologize for the wonky type on my website…I have to figure out a few settings and, at the moment, they are leaving me stumped. Damn technology).

I’m a ripper and pinner. Are these new 21-century afflictions that pharm-companies are trying to come up with high-priced drugs for? I wish there were vaccines for these.

The pinning is for my Pinterest compulsion and the ripping is for all the magazine clippings that I rip out of their secure little, glossy binds in the interest of referring to them some day in some creative capacity. Pinterest, as we are all vividly aware,  is the world’s biggest vision board/hoarders lair and I am, unfortunately, an active member of this club. Ripping from magazines? Well, that is just a left-over habit from the pre-Pinterest days. Recipes, travel destinations (do I really need to know the best B & Bs in Charleston at the moment or the hidden grotto in Italy where you can dine overlooking the sea? Well, of course. Duh.), home decor ideas and just gorgeous, make-me-swoon visuals of food, flowers, art, homes, gardens….your basic eye-porn.

One thing that is great about Pinterest is that they have categories. At least you can be somewhat focused with your compulsion. Quotes were the focus of my (P)interest the other night and one rose to the surface, as they usually do, as if the the Universe is taking a pointy finger and nudging it towards you across the table of life. I like when they even appear before you even know that it’s good for you to read them.

Let me also round out the story here and say that yesterday morning I woke up in a flash and my first thought was “I hate this paint color. It’s just beige.” In our house, we are in the 9th month of a home renovation and I am, like any expectant mother, counting the minutes until The Day. In fact, I’m at that stage where I can’t take it any more and just want this kid out of me PRONTO. Take. It. Out. Nowwwwwwww (insert pic of woman/me yelling in the deepest, most lion-like voice here). Our crew had just painted the first coat of the baby, I mean color, that had I agonized over and finally decided upon…writing with a flourish “THIS IS IT!” on the giant swatch. It was not too gray, it was not too taupe, it was just right. Paint it, Goldilocks.

I walked into the room and loved it. And then I walked back four hours later and hated it.


Just beige. I hate beige with a passion. It’s like the Switzerland of colors. Not pastel, not something with gusto. And here I was, staring at a wall that looked rather beige to me. Can I live with this? By all accounts, it works in the room. It will highlight all of the objects we are filling it with, it won’t compete but will serve as a warm and cozy foundation. It will also work with the counters, floors, tiles, and light fixtures. What the heck was wrong with me? All the (paint) chips were stacking in this colors’ favor. This was also quickly disintegrating into one of my pregnancy moments from long ago when we had decided upon a boys’ name after MUCH ado and then 3 weeks before the due date, I woke in a panic blubbering that I could not see myself uttering that name for the rest of my life. Husband proclaimed me temporarily insane and just told me to name the baby whatever I wanted when it appeared. He would roll with it. Thankfully, we had a girl.

So, color dilemma and basic exhaustion from this never-ending house project coupled with yet another rainy and cold day in our area (whoever says the weather isn’t getting wackier with each passing year is not living on this planet) made for a woman who wanted to climb under covers and just have a good cry. Ironic, since cabin-fever was probably playing a part in this meltdown, too. This was not even PMS-induced. This was pure I’m-done-get-me-on-the-next-plane-to-Tahiti done.

I have told both of my girls that sometimes a cry is exactly what you need. A good, let-it-all-out, equivalent-to-exercise cry. It’s like magic. The great smoother-over. I’ve come to also discover that this elixir can be broadened, as the quote lovely Pinterest-find will attest to, anything salt-oriented: sweat, tears or sea.

So true! Words for the ages!

Unfortunately, there was no time for crying  but lucky for me, the sea was close by. Our cold weather the other night was colliding with warm weather and intense, dramatic fog was the result. As I stepped out of my car on my way to a meeting, the cool, salty scent of the ocean greeted me and amazingly snapped me out of the disgruntled and exasperated fog that I had been stumbling through. Why Hello, sea.

Salt. Seaweedy smells. Moisture. All the wonderful things that you breathe in when you are by the sea. And those scents that perk me up like none other.

Then I went for a post-meeting drive a little out of my way, sipping a completely delicious hazelnut iced coffee and a giant blueberry muffin that tasted like the summer, and I literally watched the fog roll in off the water. That is one sight to behold. Actively watching something that you can’t grasp with your hands, but at the moment seems like a huge entity. It was amazing. It washed over cars and moved my hair. Like a specter brushing by me.

This salt and the distraction of that unusual fog was just what I needed. It cleared my head and refreshed me, just as I needed. Save the cry for another time.

After that, I noticed the cotton-candy pink trees that were in bloom and the blue skies that were overtaking the gray ones (hallelujah!). Things were seeming a tad more balanced.

The Beige is still up for debate.







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