the good, the bad, the ugly . . .

this story is brought to you from a land far beyond ugly . . . as in downright disgusting and with that fair warning, advance your eyeballs at your own risk. I cannot be responsible for churned stomachs, disrupted sleep patterns or psychotic episodes. STOP READING NOW!!!!

Last night, the 9TS and I were happily ensconced in bed watching the late night news when I looked down to see sesame seeds laying on my sheets. Sesame seeds? Yep. Now while it is true that we are late night noshers, sesame seeds are tops on my diverticulitis no no list. I mean how many people drive through McDonald's requesting fish buns for their Big Mac's . . . or steal their husbands bottom buns in exchange for your sesame seed encrusted top buns when caught in a pickle . . . or who has to order her Kentucky rolls at the local sushi joint minus the sesame seeds. Me. I do not eat sesame seeds. EVER.

And so I roll my evil eyes over to the 9TS. While I was spitting cherry pits, what was he noshing on? Ah, a Nonni turtle biscotti. I start in on him about his slovenly ways when he blurts out the truth: Nonni turtle biscotti does not have sesame seeds. Hum.

I ticked him off my list and went to the next possible suspect: the kidlet! She had been in town and she had nestled in my bed . . . while eating Chex mix of some type. So now the sloth and I are downstairs thumbing meticulously through a partially empty bag. Nope, not a sesame seed in sight . . . besides which, the linens had been changed since then.

Why, you ask, am I freaking out about the presence of sesame seeds in my bed? Because somewhere in the recesses of my little, tiny, pea brain, I remember a similar episode with Hawky, my now deceased little gray, well adored, cat. And folks, they weren't sesame seeds! With my heart thumping, I stripped the bed and put the sheets in the washing machine and grabbed a new set from the linen closet. By slightly after midnight, I was snoozing away . . . until my freakishly tuned brain shocked itself awake thinking about sesame seeds and there, perched near my head was little Pippin sound asleep on the new clean sheets. I nudged her away and there they were, new sesame seeds. GULP!

And so at 2 something something in the morning I was reading about tape worms of the feline persuasion . . . white rice that turns into lightly toasted sesame seeds the article exclaimed. Oh thank you for the photos dear world wide web! Grumble. Grumble.

Bright and early this morning I am on the phone with the vet technician describing my plight. I have no idea why she thought my infestation was so funny but as I kept on, she broke into a full fledged guffaw. Not nice.

With Pippin properly medicated and all three beasties having been doused with Advantage, my quilt is in the washing machine and the second set of sheets will follow. Thankfully, the medicine is fast acting and tonight I will sleep in peace . . . having disinfected the entire house, taken seven showers and bleached everything within reach.

Now if you read this even after I specifically asked you not to, please don't point and giggle to your girl friend next time we pass in the street. I am hanging my head in shame all on my own. I don't need a big scarlet "S" sewn on my sweater. GAH!

that one special winter day, or two . . .

I told the 9TS that after lunch with my buds, I wanted to nest in front of a fire, imbibe some wine, and snuggle up. Turns out we did our snuggling first and fell asleep. Ate. And roasted. So nice as the temperature dives into the 20's. Remind me again what state I live in! And so it made me think about my childhood and that one special winter day . . .

It had snowed the day before and almost a foot and a half of the fluffy white stuff was all about. And then suddenly, it warmed and rained and just as suddenly, the temperatures plummeted again and the rain froze on the snow creating an ice crust. At first we tried walking on it and discovered to our utter delight that it held our weight . . . and we slip slided around. Then someone got the brilliant idea to put on our skates and see if we could skate on it. To our 11 year old collective amazements, we could and did. We skated down the road. We skated across the yard. We skated on the snow across the frozen lake. The very best was gliding down the slope of our backyard, picking up speed and sailing over the retaining wall onto the lake. Take that you southerners! We spent the entire day outside until frozen toes and red drippy noses demanded that we head inside for the waiting hot chocolate and cookies. Do childhood memories get any better?

Oh wait, another one just popped up to say 'don't forget about me!" Do you know what black ice is? If you don't, your childhood was severely lacking. Black ice forms on a lake that has frozen before the first snowfall. It's a rare phenomenon since snow usually falls long before the ice has frozen thick enough to skate on, making it bumpy and crusty and needing to be shoveled. And what skating it was. Smooth, unblemished ice from one end of the lake to the other, black as night. Lolly and I were about nine years old the day we sat in my basement lacing up our skates and duck walking on our scabbards down to the dock. What an enormous skating rink we had . . . one mile long and 1/2 mile wide. We spent hours skating up and down and across the lake . . . joining spontaneous hockey games, drifting along with the wind, playing whip, stopping now and then to collect or drop off more friends, scarring the ice with figure eights, doing a couple of proverbial face plants. It was the perfect day that winter and for many more to come.

One of the lovely advantages of getting long in the tooth is all the fabulous memories to keep your heart company while nestled in front of a roaring fire while the 9TS watches the Vikings trounce the Phillies . . .

simplicity . . .

someone asked me how "just do it" was working out for me. Truth is, it's working quite well, thank you very much. It makes me happy to look around and see all those nagging little to-dos done. Not that all my ducks are in a row but enough so that it makes me smile and that is worth it all!

My neighbor recommended picking up a copy of Real Simple, the magazine, and so I did. And lo and behold, there in the front, is an article on what makes one happy . . . and the general consensus is "the little things". See! 'Just do it' is my simple thing . . . right up there with Charles Shultz' warm puppy. And, there was a William Butler Yeats quote that just spoke to me because I have a tendency to look at life a little upside down now and again: "Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy." Perfect in a confounding sort of way.

The 9TS bought me a Tyler Florence cookbook for Christmas. He is one of my all time favorite chefs . . . ever since I invited the troops over for dinner and served his phenomenal melt in your mouth.cut it with a fork.lick your fingers, roast pork. Good to the last slurp. Thus, I made his chicken soup this afternoon and it was easy peasy using a store bought rotisserie chicken. I am used to cooking things long and slow and when this turned out to be fast and simple, I questioned exactly how good it could be until I tasted it. Slurp! Another winner.

and simply because it is fun to say, it is I who loves the 9TS. Me. Yes I do. So snuggle up with someone special and say something simple like . . . I love you. Just do it!

yes neighbors, I was the one rooting around in the garbage Christmas morning. One of the 9TS's chilletes was MIA. On the off chance that it ended up in the trash while wrapping, I went dumpster diving and TA-DA! I found it. Crisis adverted.

The kidlet ended up with MY earrings from the 9TS and were quickly snatched back . . . I being a class A snatcher.

The 9TS's present for Katie was MIA but turned up in his pile. Not sure what he would have found in his size at Anthropologie.

Pippin's first Christmas found her overjoyed with wrapping paper shreds, gift wrap bags and other goodies.

Coffee sprayed all over when the sloth's arm sent his coffee cup flying. Oops we need a replacement cup.

My favorite frog came to visit. He needs to be returned for a larger size. Thank you Katie. I love it!!!

For she who does not cook, the 9TS and I each wrote down the recipes for the kidlet's favorite meals and except for the perishables, gave her everything she needed to recreate the meals, down to ingredients, pots and utensils. No excuses little one, we'll be up for dinner next week!

I love cats. My kitchen is white with black and red accents. I collect teapots. How awesome is a black and white cat teapot. 9TS, you ROCK!!

Norman Rockwell hangs in my kitchen and has so for the last 15 years. He keeps us on the straight and narrow.

And of course, these photos are brought to you via my new 18-270mm lens. Grin. Smile. Jump for joy!

Credits: Katie Pertiet, paper and frames, Anna Aspnes, Stitches.

today's oddity . . .

The kidlet and I ate lunch in a Japanese restaurant with piped in Irish Christmas music. Go figure!

let the celebration begin . . .

I love the holidays! And, they love me. My hips are expanding with each little morsel that comes my way. Sugared walnuts . . . homemade yummo. Handmade fudge with nuts. Let me rest in peace. Orange cinnamon bread . . . need I say more. Cookies overfloweth. It's revenge of the sugar monster . . . bless his calorie ridden little hide. And a huge thanks to my friends that keep filling my kitchen and loved ones with goodness. May we all happily explode with wassail and biscotti.

Tomorrow the 9TS will rumble through the kitchen making airships, veds (fish soup), gravy, stuffed manicotti, macaroni, fried smelts, shrimp, and the like. Let the Feast of the Seven Fishes begin. The table will be overflowing, the aroma delicious, the family assembled, presents opened. This is Christmas. Hooray.

And Saturday, we will dwindle to two by mid-morning. The kidlet will have returned to her apartment to spend Christmas with Ryan and his family. The 9TS and I will have a simple nosh of prime rib, oven roasted taters, roasted brussel sprouts, hot rolls and butter. And then we will fizzle into one large blob of happiness and spend the next week recovering.

Why am I telling you all of this in advance? Because things tend to get a little wild and wooley and on the off chance that I don't get a chance to blog, I wanted to wish each and everyone of you a safe, warm and healthy Merry Christmas from the 9TS, the kidlet and I . . . or is it me? May all your wishes come true, may peace be yours . . .

eclipsed . . .

my last words to the 9TS before I fell asleep last night were, "Please wake me up for the eclipse." And so he did . . . at 1:30. And so I mumbled, "my alarm is set for 2". At 2:00, I woke the kidlet, who mumbled, "no". But after our last round with waking the kidlet for an eclipse*** . . . Soon, we three were freezing our toes in the driveway, eyes to the heavens. Now I knew I should have set up a tripod if I wanted a decent photo but I AM SLUG. So this is the best I got:

Then we traipsed back into the house, back into our beds, back into our sleeps. Goodnight moon.

*** When my kidlet was in middle school, we had a similar eclipse. She wanted desperately to see it, so I promised her that I would wake her up for the event. Come the appointed time, I woke her up and we stood at her bedroom window and watched the eclipse for about five minutes before she climbed back into bed and fell immediately back to sleep.

The next morning, she storms into the kitchen, mad as a wet hornet. "Why didn't you wake me up." She had absolutely no recollection of getting up or watching the eclipse.

Bing Crosby & David Bowie - The Little Drummer Boy / Peace On Earth

my personal favorite.

the challenge . . .

over at the Spraground this week revolves around a single photo layout and the words: I AM, plus a Linda Roos, In the Making, freebie. Snap! I was on that one like a fly on a field patty. But I changed it up a tad to post here . . . still using Linda's fabulous freebie . . . just a schooch modified. Thank you Linda!!!!

is there no sanctity . . .

left in our home? Have we slipped entirely over the edge. Has reason flown out the window?

We have been looking for a lamp for the 9TS's man-room, for those yearly ground breaking occasions when I am invited in . . . when I am allowed to tread in his territory. It is the rare invitation.

But, in the winter, when the rest of the downstairs is chilly, and the 9TS has the heat in his room cranked to equator like temps . . . at that point we often nosh in there while watching Cash Cab. The sloth apparently, can see in the dark. Eating in the dark, is therefore no problem for him. I, on the other hand, am blind as a bat in the dark . . . and haven't any sonar . . . and like to see what I am putting in my mouth.

Finally, the other day, we found an el cheapo lamp that fit the bill. Strong enough to bring forth light into my world, high enough to clear the back of the recliner, spiffy enough to have passed the 9TS's discerning taste. In other words: it works!

I headed back upstairs to nurse my cold from the proximity of my bed and he to his room to put together said lamp.

A few minutes later, I look up to this:

I would like to say that this is a single episode. That this is a one time aberration. But the truth is, the 9TS is a nut. Certifiable. And these things happen with acute regularity. But since I love when he dances the South Philly shuffle through the kitchen, talks like Groucho Marx, quotes Bela Lugosi, and squints like Popeye, I should be used to his antics. I am not. They still catch me unaware and I chortle. Life is good even if there is no sanctity.

just do it . . .

for someone who likes, nay, requires their ducks to be in a row . . . a very straight row, with very even spacing, I am a huge procrastinator. I can put anything off. The problem being when you mix procrastination with ducks, chaos reigns. You're stuck in the land of procrast.a.duckin. A very bad place. A place causing major angst. Stress erupts. Nothing gets done and next thing you know, those darn ducks are swimming helter-skelter all over the pond.

And so, I have a new mantra. JUST DO IT! I started this morning and it works. Pass the litter box? Swoop in and clean it. Tired of looking at the wrench set for in-line skates sitting on the dryer? Scoop them up, along with the dusty old roll of electrical tape and put them where they belong in the garage. Easy.Peasy. It works in other rooms too. Dirty glass in the sink? Rinse that puppy out and slam dunk it into the dishwasher. Papers on the kitchen table that need to go upstairs? Give them a free ride.

All of a sudden those ducks are lining up in military order and the stress is seeping away better than a good warm bath. Oh, how wonderful it feels. Try it. I highly recommend it. Just do it!

cookie day . . .

today was THAT day . . . you know the one. It's the day around the holidays where the flour flies, the sugar glistens, the butter melts, the chips chop. COOKIE day is here.

So I went downstairs thinking I had purchased everything I needed for chocolate chip cookies, chocolate mint chip cookies and cinnamon oatmeal cookie bars. Seems my brain was not quite intact at the grocery store . . . not enough butter. Thankfully, the kidlet offered to run out for more . . . proving the lengths she will go for cookie dough. Remember, it is freezing out there!!!!

Any way, I managed to make quite a mess:

but when this is what comes out. Magic!

Now to guard them with my life until they can be distributed to the good doctor, her mighty minions, and Hope and Hannah at Carrabba's. And yes, kidlet, there are still some left over.

p.s. the cookie bars are still cooling and I am too lazy to go grab a shot . . . slug that I am.

one friday . . .

Since forever, I have dreamed of being rich and famous and having a three stone diamond ring on my right hand. Well, we all dream about something right?

Somewhere I mentioned it to the 9TS. I mean some fifteen or so years ago. And then maybe eleven years ago and maybe then three. It was never something really being on our agenda . . . that being the way of dreams.

Back up to a couple of weeks ago, the 9TS and I were found noshing down at Carrabba's as usual deciding what to do after dinner . . . the 9TS voting for a trip to the mall. As we were meandering through the Friday night shoppers, I realized I had lost the sloth. MIA. I turned and found him at a jewelry counter. Don't you dare I said . . . thinking of the siding that needs to be repaired. He smiled. Don't even think about it I snarled . . . thinking about the work needed doing in the bathroom. He grinned an evil grin.

Later, totally fascinated with the bling on my finger, the 9TS said to me: "When you get sad or upset, look at the ring and think of me. It will make you happy again." Is it any wonder I so deeply love the 9TS.

baby it's cold outside . . .

27 degrees to be exact and I am not getting out of bed. Well at least for another few minutes. I need to get the potatoes and carrots peeled, the corned beef in the crock pot, go visit my favorite other set of kitties, get cleaned up and ready for lunch with a friend, run to B&N for a present for the 9TS, come home and change my clothes, round up some kindling, bring in some wood, stack the fireplace for after dinner, dig out the marshmallow sticks, get dinner on the table, light that fire, light the tree, roast those marshmallows, grab a book, drink some wine, snuggle with a sloth and go to bed. Hum. I guess I better get up, it looks like it's going to be a good day in the neighborhood.

p.s. Mother Nature, if I did anything to offend you, I apologize. Deeply. Irrevocably.

you didn't see this . . .

Thanks to Kelli, I have been playing with Actions, all afternoon and I am smitten. I may never get off my computer now. She sent me to Pioneer Woman with a link to MCP ACTIONS. Free goodies abound. The first I snatched was the sharpening action. But since I am new to Actions, I was so happy to find this link as well from Jodi Friedman. And then of course I had to download PW's own Actions. YAY!!!!

And then I hauled out this shot taken with that lens that was not supposed to come out of its box but just happened to anyway . . . wink . . . wink. And ran Actions on it. I'm officially in love:

That shot was taken in the backyard. The bird feeder is about 18 feet up in the tree and I was half way across the yard. See where the woodpeckers have been chowing down? I will have to make a concerted effort to exercise more now that I am going to be a full time photoshop potato.

p.s. Katie made that bird house in shop in 7th grade. How cool is that?

beef stew 101 . . .

Are you paying attention Katie????

Ingredients:

2.5 pounds of lean stew beef. Go to the butcher. I promise it will be worth it.
1/3 cup all purpose flour.
1/3 cup olive oil. . . . yes I know it is supposed to be veggie oil, but trust me.
1 large onion, chopped . . . chop the onion and garlic before you start. And don't skip the onion. I promise when it is done, you won't know it was ever in there. OK?
3 garlic cloves, minced
4 teaspoons of beef bouillon granules . . . you can use the cubes but granulated is easier. I'm just saying.
1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground pepper. Now would be the time to invest in a pepper mill.
Six carrots, peeled and cut in chunks, yes you can cheat and buy the little baggie of pre-cuts but I know you aren't going to add them anyway . . .
1 small can peas . . . you aren't going to add them either.

Pull out a long sheet of waxed paper and lay it on the counter. Dump the flour on the paper and then coat all the beef pieces with it

and pile them on the side. Don't throw out the leftover flour, we're going to use it.

put half of the oil in a big old cast iron dutch oven, over medium high on the stove. As soon as it is hot, start browning the meat a few pieces at a time. Forget the few pieces . . . just fill up the bottom of the pot and keep turning them until all the sides are browned.

Take them out and stick them in a bowl big enough to hold them all and go back and do the next batch of meat until they are all browned. Reduce heat to medium.

To the drippings left in the pot, add the onion and garlic

and cook until the onion is almost clear.

Set the timer for 3 minutes and you will be fine. Stir in that left over flour. And mix it in well.

Gradually add the water, bouillon, Worcestershire, and pepper until the gravy starts to get thick. This will take about 5 minutes.

Add the meat back into the pot. Stir. Heat until it starts to boil, then turn down the heat to low.

Put on the cover and set the timer for 2.5 hours. Evoke the house rule. Whoever walks by the pot needs to stir it. Or every 15 minutes or so.

OK, Katie, for you, it needs to keep cooking another half hour and you will be done. So now is the time to put an almost full pot of water on to boil . . . high . . . add a tablespoon of salt to the water. It'll take almost 15 minutes for it to come to a boil. When it does, add the egg noodles, stir and set the timer for 15 minutes or whatever the package says. Keep an eye on it and stir it occasionally so the noodles don't stick. When the noodles are done, drain them into a colander, slap those puppies onto a plate and add the stew on top. Yummo.

Now, for anyone else that may be interested. Add the carrot chunks and over medium heat, bring to a boil. Reduce the heat back to low, cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Pop the can of peas, add them into the pot and simmer another 10 minutes. Now you are back in step with Katie.

Enjoy.

he who cleans up rather well . . .

we attended a funeral this morning. The gentleman who owns the gym that the 9TS frequents, lost his precious wife to leukemia. She battled long and hard. Truth be known, her letting go was a blessing. The church was packed. Friends, relatives, fellow gym rats . . . so many people there to say goodbye. Sigh.

And of course we donned our Sunday best to pay our respects. The 9TS in a black suit and I in appropriate attire. I wanted a shot of the 9TS all duded up. He looked like he did when I first fell in love with him. All spiffy and wonderful. He was not in the mood.

After the service, we came home to change and headed out to lunch and to run some errands. Almost back, he muttered something about if I really wanted a shot of him dressed to the 9's, he would redress. You don't have to ask me twice. And so I got this:

But sneaked this in first:

but just so you recognize that this is still the 9TS, if I drop the camera just a little, you see this:

and just so you know, he really did wear a full suit to the funeral, dress sock and black shoes . . . it just was too much to ask for the after shots. *snort*

a book on every bed and other things . . .

One of the women in my on-line group posted this article the other day and I can't get it out of my brain. I love books and think everyone should have the opportunity to love them too. Know someone little? Wrap a book and give it to them for Christmas. It doesn't have to be new. Just wrap and give.

And this started me thinking about books and my kidlet. Oh, this is going to be one long post. You can give up here if you'd like. No hard feelings.

I read to my kidlet every night. It was a routine. And especially when I had to go back to work when she was two, it gave us precious time together. I would read and she would turn the pages when asked. And since I traveled a bit, I made a tape of her favorite Dr. Seuss books for her to "read" while I was gone. To make sure she knew when to turn the pages, I had her ring a little bell at the right time. At the turning of the first page, you can hear her ringing the bell like mad.

Although we read every night, I made no attempt to teach her to read. I had no idea how to approach it and decided it was best left to the experts. About half way through kindergarten, we were driving down the town's main drag, having just left Books A Million with a copy of Go Away, Big Green Monster!, and my kidlet starts "reading" aloud in the backseat. She stopped and asked what a word meant. Suddenly, it had clicked. She was actually reading the book. I almost swerved off the road trying to comprehend the event. The next day, book in hand, she marched into Mrs. Hendren's kindergarten class and made her announcement, "I can read!" Mrs. Hendren looked at me with a sparkle in her eye and told me she had known Katie was on the brink of getting it. Katie was so happy, in class tradition, to be able to read her book to the class. And she never stopped reading, which brings us to Mrs. Wyland and her 4th grade Wizards.

What's not to adore? Mrs. Wyland was the quintessential elementary school teacher. She is the one you remember long after you have graduated from school and reflect back over your past educators and think, she is the one who turned on all the light bulbs. In fact, when Katie graduated from high school she and some friends, gathered as many of their 4th grade classmates that they could rustle up and went to thank her for being . . . well for being Mrs. Wyland. She was not at school. So like her, she had taken a few of her students to lunch. Cell phones in hand, they broke into groups and canvased the nearby restaurants until she was spotted at Panera's. En masse, they walked in greeting Mrs. Wyland with huge grins and hugs. She meant that much to that many kids. WOW!

But I digress. The reason I mention Mrs. Wyland has to do with the Accelerated Reading Program at the school. Books were read and tests taken to measure comprehension. The books were assessed points based on difficulty. The more books you read at a higher level, the higher your scores, the farther up on the chart your name went. My kidlet was bemoaning the fact that the top competitors were all boys, upon which Mrs. Wyland told her there was no reason a girls name couldn't be up there too. Wink, wink! That was all it took for my competitive child to launch double fold into books. While she never did catch Jamie Chapin, she reached number two and happily announced a girl could do whatever she put her mind to.

p.s. she is still reading. When she comes home from college, I find books laying all over the place. They clutter her room, roosting on window sills, table tops and floors. They also reside inside her iPod Touch. She is having a love affair with the written word and I couldn't be happier.

shhhhhhhhhhh . . .

my Christmas present came in the mail today. And since there is only a 48 hour window to return damaged merchandise . . . well, you can see the pickle I was in. I mean seriously, what were my options? And it's not exactly like I didn't know what I was getting. Right? So do you blame me if there was a little slit in the packaging here and a little loosening of some tape there until sitting in my hands was a brand new AF18-270mm F/3.5-6.3 Di11 VC lens. It was begging me for a test drive. "Shoot with me." "Let me show you what I can do." "You know you want to." . . . said the saucy little mechanism. And so I did. Just a couple of frames to check it out. Making sure all was right. YES!!!

And while I understand that it is not the type of lens a professional would use, it will be perfect for me. For 12 years, I schlepped around its second cousin, thrice removed. I was a one lens momma with my spiffy 28/300, but alas, it died as technology passed it up and left it in the dust by the side of the road. Not that it didn't take spectacular shots in its heyday. But it being an experimental crossover lens made for both film and digital, it was out of its league by the time my Canon EOS 50D came along.

But this puppy? It shoots clear, crisp shots. I am back in business. Of course, it won't be my only lens, I am quite enthralled with what my 50mm can do. But no more switching back and forth with different size lenses in one outing . . .

To be sure, the lens is neatly back in all of its wrapping mumbling, "Let me out again. Let me OUT! I will suffocate before the 25th." But a deal is a deal and it will just have to adjust and wait for Christmas like everyone else.

Christmas is taking over . . .

My cards are finally done and addressed.

The tree is up and trimmed.

Most of the presents are purchased.

I still need to find a few more stocking stuffers.

Christmas Eve dinner needs to be planned even though the 9TS does the cooking. I, being totally lost when it comes to the Feast of the Seven Fishes . . . his job.

Christmas dinner needs to be planned . . . my job.

We did some running around today and then because of the cold.cold.coldness outside, I built this for the 9TS so he would be toasty warm when he came home from the gym:

and it seems someone else enjoyed her very first fire:

and slept and slept and slept some more.

but seriously, what else is better in front of roaring fire . . . even the 9TS snored for a bit.

Wishing you warmth and a long lovely nap this nippy winter.

technology . . .

I just noticed that three items occupy my bed most often . . . other than people or miniature woolly mammoths:

And when I think back, I have to translate them to this.

The Hermes 3000 was my going away to college present. I had taken one typing class in 7th grade which I missed failing completely by the skin of my teeth. Why are all the keys blank, she kept whining. I was never much of a typist even through the advent of the IBM Selectric and the first non-windows based computers. Finally somewhere in desperation at my job, I learned fairly well, but that was after some 40+ years of trying. Now, my laptop and I are inseparable. I can finally type.sort.of.

My father gave me my first phone for my 13th birthday. Back in 1962, you did not buy phones per se. They were rented from the phone company. But, knowing how desperately I wanted my own line, he managed to buy this puppy on the black market from Canada:

Oh, how I loved sitting on my bed, tethered to this phone, chatting with Lolly and Kris. Life was excellent. As you can see, I still have the beast and it sits in my living room. Up until a few years ago, it still worked. Now you can no longer dial out but it still receives incoming calls. (Note: a friend changed the wiring back in the 70's, relieving it of its 4 prong plug and installing a newer snap jack.) So how amazing is it that one can now send emails from their phone, it even replaces this little bit of goodness from my childhood:

And speaking of emails, I finally figured out how to send one from my Nook. Ask Kelli, she was the recipient. Which of course brings me to the third item. My Nook. I have been a reader since forever. I remember my father lamenting when I was five that all I read were comic books. My mother's reply was: leave her alone, at least she is reading. And read I did. One day, at age seven, I picked up a copy of the latest book my mother was wading through and started to read. I was well into the first chapter when she noticed. You're not reading that are you, she asked? Why yes, I replied. Tell me what it's about she demanded. Once I told her, she snatched away the book, drove madly to the library, signed me up for my own card and pointedly headed me to the children's section. snort. But books have always been important. How can they not be. So again, the form may have changed but my love of reading has not.

Which all makes me wonder what will be on my bed when I turn 82?

out takes . . .

when the bottom string of lights on your pre-lit tree don't work, you haul out an old box of never been used lights to add . . . the never before used lights have one dead string . . . the 9TS departs for Lowe's

you search for the bad bulb and find a little kitten face halfway up the tree looking down at you

the tree apron smells suspiciously like the poor departed Snoop had watered it last year . . . into the washing machine it goes.

you wonder why the bacon you fried for tonight's bacon cheeseburger's came out like beef jerky and the 9TS is snickering because he can't eat the bacon or the cheese . . .

yesterday, you missed the UPS man and now you have to wait for him to come round the circle again tonight or we'll be short one very important Christmas present.

you've hidden the 9TS's present in the under-the-stairs closet and now he is making noises like we should clean it out for the first time in 15 years . . .

p.s. for the very first time, I kept my hoard of special memory ornaments in their boxes and opted instead for plastic bulbs from Wally World.   Now when Pip bats an ornament off the tree, they bounce and she runs and hides.   I should have done this years ago whenever there was a kitten in residence . . .

winter . . .

Monday morning I tooled to the grocery store in a sleeveless blouse with the top down on the Miata, loving the magical 80+ degree weather in November. Apparently, my thoughts thoroughly ticked off Mother Nature because today looks more like this:

and truth be told, our small town doesn't have stats like this so I stole these from Orlando which is always a few degrees warmer than here.

So I think I will stay tucked under the covers for a bit longer before I try to remember where I packed last winter's mukluks, long johns and sherpa coats . . . brrrrrrrrrr.

But on a better note, it has put me in the mood to make my Christmas cards this year . . . something that didn't happen last year in the midst of all the 9TS drama. Look for super fat envies in your mailbox . . .

duh . . .

Two days ago, I realized I was missing a pillowcase. I couldn't begin to think where it could be since I am an . . . out of the dryer . . . onto the bed . . . kind of gal. The only possibility was that it had gotten caught up in the sheets themselves when I made the bed. They must be tucked in at the foot somewhere. Imagine my confoundment when I stripped the bed this morning and there was no second pillow case among the sheets. Nada. Very perplexing. So I carried the sheets and the one remaining case to the laundry room and headed back to bed to work on a CS4 project. Curiously, as I looked carefully at my pillow, it was still encased. DUH! I'd managed to put both cases on the same pillow. GAH!!!!

Old age is getting scary.

testing . . .

I made a very simple paper pack with a woven texture, up loaded it here and am hoping it works. If it does, enjoy. If not, well, it's back to the drawing board.

Sample:

complete pack:

Thanks for looking.

This year for the first time, I actually attempted a table scape. Only out of sheer laziness. Somewhere in my surfing, I had found a photo using brown paper as a table cloth. Hum, no laundry. Hum, we still have that huge roll of paper from my dad, in the garage. And so, my table looked something like this:

and this:

and this:

and the napkins from the last post repeated:

clean up was a snap!!!!

Katie snapped a shot of my magic list . . . that which gets the food on the table, at the same time all hot from the oven. And yes, I am a little . . . anal. Sigh.


but soon this:

became this:

and all was right with the world.

Thanksgiving . . .

This day of days makes me feel warm and loved. I start cooking the night before and then all through Thanksgiving Day, but it isn't about the food, it's about the people . . . family. They gather round the TV watching the game until dinner is ready . . . those that aren't bustling around in the kitchen. And then everything comes together and there we are, seated around the table, sharing what we have to be grateful for and tucking into dinner. Lots of ribbing between siblings, teasing between spouses, catching up with grandchildren, students home from college. The house is humming with good cheer. What could possibly be better?

And now, with some headed home, and most enjoying the old cars at Turkey Rod Run, I sit in my room, listening to the silence of a house that is a home and I am grateful . . . for the 9TS, for my kidlet and the boy who makes her happy, for relatives and friends, for peace of mind. For the days we have left in which to grow older.

This truly is my day.

what am I forgetting . . . .

onion dip and chips
honey baked ham
roasted turkey with stuffing
mashed potatoes with gravy
roasted brussel sprouts
pickled beets
deviled eggs
romaine and tomato salad
cranberry sauce
rolls and butter
hot apple crisp with vanilla ice cream
carmel nut brownies
pumpkin pie with whipped cream



To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven. ~Johannes A. Gaertner

more thievery and other things . . .

I told you I thought Karen's photo was the epitome of Thanksgiving . . . and so this morning, I reduced the shot, added names and made them into place cards/ napkin rings. How much to I love these babies?!?!?! Oh yeah!!!!

Thank you so very much for sharing, Karen!!!!

Monday, I finally got around to painting the second wall in the kidlet's room. I've only been talking about it forever. Procrastination being what it is, the new floor went in before I got a chance to get the painting done.

This morning didn't start off too well. The shells of my hard boiled eggs stuck to the eggs like they were super glued. They may look a little rough around the edges and Martha may have chucked them out, but I put them through a test run and they taste scrum.de.da.licious.

Then I hopped into my little Miata to go pick up the ham but it was riding funny. Of course it would, it had a flat. Thankfully, Mr. Edward Bass, came to my rescue with his handy dandy compressor and I was off to the tire store where I was met by the 9TS . . . who had previously been at the gym . . . and we finished the errands.

I think I will go back to bed just so nothing else happens . . .

thievery . . .

I was over at Karen's blog again this morning. I love starting my morning checking out her photography. Today, her 'daily' picture spoke to me:

Me: Stunning.
Photo: Why thank you.
Me: Riveting
Photo: Thank you again . . . . *while blushing*
Me: You are the epitome of Thanksgiving. The subject matter, the coloring, the warmth.
Photo: *blushing deeply now*
Me: You need to be framed.
Photo: OK, now you are creeping me out.
Me: Don't be freaked. I am just admiring you.
Photo: Could you do it from a little further away please?
Me: I think I will steal you.
Photo: Karen, HELP!!!! There is a crazy lady trying to heist me.
Me: Only so more can share in your loveliness.

and so I did.

Is this not an amazing shot? Love it.

my annual holiday rants . . .

My neighbors put up their outdoor Christmas decorations yesterday. It's not even Thanksgiving. Can't we please wait?!?!?! Why do we have to rush into Christmas before we have had a chance to give our thanks for all of the years blessings?

OK, maybe it is a particularly sore subject with me because I love Thanksgiving so much. It is my favorite holiday . . . bar none. Christmas is nice but Thanksgiving, with all the family settled in around a bountiful table, just warms my heart. No one expects presents. No one has to spend a fortune. We just enjoy.

End of that rant and on to the next:

Seasons Greetings. I have come to despise that tiny two word sentence. I celebrate Christmas. One of the things I love about the end of December is the ability to wave to a friend and wish them Merry Christmas. It is a reminder of what Christmas means to me. Seasons Greetings is politically correct but oh so benign. Wish me Merry Christmas when the time comes. Please.

Now I am not so narrow that I don't realize that there are other faiths celebrating their special rituals as well and nothing warms my heart again, as much as being able to wish a Jewish friend, Happy Hanukkah. I want them to enjoy their faith. I want to share if I can. And if by chance, someone wishes me Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa. Hooray! I totally get that they are passing their feeling of warmth and pride to me and mine. What a wonderful sharing. The generic Seasons Greetings falls quite flat.

So when I go grocery shopping and someone calls out Seasons Greetings, I wave and wish them Merry Christmas. If I goof and they are not of the Christian faith, I hope they understand that I just want to share good cheer, my jubilation, my wishes for a blessed day.

I understand that many store employees have been instructed to use the more PC verbiage but I love how in response to my greetings, heads come up, eyes meet and out pops: Merry Christmas to you too. So I am not alone in this rant.

And in case I don't get to see you over the holiday, Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas one and all . . .

the dust bowl . . .

Over the river and through the woods to Renninger's Fair we go . . . I love this place. And the weather, as we left home, was g.o.r.g.e.o.u.s. Tooling down the interstate . . . 76 degrees . . . top down. PERFECTO! Then one little cloud appeared. And another. A few more joined in the fun. As we left I-4 and headed down back roads, they had called in the relatives. It was a family reunion. A very large reunion. More and more clouds billowed their way over until finally, it was overcast and gray. Spitting just a bit. I only mention this to explain why today's blog will not have any pictures.

But it was still fun. We wandered through the upper banks of flea market plots, noshed on pulled pork sammies, wandered down to the antique area and generally had a good time. The 9TS found an ancient billy club that begged for a spot in his man-room and I scored a Mexican sugar form. I've been wanting one for the dining room table. Check back for T-day photos to see it in action!

We always take the back roads coming home and stop at Sonic for refueling . . . us, not the car. It's a ritual. Yummo.

Now here's the thing about Florida. This time of year, we are in drought. So we knew ahead of time that the fair grounds were going to be a dust bowl. The options for footwear are divided. Do you wear sneaks and come home with them two pounds heavier for all the dirt they have collected, or do you wear flops and just know that at least a pound of dirt will be headed down the bathtub drain??? The 9TS opted for sneaks. I took the path less traveled. Talk about grubby. I have not been this dirty since I was five and we were fascinated with the creatures that lived under rocks in Haycock Brook. We'd shed our Keds, slosh through the stream, unearthing crawdads and other crustaceans. Clay would ooze through our toes and splatter onto our legs, red dust would accumulate in two round ovals on our bottoms as we squatted along the banks. Nothing says fun like dirty feet and that applies to five year olds as well as 62 year olds. Just so you know.

another day in paradise . . .

I am happily stuffed full of lobster bisque. Yup, I went back up to the Flagler Farmer's market and dragged Joanie with me. I also ended up following my friend, Robin up A1A. So Robin met Joanie and Joanie met Robin and all was right with my world.

I can't figure out my penchant for veggie shots, but I took some more:

And even some yucca!

and a lot more that I will spare you.

The market was much more lively early Friday morning than late Saturday. There was a steel drum player at one end, and a pan flute player on the other. Note the horns in the top left of the photo?

now see what happens when you change position but forget to check composition? The poor guy grows horns!! Sigh.

So after snatching up two more loaves of fresh baked bread, some yummy looking asparagus, and a few more tomatoes, we went on to phase two of our jaunt, which was to walk the Flagler bridge.
Nice view over the inter-coastal:

and here is someone's home. We spied it as we crossed a lower basin. My guess is wood peckers. But heck, it could be those darn puce spotted striped armadillos . . .

At the base of the other side of the bridge, I caught this shot of the supports.

and back over the bridge, I had to catch Joanie and the ocean:

and last but not least, this poor little bit of brightness, growing where nothing else would grow, right in the middle of nowhere:

A quick round of a few shops, my take-a-way soup and we were headed back home.