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Archive for the ‘Everyday’ Category

And then was the day, a cold, damp, February day where Charlotte and I discovered through texting that we were both embarking on primitive activities.

primitive: adjective:  (prim-i-tiv): early in the history of the world or of humankind.

I was sewing, she was baking.  Do people do those things these days?

I had a project planned to cover the footstool I use every single day of my life.  It belonged to my brother back around 2000 (?), and I inherited it after he died.  I wore the hell out of it.

As I began my project I got a text from Charlotte.  She told me she was going to bake some bread.

Back to the earth we were.  And the competition was on.

With a big bedspread that dates back at almost 50 years (vintage fabric from family is always my first choice) I spent days in my head and minutes on the internet trying to figure out how to make this “slipcover.”

I measured twice seventeen times and cut once.  The rule of carpenters and people who don’t sew more than once every five years.  Plus, I sew less than once every five years.

 

A wrinkly spread of my fabric.

A wrinkly spread of my fabric.

 

Sides and top measured and cut to precision.

 

My bobbin wouldn’t work, so I gave up.  I discovered I had it in backwards.

Charlotte measured her ingredients, watched the science of yeast work, and kept in touch with me.

Charlotte had the power of Paul Hollywood behind her.  I had 7th grade home ec teacher Mrs. Landsverk behind me.

Oh, let’s not make these things a competition.  It’s the experimenting, the effort, the wish to create something out of nothing that counts.  Right?

Here are the results…

My foot stool cover:

 

All right, my measurements weren’t precise because the foot stool was all wonky (aka suffering from uneven ware from my using it forever). Plus, at the time of this publication that icky center crease has disappeared with my feet constantly swiping over it in the meantime.  I didn’t even bother to iron it from the start.

Charlotte’s Italian Parmesan bread:

It doesn’t matter who wins or loses.  It wasn’t even a competition to begin with.  Charlotte and I both took on a fun project and we worked it to the end.  We’re all winners when we do that.

Except, Charlotte won by a landslide.  Congratulations, honey!

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Husby’s “Our Song”

Apparently “our song” is an subjective thing. It could be the song playing at your first kiss. The song playing at the wedding dance. As I stated in my last post it could be the song playing when you first knew you were in love. BUT…

I’m just one part of a couple in love. Husby sort of remembers some of the songs I feel to be important markings of the milestones of our relationship, but he has his own musical milestones. There’s a song he loves and thinks it describes us. While I don’t believe it to be a song describing us in the midst of our courtship, after twenty-three years of marriage and the circumstances in which we got together…hell yeah. This song is SO us!

Listen and read the lyrics below.

She don’t like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin’ her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She’s my baby, I’m her honey
I’m never gonna let her go
He ain’t got laid in a month of Sundays
Caught him once and he was sniffin’ my undies
He ain’t too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it’s oxygen
He’s my baby, I’m his honey
I’m never gonna let him go
In spite of ourselves we’ll end up a-sittin’ on a rainbow
Against all odds, honey we’re the big door-prize
We’re gonna spite our noses right off of our faces
There won’t be nothin’ but big ol’ hearts dancin’ in our eyes
She thinks all my jokes are corny
Convict movies make her horny
She likes ketchup on her scrambled eggs
Swears like a sailor when she shaves her legs
She takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’
I’m never gonna let her go
He’s got more balls than a big brass monkey
A whacked-out weirdo and a love bugged junkie
Sly as a fox crazy as a loon
Payday comes and he’s a-howlin’ at the moon
He’s my baby, I don’t mean maybe
I’m never gonna let him go
()
We’ve still got hearts in our eyes.

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Have you ever been in a position where you have to get stuff done and then, all of a sudden, something happens that prevents you from doing that stuff?  Like,  having to make a visit to the ER because of a very stupid mistake?

With Christmas upon us, I wonder if you could take a moment and travel back in time to November 27 of this year ~ the day before Thanksgiving.  Charlotte and Pinky offered to host the feast, with the help of food offerings from other members of the family.  I was to bring mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie.  My grandma’s recipe for pumpkin pie.  I’d made it before and was confident I could replicate it once again.

Pie crust isn’t my forte, but with Grandma’s recipe I forged ahead and mixed the crust with the determination that it would be flakey and delicious.  Next, the gut ingredients.  Pumpkin, evaporated milk, spices, etc.  I was opening the can of pumpkin and the can opener was being stubborn.  Or was the can?  Regardless, I couldn’t open the can properly.  Frustrated, I took a fork to pry the can open and…ouch!

Dang!  I gouged the pad of my left index finger, as well as cutting my left thumb.  Oh well, I thought. A can cut is nothing to be too concerned about.  Except the blood was coming forth from my finger in a way that wasn’t quite normal.  Excessive might be a word.  I grabbed a bunch of paper towels and ran upstairs to tell Husby I needed some help.  He got some gauze and tape and wrapped my finger.  The gauze was soaked through within thirty seconds.  Husby said, “we have to go to urgent care or ER.”

 

dan aykroyd nbc GIF by Saturday Night Live

I wrapped my finger in more gauze and an old dish towel.  The bleeding wound’t stop!  Husby drove me to the ER as I texted Charlotte to tell her of my plight.  Perhaps I wouldn’t be able to make the pumpkin pie after all!

With a hand covered with a blood-soaked towel we walked into the emergency room.  Not a life-threatening injury, but luckily there weren’t too many people there.

The triage nurse was awesome and wondered if I wanted to save the bloody towel in which I’d wrapped my finger.  It was embroidered, after all (the towel, that is).  Kind of her to ask .  It was a rag towel with holes in it. “Throw it!”, I demanded.

When I was finally in one of those ER rooms a nurse’s aid came in and gave me a pail of water in which to soak my wound.  “It’s gonna sting, isn’t it?”, I asked.  “Yep,” she said.  I plunged my hand into the antibacterial soapy water.  Aaaaggggghhhhhh!  After a while it felt kind of soothing.

See the Band-Aid on the thumb.  Took care of that, cuz compared to the finger gouge it was a mere scratch. That that icky thing between the first and second knuckle of the finger? That’s a previous burn made to look horrible by the soaking in water. Pay attention to the ghastly, bloody gouge that got me to the ER! Capillaries in the fingers are a bloody mess!

When we got home three hours later, Husby checked on the half-opened can of pumpkin, which he’d put in the fridge before our trip to the ER.  There was the entire pad of my left index finger stuck to the rim of the can of pumpkin.  Ew!  It was disposed of properly.

Charlotte got Pinky to buy a pumpkin pie for the Thanksgiving dinner and I was able to make the mashed potatoes. The pumpkin pie bought by Pinky was delicious, even though it wasn’t Grandma Harriet’s recipe.

The day after Thanksgiving Husby and I did a craft show.  While I only had a Band-Aid on my finger that day, it was a struggle for me.  I had pain on pressure and worries of more bleeding.  I should have had a cast on my finger to gain more sympathy, but the Band-Aid sufficed.  As a gift from the crafting gods, I had one of the best one-day shows in my history of one-day shows!

Today, twenty-three days after my injury, I can type, I can wash dishes, I can wrap presents…I’m pretty much back to normal.  I’ll have a very interesting fingerprint.  Scars tell wonderful tales of our lives.

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Fun parties, trick-or-treating, bobbing for apples and donning costumes.  Halloween is a favorite holiday for many.  Between the celebrations and sugar-fueled giggles, don’t forget…the hallowed are out there, but so are the souls not so lucky to be canonized.

Just for fun I thought I’d share one of the creepiest people reading a poem from one of my favorite authors.  I give you Christopher Walken reading The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe.

Stay Spooky!

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The property owned by the Auntie B’s Wax World Headquarters contains several trees, including six spruce trees, five in the rear, one in the front.  All of the spruce trees are healthy and provide lovely flora, and attract certain fauna.

The Auntie B’s Wax World Headquarters property also contains a wood pile, serving to feed indoor fires to warm the interior of the premises during the cold winter months.  The fauna, referred to previously, has taken a liking to the wood pile during the summer months and pretty much claimed it as home.

Enter: Red Squirrel.

I hear the red squirrel is a dastardly creature who loves to destroy surroundings for its own personal benefit.  However, I’ve found them very cute and playful.  Not that I’ve personally  played with them, but the way they chase gray squirrels around is quite entertaining.  I’ve been watching the red squirrel(s) (perhaps, more than likely, there’s more than one) scamper around the yard all summer, being all cute and stuff.  And then came the cooler days of autumn…

I’ve seen Red Squirrel running along the fence,  jumping the posts, and scurrying to the wood pile, but with an interesting accessory ~ it travels the length of the fence, from the front yard to the back, with a pinecone in its mouth.  The little guy looks like Groucho Marx, pinecone placed in its mouth like a big, old Stogie.

The pinecones, only those from the front yard spruce tree, are giving Red Squirrel a motherlode of seeds/nest materials for the winter.  I’m not sure why it doesn’t take pinecones from the five spruces in the back where the wood pile is…apparently they’re poison.  Day after day, week after week, I see Red Squirrel haul his “cigars” to the wood pile from the one spruce tree in front.

 

The days go on and Red Squirrel keeps “squirreling away” its pinecones.  Husby finally said to me, “I’m going to have to uncover the wood pile soon.”  I panicked.  “What are you going to do with all of those pinecones?” I asked.  “Compost,” was Husby’s answer.  My heart shattered.  “But Red Squirrel has been working so hard for so long!  We can’t just toss all of those (cigars) away!”

Husby has more sympathy for me than he has for Red Squirrel and said he’d just toss the pinecones under one of the backyard spruce trees, easy for Red Squirrel to find.  I hope Red Squirrel appreciates me as much as I appreciate Husby.

The pile of pinecones continues to grow…

This year I saved the bounty of the dreaded Red Squirrel.  Why is the little fellow so dreaded?  So cute.  So playful.  So determined to survive.

Husby promised me he’d throw the pinecones close by to where Red Squirrel “squirreled” them.  I figure as long as he’s not gnawing on our house he deserves the fruits of his efforts.

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