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.