Baby, this ain’t your average wheelchair ramp. But it ain’t for your average wheelchair, either.
Our friend Frances rides on wheels. She goes everywhere and does everything, under her own steam. The only place she hasn’t been able to conquer is our lake house, with all its stairs and stuff. But now we have this. Look at the close-up. It is like a ramp for rock stars.
And that pretty much sums up Frances.
We are reading Game of Thrones. If you have not read or watched it, I am sorry to say that this will mean little or nothing to you.
I bet we are not the first people to rename our dog with a dire-wolf name. (Yeah, I’m scaring myself a little, too.)
Cricket’s dire-wolf name is Shadow Vacuum.
She is completely attached, bonded, and imprinted on my husband. That’s the shadow part.
And this is where you can find her, no matter who is chopping or cooking. That’s the vacuum part.
Drop it. I am Shadow Vacuum. You will bend to my will.
At work today, we had a double surprise shower for two beautiful, young brides-to-be , who are soon getting married just a week apart from one another. Cake and best wishes! And blushing brides, too!
I know you’d rather see photos of the actual event, but nobody wants their photo floating around the internetisphere without approval. At least I don’t. So this tea towel will be the hostess photo for this blog.
This is a bit of my vintage kitch’n collection, although I assure you that it was not a gift showered on me. The tea towel is funny now, but I am guessing that the original recipient was on the fence about its humor. Because it is in such good condition, she obviously didn’t love and use it. But she didn’t burn it, either.
I wish I’d had the forethought to keep some of our quirkier wedding gifts. I wish I hadn’t donated/yard-saled/otherwise-vanished them. I would love to be chuckling about my tray and coaster set decorated with butterflies pressed under glass. Truth be told, if I find a duplicate set at a garage sale, I’m throwing down a buck or two.
My advice to the newly married? If you don’t still love it, but you can store it, please do. Leave it alone, even when you think WHAT were were THINKING? And one day, you’ll find it all charming and nostalgic, and you’ll be so happy to have a piece or two of your first days — together.
I promise this is good advice: Have and hold.
Look what hangs over my desk at work. I love it. It inspired me to write a blog about pearls and the importance of grace under fire. But the piece ended up being kind of unoriginal, so I scrapped it. Let me tell you this story instead.
When our daughter was in high school, she had friends with double (or more) ear-piercings, other piercings, and a few even had tattoos. So it didn’t surprise me when she asked if she could get a second earring in one ear. In retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal. But she was so fresh-faced and pretty. Why step off that slippery slope? She’d be punching holes in her eyebrows next. Right?
So I lowered my voice to a confidential level, even though we were alone. And I told her, “We don’t do that. We wear pearls.”
I never had to say another word on the subject, except on her high school graduation day, when I told her how beautiful she looked in her very first pearls.
If this was your name, wouldn’t you be a taxidermist? Because you know it totally does. Anyway, Schmeltz Taxidermy’s sign is at the start of a dirt road that I do not intend to travel any time soon, even though Bill offered to let’s go see what’s at the end of it. What would we say? That we’d like to get a quote on Cricket (who is contentedly snoozing in her crate in the rear of the Explorer)?
Okay, that’s both awful and funny at the same time. As a reward for not deleting me, here’s a favorite of mine:
A man walks into the vet, carrying his sick ol’ dog. The vet takes a look, and says, “Wellsir, today’s yer lucky day. I’m also a licensed taxidermist.”
“How’s that lucky?” asked the man.
“Either way, yer gettin’ yer dog back.”
Everything you see was in an attic, basement, or garage, until this weekend. And the screened-in porch was aching for some attention. Honestly, I just stood in there, looking at the empty mosquito-free space, wondering how to “decorate” it. This porch looks over the lake, and you’d think we’d want to use it all the time. But we have so many other lovely options, we just don’t. (See summer kitchen post.) And the bugs aren’t that bad anywhere–a little Skin So Soft, and you’re good.
Anyway, I was standing inside the porch thinking that I needed to assemble a Crate and Barrel conversation pit, when all of a sudden these comfy and wonderful family pieces arranged themselves all around me.
Saved! Family stuff is my hero!
What a quirky couple of weeks.
Last week, I went to New York to hang with other people who love making books. This week, I am in Las Vegas looking and listening about the next greatest thing that everyone wants to make everything about–at the Licensing Show. And I really thought I’d spot a good story to blog about, someone outrageous gambling and looking crazy. And sure there were those, but this was my favorite sight.
I heart Sesame Street. I really, really do. And here in the middle of all kinds of look-at-me noise and confusion, this very simple beacon of goodness shone over us all, like an Elmo in the Moon.
I used to carry a reusable Elmo grocery bag. But one evening at Trader Joe’s, a little bitty girl said to me (a stranger), “I like your bag.” She had a lovey-Elmo in her miniature shopping cart. So I said, “You know what? I have too many grocery bags. Would you like this one?” She said yes. And she accepted it onto her arm and walked away with the biggest smile. And her mommy was tickled, too. She knew Elmo was watching.
I haven’t been up close to a box turtle for years and years. When we were little, we’d be allowed to mark them with Mama’s nail polish, so we’d know it if we found the same one twice, after we let it go. Imagine my excitement when my husband and I saw this handsome guy halfway across our dirt road, when we were leaving the lake house today. STOP STOP STOP! I jumped out of the still-moving truck to get a good look, and to pick him up to admire him. Bill was right behind me, or at least I thought it was Bill.
It was actually 11-year-old Billy who was over my shoulder. “Can we bring him home? Can we keep him? Pleeeeease? We have a box in the truck! I’ll take care of him!”
I’ve been married to this boy for more than 30 years. And I’m here to tell you that he was perfectly serious. And I am here to tell you that we do not have a pet tortoise. Mean mommy.
Oh, and JUST NOW, RIGHT THIS MINUTE I figured out that Mama “letting” us mark our box turtles and turning them loose was her solution to not having pet turtles. Who is slower, me or the tortoise?
Look what my husband found, when he was planting some herbs for me. I’d forgotten all about this little lamb that his mother always had nestled near the patio, usually semi-hidden among her impatiens.
Without having a tear in my eye, I don’t think I can write what I think this lamb actually meant to Vivian — except to say it was a reminder of a little lost love. As you may know, we now live in Mike and Viv’s home, and have made some lovely changes to it. One change includes a kitchen courtyard, which is where the 1960-70s patio once was. And where the wee lamb has been buried and forgotten for more than a decade.
She has lost an ear, and she’s wearing thin. One more season among the herbs, then I think she has earned the right to come inside and be a Conversation Piece.
He is just a person in a yellow car who will drive you from here to there, then you pay him a fair price and a tip. What’s not to love? I can’t explain it. It is irrational. Would I rather walk 30 city blocks in heels? EN-OH no! Then shush and get in the cab.
Hailing a taxicab in New York pretty much makes me feel the same as having to get up on a horse. I have taken riding lessons, I have family with horses, I can curry a horse, I love going to the races, but I am terrified of actually getting in the saddle. I am afraid to not be in control of the beast.
In my usually brave little heart, I know that horses and taxi drivers can sense my fear. They take off at a wild gallop, try to throw me, and then slow to a frustrating pace just to get on my nerves.
Frankly, I am pretty sure this guy was wearing blinders. And me, without sugar cubes.
ginnygram 