Going to the groomer makes Winifred anxious nearly to the point of seizures. So when her dirty-dog smell got distracting, my housemate proposed the do-it-yourself dog wash. Always up for a new experience, I offered to help. We gathered our quarters, grabbed a towel and put ‘Fred in her car.

Off to the Wag and Wash

This ingenious facility included a raised platform with a drain and a place to secure the dog on a short lead. Three hoses hung from the ceiling. One featured a spray nozzle that delivered shampoo, conditioner and rinse water. Another had a vacuum attachment for sucking excess water from a wet pooch. The final hose ended in a salon-like blow dryer.

‘Fred trembled and leaned against whichever of us was closer, but otherwise took it quite well. By time we had her toweled off and back in the car, she was feeling her oats. After all, he’d had an outing with her favorite person (my housemate), and didn’t have to share her with the other dog. Boosted her mood for days!

Me, I can now say I’ve vacuumed a dog and lived to tell the tail tale.

When the warning sirens went off, I was in the grocery store. Well-trained employees herded me and the other customers into a storage room between the produce and the seafood departments.

Taking time to chill

We stood on the concrete floor amidst towering industrial shelves, loaded with boxes of celery, mangoes and other lovely edibles from all over the planet, shivering in the refrigerated air. (40°F. Brr!)

Right away, folks pulled out their cell phones, checking in with loved ones. But once immediate personal concerns had been handled, we started noticing one another. Conversations sprang up, sharing of what little we knew of the storms. Someone had a sophisticated weather app on his device and he provided periodic updates as he tracked what was happening in real time. We were in this together.

Still, it didn’t take long before we were all wanting to sit down. Or better yet, get on about our day. More tornadoes had been sighted, though, and we weren’t going anywhere.

Well-timed caffeine boosts our morale

Store employees rounded up bottles of water for us. They organized a cart loaded with hot coffee and cookies from the bakery department. A steaming cup of joe went a long way to taking off the chill of that refrigerated room. We went back to swapping stories until it was safe for us to leave.

In my time, tornadoes have caught me in office buildings and private homes. I’ve hunkered in stairwells, closets, bathrooms and basements. But until today, I’ve never spent an hour literally rubbing elbows with grocery-seeking strangers in a room stacked with exotic produce. Truly a fresh experience.

[I'm celebrating my 50th birthday year by trying 50 new things. This post contributes to my chronicle of some of those new things. Why not subscribe to my feed and follow the entire adventure?]

She pantomimed leaning forward in her chair, bowing her head and brushing her wet hair off her neck, up over her crown, and trimming it at what would be bangs-length in front. She’d do it herself, she explained, but she had a tendency to cut her fingers when holding her hair.

To shear or not to shear? To shear!

I know her well enough to realize she wasn’t asking for the latest fashion or even any style at all, so I said sure. We put her on a folding chair in the middle of the backyard.

She brushed her hair forward and I went to work with the decidedly dull pair of scissors we use for various things around the house. Locks of her silvery hair fell to the lawn for birds and other critters to carry away.

While I’ve no ambitions of hanging out my shingle as a barber, she’s declared delight with the results, and I’ve got a “new thing” to add to my birthday list. Simple. Reciprocal. Awesome.

[Awhile back, I announced my intention to celebrate my 50th birthday year by trying 50 new things. This post contributes to my chronicle of some of those new things.]

It happened at a recent Meetup. One of my fellow students of Tarot read her cards with fluttering hands and plenty of mystical drama. Normally, I would chalk it up to personal style and perhaps find it amusing. This time, it irritated me.

Why? If I needed to justify my feeling, I’d point to the way she spouted prognostications as set-in-stone truths. This precludes free will and thus violates my code as a Tarot reader.

But that very afternoon, I’d rolled my eyes while telling a friend about a client’s infatuation with the mystical trappings commonly assigned to the intuitive and psychic sides of life.

What was my beef?

Time to look in the mirror

Truth is, I was once as infatuated as my client. And while I’ve not indulged in the kind of hand-fluttering as my fellow reader, I recognize it as a symptom of the same thing.

It seemed my irritation stemmed from being reminded of a version of myself I’ve left behind. But if I’d truly left it behind, I’d feel compassion rather than irritation.

My irritation carried the ugly whiff of judgment. And now that I’ve noticed it, other examples are popping up. They represent different areas of my past/beliefs/self-image. Facing these mirrors challenges me. It’s uncomfortable to admit to feeling judgmental, of myself and/or of others.

It helps to remind myself that I’ve grown–I’m experiencing these feelings from a perspective never before possible for me.

In other words, it’s okay to be where I am today. It’s merely my opportunity to embrace what I see in the mirror, and to appreciate the people who show it to me.

What are your mirrors showing lately? How do you handle it?

A friend was treating me to lunch, and just reading the menu made me salivate. How would I choose?

She suggested I asked to have the chef surprise me. What a great idea! I asked for something from the “nosh” category and an entree.

Elevating “special” to “memorable”

The presence of a friend I’d not seen in far too long, combined with fanciness of the place (and that she was treating!) would have been plenty to make the day special. Add in the “surprise me” game and we had ourselves a high time.

Rather than turn my “50 New Things” project into a blog about food (rather than the full range of experiences I intend to include), I’ll simply say this about the things that turned up at our table: decidedly drool-worthy. Yum.

Will I play this game again? Absolutely. It needn’t be a restaurant-only game, either. Imagine playing it in the bookstore. At the movie theater. In the airport. I can’t wait to see what else these two words might bring me.

But this year, I’m trying 50 new things. It’s a perfect time to put old prejudices up for review. Bivalves are getting a second chance. It began on my birthday, when two foodie friends presented me with brined, butter-seared scallops as part of a to-die-for five-course dinner.

And now, oyster nachos from Fish City Grill. A friend’s description had me drooling, so we shared a plate.

A burst of taste and texture

My friend had not exaggerated. For while the menu gives us only 9 descriptive words–”Fried oysters, chipotle tartar sauce, fresh pico de gallo”–I hereby declare them Divinity on a plate!

My apologies to bivalves everywhere. It’s not you, it’s the cook.

Turns out it’s fun, questioning old assumptions. It feels good to admit to an old injustice and let it go, thus lightening the load. And what easier (or yummier) place to practice than with what’s on our dinner plates?

I recommend the oyster nachos.

Because it’s not my first-ever move, I’m not counting the relocation as one of my birthday new things. But it’s the first time I’m moving into a house, rather than an apartment. And it’s the first time I’m going to be a roommate (other than college dorm living). Lots and lots of new things in store, I’m sure.

Thanks, campsite. I’m on my way

Today, I collected the last few things from the old place and turned in my keys. After having lived there so long, I thought I might feel pangs on leaving, but nope. It felt more like rolling out of a gorgeous campsite after a satisfying stay.

…but I offered a ritual farewell

Though I was tired and interested in moving on to all the unpacking awaiting me at the new place, I took a few minutes to sip a cold Blackberry Izze and really appreciate the empty shell that had been my shelter and sanctuary. I walked the perimeter of each room, expressing my thanks and wishing it well.

Heck, even my hibiscus plant expressed its gratitude. It was blooming today, blowing kisses all the way across town to our new home.

Life among stacks of boxes makes it easy to lose sight of how much I shed in preparation for this move. Even when I can’t see it, though, I feel it. I found new homes for about 60% of my furniture and half of my belongings.

I feel freed. Could this be what it means to become en-lightened? Hee!

The show in question was about Human Design, a self-discovery tool I’d heard about last year listening to Benjamin Bernstein’s wonderful “This Week In Astrology” podcast. After that show, I’d emailed his guest, Hal Bahr, for a copy of my Human Design chart.

That action put me on Hal’s email list and I learned he’d be on a show with Kim Gould. The show date came and went. I’d forgotten it. Oh, well, I thought, it must not have been important for me to hear it.

Second chances wear funny clothes

Yesterday, I heard the original show date had been scrapped due to technical problems, and they’d try again today. Seemed the Universe wasn’t done with me.

I called and voila, I was on air. They were charming and helpful. I took notes, said thank you and that was that.

Short version of what I learned from the hosts: Mars and Venus occupy the same spot in my Human Design, but unsurprisingly, they express it very differently. For my Mars, different = dangerous. By contrast, my Venus maintains a fearless trust in a greater unanimity and an ability to find value in apparent differences.

I trust her to soothe my Mars as I fling myself into my 50 New Things in my 50th Year adventure.

[Awhile back, I announced my intention to celebrate my 50th birthday year by trying 50 new things. This post contributes to my chronicle of some of those new things.]

My hometown boasted a major brewery, and yet I never developed a taste for beer. I tried it plain, I tried it specialty, I tried it dark, but even when it was served very, very cold, it just didn’t suit me.

Beer masquerading as champagne

So imagine my surprise when I got home from my birthday party, peeked into the wine-bottle-tall gift bag a friend had left with me and discovered not wine, but Belgian beer. Specifically, Lindeman’s Framboise Lambic.

The packaging brings to mind sparkling wine and some beer-loving friends of mine declared it apt. “Imagine if raspberries, beer and champagne had a baby, they said. “This would be it.”

I set out a few glasses and we poured the reddish and quite foamy framboise. Mercy, me. I have found a beer I enjoy!

Thirteen years = time to shed skin

I haven’t moved residence since December 1998, thirteen years ago. And though I’ve been consciously uncluttering for the last few years, moving plans have me questioning every thing. “Does this thing represent the energy I want to bring with me into my future life? Does it fit with who I am becoming?”

Somehow, I doubt I’ll wait another 13 years to ask myself such fundamental questions. Rather, I suspect that the massive shedding of old possessions/perceptions will free me in ways I can’t begin to imagine. It’s both scary, and very exciting.

My birthday wish for this year is to try 50 new things. No doubt this move will give me a head start on that list.

What are you doing for a fresh start this year?