home . . .

When I was seven, my parents went for a walk around the lake and came home having bought a house. One they assured my sister and me, we would adore. Wide eyed and in utter panic, I flew up the stairs and into my room tucked under the eaves. I hid under the covers, one eye peeking out trying to burn the rose trellis wallpaper into my brain for all eternity. How could they have done this? How could I leave my room, my home, my walk through the woods to school, the porch out back from which we fed Skippy the squirrel? It had taken months of perseverance to get that greedy gray rodent to eat from our outstretched fingers.

I won't go. I crept out of bed and put on my Gene Autry copy of Back in the Saddle Again, volume full blast. They can't make me!

But of course they could, unless I wanted to live in the woods and eat berries and roots. And Ricky, my very best friend, who had lived next door, had already been forced by his parents out of his childhood home and to the lake. Ricky and I were blood brothers, his grandfather having officiated. And now he was some endless five miles away. There was nothing to be done but grudgingly climb into the backseat of the teal on white, 1953 Plymouth and follow the van down to the lake.

My sister having not been quite so obstinate, had been with my parents to see the new house prior to the move. As we walked though the front door and down the hall, she pointed out my parents bedroom and then the next. She asked if I liked it and I admitted it was OK. "It's yours," she announced. "The next one is mine." And sure enough she had already staked out the lake front bedroom with her toys. Cross ventilation I would learn as summer consumed us, was tantamount to today's air conditioning. And the sweet breeze off the lake made me fume with jealously as I passed her room.

But the lake house did have its advantages. On miserably humid summer nights, when sleep was so elusive, my parents would walk us three doors down, to the sandy beach and let us swim in our pajamas, until our bodies were washed of the heat and sweat and could finally, exhausted, tumble into dreams.

Lolly, my sidekick and I played for hours in the lake . . . swimming, sailing or skating. It was, of course, the best playground ever. By the time we were twelve, we were invincible on the water. We'd wait for white caps before we'd raise the sail on the Snark and scream on long tacks across the lake, hiking out to keep the little boat a keel. Always up for impromptu games of ice hockey, we had matching scars under our chins from the many face plants on black ice.

But still, all these many years later, I remember that salt box house my parents built in 1942 on the dead end of Cedar Road. I can still picture the pine paneled rooms, the black charred bricks above the fireplace, even the eerie unfinished basement crammed with dusty jars of canned peaches, tomatoes and sweet relish. It was home.

EDIT:

We went north in the summer of 2003. There was no way, I was going to be so close and not visit my childhood home. The older shots are from the early spring of 1942 when the house was built. The other two, I took on site. It appears the current owners love it just as much as I did.

Friday . . .

FOR TODAY 1:29:2010 at Or Just Me

Outside my window: the world is warming up. The sky is seeping blue among the clouds. It's bright and gorgeous and I am so thankful to have a window from which to peek.

I am thinking: how sad it is that J.D. Salinger passed away. He was my favorite recluse ever. He has left behind a legacy of words for all ages.

I am thankful for: the return of good health, weight loss, fuzzy animals and a good nights sleep.

From the kitchen: I can see the Christmas cactus leaves strewn all over the floor. Bear, it seems, likes to gnaw on the poor plant. A new home must be found for the poor cacti before it is devoid of all foliage.

I am wearing: oops, the same exact thing I was wearing last week: an old pair of the 9TS's flannel black and white checked pj bottoms and a black comfy shirt. Bare toes. Never fear, I will soon hop in the shower and get cleaned up . . . . and yes, they have been through the washer several times in the last week.

I am creating: a new camera strap cover. See post below.

I am going: to dinner at Carrabba's tonight. I so missed last week's Friday night meal. A side of spaghetti and a cup of minestrone sounds perfect, oh and warm bread and wine. Must not forget the wine.

I am reading: Nie Nie Dialogues. Such an amazingly strong soul. Such faith. I am in awe of this child.

I am feeling: a little overwhelmed at all the things that need catching up. Gulp.

I am wondering: What life would have been like had I been a little less hedonistic and a little more practical?

Around the house: the cat hair has reached such a volume that I am expecting a new litter to appear any second. The kitchen floor is now growing its own vegetables. I can write messages on the table tops. The bills need to be paid. I need to get in motion.

one itch scritched . . .

Finally!!!! Last night I did the math . . . whew, that was a mental work out, fractions never having been my BFF! and made the pattern for my camera strap cover.

Today, it was cut:



and sew:



and ta da!!!!



a camera strap cover which is . . . at this very moment . . . being licking and bathed by one little black cat.

So, OK, I didn't follow the directions explicitly . . . or at all for that matter. It was more of a fly by the seat of the pants thing. I should have read the directions. You know I should have. It's a little snug but otherwise perfect and I love it.

I will repeat the process . . . albeit a tad wider . . . later on in the weekend and make the 9TS one too.

Aw, that itch feels so much better having been scritched . . .

a little of this . . . a little of that . . .

• vinaigrette trial #1: Balsamic vinegar, EVOO, oregano, basil, salt, pepper. Took some getting used to. The balsamic vinegar is too strong for everyday use. And, of course, the garlic was missing. What was I thinking? No garlic!!!! The chicken, cucumbers, tomatoes and black olives were still delicious.
  

• We ran errands this afternoon which included a trip to the fish market. I love that we can go eeney, meanie, miney, mo and pick out dinner not long from the sea. Not so much liking the fish laying in rows staring back at me. Creepy!!!! For the 9TS, seared sea scallops. For moi, fresh grilled swordfish lightly seasoned. Roasted acorn squash with brown sugar and a pair of baked taters. Good thing I have this odd little quirk that makes me love a good ole' plain naked tater. I will not be jealous when the 9TS slathers on the Land O' Lakes lite butter and the not so lite sour cream.

• I think the heater has gone wonky. While we normally roast upstairs while getting frost bitten downstairs, the house is now virtually the same temperature all over. Hum! We have entered Oz.
  

• Also bought some goodies for crafting today. Finally, I am getting closer to scratching that itch.
  

definition of a dork . . . .

someone who disperses a long, bright blue, glittery stream of Crest Pro Health down the shin of his/her leg thinking it is Eucerin .

I'm just saying . . .

filled up . . .

fresh sliced yellow crookneck squash and zucchini, quartered mushrooms, onions and tomatoes drizzled in olive oil, sprinkled with oregano, basil, parsley and garlic salt, all grilled to perfection . . . a pound of whole garlic gloves, a little olive oil, pasta and parmigiano-reggiano. Mix it all up and . . . slurp. Good eats. Finish it with a little no-fat, high WISC raspberry yogurt and I am blissful.

insomnia . . .

makes the mind wander. And when you have an already strange mind, the places it goes are, well, strange.

*High fructose corn syrup, hereby referred to as the wolf in sheep's clothing, is being blamed for obesity. It seems that unlike cane or beet sugar, it neglects to tell some little something-0r-other called Leptin that we are now full. Stop eating. And so we keep gorging. It also seems that once you mix WISC and fat/butter, once again the message is . . . keep eating until you waddle. At the grocery store this morning I was looking for a fat free salad dressing. There are a ton of them. And the very first ingredient after water is . . . WISC. I think I'm making my own dressing from now on. Oh and by the way. WISC lurks in mustard, catchup and fat-free yogurt. Burp!

*There seems to be a rule. Thirty minutes after you finish your third coat of Pink Crystalline, you are going to stub your toe and break a nail. Want ten broken toe nails? Keep painting girls!

*Making my own Christmas cards was not on the agenda this year. I decided instead that I would make New Year's cards. That didn't fly either. Valentine's cards would not work for the majority of folks on my list. Sort of inappropriate to send to my step-brother, banker or vet . . . although I do adore my vet. St. Patrick's? Easter? Memorial Day? Maybe Memorial Day . . . in memory of the cards that never went out. Hoping that one day soon a spurt of creativity will hit and little goodies will appear in select mailboxes throughout the US and Canada. Sigh!

*If you stay up late enough, the cats seem to think they are entitled to be fed a third time. Ninja just looks longingly into your eyes and salivates . . . leaving a small wet puddle on the flannel sheets. Bear is a little more forceful. He wanders over and nudges my head . . . chews on my hair and licks my neck. Snoop is the vocal one. He has a rather large vocabulary and a very definite "feed me now" cry. It's a virtual three ring circus. No wonder I can't sleep!

*You wonder if you'll ever learn the proper use of the apostrophe.

Enough! I'm off to la la land. Hopefully!

yummo . . .

OK, so I can't have fat for a while. I can eat fruit. I happen to love fruit. And chicken. I love grilled chicken and grilled veggies. And no-fat yogurt . . . I like that too. And grilled salmon . . . an explosion for the mouth. But, what I really want, I mean really, really want, is a pizza. A nice hot ooey gooey pizza, heaped with pepperoni and extra mozzarella.

However, the afore mentioned pizza is NOT on my diet. So I hedged my bets and tried something new. Gasp! Pizza with roasted garlic, basil, oregano and tomato. No cheese. No sauce. Perfecto!!
Way too good to have stayed hidden so long.

it's friday once again . . .

FOR TODAY 1:22:2010 at Or Just Me

Outside my window: I see the sun finally shining after last night's barrage of thunderstorms. It's as if a new world has awoken in technicolor green.

I am thinking: I have not once gotten sick since parting company with my GB. How nice that feels. I can't remember the last time I ate and it didn't happen.

I am thankful for: the 9TS who is taking care of me while I regroup.

From the kitchen: I can see the stacked dishes for last nights dinner, all clean and stacked by the 9TS.

I am wearing: an old pair of the 9TS's flannel black and white checked pj bottoms and a black comfy shirt. Bare toes.

I am creating: a mess is CS4

I am going: to go nowhere special. From the bed to the chair to the couch to the bed ad infinitum . . .

I am reading: my favorite blogs and chuckling at the antics of their authors.

I am hoping: I will be up and around this weekend. I have chaos to create after all.

I am hearing: the sounds of happy birds outside my window. I think they too are glad the storms have passed.

Around the house: the cats are napping on my bed. Its a good thing its a king size bed. It gets quite crowded at times.

retail therapy . . .

my gall bladder and I have successfully parted company. He to the great medical waste pile in the sky and I to the dizzying world of versed and oxycodone . . .

So I get to blabber, make typos and generally misbehave and blame it on the pharmaceuticals. Hooray.

Oh, and it's fun to shop on line while under the influence. Katie Pertiet, Julia Makotinsky, Lynne Grieveson, Gretchen Thomas and Dana Zarling . . . I salute you! The absolute wonder of pushing a few keys and having digi goodness delivered instantaneously. WOW!!! It totally makes up for not being able to drive for another 24 hours, the four holes in my tummy and the fat free diet I have to follow for six more weeks. Bleck!

On second thought, I might need a lot more retail therapy to make up for the missing MickeyD's, Polo Rosa Maria's and Five Guys fries. A lot more . . . .

I think it's time for another nap. Adios friends. Adios.

the case of the missing . . .

yoga pants!

Last summer's yoga hiatus ended August 8th. And that morning found me frantically rummaging through the contents of my closet and bureau searching for my yoga pants. When they failed to make an appearance, I pleaded with the 9TS to go excavating through his closet. While that produced some long forgotten duds and a dusty cotillion gown . . . Katie's not his . . . there were no yoga pants. In desperation, I wore a pair of baggy tie pants.

Upon arriving home, I hunted in earnest. Tossing and amassing a pile of everything but the darn pants. Where were they?

They apparently eloped with the odd sock that went into the wash as a couple and came out divorced and newly single. They were never heard from again. It was sad.

Seven stores and 3,972 try-ons later, I found a pair that actually fit at Target. Happiness. I snatched up two pairs.

Fast forward to this morning. One of the two pairs was missing. I followed the drill. I even woke the visiting kidlet to see if she had seen the elusive knickers. She simply rolled her eyes and went back to sleep. After 21 years, she is no longer phased by me. Sigh.

Did I mention I even ran outside in my pj's and dumpster dived into our trashcan hoping to poke though the egg shells and molding marinara before the garbage men caught me? Embarrassing.

Wearing my backup pair, I trudged off to class bemoaning my mystification to my yoga bud, Joanie.

One point five hours, two cobras, three locusts, four storks, and various and sundry other members of the zoological species who attend my class with me, later, I was packing up my mats and to my utter amazement discovered the missing pants in the bottom of my bag. I had forgotten it was so cold last week, I had brought along a pair of jeans and changed in the bathroom before lunch. Oh happy day!!!!

My first pair however are still MIA. If you see them wandering down the street, would you please point them south? Thank you!

oh, oh, oh . . .

I am so excited. I found this very cool link and immediately ran out to buy some fabric. While perusing the aisles, the 9TS found some black corduroy and next thing you know . . . I have two camera straps on my agenda. Can't wait!

Just need to say a prayer to the sewing machine Gods that my vintage 1957 Singer, which I inherited from my mother, will behave itself long enough to get the job done. It too has the hiccups. It seems to want its cord plugged in just so, or it scrunches up into a metal ball and refuses to start. Sigh.

Will post my attempt soon.

perseverance and PC's . . .

I'm not giving up until I get a good bowl of white bean and ham soup. If you remember, the last time was a debacle . . . even the 9TS couldn't finish his bowl and he will eat anything.

So I'm back to dicing up the onions, celery and carrots . . . and garlic . . . always the garlic. Chopping the ham, rinsing and draining the beans, adding the salt, pepper, bay leaves and patiently waiting for the next 2.5 hours while it simmers away. It the meantime, I have to say it is making the house smell full of culinary goodness. Fingers crossed.

On another note, my laptop has the hiccups. Sometimes it needs to know what its own operating system is before it opens. I patiently remind it that it is a PC running XP. Yesterday it decided to tell me I was holding down the CTRL key. I begged to differ. I was not. Finally, it relented and let me type once more. Then it had an altercation with its own pop-up blockers. I took a ring side seat until I realized it would go into extra rounds if I didn't step in and break them up.

I think old age is catching up with it. It is after all, pushing four years old. I am, as we speak, downloading everything on it to my new EHD, in case it goes into cardiac arrest. Poor thing. But that leads me to another quandary: PC vs. MAC.

Katie loves her MAC. Most everyone at the Spraground has fallen under its spell. The biggest draw back I see is the initial cost of new software: CS4, Ai, ACDsee. I'd need them all. And can I, another old battle axe, learn a new system. Yes, everyone says MAC is very intuitive but, unfortunately, I am not. See the problem?

I'll let you know how the soup turns out.

EDIT:

just starting to cook:



happily simmering away:



looking good, smelling good . . . taste eh.



at least the 9TS ate it this time. Round #3 to be continued . . .

a simple woman . . .

I tripped over this lovely, new to me, idea while rummaging around Karenika's blog. It's called The Simple Woman's Daybook and will be perfect for crafting an album at the end of the year. And yes, true to form, I am late getting started. My goal is to fill in the blanks once a week.

FOR TODAY 1:15:2010 at Or Just Me

Outside my window: I see my circle. A place where friends, neighbors and oddballs co-exist haphazardly.

I am thinking: how nice it is that the weather has turned and I can smell the warm earth once again

I am thankful for: the giggle in the back of my throat created by a little black cat who stole my daughters headband off the bathroom sink and played with it for a very long time.

From the kitchen: I can see my attempts to tidy things up but still the sink houses the 9TS's empty coffee cup.

I am wearing: my LLBean slippers which keep my toes toasty, a pair of worn jeans and a ratty old ON T-Shirt. Hum, nothing new there.

I am creating: an idea to stave off my cravings for inky fingers and textured paper.

I am going: to Carrabba's for dinner tonight. A Friday night ritual around here. A little Polo Rosa Maria is good for the soul.

I am reading: the currently directory of my college update. It struck me sad to learn that an old acquaintance had passed away. All these years later, she was still into the metaphysical.

I am hoping: all goes well next Wednesday when my gall bladder and I part company.

I am hearing: the sounds of an empty house. Familiar hums and whirs of motors that tell me all is well

Around the house: the cats are napping on various beds, sprawled out, comfortable, slightly snoring.

One of my favorite things: is to listen to that quiet.

A few plans for the rest of the week: running errands tomorrow, lunch at Panera's, making homemade soup for dinner tomorrow night

Here is picture for thought I am sharing:



That's it. So go check out the link. Join in. Peace out.

namaste . . .

another day of sub freezing temperatures . . . another fire roaring on the hearth . . .

Today is yoga day. The heat was not working in our new digs. Fleece vests, socks and all types of other warm accouterments never left our bodies. Shavasa was cut short so we didn't freeze to the floor.

Conversation at our post lunch was much warmer. I love that three different women of relatively the same age bring such varying points of view to the table . . . pardon the pun. That a conversation can be had that may raise eyebrows but is never taken personally. I learn something every week from these women . . . perspectives . . . attitudes. Glimpses into pockets of their lives. I find it . . . frankly . . . enriching.

So as I sit drowsily in front of the fire, full of an eased spirit, a full stomach and a happy heart, I need to thank these women . . . these neighbors . . . these friends, who add to my life. Here's to Nancy and Joanie. Namaste!

rewind . . .

It is below freezing and the sun is out. I'm blaming Kelli; she's the one who ticked off Mother Nature. I'm thinking she needs to go make nice . . . snort!

All this graupel/snow/pellet/sleet *&^%$% is sitting on the 9TS's last nerve and when he gets unhappy, we are all unhappy. And of course it didn't help that there were eagle feathers all over the field last night. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

So I think I will just hit rewind and go back to week before last when Joanie and I hit the Farmer's Market. Just look at these goodies:



(and if the color is a little off, it might have been that someone forgot to change the setting from indoor light . . . I'm just saying . . . )

and these:



and for pure goodness, these:



and of course some tangerines:



and white eggplant:



and of course I had to have a glass of fresh squeezed juice. The oranges were picked the night before and juiced that morning. I wanted to take that lady home with me.

And homemade Biscotti, for the 9TS of course. Oh, and speaking of which . . . . scour your supermarket shelves for Nonni's Biscotti . . . . the Turtle variety . . . . manna from heaven . . . . a sweet little biscotto . . . singular of biscotti . . . layered with caramel and chocolate. Bliss.

Sigh, spring is coming. It is, isn't it Kel?!?!

brrrrrrrr . . . .

Yesterday, the weatherman said we were going to get graupel. Huh? Now I may live in the south but I was born and raised a little higher on the map. Snow territory. Blizzard land. Black ice. You got the picture. But what the heck is graupel. I had to look it up.

graupel:

A small, white ice particle that falls as precipitation and breaks apart easily when it lands on a surface. Also called snow pellet, soft hail.

Well, then this must be it:



and this:



and I wasn't going out any farther to investigate. It is cold out there.

So wherever you are, bundle up, grab a cup of hot chocolate, stoke the fire, snatch a good book and enjoy.

Peace out . . . as the kidlet would say.

just thought I would mention . . .

This woman . . .



Loves this man . . . .

playing with fire . . .

so what do you do when it is freezing outside . . . literally . . . and your kidlet is home for a bit. Easy, you pull out the marshmallows and the roasting sticks . . . of course.

Note: These are not your run of the mill camping sticks, these are genuine, antique utensils of aged wood and metal circa 1940. I know. I used them as a kid for hot dogs, marshmallows and all sorts of goodness and we know how long ago that was . . .

And so you get flaming fists of fluff:



a 9TS enjoying the yummy:



and best yet, you get this face ready to chow down:

tippy tapping again . . .

sort of . . . I think I am way out of my league with the Adobe Illustrator 101 class. Not that Carina Gardiner isn't a fabulous instructor. She is. I blame it on dead brain cells. Lots and lots of dead brain cells. Particularly those lost in the late 60's and early 70's.

But I am muddling through. I am.

And while we are on the subject, let chat about 365/52/12. It ain't gonna happen. All the cells that are still alive are in revolt. They're discussing ways to shut me down if I even think about starting one of those projects.

365 they insist is just too mind boggling. There aren't enough of them to carry the load. It's not like they can call Kelly Services and hire temporary labor. They simply went into overload and fainted at the idea. Which meant of course that I slept.

52 I argued was manageable, no? They retaliated with well fine but it will take all my ram and I will lose my ability to remember simple tasks. They have done this to me before. I hate standing in front of the refrigerator wondering what I wanted. OK, scratch 52.

12. surely 12 is doable? They think not. They have enough problem remembering which day of the week it is. The thought of keeping track of 30 or 31 long enough to produce even one layout curls their toes. Curled toes = cluster migraines. I am familiar with cluster migraines. Don't want to go there.

And so it is that I am ruled by the unruly. Sabotaged by the inner machinations of my cerebral cortex. I must be content with my lot and thankful that they are hard at work on Ai 101.

Tippy tap, tippy tap . . . thud.