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.

up-date . . .

The Amazing Dr. Z. called this afternoon. The board is recommending radiation therapy again. The 9TS is not particularly enthralled. They will make us an appointment to meet with Dr. Rao, their head of radiology. He and his sidekick Lauren, are really nice people. We got to know them the last go around. Sigh.

However, when I asked the Amazing Dr. Z. about the possibility of having the radiation done locally, he said he didn't see why not. Hooray. Now that is good news. Not having to spend the holidays in Hope Lodge is a Christmas gift all in itself!!!!

In the midst of contemplating this next step, the hardwood floor is going in the kidlet's room starting tomorrow morning and should be done Friday. And, the new screen door arrived Monday afternoon. The cave is getting a little snazzy lately. Guess the next thing will be indoor plumbing . . .

Yesterday, the twins were due at the vet's for their annual check-ups at 2:45. Good thing we started early because there was no way my gentle giant, Bear, was going into his carrier without a major fight. I have the scratches to prove it. Blood, guts and gore. All mine. We tried nose first, feet first, being poured in. Poor fellow. Finally, I think he just got tired of fighting and in he went. Ninja was only a little better and once at the vet's, she promptly hid in the sink of the examine room. Of course packing them up to leave is a breeze, open the crate doors and in they go. Bear serenaded us all the way there and all the way home. Too bad he only knows one song.

saturday lunch out . . .

have I mentioned that besides our predilection for Friday night dinners at Carrabba's, we also eat out Saturday for lunch. Usually Panera's. Yes, we are boring in our culinary delights but once in a while, we break the mold and yesterday was one of those days.

At lunch Thursday with Robin, she had mentioned the Flagler Fish Company. A little place up the road still farther, where you can literally pick your hunk of fish from the display, decide the way you want it cooked, choose your sauce and generally just have it your way. My kind of place. They also have a Farmers Market up in Flagler every Friday and Saturday morning. Robin had found baby brussel sprouts, fresh rosemary and thyme, portobella mushrooms, asparagus and more. Sounded all too good to be missed.

And so, we headed back up A1A and since I wasn't driving, I got to enjoy this:

not quite as turquoise as Thursday but stunning none the less.

We got to the market late. The 9TS not being inclined to get out of bed any earlier than need be. Produce was, of course, limited and looking a little sad by then, but I still scored an avocado, some of the 9TS's favorite peppers, a tomato that actually tasted like a tomato and a huge bag of fresh basil. Yummo.

After checking out the booths, we headed to the restaurant for a little nosh.

and discovered this

and slurped up this fabulous lobster bisque

and this equally divine shrimp po' boy, which I obviously forgot to take a shot of before my hands had stuffed several bites into my mouth.

On the way home, we stopped at the meat market for a couple of filets and some fresh mozzarella to go with the tomato and basil. Let me just feast and glory in the deliciousness of yet another day in paradise.

Note to Blogger: Please fix the glitch in the new editor so I don't have to keep switching back and forth between the old and the new and settle for little tiny shots instead of great big one. Thank.you.very.much.

babysitting . . .

I am babysitting a friend's two cats; Annie and Athena.  Annie is such a sweet heart and comes running when she hears the key in the door.  Athena, not so much.  She prefers her privacy.  Wednesday mornings conversation:

Annie:  Oooh Hello, let me rub your legs. 
Athena:  I am hiding, you can't see me.  I have my fingers in my ears.   LA LA LA LA  LA
Annie:  Ohhhhhhh rub me more.  More. more. more.  Ohhhh, don't stop
Athena:  I don't care who you are, you are not my mommy.  I am not coming out.  LA LA LA LA
Annie:  Ohhh, ohhhh right there.  That's the spot.  Ohhhhhhh.  Purrfect!!!
Athena:  I don't care if you do get down on your hands and knees and then lay on the carpet.  This is not yoga and I am not coming out.
Annie:  Ohhhhh, once more above the tail, please, please, ahhhhhhhh.
Athena:  You put that arm under my bed one more time and I am going to skitter further to the other side.  So there. LA LA LA LA LA
Annie:  Ohhhhhh, my chin.  My chin.  My chin. 
Athena:  Go away.  I can't hear you.  LA LA LA LA LA
Annie:  I can hear you, lower please.  Ohhhh. yes, right there. 
Annie:  See Athena.  See what you are missing. 
Athena:  Nada.  She's not mommy.  I am older and smarter than you, you dumb bunny.
Annie:  Who cares.  She rubs so well, I don't even want to play with her.  Just let her rub.
Athena:  Harrumph!
Annie:  ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

dear Mrs. Calabash . . .

if you've ever been owned by a teenage cat, you know they have a tendency at certain inexplicable times, to run around the house at full throttle.  Low to the grown, top speed, wending around corners almost on their sides, pitching over furniture, darting through chair legs, flying over beds, in and out of doors, never letting up on the gas peddle.  They finally calm down, panting from the exertion and once again become calm and quiet, sedate and regal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tonight, after reading a few pages of an Elizabeth George mystery novel; surfeited with good food and drink, I fell asleep early . . .  drifting off to the cool fall breezes, adjoined by the ceiling fan, into the land of nod.  That is, until dear Pippin decided to take the opportunity to rid herself of her extra energy and run, as detailed above, through the house.  The sound wakened me and I lay for a moment half awake, half asleep listening to baby monster cat tear through the loft.  Suddenly, however, I am sitting bolt upright fearful that the fan, now roaring closer in sound to its distant relative, a 747, has become unhinged and has taken flight of its own above my head. Out of bed, in the dark, I cannot ascertain the source of the racket. . .  it quickly having been determined that the fan was still connected as it should. Startled and still not functioning on all four cylinders, I headed toward the source of the din.  It seems, that the not so dear Pippin, had run up and over the lounge chair and across the paper shredder with such force that she inadvertently, slid the machine into the 'on' position.

I am now wide awake and she has still not appeared from wherever she has hidden when she scared the living daylights out of the two of us.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.

yesterday . . .

was one of those drop dead gorgeous days that fills your soul with enough warmth to melt even the darkest of reservations about the frailties of life.  I drove up A1A to meet a friend at my favorite fish joint, for lunch.  Blue, blue sky with just a scattering of clouds along the horizon, the fragmented views of the ocean through the sea oats, taking my breath away.  It was a deep, deep turquoise green with small crests of white punctuating the tops of the waves like so much random icing.  The top was down, no humidity, seventy something degrees . . . perfect.  Rejuvenating. Restoring.  Resurrecting.  I am thankful for these moments.

Back home to make a dinner that would fuel the 9TS yet wait for me to arrive home from my yoga class.  A huge pot of chili, made and simmered in my old cast iron pot.  Elegant no . . . fulfilling yes.  Again restoring.  Yesterday was good for my soul . . . for my body.

yesterdays news . . .

The pathologist report showed that they did not get clear margins on either site.  They optimally aim for at least one cm all around a tumor, of cancer free tissue. They didn't. So the options are to go back in, do radiation therapy or let it be and see what happens in another three months.  The doctor is leaning towards letting it go, but will take the case to his board Wednesday after this and call us with their collective decision. So we don't know if stopping where the tumors hit muscle was good enough.  It doesn't mean the cancer goes deeper, nor does it mean that it doesn't. Neutral. Frustrating.

On the good news front, the 9TS is allowed back to the gym.  Up to thirty minutes on the treadmill.  And, in another two weeks, he can go back to doing upper body exercises.  Happiness for the gym rat!  He has missed all the other rats at Gold's.  They run in packs, squeaking on their treadmills, squealing around the water cooler, flexing their little rat muscles.  They have names like Warren, Elliot, Gill and Dick but I know their real names are Rizzo, Ratatouille, Ratty Fatty Arbuckle and Throckmorton.  It is an exclusive club of Rattus Rodents and the 9TS has missed his pack.  Today his whiskers will twitch in anticipation.  Hooray!

artist unknown
 

And just so you know I am not a total slug, I rode with the 9TS to the gym and walked the 2.5 miles home.  

fooling around some more . . .

Credits:  Anna Aspnes:  FotoBlendz, Stitching.  Katie Pertiet:  Fall Clusters #2, Font: PeaErwinScript,  Taylor Made:  Butterflies.

Gotta love digi!

stuff part 72 . . .

my next door neighbor and friend:  Nancy . . . makes THE best pumpkin bread EVER!!!  And best of all, she shares.  We nosh.  Well, truthfully, I nosh . . .  mostly.  I am very parsimonious when it comes to sharing goodness of this quality.  Every single bite is to die for.  Yep, it is that good.  Ask the 9TS.

my Pippin is growing.  Still not a big as Mr. Bear but she probably never will be. Just don't tell her.

Yesterday was a blustery day.  A perfect day to go to the annual art show.  Cool, crisp, De.light.ful!

Oh, and yes we did.  With mustard and relish thank you very much.  Nothing like a warm dog on a cold day.

 and this fellow, blew his heart out!  What a treat for the ears.

 

What can I say.  Wouldn't they be perfect in the cave?!?!?!?

 and then we stopped for a beer since we ran into a friend of the 9TS's and that's what you do when you run into a friend at the show.  The street being lined with cafes and all . . .

5:35 a.m.

I awoke to a huge crash.  The kind that has you sitting up in bed, wide eyed, heart beating, cobwebs flying.  It came from somewhere close: upstairs.  No cats to be seen and my kidlet was still sound asleep.  It was cold in the house this November morning as I surveyed the loft.  Nothing.  The only room left was the bathroom and there  . . . there, lay the carnage. 

Someone had tried to scale the five shelves of the bathroom linen closet.  The first shelve contains sheet sets and is so full,  there is not room for even an errant flea.  The second should hold the mechanical necessities of flowing tresses, but two blow driers, a curling iron and a flat iron were all either on the floor or dangling from their various cords.  The hand mirror had crashed and burned, face shattered in several directions.  Chaos had reigned. 

The next shelf up holds balms, salves, lotions, medications . . . the normal accouterments.   Half of them were knocked over, half were scattered across the floor.  The next shelve up holds towels, a lofty pile of softness and therefore the object of someone's affection, I surmise.  They clearly did not make it long enough to nest before crashing down amongst all the paraphernalia that fills my morning routine.

But no one was in sight.  Not a whisker nor tail nor soft nose.  How to flush them out?  I placed Ninja's kibble on the bathroom floor, Bear and Pippen's in the bedroom.  Still no takers.  This is a serious breach of cat protocol.

Finally, a black nose appeared in the bathroom . . . tentative . . . furtive.  A large brown nose, belonging to a furry explosion of long hair, sidled into the bedroom . . .  fearful . . . distressed.  A smaller nose followed  . . . skittish . . . alarmed . . . setting the larger nosed body even bigger and furrier.  The little nose scurried under the bed without noshing.  Wide eyed they stared.  Mute.  Uneasy. 

Finally, over an hour later, the little nose is curled in my armpit, the black one along my side and the large one nested in the living room hogging the first shafts of morning sun. 

No one will admit to the mayhem.  But neither do I think there will be another scaling of the bathroom closet anytime soon.  My personal bet  . . .  the smallest nose.

if I were a bird . . .

                     I would be drooling over these berries.  Heck, I'm not a bird and I am still drooling.  Fresh from the rain. Ripe for the picking.  Brilliant with color.  We passed these on our bridge walk Thursday morning.  Sweet!

a very busy day . . .

My neighbor and I had made plans to walk the bridge in the morning and then amble through the farmers market for homemade pumpkin bread, fresh basil and bulk walnuts . . . at least that was my shopping list. But Mother Nature loomed large and calls were flashed . . . do we, don't we. We did.

Swirling sky and all. Amazing how different the inter-coastal looks just after a storm. Gorgeous really. And so we walked. Up one side, down and around the other, back up, down and around. Repeat. It's a good hike. I was slowing and huffing and puffing as we came to the finish line, but it felt good.

What wasn't so great was the number of fair weather farmers who apparently decided Mother Nature was too great a foe. Or maybe they too just wanted to stay under the covers a little later on a Thursday morning. Who's to judge. Not I. I am queen of snooze.

But we were not giving up without a fight, on our road to garnering Michelle's now world famous pumpkin bread. We went to La's to see if she had made it that far. She hadn't but her mother, who works when Michelle is busy baking, called her at home and we arranged to pick up our bread today. And why is Michelle's bread now world famous? Because of a review in the local rag. Front and center on the entertainment section. Michelle and her deliciousness. Oh, boy, it's a good thing they reserve us a table every Tuesday morning or we'd be in the back of the line fighting the crowds now that the world knows.

Back in the car, we stopped to show my friend some old sugar mill ruins but between Mother Nature and mosquitoes the size of very chubby bumble bees, we beat a hasty retreat.

After some homemade bruschetta for lunch, the 9TS and I headed out for an appointment followed by a little side trip to Sonic. And I wonder why I gain weight. Wooeee, their malted shakes are yummy.

Off once more, I am meeting friends at another establishment for libation to fortify ourselves for our make-up yoga class. Yep, I said it. Lee and I went to yoga ever so slightly inebriated. Lord help us but we did. I must say, my 'within' was quite easy to reach. It was the squelching of burbs and other bodily noises that was difficult and those spinal rocks? No way. Balance was a little tricky too . . . my leg does not extend straight out while being held by the same side hand. Not in this life time and certainly not when less than sober. All of which could have been suffered in silence if it had not been for the giggling from behind me from that wild child, Lee, who was happily snorting her way through class. Yep, Lee, I heard!!!

And so it goes. Life is ultimately good.

cancer just really, really sucks . . .

BIG TIME. And I would enter an expletive or two for good measure . . .

Katie's cat, Moak, has had a chronic herpes virus that would explode periodically, giving him a really bad head cold. Then it or something similar showed up in his belly. He's been struggling with this virus the last couple of weeks. She had an appointment to take him to the vet on Friday for a recheck but called me last night to say he was really having trouble breathing. So she called the vet this morning and got an appointment for this afternoon.

Unfortunately, along with his virus, the vet discovered cancer. The poor little fellow was put to sleep this afternoon and buried along side Hawky, Fluppy, Bru and Snoop in our little backyard cemetery. Rest in Peace, 'Grumpy Old Man', you were deeply loved by your mom and will not be soon forgotten. Amen.