Cymax Hits the Great Outdoors

Summer is finally showing face around here. My flip-flops are out of storage, I’ve switched out my sweaters for tank tops and my pants for shorts in my dresser, and I’ve come to the conclusion that slowly, and not too surely, I am turning into my mother.

My mother’s garden is spectacular. She’s got everything from roses to irises to gladioli and about a hundred more flowers with names that I can’t pronounce. In the summer, she lives in the garden, watering each morning, pulling weeds, and trimming plants. When I still lived at home, I’d watch from inside, with my morning coffee, wanting none of it. When my parents went away when I was a teenager, I was put in charge of the plants, but the only thing I was good at was eating her cherry tomatoes off the vine. On her return, my mother toured her garden with a frown, assessing the damage. Remarkably, she had a knack for bringing back to life the plants I thought I’d slain for good. But regardless of my mother’s healing touch, I was the black thumb of the family.

Over a decade has passed since I’ve lived at my parents’ house, but this is the first summer I will be spending in a new home that I’ve only been living in since the fall. Impressed by the size of the deck, my mother called a few months ago to say she had a “few pots” for the new place. A few pots turned out to be about twenty five, and now the deck looks nothing short of a forest. A forest, full of annuals and perennials (I had to look up the difference between the two), that I have to keep alive.

So far, so good, I’m pleased to say. With the exception of a few snap dragons that are not living up to their strong, fierce name, and blue violets that have chosen to turn black, I’ve done pretty well. Well enough to show them off, even. But the plastic pots looked cheap and all the plants were positioned on the same level, so before I invited over any company, I gave my deck a make-over.

Cymax has brand new products for the outdoors, which suited my deck to a tee. With the convenience of online shopping, I was able to bring even more life to my patio. Without killing a thing, I uprooted and replanted my forest into quality H Potter Sonoma Planters, which are made of stunning stainless steel with a rustic copper finish that highlights my plants beautifully. Now, my flowers are displayed using different levels on artistic Alfresco Home Round Mosaic Plant Stands, which come in sets of two or three, and also on a multi-level Pangaea Victorian Iron Plant Stand. I even bought a garden wall trellis by Rustic Natural Cedar Co. for my honeysuckle, and to add that last touch of blissful summery ambience to my now favorite place in my home, I have a ceramic glazed water fountain.

My plants are thriving and I am very proud to say that I haven’t used an ounce of chemical fertilizer in my soil, but I have added 100% organic and biodegradable CocoLite Bricks, which are a natural alternative to peat moss. Although not a fertilizer, these bricks can be added to any potting soil to help retain moisture and nutrients in plants. I’d like to think the healthy state of my plants is solely a result of my newly obtained green thumb, but I know the soil has every bit as much to do with their success as I do.

So, the ambience of the deck is taken care of on a botanical level. It’s the rest of the deck that now needs work. In order to show off my floral successes, my next purchases will be more new products from Cymax, like a Pangaea Garden Torch to light up the deck for dinner parties, and patio furniture so that my guests can eat, drink, and relax in style. And because summer weather around here can be temperamental, and the evenings still get chilly, maybe even a patio heater.

But the most important part of a garden party? Food and drinks, of course. Cymax now sells outdoor grills, like the Napoleon Grills Prestige, that make summer cooking fun and easy, as you can spend your time with guests instead of running back and forth from the kitchen to your outdoor space. To complete your garden of bliss by keeping those summer ales cold, add the finishing touch of a beverage cooler, and I assure you, your guests will be satiated and delighted.

I am going away on vacation in a few days and have asked my mother to care for my plants while I’m gone. After her initial shock that my plants are still alive, she agreed. I wish I could be there to see her expression when she walks out on the deck. I have a feeling that she will be very, very pleased with me.

From Cradle to Queen: Human Progression and the Philosophy of Beds

There are plenty of significant stages in a life: changes, decisions, and lifestyle choices – all things that are the make-up of who we are. I know, this sounds like a heavy topic, especially for a Monday, but it is that kind of day; maybe because my Sunday was spent with my two nieces and little nephew. My brother and his wife had a family brunch yesterday and I got to hang out with the kids. The great thing about being an aunt is that you have your allotted visiting hours where you become a human trampoline, sit through spur-of-the-moment plays performed from on top of the coffee table, become the subject of scribbled paintings with rainbows, butterflies, flowers and a big bright yellow sun surrounding you, and play with Dora the Explorer toys, but you can give the kids back to their rightful owners at the end of the day – hyper and filthy.

The kids change every time I see them, even if it has only been a week. It is both awesome and scary to watch. Laura, who just turned four, can write the names of everyone in the family and made place cards for the table. Michael, at only eleven months, runs around the house and is not far behind both sisters when he takes a stab at climbing the stairs. But it was Fiona, the two-year-old, who showed the most change yesterday.

I opened their front door, and as Fiona came running at me with a hug, she exclaimed in a very proud voice, “I got a big girl’s bed!” Before I could grab a (much needed) coffee from the kitchen, the two girls and I were on our way upstairs to Fiona’s room. Close to the ground, with a bed rail for safety, there was her new bed, gleaming almost as much as Fiona, who stood beside it, shoulders back, proud as could be.

Next, I was lead by the hand into Laura’s room, where I was faced with a loft style bunk bed, complete with a ladder (a ladder!) to get up to the mattress. Laura giggled with excitement, grabbed onto the ladder and started to climb. Out of habit, I stood behind her, hands shadowed around her body, ready for a fall. But up Laura went and I had to accept that this girl – who now comes up to well past my belly button when she stands in front of me – has taken the leap, has made the change from toddler to a competent, sturdy little girl. For reassurance, I peeked into Michael’s room next, and was relieved to see that his baby crib was still in use. I don’t think I could have handled three bed changes in one morning.

I was unusually quiet through brunch, looking back and forth from niece to nephew to other niece, wondering when the hell they grew up without me noticing.

Beds aren’t usually associated with philosophical thinking, at least not for me. At least not until yesterday. But it did get me thinking: the type of bed we have goes hand-in-hand with the stage of life we are at, even when we are well past our childhood. There is a natural progression of bed styles with the natural human progression.

We are born and we spend three months in an infant’s crib at the side of our parents’ bed. We start moving a little too much on our own and are put in a bigger crib, like Michael’s, where we can pull ourselves up with the help of the bars. We turn two or three and the cage disappears; we get a “big kids bed” like Fiona’s, with a bed rail for the first little while, until we get used to the blissful openness. Lucky kids get the privilege of a cool bunk bed or loft bed, like Laura’s, and when we reach our teens, we graduate to a day bed, and the last stage of young adulthood is spent in that terribly uncomfortable, but perfectly multi-purpose futon.

Ah, the futon. The futon that followed us through college to our first apartment; the futon that acted as a best friend: the one piece of furniture that lasted through move after move, apartment after apartment, bedroom after living room after bedroom. Childhood years bring multiple changes in beds for sure, but I think the most significant jump in one’s stage of maturation is leaving the futon behind.

I got married last summer, and my back has never felt better; I am sleeping better than I ever have (and not because my relationship is boring). We both came into the relationship with our trusty, worn-out futons, and soon realized that if we were going to make this “forever” thing work, the futons had to go. Not quite ready to part with them, our storage locker is at maximum capacity, but we both know that, despite the sentimental attachments we’ve made with our futons, we never want to spend a restless night on them again.

We looked through tons of mattresses from Cymax, and when the queen arrived, it was right then and there when I realized: I am an adult. I am leaving my childhood, my dorm life, my twenties behind, and I am a real live, well-rested adult.

My nieces and nephew will grow and their beds will change along with them, and although I hope to mature in the psychological sense, I’m 5 foot 3 inches with no hope of vertical growth, so on my luscious queen-sized mattress I will stay, happily and comfortably. Forever, even.

It Will be Mine…Oh Yes…It Will be Mine

As a product of the mid 80s, I know that I have been exposed to a wealth of sometimes important, oftentimes useless information that I carry with me to this very day. For example, as a result of my date of birth, I know to take careful precaution to Avoid the Noid at any and all costs, as he is a thieving snake who must be stopped. I know that if I ever run into Dave Coulier of Full House fame I will be sure to ask him to oblige me with a Mr. Woodchuck impression. I know that Earthworm Jim for Super Nintendo is the world’s most difficult and unfair video game followed closely by Ninja Gaiden for original Nintendo. Finally I have learned to fear and respect the ever-creepy Treasure Troll, as I am certain that some otherworldly form will one day breath life into them and they will take over the world…but that’s a different story altogether.

In addition to all of these tidbits of knowledge that I store for a rainy day, or a heated game of 90s Trivial Pursuit, I recall that my older sister and all of my friends’ cooler, older siblings all seemed to own futons. Deep within the depths of their dimly lit rooms, right underneath their life sized posters of Eddie Vedder, sat a generously sized futon…sometimes, conveniently taking the form of a couch, peppered with plaid shirts perhaps or ripped jeans; or other times a full-sized bed, ten hole Doc Martens perched neatly at the foot. Either way, the futon seemed to be the staple piece of furniture for the young and modern in the 90s.

I used to dream of the day when I too, could discard my childish sleigh bed, and get myself a great big futon; my rite of passage, my acceptance into the world of the super cool, long haired, Kurt Cobain wannabes whom I had long admired. Sadly…I never got to satisfy my futon dream. I slept soundly, though very un-chicly, in my pine sleigh bed right up until I moved out and now I can’t wait to one day settle into my first perfectly firm, undeniably comfortable futon mattress. I oftentimes find myself browsing MoreFutons.com, ogling their massive selection of sizes, styles and brands. From their massive variety of futon frames to their grand assortment of futon covers, anxiously awaiting the day when I am financially secure enough to purchase a brand new futon of my very own. Until then, I suppose I will have to deal with my boyfriend’s boring spring mattress, which incidentally, does not fold into a couch…and it only makes people worry when you try.

Snow Day!

Brrr. It’s cold these days. The kind of frosted, bone-rattling chill that Vikings and black-metal bands are always talking about. But people who are baffled by snow and slush and wind in the throes of winter irritate me. What do you expect, when our world is a mere blip amidst an endless cosmic vacuum of freezing cold? Sunny skies and tropical heat? Mere illusion! Cold is the nature of the universe, and the Second Law of Thermodynamics says that things are only getting colder. Get used to it, princess.

Therefore, here’s what I think we should all do: let’s have a childhood fantasy Snow Day and embrace this bitter cold. What else is there to do? Stand around and ask each other if it’s cold enough yet? Oh, it will be cold enough. Yes indeed.

To start the day, eat one of those fruit-flavored oatmeal packets that you just add water to. Mmm. Peaches and creamy. Add extra brown sugar on top, just to be sure it’s sweet enough to make your teeth shrivel. Pick up your books and throw them on the floor. Who needs those today? Not you, my friend. It’s Snow Day!

If you are a pansy, you should bundle up as warm as possible. It's never cool to wear a hat and scarf and mittens, but today you are throwing fashion to the wind. After all, there is a lot of work to be done. Snowmen (or is it snowpersons?), snow angels, snow forts and, best of all, snow fights. In our Snowmaginarium, the snow has a perfect wet to dry ratio, allowing for perfect snow stickiness. No harsh, gravel-filled iceballs today! That is, unless your annoying neighbour walks by -- then you become the Wendigo, delivering a pelting snow-storm to drive the jerk to his frosty doom.

Your day passes in a blaze of soft downy flakes. Finally, red-faced and panting, you run indoors. Your cardiovascular system is begging you for mercy after a full day of exercise and fresh air. After devouring hot soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, it’s time to relax with family by the fire.

Everyone’s in a good mood, because despite the overwhelming snow and sub-zero temperatures outside, something about a hot toddy in front of the fireplace puts everyone at ease.

Make sure you end your best ever Snow Day with a fireplace from Cymax. With just the flick of a switch, you can turn off the flames, go upstairs to bed and dream of a lifetime filled with Snow Days. And hot toddys.

The Massage is the Medium

When you stagger home from your eight hours of daily toil, sometimes you just need to relax, watch some Matlock, and enjoy a soothing massage from your loved one. Is there any better way to relieve the stress of punching in numbers, attending boring meetings, and chatting about god knows what with the office idiot? Maybe there is, but it probably isn't legal.

So you get home, throw your briefcase and pants on the floor, flick on the television and crack open that cold forty of Steel Reserve. Step one complete. Then step two comes along: asking for that massage.

But what's this? Your significant other isn't in the mood?

Well, what else is new? You've been barking up that tree for months and even now, the most massage action you can get is from that fancy shower head you bought. So you've given up hope, and in your darkest hour, you do what all hopeless people do: Go online.

Somehow, you come across Cymax Stores, and all of a sudden, your hopes and dreams revive like zombies, hungry for the delicious fleshy meats of savings. You see that Cymax has a site, Massage Chair Select which carries plenty of massage chairs to choose from, such as Human Touch iJoy Massage Chairs, Panasonic Massage Chairs, and more. On top of that, they offer free shipping too.

What more could you want? A live-in masseuse? Sure thing, Dr. Moneybags. For the rest of us, a comfy massage chair is the perfect replacement for human contact. Let a Cymax chair massage your body... and Matlock will massage your soul.