Draft 2021

What are these two up to? They're probably just messing with my brain... something Lester (the little guy) particularly enjoys. He likes to sit outside the bathroom door and cry. And cry. And yowl. Finally, unable to take it anymore, I climb out of the tub to let him in. And he sits there. Just sits there. Now that he can come in, well, you see, he's just not all that sure he really wants to. I close the door. The yowling begins. Open it... and Lester shoots off like "striped lightning" down the hall. Lather, rinse repeat. So the other morning when Lester and Fannie became preoccupied with something under the stove, I initially chalked it up to cat shenanigans. Then I began to wonder... there isn't really something under there, is there? Surely nothing more than a fur forest and maybe a grape? Then on Saturday, Fannie continued the beneath-the-stove obsession. Fortunately, Michael had not yet left for Hawaii , so I asked him to pull the stove out to check for...

Melissa has a tradition. She always makes the gifts she gives. Over the past few years she's given altered-book style photo albums, crocheted purses and throws, handmade scarves, books of poems and Haiku, photo calendars and felted ornaments. Last fall, she made a wet-felted scarf for a friends' birthday present. We had never wet-felted before, so the task was a little daunting. For me at least. I remember when I was in first grade. I used to get Highlights magazine. Oh, I loved that magazine! I used to read the crafts pages and I remember yearning, yes yearning, to make the crafts. But I was too afraid. I don't remember whether I asked for help and it wasn't forthcoming, or whether I kept my desires to myself, but I never once worked up the nerve to make one of those crafts. This somewhat irrational fear - okay, let's be honest, it's totally irrational - still plagues me to this day. Fortunately I have Melissa to prod me along and push me through my mental hur

So yesterday I took my two girls to the doctor's office. Actually, I wasn't planning on going anywhere yesterday, so my darling husband didn't dig my car out from under our latest 8 or so inches of snow. Oh, and the snow plow, which actually came to my neighborhood in a timely fashion, piled up a mini-mountain at the end of the driveway, effectively trapping me in my home. Sort of. You see, I don't do snow. Oh, I enjoy how pretty it is, love snow days, really love wearing my warm woolen sweaters and sipping hot chocolate in front of the fire. But I don't shovel. Snow-blow? No-go. I have many excuses reasons for avoiding this particular winter toil, all of them excellent in my opinion. Bad back? Check. Lack of strength? Check. Prone to exhaustion from extreme physical exercise? Double check. (I like to blame this one on fibromyalgia and hypothyroidism issues. Works for me.) Unlike a very dear friend of mine who delights in showing off her shoveling prowess - she

Potato Buns. Need I say more? These delectable, slightly-sweet dinner rolls are a family favorite. And who do I have to thank for this fantastic recipe? Betty, of course. Betty Crocker. Yes, thanks to Betty's 1956 cookbook, I have fabulous recipes for cakes, pies, and good-old-standbys like raspberry shrub and tuna casserole. But that's not all Betty had to offer. The book is chock-full of helpful hints for the happy housewife, such as "Wear comfortable clothes and properly fitted shoes while working around the house." No more high heels and skirts for me! And this helpful hint for a good personal outlook: "Every morning before breakfast, comb hair, apply make-up, a dash of cologne, and perhaps some simple earrings. Does wonders for your morale." I don't think Betty would want to experience my morale before my morning coffee. But most of Betty's recipes are just the bees knees, especially potato buns, which are actually called " Potato Refrig

Now, that is a title I never would have thought applied to me. In school, I was always the good girl - good grades, polite, well-behaved. If I ever broke a rule, I did it on the sly, always knowing how to cover my trail so I didn't get caught. Not that I did this often, but I do remember pulling a fast one on my band teacher in middle school. We were supposed to keep a daily practice chart and have a parent sign it weekly. Guess who neglected to do so? I remember being to afraid to tell my mom that I had forgotten (didn't want to get in trouble), though I'm not sure what she would have done. So I filled in all the spaces with reasonable practice times and asked my mom to show me how she wrote her signature. I then took the paper with her signature and wrote over the top of it to make an impression on the form underneath. I tried to go over the indentations with pen, but needless to say, it wouldn't have taken a forensics expert recognize the fakery. What to do? I c