slurp . . .

We are omnivores — carnivorous, chocolate-loving, bacon-hoarding, wineauxs, beer geeks, curd nerds and yes, even vegetarians. Together we are shamelessly unapologetic flavor crusaders and Datz is our playground. Served with ample sides of culinary education and entertainment in a spirited, ever-evolving environment. After all, we believe ordinary belongs in the dictionary, not in a restaurant. Especially ours.

And thus they describe the restaurant my friend Sue posted about a few days ago. Was it the verbiage that drew me in? Well, maybe but really it was this photo I lifted from her blog.

Slurp!

And since the 9TS and I are headed back to Tampa in another two weeks, I think we have to make a pit stop. At least I hope so. And check out Datz. I am drooling. We are actually spending the night since his tests start at 7:00 a.m. and the 9TS and I are not fond of trekking across the state at 4:00 a.m. No we are not. Sooooooooooo. YAY!

MHB's . . .

There's a lot of hoopla running around loose since Emily Matchar published her recent, Why I Can't Stop Reading Mormon Housewife Blogs, post on Salon.com. Considering Emily describes herself as "your standard-issue late-20-something childless over-educated atheist feminist" and Mormon women are well, Mormon women, it's shiny happy faces vs. the grumpleupagus. But it's an interesting article and certainly has stirred up some controversy. And, yes, I read Mormon Housewife Blogs on a regular basis . . . both Courtney Kendrick's and her sister, Stephanie Nielson and a couple of more where the flag waving is less obvious but after following for months, I discover those blogs too, belong to Mormon women.

And often times, when I hop from link to link, I realize that the women who fascinate me are often Mormon. Now that really isn't all that surprising considering I've been a scrapper for some 12 years and it could be argued that Utah is home to both the Mormons and the heart of the scrapping industry. We were bound to bump into each other. But I also cross paths with a plethora of writers/creators and I rarely become so attached as I do to the MHB's. So what is it?

Emily Matchar, if I may quote, says, "But the basic messages expressed in these blogs -- family is wonderful, life is meant to be enjoyed, celebrate the small things -- are still lovely. And if they help women like me envision a life in which marriage and motherhood could potentially be something other than a miserable, soul-destroying trap, I say, "Right on." I won't be inviting the missionaries inside for hot cocoa now or ever, but I don't plan on stopping my blog habit any time soon."

While life with the 9TS is neither a soul sucking trap nor are we Mormon, it is the happiness that radiates from these blogs. Whether it's Stephanie's upbeat take on life after a near fatal plane crash or Courtney's charmingly outrageous self absorption and flagrant self promotion, they suck folks in and in they stay. Even my lesser known favorite blogs, where the sparsely typed word "ward" is the only indication of their heritage, the tone is that of a cockeyed optimist.

Do I believe these blogs are planned and promoted propaganda by their church or just a creative outlet for these women home raising their children? Doesn't matter. They are just fun to read.

So if you find some extra time on your hands, try reading a MHB. It just might be that little ray of sunshine you didn't know you needed.

from my dyslexic friend . . .

"On this, my half birthday (which I shall forevermore celebrate!), I decided to lightly step on the scales. Once I got that whole dyslexia thing worked out, I wanted to see if there really was something to this MMEL system.

Now granted, I haven't been MM very much - although I did walk Lola for about 30 minutes yesterday until all the stray dogs and traffic got on my last nerve - I figure it was about 1.5 miles (ish). But I have been EL a whole lot better. And I was wrong, it is NOT a piece of cake. {wink} More like a piece of rutabaga or something equally boring.

But I digress.

I lightly stepped on the scale this morning and closed my eyes, held my breath and said a prayer. Then I considered that holding my breath might weigh something, so I exhaled deeply. Then I peeked with one eye at the result.

6 lbs gone!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOT!"

Kelli, you ROCK!!!!!!!

me, not so much

my bumble bee . . .

credits: all things Anna Aspnes

on the road again . . .

As mentioned, after exploring the Hickory Ridge website, a road trip was definitely in order. I asked the 9TS if he would like to go or if I he would rather I ask a friend. He said of course he would take me. So I rephrased my question. What would be your first choice: going with me or having me ask Joanie? His little twisted smile told all and Joanie and I planned our escape . . .

I loaded up my camera and since the weather didn't look all that promising, Joanie drove and off we tooled up the coast. Glory-oski! The sky cleared, the sun came out, the wind died down and all was good in my world.

See those brown blurry spots toward the bottom center? That's what sea oats look like doing 55.

First major stop was City Cat, Country Cat, which seems not to have it's own website. Harrumph. Anyway, as the name suggests, it is all things cat. I hope Joanie's dad's cat will be very happy with her new toy!!

A lot of the St. George Street stores have these wonderful backyard courts:

Finally at the far end of St. George Street, we found Hickory Ridge and I wanted to melt into my own little puddle of butter and live there forever. The wonderful owner gave me more in freebies than what I paid, for those things I bought. And so I came home with amazing stuff. Got the patchouli soap for my waitress, and shea butter for me. Love that stuff. Bought some cocoa butter chap stick. More good stuff. And then she gave me some shea butter refining soap, a butter balm for after shower and this butter thing you wipe over your skin and blend in and it kisses your skin with sunshine. OMG. I wanted the whole store.

And then to the Columbia House Restaurant for lunch. I had a huge bowl of their Spanish soup made with garbanzo beans, chorizo sausage, ham and chicken stock which was delicious but truthfully, I would have been just as happy with my own little loaf of hot bread and whipped butter that they left on the table. Slurp.

Next we waddled to a chain store called the Earthbound Trading Company and I found a panda bear hat and had to buy it. You know the kind, little knit hats with animal faces and long tassely ties. Then we wandered across the street to Materialistic and hit the mother load of animal hats. They had frogs, bears, dogs, cats, bumblebees, penguins, Elmo, and more. I bought a frog hat and texted Katie and we settled on a bumblebee hat for her.

[Katie came home yesterday and the three of us wore our hats in the kitchen while Katie scarfed down her dinner. And now I am going to wear one of the other two hats every time I drive with the top down until it warms up in April.]

Oh and one more shot. I love the red, red roof on this house. It sits on the ocean about half way to St. Augustine. It just makes me happy.

And so it was a good day. The End.

go here . . . go here . . . go here . . .

hyperbole and a half

but only if don't mind laughing so much, you might have a tiny problem with incontinence.

or if you don't mind your sides aching for a couple of days.

or if you have one of those odd laughs that makes people swivel their heads to see from whence the sound is coming . . . and you are noshing in Panera's.

And if you have a dog, or have ever had a dog, please read this. Because it is hysterical. And, it's hysterical because it is so true.

In fact, read that link before you go to the home link.

giggle, snort, guffaw, hee hee hee, LOL, snicker, cackle, chortle, chuckle, fall out of your chair.

how can you tell . . .

if it's homemade chicken soup? You find a bone in your bowl.

if you return to an oft frequented restaurant? They ask you if your want the usual.

if the weather is going south? Your television flashes tornado warnings until 6:30 p.m.

if your cats are hungry? They circle your feet, teeth glinting.

if you live in the south? Lemons grow in your backyard.

Thank you Tuesday, it's been a good day.

a kind soul . . .

Yesterday was so crowded at Panera's that I had to finagle to get us seats . . . stealing the second table of what had been a set-up for eight. As we waited for our name to be called, I slipped into my favorite mode . . . people watching. They fascinate me. The 9TS and I were trying to decide if the couple next to us were from NY or NJ. I was betting NJ.

Another gaze around and I zeroed in on a very elderly gentleman, thin, slightly bent, hearing aid in place, 1980's over sized glasses, faded but nicely pressed jeans, a checked cotton shirt and cardigan sweater. But what really caught my attention was his hat. He was a survivor of World War II, the Korean War, and Viet Nam. Amazing. I was brought back to earth by the 9TS telling me he wanted to go shake the man's hand. Yes, the sloth and I often get in each other's brains like that. And so he did. He walked up, thanked him, and shook his hand. The man smiled and thanked him. Not another word was said.

But it was what happened next that brought me to tears. When the man and his tiny wife, whose back was to me, were finished their meal, he stood up and came to her side. He proceeded to gently button each button of her cardigan and then helped her into her jacket, again tenderly buttoning one button after another and turning up her collar against the chilly day. Then he supported her as he pulled away the chair and she shakily stood. He waited, oh so patiently, until she had collected her balance and then grabbed their bag of leftovers and lead her carefully and slowly out of the restaurant. He was so absorbed in her well being. He took such care of her. What a wondrous soul.

I turned to the sloth and told him that's how I wanted to be treated when we were thirty years older. He grinned and said he knew I was going to say that. But the truth is, in his own way, he already does.

plotting a getaway . . .

at dinner last night . . . Carrabba's, of course . . . our waitress . . . Jen, of course . . . was telling me about this wonderful organic soap her hubby bought for her . . . it's her favorite. Patchouli infused. PERK!!! I heard the "p" word. PERK!!!! PERK!!!! and so the second I got home, I was on the net looking here. But then I also found this:

Who can resist the description:

Patchouli: sensual & calming. A must have for all hippies out there! No scent brings the 70's back faster. It is a deep, earthy and very sensual scent.

oh yeah, I'm all over that one. And then Shea butter. I always wanted to try some but at the farmers market, they sell it from a big yellow glob in a box, open to the air. OK, so I fail as Miss Organic, 1948 but I'm not putting something with flies buzzing around it on my face . . . at least not knowingly, so a sweet little jar will be just fine.

And then there is the little upstairs store that has all things feline. A must see. And a massive kitchen store for culinary oddities. Oh, the list goes on.

And so a day trip is planned for Wednesday. Wheeeee!!!

doc . . . sneezy . . . dopey . . . and grumpy

it's 1:51 a.m. and my brains are going round and round . . . and so of course they woke me up to keep them company. the rare winter rain, instead of being soothing, is sitting on my last nerve. i am grumpy.

now that i have gotten that off my chest, i thought maybe the best thing to do would be to rattle off the things for which i am grateful:

1. a kitten that wants to play fetch with her toy mouse in the middle of the night. no matter how many times i send it flying into the next room, she brings it back and deposits it next to my hand.

2. the 9TS gently snoring away. twitching occasionally in his sleep. i wonder what he is dreaming about.

3. patchouli infused coconut oil. it smells so good. so grounded.

4. a kidlet who knows her own mind and follows her own dreams. so proud of her these days.

5. a perfect check up from the dentist. Look, mom, no cavities! all stains removed. squeaky clean.

6. a restaurant where everyone knows our name. where the slices of our favorite cheese and a dish of greek olives are already on the table waiting for us, and as soon as we sit down, along comes the hot bread, fresh from the oven. for the waitress who brings us shots of her children and regales us with the past weekends activities. i am so thankful for the friendship.

7. for the good friends who live in the circle, who always lift me up . . . or bring me to the floor in a fit of giggles. for those friends who live all over the states who call the 'ot-lounge' home. it's been over 10 years sharing the threads of our lives. for the spraground and new friends i keep dear.

8. for my little red roadster, who even it her old age, still screams around corners and dodges radar with the best of them.

9. for the cave. my piece of sanity.

10. for not having to use capitals if i don't want to.

for all this I am thankful. and it worked. i had to finish the last two bullets this morning after losing the grump and falling asleep. works every time. peace out popeye!

rat-a-tat-tat . . .

There's a long back story as to how the yoga yaya's ended up meeting before class this morning to gaily adorn their bodies with temporary tattoos. Let's just say it involved tattoo parlors, biker bars, one legged midgets, Wyatt Earp, 'tramp stamps' and '@ss antlers' and leaves the rest to your imagination. Be assured, not one yaya was harmed in the filming of this sequence.

The ring leader was, of course, Lee. Were you in doubt?

Please excuse the quality of exhibits A. B. C. D. and F, I forgot my camera and had to resort to my cell phone.

And so, for close ups, we have:

Kitty:

Joanie:

Lee:

Lorraine:

and Linda:

My tat is on the inside of my left wrist . . . a wild and woolly aborigine's head . . . he is however missing some of his feathers and a hunk of dreadlocks due to user deficiency and even my picture was a blur. Why was I thinking my cell had macro capabilities????

And yes, we got a few stares . . . a few guffaws . . . a climbing eyebrow or two, all of which we blatantly ignored and in we marched to feed our inner souls, tone our corporeal bodies and strengthen our Qi. Namaste.

brain age . . .

The other day, my daughter-in-law sent me this link. It's been quite awhile since I realized my short term memory is on the fritz. I have to write everything down and please don't read off a phone number and expect me to remember anything as simple as seven digits. It ain't gonna' happen. So whether or not you are frontally lobe challenged such as I, or your brain occasionally hiccups and leaves you stranded in front of the fridge wondering what the heck . . . humor me and give it a try.

The first time I tried it, I got a 58. So OK, my mental age is 4 years below my chronological age, that's not so bad, but my friends were coming in with scores in the 4os and they are in my age bracket. EEK

I blamed some of my loss on the fact that I can't move as fast using a track pad as I can using a mouse and tried again on my desk top. I got a little more reasonable score. Gee, I'm not competitive much. GAH! Then of course I had to try again and got a 38. I was really on a roll now and a happy camper until one of my friends mentioned that the better score might just have something to do with having taken the test three times. Sunk by reason of sanity. ACK!

So here's the challenge. Take the test and let me know how you fared. But you have to post your age too. I mean, my kidlet will probably score age appropriately since she is only 22 and still in college . . . her brain should be chugging on all cylinders. And if for some reason you are squeamish about posting your age, just fudge it but adjust your score using a valid ratio. No one will ever know.

So have I made your morning yet?

bling, paper, scissors . . .

It's been a long time since I have turned off Photoshop and gone back to my roots . . . bling, paper, scissors. But I went to bed last night with ink under my finger nails, glue in my hair, paper holes scattered all over the floor and happiness in my heart. I had played with paper all day long.

Three years ago, I discovered the wonderful world of digi. Right after, as a matter of fact, I finally converted the loft to the studio I had desperately wanted for the ten years prior. And there it all sat, my pounds of paper, drawers of punches, cutting machines, alphabets, adhesives, rub-ons, flowers, acrylic letters, buttons, more ribbon than one human being should own, yarn, ink, heat guns, stamps, chip board . . . the list is endless.

And where was I? Sitting Indian style propped up in one little corner of the bed, immersed in my laptop and EHD's, playing in virtual stores, taking classes, making friends, posting in galleries. A new world A good world. An amazing world.

Did I feel guilt looking at the loft every morning as I passed though? Not at first, when the newness of digi was ripe and vibrant, but as the months passed, finally I heard that little voice niggling at the back of my heart whispering "come back" "we miss you" "come play with us".

And so yesterday, I did. Not to make another album, or another project for the stamp store that sold my wares, or to decorate yet another container. Instead, I slowly pulled out pages of chip board, O-rings, and fussed with paper and glue and rub-ons and came up with this:



and this:


and although it still needs more ink and bling, the basics are done and the rest is easy, peasy and fun.

It's a travel journal, because the 9TS and I are slipping in yet one more vacation. We are taking a cruise through the eastern Caribbean. We are going to kick back and sponge up warmth in our old bones and celebrate his birthday on the high seas . . . hopefully not so high, please . . . maybe just a ripple or two, please . . . OK, like glass would be really, really good . . .

And at night, when the 9TS is up in the casino, I will be scrunched in one little corner of the bed or tucked out on the veranda, writing the days events, and happily reliving all that we had seen, felt and done.

Did I mention that I signed the sloth and I up for a zip-line adventure through a rain forest canopy in St. Lucia? hee. hee. hee. now that should be interesting fodder.

But it was fun for the day . . . revisiting bling, paper, scissors and I think I will have to do it again soon.

Signed the queen of self-absorption . . . moi.

MMEL update . . .

The good news is that I have lost my Christmas pudge . . . about four pounds. I've been walking two miles almost every day and eating less . . . for the most part.

I have two friends along on this journey with me: Tinka and Kelli. Tinka is the perfect cheer leader. "We not only CAN do this….we WILL do this!!"
Yes we will, Tinka. Yes, we will.

And Kelli my bodacious bud . . . sends me this nugget:

"All week long I've been so proud of myself for doing the MMEL thing with you. Piece of cake, I thought. And then that sounded so good, I'd actually eat one! And what's cake without ice cream? And what's ice cream without sprinkles and hot fudge sauce?

But then I realized I have actually done the EMML thing.

Dyslexia is dangerous."

It just cracked me up and then I had to admit to my mouth ordering a meat stromboli instead of a nice healthy salad . . . and yes, I ate it, every last gooey drop. But all in all, we three are doing our thing. These things take time. If we could lose weight overnight, the whole world would be emaciated and then of course some idiot would decide fat was 'in' and we would all be trying to gain weight. Hum, maybe I should wait until the pendulum swings . . . just kidding.

I'll just keep plodding along trying to move more and eating less . . . It's a good thing.

news flash . . . news flash . . . . news flash . . . news flash . . . news flash . . .

As soon as that little voice, who lives in my answering machine, started reeling off numbers and I realized that the incoming call . . . I was too lazy to just grab the phone . . . started with area code 813 . . . see how fast I can move now!!!! . . . I scrambled to pick up and see MOFFITT on the incoming call list. 'Hello, Hello', I gasped. ' Hello, Mrs. Sloth, this is Angie from Dr. K's office.' 'Hi, Angie' . . . I said waffling as to whether or not I wanted to hear what she had to say . 'The test was negative Mrs. Sloth!!!' 'OMG!! Thank you, Angie!!!' 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.' As, I hung up, the 9TS chuckled and said, good news huh? . . . to which I simply grinned a very happy lopsided grin.

And so the fearsome lump on the 9TS's good leg is neither Mel nor Anoma. The dastardly duo are not in residence there. YAY!!!!! It is probably scar tissue from the chemo trials this fall. YAY!!!! We are free to continue business as usual and just show up on Valentine's Day for his next PET.

There is goodness in this world and in our house. God bless us one and all.

the truth . . .

If you've been hanging around for any length of time, you know that life in the cave can be a little stressful at times as it relates to the medical end of the 9TS. Truthfully, it's like living in a theme park run amuck where the merry-go-round never stops, the roller coaster has no brakes and the fun house just ain't fun. Yup, that bad. And I can't handle it alone, so along with tapping, yoga, copious cabernet consumption, therapy and better living through chemistry, I live a slightly altered and often medicated life that lets me enjoy the goodness. Does that surprise you?

There have been weeks on end waiting for a PET scan to tell us the melanoma has been vanquished once again . . . that alone is enough to send one screaming down the hall to the medicine cabinet. Or worse, telling us that it is back . . . I'll have another glass of vino, please. And then the surgeries . . . losing that wretched toe, and a third of a lung, being the worst but certainly not the only . . . as his eldest mentioned, the 9TS is beginning to look a little like Frank-in-stein. Get it?!?!

Just the thought of losing the love of my life sends me to dark, dark places . . . sends spasms through my guts and tears me apart into a thousand little pieces. And so I tap when I get anxious, pop an ambien when I can't sleep. And I see a psychiatrist who keeps me in sanity inducing Lexapro and Ativan and I OM my little heart out. And you know what? It works for me.

I have reached a pretty sane plateau where I have learned to just enjoy the present. To revel in today. To not worry about tomorrow or the next day. And life is just as lovely as can be under the circumstances.

I promised myself, I would keep the misery of fear locked in my second blog 'Onomatopoeia' named so because nothing sounds more fearful then the word cancer, and off of 'orjustme'. I'm breaking this promise just this one time . . . so if you think I'm a little off the wall, or slightly bonkers, or most important, being cavalier or cheeky about Frank's battle, I assure you, I am not. I am just trying to deal. And that's the truth.

move more, eat less . . .

it's becoming my sidekick mantra to JUST DO IT!

While scouring Karen's blog as I do every morning, I recently found a link to Cathy Zielske's year long adventure into "Move More, Eat Less". It's such a simple philosophy and one that has helped her lose 30 pounds. And Karen being no less a slouch, has lost 18 pounds on her version.

What I love about each of their concepts is that the word "diet" is missing. I don't know about you, but the minute the "D" word reaches my brain, thought waves of starvation are generated to every cell in my body and my immediate reaction is to head to the fridge and devour everything in sight. Thus every single time I go on a diet, I gain weight. Seriously.

But this 'moving more and eating less' concept it one I can deal with. I can still eat, just less of it and I can leave my slugdom long enough to walk a couple of miles a day. For example, when I eat breakfast, which isn't often I admit, I fill my cereal bowl with Wheaties, add a teaspoon of real sugar and add 2% milk. Color me happy. The problem is that whatever size bowl, I pick, I fill it to the brim and then one day, I looked at the side of the box and realized the nutritional facts are based on a one cup serving. EEK! That was an eyeopener. So now I fill the bowl 1/2 full and guess what. It is plenty and I feel full but not stuffed. I am, after all, not a Thanksgiving turkey.

I'm also eating more veggies. I started this after discovering roasting. My, my, my, what a difference that makes. No rich sauces, just a pop in flavor. And since we cut back our red meat consumption in favor of fish and chicken some eleven years ago, dinners are pretty darn healthy.

So why have a gained weight? I blame it on old age, being a slug and those days when cheesecake enters the cave and leaves on my thighs. This Christmas season was not kind to my thighs. Not one bit.

And will I still cheat occasionally. Yep. Life is meant to be enjoyed. I will not give up my Friday night dinners at Carrabba's, I will not give up my Tuesday lunches with the girls. I will not change what I eat at either restaurant. I won't give up my red wine. But I will be better the rest of the week. Because, I will just do it. Anyone care to join me?

another 9TS update . . .

Tuesday afternoon, the 9TS announced that he had found a lump on his right leg. Hum, his right leg is his good leg?? His left leg is the holy terror that keeps housing Mel and his cousin Anoma. Huh? So first thing Wednesday morning I called the amazing Dr. Z's nurse and when I mentioned that this was the leg they used for his last trial, she connected me to Dr. K's office. A couple of phone calls later and we had an appointment today at 3:00.

Another mad dash across the state and because we got there a tad early and because we deserved it, we tucked into a yummy, if not overly calorie ridden, lunch at Five Guys. Lord, how do they make those taters taste so fine?

3:00 p.m. found us with Dr. K's assistant poking and prodding the 9TS, like a stuffed pig on a spit. (Dr. K. was consulting in absentia being sidelined with a bad case of laryngitis.) And of course, word came down that they wanted to do another aspiration biopsy. The 9TS was overjoyed. Not. But they did it anyway and the results were inconclusive . . . and so we wait. And wait. And wait. And then we call next Wednesday and see if the dynamic duo are in residence again.

Thankfully, it doesn't appear that they are. Everyone from Dr. Z's nurse through Dr. K's assistant seem to think it is Gran and Uloma . . . who are in no way related to Mel and Anoma . . . but are instead in-laws of Scar-Tissue and his wife, Nodule, which is a good thing.

And to keep from being terribly bored on our travels, I bring you this tiny automobile:

this skinny sign:

this plane, who wants desperately to break free and run with the big boys:

And finally, heading home in the sunset.

Fingers crossed folks, fingers crossed.

why did I wait until i was 62 . . .

to have my first pedicure? And, no, for my feet phobic friends, there will be no tootsie shots. I promise. A couple of weeks ago, my friend Joanie mentioned she had just gone for a pedicure, herewith referred to as 'peddies' or maybe just plain "p" and so I blurt out that I had never had a 'p' and would like to go with, next time she went. This afternoon she called to ask if I was up for a trip to the nail salon.

First I needed to get the lay of the land. What do I wear? How much is it? How much do you tip? What do I expect? Patiently she answered my questions and off we went. I played my own game of Simon Says. Joanie sat, I sat. Joanie pulled up the side tray, I pulled up my side tray. Joanie picked up her chair remote, I picked up my chair remote. Yo! Wait! A remote? I could get to like this . . . there I am, relaxed in this big massaging chair, feet in warm swirling water . . . yummo!

Immediately, this fellow comes along and starts clipping, shaping, massaging, buffing and exfoliating my poor neglected toes and feet, followed by more massaging of lotions and potions on my calves and finally covering the entire area with a steamy hot towel. I may never move again. This is heaven. After applying bottom, top and color, he leads me, duck walking, over to the drying area. Unfortunately, I am finished before Joanie and have no idea I am supposed to stick my feet under the purple lights, dumb neophyte that I am. And, I immediately smudge both big toe nails . . . which he promptly fixes.

While Joanie brought her own polish, I chose an OPI copper shade called Ruble for Your Thoughts. Get it? Giggle.

Lunch with the girls and my first 'p'. It's been a good day in the cave. Next week maybe I'll try hair extensions or an eyelash perm . . .

Pippin's great escape and other bodacious happenings . . .

Pippin is an outgoing soul. While Bear and Ninja hide upstairs when we have visitors, Pippin dances right out and chirps hello. She is fearless . . . not necessarily a good thing. Lately, she has become curious about the garage and sits at the door from the garage into the laundry room as soon as she hears the garage door go up. Given the chance, she peeks her head out and finally a couple of days ago, she actually tap danced a yard or two into the garage itself until spotted and shooed back into the house. At least the other two have the sense to be scared of the great outdoors.

This morning however, as the 9TS headed out to chat with the lawn service guy, something caught his attention and he paused for a moment with both the front door and the screen door ajar. He had just closed the front door behind him when he heard Katie wail. Looking down, he realized that little Pippin had slipped though both doors and was now outside looking terribly perplexed and trying desperately to get back into the house. He scooped her up, tossed her inside and up the stairs she flew. She has spent the rest of the day studiously avoiding the front door, afraid no doubt, that it will once again swallow her up. Silly beastie.

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

One of the 9TS's favorite meals is cod, baked in stewed herb tomatoes, served over mashed potatoes. I know, I know, it's not my idea of a culinary delight either and to avoid ingesting his masterpiece, I decided to make my own version. Enter two sheets of tinfoil, one tilapia, a thinly sliced potato, a couple of broccoli florets, three or four grape tomatoes, some slices of zucchini, seasonings and fresh lemon juice. Seal the packet, bake for 45 minutes, sprinkle with parmesan. At least now I have an alternative, and truthfully, it was quite yummy.

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

Today the 9TS and I celebrated our 14th anniversary. It comes so close on the heels of Christmas that we rarely make a big deal of it. Besides, every day these days, is cause for celebration. But you better believe it, I love being married to the 9TS. It really is a big deal.

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

Yoga classes started up again today. I was so happy to abuse my poor inflexible bones with full body twists, squats, balances and other oh so uncomfortable poses. Oh, yeah! If it weren't for the great company . . . yes Joanie and Lee, I am talking about you . . . I would have stayed warm and snug in my big old Tempur-pedic bed. Yes, I would.

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

flu baby . . .

A plaintive phone call . . . I am sick, mom, can I come home?  But of course . . . you need ask? Several hours later, in comes a rather bedraggled, fevered, coughing, aching, and totally miserable college student who came home for some TLC before classes start on Wednesday.

Am I sympathetic? Do I smother her with her favorite foods? Do I pour medicine down her throat? Toss her in bed. Tuck her in? Yes, yes, yes and yes. But first . . . I take a picture of the poor child.

 I know,  totally mean mom, but I love her dearly and that counts for something.

doing a happy dance . . .

once in awhile something comes along that just knocks me off my feet, and Anna Aspnes' new photo Blenz is one of those goodies.  Squeal!!!

So you take two photos, add one of her brushes and look what happens.

OK, so this is my very first attempt but I am still excited and yes, thanks to Jessica Sprague, I do know how to do this the long way but why go to all that trouble when in one fell swoop . . . instant merging.  Just color me happy, happy, happy.  I am off to play some more.

what???

this goes way beyond disturbing but still, I had to share. Look what they have done to you, my beloved frog! GAH!!

Why, oh why, do I even log onto the net. I am blinded by the sight. Scarred for all ages. My world has been shaken. I mean seriously am I to wake up to this next???

Some things are sacred. Better left alone. Not to be messed with. If it ain't broken, don't fix it.

And just to help get things back to their righteous place in the galaxy, I offer you this.


"Who said that every wish would be heard
and answered when wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that and someone believed it.
Look what it's done so far."

And so my friends, on this very first day of two thousand and eleven, I wish you magical star gazing and wonderful wishes . . . and normal faces.