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!