A Spark of Life

A Spark of Life
Inside Sequoia Girl


Welcome to A Spark Of Life Transformations. I've created this blog to share some of the spiritual insights and effective methods for purposeful transformation that I've gleaned over the years. Also included are some bits and pieces of my own experiences and musings. I want to know about your experiences as well. What worked for you -- and what didn't. Ask a question. Make a statement. Share your heart. I only ask that you be respectful in your posts. I can't wait to get started!

Saturday, September 25, 2010

I met a Mad Housewife and now I need a new phone.

OK, first of all, let me say I am not a techno-phobe. While I don't run out and buy the latest gadgets, I do appreciate some of the little gizmos that make our lives a little easier. While I'm not that fond of my friend Brad's GPS and the woman's voice with the calm british accent telling me to, "Turn, right! Turn right!" (I call her The Direction Bitch.), I do enjoy my laptop. After all, it's what's allowing me to be writing this blog right now.

So, back to my phone. I have an electric blue four year old Sanyo VI2300. I got it free when I signed a new contract with Sprint POS, I mean, PCS. It's not a fancy phone, by any means, but it has served me well and, in spite of leaving it outside in the rain a couple of times and dropping it on concrete more times than I'd care to count, it has proven to be quite durable. I still have the original battery and, although it doesn't keep a charge as long as it used to, it's still quite serviceable.

Even though I have thought about getting a fancy new phone that has more functions than my laptop, I have stubbornly resisted since my current phone still works. I mean, do I need a phone that I can draw tarot cards on, really? I don't even text all that much. And besides, I don't like contributing to unnecessary landfill waste.

Now, about that Mad Housewife. So, a few weekends ago I went to a sleepover with a few women friends. I brought along bottle of Mad Housewife merlot wine. (I mean, how can you not buy a bottle of wine to drink with your girlfriends with a label like that?) We had a fabulous time, shared a lot of laughs and drank some delicious wines and had a fabulous dinner, plus I met a great new friend. (Hey Katy!)

After a lovely breakfast cooked by the hostess, I packed to go home and Terri insisted that I bring the remnants of the very drinkable Mad Housewife merlot home with me. After saying my goodbyes, I drove home and decided to take a nice long detox bath, a wonderful treat after a night of indulgence. If you've never had one of these, you must give it a try. It works wonders for clearing out toxins from over-indulgence and/or residual energies from emotional disturbances.

Here's the recipe:

In a tubful of whatever temperature of water that feels right for the situation add:

1 lb. baking soda
1 lb. epsom salts
1 lb. sea salt

Stir until dissolved and get in and soak for at least 20 minutes. Perfect time to read a chapter in your favorite book or pamper yourself with a facial. Add a handful of herbs or a few dashes of your favorite essential oils, if you like.

So, anyway. I decide to take one of these fabulous baths, right? I get the water running, shed my clothes and I'm anxious to slide into the water and soak when I realize I am out of sea salt in my upstairs bathroom. I dash downstairs with the water still running and reach for the sea salt from the cabinet. On the way out, the end of the sea salt bag catches the top of the Mad Housewife that was sitting on my kitchen counter. I am standing there in the buff, listening to my bath water run upstairs while watching this all happen in slo-mo. The bottle of merlot does a complete 360 and lands with an explosive blast on my beautiful, but unforgiving tile floor. I mean, it literally explodes. There is glass everywhere and dark purple droplets of wine cover the the floor, the face of my cabinets -- and my naked body.

I sputter as I look around at the tile floor littered with shards of dark green glass. Suddenly, the running bath registers again and I make an executive decision: I grab an old towel that lies nearby and throw it onto the widening puddle of wine at my feet. I am so not dealing with this now, I think and carefully back out of the room.

I dash back upstairs and thankfully realize the tub is not over-flowing, throw in the sea salt and sink in to relax. I feel a sting in my big toe and realize I have suffered a tiny cut from the broken glass. Not to worry, the soak will do it good.

After my lovely bath,  I return to my kitchen and assess the damage. Wine is beginning to dry on my cabinets and the stained label with Mrs. Mad Housewife stares back at me from the floor. I get the broom and a bucket filled with soapy water and begin to clean up. When I say there is literally glass on every square in of my kitchen floor, I do not exaggerate. After sweeping and then mopping the floor several times to get the last of the wine up. (It thankfully doesn't stain the tile.) I set the bucket at the end of my couch in the living room and wait for the floor to dry. 

While I'm waiting for the floor to dry I sit down on the couch to relax and check my email. As I bounce onto the couch cushion, out of the corner of my eye, I see something fly off the end of the couch and hear a muted 'ka-thunk'. I look over at the floor, but I see nothing so I continue with checking my email and then, sleepy from the bath, I lay down for a quick power nap.

After my nap I wander to the kitchen and check out the floor, which seems clean, but my foot finds another tiny shard of glass and I limp back to the couch to examine the cut. I see a little blood, but can find no evidence of glass, but it's hard to see, even with my glasses. By now it's quit bleeding so I get up to empty out the mop water and notice, curiously, that there is a little black cord running into the bucket. Shit!

I yank the cord out of the water and unplug it from the wall when I realize it is the wall charger to my ancient cell phone. The end of it is hot and a bit of the sponge from the mop head has welded itself into the plug. Shit! I don't want to have to buy another wall charger, which will probably cost more than the phone is worth. I just wanted to limp along with my cell until it died and I had to buy a new one. But, even after I dry it out and clean out the little plug, I realize it's fried. Big sigh.

Just as I'm ready to make a trip to the Sprint store, Brad stops by and offers a converter so I can use the car charger as a wall charger. My day brightens. I can put off for another day that difficult long-term commitment with the phone company and agonizing over choices of multi-dimensional phones, all with the latest "apps". I sure could use that last glass of Mad Housewife merlot about now...