Next furniture project

Yesterday, right before the movie Prometheus started, One sent a text picture of something cool.  Stone inlay, turquoise, on chopping boards. (Too pretty to chop on!)  I immediately thought of this chest.  The tiny fissures will lend themselves to that.  I am super excited about it.  I was thinking about a marble top but the inlaid stone will be so much cooler.   This chest is a perfect candidate for that I think.  I may keep the door pulls as they are, or I may change them out with some silver pulls that look like the Brighton bracelets I wear.  This is going to be really fun.  I was able to work the water spots out ... drawer number three needs serious repair ... and the back braces are currently out.  This is that little project chest.  I've been kinda working with it off and on trying to figure out the best restoration option.  Pumped!

Arizona Silhouette ... Crushed Stone is the source for the turquoise inlay material

I'll "fill" these little hairline cracks with turquoise ... it's going to be beautiful!

this one branch is ... out there ... dangling in the breeze
dangled up in blue

during coffee/quiet time ... light shower

four pots ... drying

watching 24 ... last season

and movie night ...

tonight

Turns out table sanding (saw dust) residue is just a little bit easier to clean up then sheet rock dust  ... I am very satisfied with the results so far ... that's a good feeling ... to get to the end of a day with a soft smile on one's face, looking forward to coffee time at the old "new" table.

Was also able to spend a couple of hours at the pottery studio today ... I have several pretty nice pieces in the process ... two big bowls ... large pieces are what I prefer to build.  I like working with clay quite a bit.

The table looks great, better then that, it feels great.  I finished it with what is sold as a tung oil finish ... I don't know precisely what it is, some combination of oil and lacquer, a rubbing varnish.  Not sure how this will wear ... I may wind up waxing it or maybe applying a poly shield ... for now we are enjoying the organic feel of it.  I really hope I can find a livable "deal" on those chairs ... that would be nice.

I like the idea of walking in to this room tomorrow morning and seeing this done.  I think I am getting ready to do something very Southern ... I think I am going to have a table runner monogramed ... hmmm ... which font ... H might clue me in ... she's probably gonna say there is only one.

perspective

Photos from the NASA site ...
amazing ... wondrous

As I sand today I am thinking about ... galaxies.  And I am wondering if they all spin in the same direction ... I am wondering if they spin this way or that way because of pressure systems ... okay, like are these sort of like low pressure systems where enough "stuff" collects for "stuff" to happen ... or at least become visible as I know it. ... and if these are lows with a ball of energy as a eye then ... what might the highs "be" like.
BTW ... just sanding, no chemical fumes.
Well, first I thought, who would I know who would maybe know.  I am not from the google generation.  But, I am on break from sanding ... and after maybe 15 seconds of toe tapping, I remembered to google.  Here's the answer I'm working with from Cornell ... ask an astronomer.


The direction that the Milky Way spins depends on your perspective. For example, take a top and spin it clockwise on a glass table. Then look at the spinning top from below the glass table - it will appear to spin counter-clockwise now. Or similarly, draw an arrow on a piece of paper in the clockwise direction, then hold the paper up to a light, looking at it from the bottom - now the arrow goes in the counter-clockwise direction. Thus the direction of the spin of any galaxy depends on your perspective when you look at it.




Yes ... exactly.  
Perfect illustration ... both, I can "see" them.  Something about that is ... creepy interesting.  If I look down at my "glass table" I see a low pressure configuration.  If I lay on the floor looking up and through, I see a High pressure configuration.  Hmmm ... it kinda makes my tummy tickle.


Perspective ... all about perspective ... all about where you're situated.  How can the same thing be so different?

Next two ... or maybe three ... projects

Monday morning ... and they're off ... !
"Uh, by the way, the uh Jeep is not working."  Two is one red Ked in one red Ked out the front door.  "What's wrong with the Jeep?"  I ask.
"I don't know Mom, something with the battery I think."

There is something with that battery, which may have something to do with something else about that Jeep.  It doesn't like to stay in alignment, and the battery cable connections whack out ... umm, occasionally.  Oh well.  I may look at it later.  The smell of roasted coffee beans in is the air, and everything is getting ready to be just fine.  

Joulies*

Coffee in hand, I situate to call my brother.  Uh oh.  I am borrowing some one's old device.  My sim card is in their old spare iPhone because my old iPhone said no mas and I am trying to hold out for the 5 ... October I hear.  And ... my "Rolodex" is on the slumbering phone not the sim card ... surely they have his number.  I know he chats with all these kids routinely.  Nope, not under first name, not under last name.  Guess I'll have to send him an email asking him to call me when he gets a minute.  Dangit.  He checks his mail late in the day.  Then I realize his number is probably stored under "U" for uncle or maybe even "F" for favorite.  Uh huh.  There he is ... he tells me that he's giving a really neat old armoire to One.  I like that my eldest is near my brother.

It is low OVC here this morning ... thinking about raining low.  I was going to fly on Friday with that guy who needs to work on trim and rudder.  He called to cancel.  The winds were moving around more then he was comfy with. I could tell he was very concerned that I would be, he said aggravated.  No, not at all, I was surprised but not annoyed.  I think he said they were gusting 20Kts and maybe ranging 20 degrees either side of 18.  He thought maybe it would be better for him to work out aircraft control issues in better conditions.  Yeah, I'm thinking maybe end of August, but I agree with his insight.  I assure him that I'm not aggravated and that I think he is making a good choice.  We'll step in to less then perfect winds when he is ready.  We flew with minimal winds the other day and I wasn't tickled with his alignment.  I am thinking that it would help him if we sat in his plane and visualized landings.  His hands don't go where they should when they should for landings. Or departures.   I could feel him tensing up. He thought it was kinda special that the stall warning didn't ping. So that's where we are at.
Given the opportunity to do so, airplanes know how to land.  Yeah, I should sit with him on the ground and walk him through some landings.  I just don't want him to think I'm going to spend much time sitting around in an airplane on the ground.  I say I like airplanes, but more accurately ... I like to fly.

For today though ...
I am going to sand this table top and ... tomorrow I will stain it and on Wednesday I think I will seal it.   I'm really thinking about tung oil and paste wax.  And ... by Father's Day it will be operational ... complete with the new table runner and candle do dah.  My husband will enjoy a special Sunday lunch at that old table.

I like this.  Well, not exactly this ...I like where it's going .
When we bought this house there were water stains on the wall above that picture and on the ceiling beginning 5' away from the wall.  A leak.  The leak was fixed.  The wall board was replaced ... ceiling material and insulation ... replaced.  Few years later ... ummm, a spot on the ceiling ... then a soft spot ... then a leak.  Then ... the leak gets fixed and sheet rock repairs are made and of course the entire ceiling is repainted.  Kind of a big tedious deal.  Five or so years ago we had the entire roof replaced.  The roofers took all the material off down to the wood decking.  This is a lovely tongue and groove roof deck.  New home construction uses plywood decking.  One of the reasons I love this old house is because it was built with wood that took a while to grow hammered in place by men who had been building homes for a while.  This house was well built.  Well ... that leak was really supposed to be repaired when they re-roofed.  But ... it wasn't.  My husband cut a few holes in the ceiling to see what was really going on ... eventually I said just pull that entire section down, it'll be easier for me to replace an entire board then a bunch of little (super annoying) punch outs.  That turned in to carefully peeling back the shingles to get a look at things from the outside ... which reveal the problem.  The roofers didn't remove the material right around the fireplace and ... they didn't interlock the flashing with the new shingles.  They cut corners there.  I don't know why.  Maybe the boss was away.  I was over seeing the project and had complete confidence in the integrity of the guy I hired.  I would like to believe he wasn't aware of the mess.  Either way, live and learn.  My husband built a cricket for the top side of the chimney which will shed water which was pooling. And he replaced a few weathered boards ... and the felt and the shingles (I had a bundle left over tucked away just in case) and the flashing.  I am very happy ... very happy ... about this.  It's raining right this minute.  Outside.  I really like a roof that doesn't leak.  I am glad my husband made time to fix it.  I'm glad he did it.  He does good work.
So ... later this week the sheet rock for the ceiling will go up.  L will place and secure the board.  Then I will finish it up ... and then ... no more sheet rock dust in my house.  It's a big deal to me.  I really hope my days of overhead sheet rock work are winding down.  It's my least favorite home repair by far.

I want to finish up all these little "refreshes" around the house this summer.  My list is shrinking.  When school starts back I want to find a job ... just a job ... almost anything will do.  Since we are going to be here for a few more years (at least)  I want a  real job, one with a paycheck.


*Joulies ... Pinterest says these are spray painted coffee beans ... for floral arrangements or, ummm, candles maybe ... my kid say these and he was very impressed with how I hang with what's trending ... reader's digest version of this :  These are "joules" ... energy exchangers ... they keep your coffee 140*F ... perfect drinking temp ... pretty cool ... liked and linked.

wood slices

 these two are the same place ... different angle ... I really like this idea

for the patio plan by the fire pit ... and in the vegetable garden as a walkway between and around the beds ... I need a chain saw.

This is what I did today.

Now that I know about those Miller dowels I believe I can "fix" this table.  I have sanded everything below the top by hand.  I'm going to get the leg back in and put the leaves in and lightly belt sand the top. I'll probably just use tung oil on the legs and skirt ... seal the top.  This table was my husband's grandparents table.  It's more interesting then I thought it was because the legs are obviously hand done ... and some little scamp has notched the underside where he must have sat. L's aunt told him they grew up with a standard seating arrangement.  No telling how many years this table has been in service.  I like it.  

I don't know very much about old furniture, but I do know from sanding these legs today that the flutes are hand planned or chiseled ... a lot of work and love went in to making this piece.  Just a matter of time and the wobbly leg will be steady.
I have already "created" a lovely center piece ... candle in a huge hurricane jar with shells ... to celebrate the redo.

And ... I found the outlet for Restoration Hardware ... and it is within driving distance.  When we can get over that way I'm going to call them to see if "my" chairs are inventoried.  That may work out yet.

ice cream

I came across this, written some time early last year, after Valentine's Day ... probably thinking about the Chilton County peaches ... becoming ripe.    I was thinking about peachy delicious creamy ice cream. Or ... maybe something slippery with chocolate syrup.   I even bought a neat ice cream freezer in support of homemade.  Oh well.  Ice cream ... sigh.

I've always wondered what happens ... where, how, why does it happen ... that people will knowingly choose to do something that they know is wrong for them. I'm thinking about one of those things that is so pleasant to think about doing ... maybe a secret indulgence ... so pleasant.

As an example ... I mean, the whole touching a hot stove type thing. If I touch it, I know I will get burned. I want to stand near enough to be warmed by the radiating heat ... or maybe I need to prepare a small meal. The flame is necessary and then surprisingly, delightfully, warm and I realise that I am so cold and have been cold, or maybe just hungry ... cold and hungry. Then the heat is not enough, and I just scoot a little bit closer and next thing I know, I'm walking around with my brand new very cool under armour tee with a hole, heat seared down there by the hem line. I did that. I wear it sometimes to remind me that gas burners are awesome to cook on, greatly preferred, but you have to stay mindful ... watch your business, or you might ... will ... end up burned. It's that high-tech nylon. I'm lucky it didn't go up in flames.

My right arm was badly burned while I was in college. The doctors were amazed at how well it healed. No one even notices the scars ... 'cept me. I remember that it was a single act of carelessness and it hurt me ... not just the arm, my whole body felt the pain of it. To this day, I notice it shows the effects of the sun ... and other heat sources way before the rest of my skin does. It's still sensitive ... damaged.

This thing I'm thinking about ... it's like ...

I am on a diet, it's just after St. Valentine's Day and probably most Americans are still honoring their New Year's resolutions of proper diet and exercise. I am. So far so good. I am honoring my commitment.
My husband was home today for lunch and after a healthy, conscientious meal (chicken quesadillas with black beans ... cilantro is in season!), I heard him in the pantry rummaging around and he came out offering me a cookie ... or more ... he had a whole package. We have another social event tonight and I have to save my calories for a little half glass of wine ... I was able to say, "No thanks". Fortunately, I am not hungry for cookies. Ben and Jerry's makes an unmentionable flavor of ice cream that I know I can not, will not resist. I just don't allow it in the grocery cart ... not even for the garage frig! But, oh how I wish I could. Even the packaging is seductive ... and you know there is smooth silky decadence available within ... one spoonful at a time ... could I make it last? ... once tasted what would be the costs?
I've been thinking about that ice cream today ... this started yesterday. We were at the grocery store and something reminded me of how I long for one tiny little harmless bite. ... Maybe out of someone else's container. ... Maybe if the bite is small enough no one would even miss it ... . I'm being silly. As audacious as I might be on occasion, I know I would never ever ever ever take ... steal ... something that could be mine only if it were stolen. Borrowed ... shared ... there's probably a PC word for it. And besides, even a teeny tiny taste, no matter how smoothed out and re-packaged, would be noticed ... missing ... but where? how? why?
Ice cream is serious business. I know how it feels to get home with a container that someone else has had their fingers in ... it ruins your day.

I hear the music from the ice cream truck and I want to run outside ... but ice cream is not on my diet.

I can hear the music ... and I am certain that he has my flavor.

Huevos Rancheros

Link to recipe

my salsa recipe is already on site somewhere ...

The kids want a cookbook of their favorite recipes, and I think that's a great idea ... I'll do it.  But ... what about the pictures.  Knowing what it's supposed to look like is ... well, it's at least worth a thousand words.

Alrighty ... definitely done ... I took out some too bright blue and added just a smudge or two of grey ... wall paint grey, turns out is the same color as virga grey ... this painting is just hinting at weather ... it doesn't have quite enough energy to build clouds, but, the humidity is there.  This is a bit of a lazy sky.  I like it.  It's not what I began to paint, but what I was painting was too much for the room.  So ... this will be like a window at the coast.  I have a chest in the garage with I intended to refurbish and put under this painting.  That project is now on the list.  It's coming together.

82/1000

Thankful that I suddenly knew exactly how to "fix" my rocker.
Two of the spindles are broken. The repair is so obvious that I am embarrassed that it took me so long to figure it out. Really ... I laugh at myself, but ... If this were anyone else I'd just stay quiet, 'cause they would have to think I was laughing at them rather then with them.
I have already done all the prep work ... Chair can be operational about five minutes after I get home from Lowe's. I need a couple of 1.5" nails ... Super skinny finishing nails ... Pilot hole already drilled. That rocker was purchased when I was pregnant with One. It's been in the garage waiting for a brainstorm for maybe ten years now. I've already sanded it and will refinish it once the slats are

In the midst of these large and great matters all too often the individual becomes the forgotten man.  Then he emerges in solemn significance and we see that at last everything else depends upon him.  The passion for goodness on the part of the individual is the only true basis for social hopes.  All our values come to frustration when the canker of falseness rots the individual life.  The individual alive with the passion for goodness is all the while making feasible new hopes for the lot of man.  The treachery in the heart of the individual is the ultimate foe.  The triumph of good in the individual life is the central victory which makes all other victories possible.  Here we see in full flower the ultimate human value.

Lynn Harold Hough, The Civilized Mind - Forest Essays - Second Series, The Abingdon Press, New York, Cincinnati, Chicago, 1937, pg., 238

Via Improved Clinch

These words express a wonderful truth.

I've been thinking about the sentiments expressed by a soldier who blogs ... wondering if his experience snapshots humanities corporate and/or even individual "story".  It seems like a lot of days might be tossed in to the pile labeled "not good enough for an honorable life" ... some days, and maybe whole stacks of them, can seem ... pointless.  We intend to spend our lives in a way that makes a difference. It's hard to see the difference in a day ... it's hard to see the point from the scale where life is lived.

I have been looking at the book Falling Upwards.  And don't particularly recommend it as it can be summarized with this idea … you spend the first while of your life being shaped (by your unique journey) in to a vessel from which you are able to pour out your unique contributions.  I think those contributions are directed towards the people within your arms length (maybe within the reach of your words, maybe within the reach of your reach through time and space) … maybe hostiles if you're  you're a warrior … maybe your loves 'cause you care for them … maybe just the kid at the 30 minute oil change place who is trying to figure out what a man looks like … maybe a woman thinking about spiritual warfare (me).  

Recently finished reading JARHEADs  he talks about  "the Suck" … and as I read it I thought … this guy's life really isn't very different from my own.  I spend my days cleaning up everyone else's messes … there are crap scrapes stuck to the back of toilets in everyone's  life … I thought about his marksman training … pretty cool stuff … He spent all that time and didn't get to shoot at anyone (again, metaphorically speaking, just like me) … just walking along carrying stuff from here to here … as in The Things They Carried (also recently read) … everyone (in these books I am currently reading) seems to be asking a similar question … "What's the point … Did I matter, or will I be easily forgotten?  Am I significant? How might I be significant?" 

I'm trying to process all this warrior stuff as a metaphor for a spiritual or eternal truth.  It's complicated.  The questions are complicated.  and then … some simple answers emerge in the solemn significance of a person well built for eternity.  I think a lot of life stuff doesn't make good enough sense because we are all in the suck.  Improved Clinch's  post does, for me, illuminate a "good enough" answer … or hope … here: The triumph of good in the individual life is the central victory which makes all other victories possible.  Here we see in full flower the ultimate human value.

And, for me, The real significance of that is that I might realize that I am significant to God.  My eyes aren't big enough to see the big picture, but I may find some comfort and also strength, in the notion that this isn't the whole deal … and I have some small role which He thinks is significant  (enough so to have created me).


I like remembering that on a day like today.  I was away until late last night.  This morning finds yesterday's dishes ... several loads of laundry, one waiting in the dryer, another wrinkling, but fresh smelling towels in a wicker basket, yet another just gathered up already in the washer,  soaking in baking soda ... newspapers ... clutter ... unmade beds ... Sam looking at me hoping ... . Another day in the life!  I've already been chided for bringing the van home on E ... I look around and sigh.  I am on E.  I've been on E for ... a long time. 


Too funny ... just happened between that sentence and this one ... doorbell rang ... hardhat at the door.  He tells me that they have to turn my water main off for a bit of work down the line.  Perfect.   Sammy is going to get that walk.

Unstuck

I was sitting with a man ... visiting ... when his wife called.  I thought it was especially sweet, one of the sweetest things I've ever seen, that he stopped everything to take the call and address her concerns.  She was stuck in traffic. Driving home, I thought, home to make things nice for him.  She could have figured out a different route, but she called her pilot/navigator.  I liked that she knew she could call on him.  I liked that he had probably made it so.  I liked the tenderness of the exchange.  I liked it for both of them.  

I'm sitting in the back seat of the family road van right now, the girls are up front driving to camp.  We've made this trip so many times that I doubt I will be consulted about anything, but the events of the morning have converged to remind me of that tiny peek into different lives ... the sweetness of the picture of it smiles me.
I was thinking about how we move through life.  We, my little crew, had a rough start today.  Nerves are a bit on edge.  Four is on her way to a summer away job.  Big step for her, though she boots up acting like it's no big deal.  It's a big deal to me ... the mom mode kicks into overdrive ... will she be safe? ... will she need me?  ... do "they" understand how precious she is? ... .  There is some faulty place in my psyche that believes I can keep her safe.  I know ...  it's messed up.  I know this stuff is in God's hands and mostly I believe that's exactly as it should be, but some rouge part of my heart reminds me that bad things have happened to my people when my eyes aren't on them.  The tether between her heart and mine stretches to accommodate her  separate journey. I feel it pulling at some fears, irrational fears, they twirl loose and hinder my view, suddenly my soul feels stuck ... stuck in traffic.
I am intentionally in the back seat.  I want her to drive herself to what she has chosen as what comes next for her.  I want her sister beside her, fully engaged as travel buddy ... dispensing sour patch kids, monitoring speed bumps (aka, state troopers), reading the CD cover ... accompanying.  Part of this is that they are teaching me that they are ... able.  It's me ... sitting here quietly,  in the backseat, as we rocket along, who feels swamped by ... the journey.  I feel stuck in the traffic of my fears ... and concerns. My arm rests on a laundry basket full of beautifully folded linens.  She does know how to do that ... little trickster.  I smile and close my eyes ... pushing at those fly away strands of panic.  And I thought of the story of a person found dead with their head resting in a chair beside their bed.  Visitors had been told "No,you may not sit there, that is the Lord's chair ... he sits with me now that I am no longer able to walk.  Like you, I cannot see Him, but I will.  I will see Him soon." There is room right here in the backseat for the Lord.  I  feel the tension dissipate a bit. And then, with my eyes still closed I try to stretch towards His presence and I remembered that man who set everything aside when his wife called ... stuck in traffic, but not for long.  I remember the image of help, guidance, through these snags, the traffic jams we come up on during the life journey.  I am on my way home.  I don't have to do this all by myself.

So ... Lane change.
The photo below ... Four with a buddy. Buddy spent time in the hospital recently, he was air-lifted over after a long board accident. Big scary deal ... then he woke up and took the breathing tubes out all by himself. And like a couple weeks later they let him go home.
Fear ... Irrational, or up close and personal real, either way, didn't have a say in that matter.

 (Here's a version of that story:

"A man's daughter had asked the parish priest to come and pray with her father. When the priest arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows. An empty chair sat beside his bed. The priest assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit.

'I guess you were expecting me,' he said.
'No, who are you?' said the father.

The priest told him his name and then remarked, 'I see the empty chair; I figured you knew I was going to show up.'

'Oh yeah, the chair,' said the bedridden man. "Would you mind closing the door?'
Puzzled, the priest shut the door.

'I have never told anyone this, not even my daughter,' said the man. 'But all of my life I have never known how to pray. At church I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it went right over my head. I abandoned any attempt at prayer, until one day about four years ago my best friend said to me, `Johnny, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus. Here is what I suggest.' Sit down in a chair; place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair. It's not spooky because he promised; `I'll be with you always.' Then just speak to him in the same way you're doing with me right now.'

So I tried it and I've liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day. I'm careful though. If my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm.

The priest was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old man to continue on the journey. Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the church. Two nights later the daughter called to tell the priest that her daddy had died that afternoon.
'Did he die in peace?' he asked.

'Yes, when I left the house about two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me he loved me and kissed me on the cheek. When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead.  But there was something strange about his death. Apparently, just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head in the chair beside the bed.

The priest wiped a tear from his eye and said, 'I wish we could all go like that." 

Packing for camp today

 and late Wednesday this pings in ...
unpacked at camp

New orchid ... and, I think this painting is finished ... I painted over where it was cause it was just too cluttered.  Clouds are easy to paint and also hard to paint.  When I am in the air there is a feeling of clouds more then a substance of clouds ... which makes perfect sense to me.  I do not know how to lay paint on to the canvas lightly enough to capture the feeling.  Clouds are an expression of energy.

I am absolutely terrible with house plants.  I don't have the knack.  Orchids seem to do great here though. Now I see how it is ... I paint these paintings as a back drop for my flowers which I love because they remind of clouds.

I did join CAP.  I am supposed to be doing all the, idk ... sign up stuff.  It kinda creeps me out that they are addressing mail to me as captain last name.  I strongly prefer to be called by just my first name or for a hand full of people, the derivative.  This military vibe will take some getting used to.  On the plus side ... I am looking forward to helping a few people understand and or experience the science and art of aerodynamics.  This chapter is planning on offering rides to the local science teachers.  I think that is a very good thing ... and ... while I maybe think some teachers are a bit too tightly laced, I have yet to meet a science teacher who I wasn't particularly fond of.  Uh oh ... just remembered Bill Nye the Science Guy.  I'm just now starting to realize how nerdy I truly am.

This orchid has tiny green spots on the petals.

Hydrangea ... just a great Southern flower ... they are everywhere in bloom right now, this one bloom is the size of a dinner plate.  The bush was covered by periwinkle flowers, and will bloom through the summer. During the fall and winter the bush loses its flowers and leaves and will look like sticks, dried out and brown, brittle sticks poking out of the ground.  I prefer this blue/purple colored flower, but they are available in many different shades ranging from greenish yellow through the blues all the way to pale pinks and bold magenta's.  Sometimes right on the same bush.


Yesterday a couple of my daughters and I joined a bunch of church ladies at the lake for ... fellowship. Great venue ... outside on the water.  As the sun set shimmering golden over the water, little fireflies twinkled in and out of gardenia bushes, and cicadas sang.  Four likes the lake even better then the beach ... I can see why.


An avocado salad and crisp tortilla chips was the ice breaker course.

(thanks Barefoot Countessa ... really good recipe:

• 4 ripe Haas avocados
• 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice (1 lemon)
• 8 dashes hot pepper sauce
• 1/2 cup small-diced red onion (1 small onion)
• 1 large garlic clove, minced
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 medium tomato, seeded, and small-diced)

We have lived here for around twenty years now and I still feel like an observer at this type thing.  It's me.  I just don't quite fit.  There is room enough for me in this ground, but ... I am not a hydrangea.  Any one of those women would bring casseroles, and pans of warm bread, and tea so sweet ... well so sweet it's thick with sweetness, any one would "be there" for me if I were in need.  I look out for them as well. I do and would for a lot of nice and good reasons, but none of them find root in true affinity ... these are not my people.  Wish they were or maybe I just wish that I were among my people.

I wish it were possible to write about this.  I understand that I am not like them and I secretly wish they could be more like the women in Texas rather then the other way ... the way where I am more ... hahaha ... sweet.  It's very complicated really, and impossible to write about without sounding, I don't know, ungrateful, condescending, bitchy.  


We were learning how to coupon.  Coupon, like twenty-five cents off on a box of pasta, but only when you pair the purchase with their sauce.  I shop for  meals for six people and our grocery bill would love to be dialed back.  I don't even know where to "get" coupons.  Well, now I do.  There are web sites and they are also inserted in the Sunday paper.  Yesterday I learned that coupon thieves are coming on to people's lawns in the wee hours and stealing those coupons.  People coupon.  Amazing.  A guest speaker was there to help shed the light on this.  She said she routinely gets a store gift certificate for money back when she goes shopping ... and ... her husband has built another room on to their house to store all her "bargains".  She stressed that if you coupon correctly a lot of stuff is free ... and who doesn't want free stuff.  She even mails expired coupons to military bases overseas because there's some kind of leeway on the dates.  Sitting there, taking notes, I realized a couple of things ... one, I could do better ... two, I do do worse, maybe even a lot worse.
  

Today we are going to buy some of the little local newspapers ... specifically for coupons.  We stopped taking the paper years ago when the front page headlines reported a local man's homosexual lifestyle had culminated in him jumping to his death from some big city bridge. Ummm, his wife was a neighbor.  I just couldn't see how any aspect of that was news-worthy ... it was in print because that's the way they do things over here.  He was old South ... seersucker South I think of it as ... then apparently he let some things go public and ... people were willing to buy newspapers reporting on his transgressions.  Maybe that happens everywhere.  I never noticed stuff like that until we came here.  Yesterday one of the ladies was recounting a snub from a local pastor ... it did sound like something I would be surprised to hear coming from him.  We know him.  Excellent sermons ... truly excellent. His social skills are maybe not so great ... he is a bit of a "blurter", and he feels a bit awkward, maybe shy, when he's part of a crowd rather then addressing a crowd.  She said he said the exact same thing to them last time he spoke to them ... both times in a "receiving line" at a funeral.  I gathered that he saw himself in a sort of a "bouncer" role ... crowd management.  I think he whispered something like "we need to keep the line moving" ... something like that.  She was extremely offended.  Persnickety, eyes narrowing offended, even as she retold the story.  I laughed, and she looked at me asking, "What kinda preacher says stuff like that?"  I said ... "Well, he is an excellent preacher from the pulpit, maybe not so great socially ... why didn't you just tell him to mind his own business?"  (Mind your own beeswax ... floats up from childhood memories) See ... that's why I don't "fit in" around here.  They make room for me, they actually kind of like me ... kinda, they have high hopes for my redemption.  Yes, a stunned silence followed by nervous laughter then me again, "I'm serious, if you had a problem with what he said why not take it up with him?"  and the answer ... Seersucker Southern ... "Because that would not have been nice and  it is important to always be nice!"  I would have said bullshit right there ... well, I did, silently and maybe with just a glint of amusement dancing in my eyes, but aloud I said, "Well, I disagree." I disagreed with the queen bee ... but, I didn't say that sitting around at a church thing with a bunch of ladies trash talking the preacher at the church across the way didn't seem very nice to me. 

Yes, we must all be nice at all times. 
Connections ... This is where I am ... where I live my life.  I am looking at these connections and thinking to strengthen them, and be strengthened by them.  I have always thought that church community was/is very important.  I've just been wary of these very nice women.  Some of them are nicer then others.


Here's a joke.
Two old college roommates were sitting on the back porch of one of these magnificent Southern homes ...rocking and vistin'.
The hostess, waving her beautifully manicured hand around, said, "Sugahr, when I said yes to my husband he gave me this dazzling (five carat engagement) ring.
OCR: Smiles and says, "That's nice."
Hostess: "And on our fifth anniversary he gave me that darlin' Rolls Royce ... . "
OCR: Smiles and says, "That's nice."
this "he gave me thing goes on for awhile" ... the rocking gets a bit faster, but the old college room mate always responds with a smile and says ... "That's nice."  Finally the exasperated hostess asks, "Sugahr, dint chour husband ever give you nothin'?" and the OCR replied ... 
"Well, yes ... after we had been married for a while he did send me to charm school ... ."
"Charm school!?! Well whatever did you learn at charm school?"
OCR: "I learned to say that's nice when I really mean Eat My Grits*"


I never hear any of these ladies say "that's nice" or "be nice" or any kind of nicey-nice without remembering this joke.


*Eat my Grits" is a nice way, the Seer Sucker South way, of saying "Kiss my Ass" ... or something even worse.



"PS" ... especially for H:

carrot juice and ginger ... delicious

On the topic of connectedness ...

I'm thinking about how the things that have happened in one's life make them different ... um, unique.  The things I said yes to, the things ... challenges I stepped up to, big things and little things ... things I said no to ... things I made stop ... choices, all of the choices and other things ... circumstances, things which were out of my hands.   I can see the connections.  I can see how I have become me.
I am getting better at accepting the flow of things.
Maybe that's it.
I don't know ... I feel my soul shrug.  Nothing really seems to matter.  I stay busy ... I listen to music and do my little jobs ... making things better. I look for things to jettison.  I float.
I am on a big pink tube with my feet dangling in the water ... and my head is back trailing my hair on the opposite side ... I feel the light, but my eyes are closed.  I think about Mr. Turrell's work.  I wish I could have a small enough piece of the vastness of sky to actually see it ... a square or a circle of sky and light and nothing and the place where everything passes through ... oh I hope I get to seefeel that space near Flagstaff that he has been unearthing.

Yeah ... just chill in' on a Sunday evening.  I have my ear phones in, no tunes ... they block sounds out and I hear my unique silence.

Starting to think about connectedness

"Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for insects as well as for the stars. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper." Albert Einstein

Love

idk ~ from Pinterest
light resurgent in a blue moon sky ... the sun sets passing a lighted baton to the night
that's what these sun pillars  seem to me 

" ... We begin to know that love is here and now, real and true, the most important thing in our lives. For love is the creator of our favorite memories, and the foundation of our fondest dreams. Love is a promise that is always kept, a fortune that can never be spent, a seed that can flourish in even the most unlikely of places. And this radiance that never fades, this mysterious and magical joy, is the greatest treasure of all -- one known only by those who love." ~ anonymous

I've been thinking about these words for a while now.  Don't know how I happened upon them, usually I try to keep up with where words I want to think about come from ... hmmm.  "searching" the words rendered this site of loveliness ... sweet thoughts and something I may have to look at a bit further, Paul Newman's words to his wife on his wedding day may have originated with Wilferd Arian Peterson ( the essay was read at Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward's Las Vegas wedding ceremony in 1958) ... well, there you go. Excellent choice.

LOVE
I'm wondering if it's just girly (like me) to think that love may in fact be the most important thing in our lives.  I am certain that love has been present in each of my favorite memories, and that the saddest, most difficult, of my memories have love being lost or at very least diminished ... unloving, unraveling love.  I have been intentionally less loving, less open to both giving and receiving love, because of ... being surprised by unloving.  
"...  Love is a promise that is always kept, a fortune that can never be spent, a seed that can flourish in even the most unlikely of places."  I disagree with this line ... promise always kept ... fortune that can never be spent.  Nice words, but ... well, I wish they could be true, just think it's unrealistic to count on it.  The last bit though ... a seed that can flourish in even the most unlikely of places ... in my experience this is true.  

I think to love ... it's gotta be the most important thing.  To love and to let one's self  be loved.  Yeah, I know it's a no brainer, but it's just as easy to see that everyone is skittish about love ... and there's a lot of not love going around.  Love is not as easy as it should be.

For every worm beneath the moon

Draws different threads, and late and soon

Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.

~ TENNYSON ~ The Two Voices

thanks Bruce

This vid came in early and I watched it with a smile to start the day.

Flash mobs ... I love that there exists in an anonymous crowd the capacity to touch individuals in such a wonderful way. And I love seeing the wariness turn to delight.  Things like this breathe splendor in to the ordinary ... very cool.

‘A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.’ ~ Lao Tzu

 It is very strange for me to not have some objective ... A desired outcome ... A goal or target ... In mind.  I can think of a few somewhat significant relationships which are so fluid that I have no expectations. I can't think of any thing I actually do, rather then the minor activity that supports the whimsy of those sorta friendships, where I don't have some sense of where things are going ... I have x number of doors, y of which are already painted ... These are the elements on the completion checklist, these ... outstanding. I'm starting to think about that. I'm starting to pay attention to where the joy is in a moment. I'm laughing at myself a bit here ... even my rose vine is supported by invisible lines.  The birds come and go from the nests found there, but the vine is trained along specific lines.

This will sound weird probably, but ... Yesterday I went with Four for a pedicure. I can remember having a professional pedicure three times in my life. It sorta creeps me out to have someone scraping dead skin from the soles of my feet ... A stranger trimming, filing, painting my toenails. I don't particularly like the process, but ... this morning I woke up with pretty radiating from my feet. Today I felt pretty, really, it's a feeling, and it started at my feet  ... which is quite rare for me. It was a nice feeling. Why does that matter ... I wonder. And why does bronze nail polish and perfectly squared nails matter at all?
 The quote at the top ... .  I went with my daughter because she asked me to. I planned to guide her through the process. I wanted to help her see how to do that salon thing. Maybe she is that kinda girl, whatever that means. What happened was I found a bit of joy there ... later. My feet are telling me something that makes me smile. I told my daughter that in a few years,when all of them are out of the house, I think I will make the trip to the pedicure salon every Friday. Just because ... Waking up with pretty feet was ... super sweet.   Now, I understand the whole purple hair salon ritual ... I may totally get it.

I guess that's what I am thinking about now ... lately.  I don't have any plans at all.  Well ... I have calendar items,  I have chores,  I have projects, but I don't have really anything going on.  Some of the stuff I have read over the years ... Zen stuff probably ... encourages us to do what we are passionate about.  It seems like the places that light me up are some distance from where my life is supposed to be lived at.  I'm not saying that in a sad or martyr or whatever the word is way.  Simply making an observation.  I think there is enough joy for the day close at hand ... which would be missed were I to follow my passions.  People do what they are supposed to do and look for the joy along that way ... like these little bronze colored toenails.  I walk with sparkly feet.  And if I could see it, the ground is covered by microscopic miracles, like those photos of sand, no telling what. No telling what today might see.

81/1000

Thankful for the smell of wood mulch steaming up and mingling with the gardenia blossoms ... Woody gardenia ... heaven must smell just like that.

Where I'm at on this so far ... painting from top to bottom coming forward ... then back with the next layer 

I need gesso and ... maybe something else, not sure yet ... 

I like to paint the sky, even from the ground.

Kitchen floor tile ... not a fan of ceramic floor tile.  Two pieces, make that three, near the doorways, have little cracks in them.  Little cracks become big cracks.  This piece is being fine tuned to fit as a replacement.  I have a new list working up for a run to Lowe's ... floor grout.  That's the other thing.   I really don't like grouted floors.  In the laundry closet under the machines, the floor is beautiful.  The pristine grout mocks my attempts to keep the rest of the flooring ship shape.  Husband suggests I "Dremel" out all the grout and start over.  I do not like the idea of that ... pretty much at all.

These are called "hero" accessories.

Hero not included in set ... .

We rented a house in the Keys which had what I think was the perfect flooring ... travertine tiles without grout seams in the "wet" rooms ... well worn heart pine in the others.  Sigh.


It feels so good to my feet.  And ... it is beautiful.  Wish list ... Anyway ... I don't think I am going to replace the grout in the kitchen and breakfast rooms.  I pretty much hate the very idea of it ... talk about abrasive dust, it's already aggravating me!  I am going to replace those three tiles, and maybe the one near the dishwasher where dropped silverware has chipped tiny flecks of glaze from the tile ... then I'm going to scour the lines with that vinegar and soda solution ... then I'm going to paint a sealant on before anyone else even breathes in the area.


Yesterday L helped me with this tile measuring thing ... and also with installing the remaining outlets in the living room.  New outlets ... very white ... really pretty.  I know outlets aren't usually considered pretty, but, these really are!  L said he had no idea how tedious that work is.  One thing I have learned in life is that it is impossible to truly appreciate the contributions made by ones partner in marriage.  To me, he goes to his office and does stuff.  If we talk during the day I can hear NPR playing in his background ... his voice sounds almost as though he may be sitting there with his feet up on the desk ... . I know somebody comes in and empties his waste basket.  It's pretty easy to slip in to taking each other for granted when you've been married forever as we have.  It was great to have a buddy to work with yesterday.  I wouldn't have gotten the wet saw out without him near by.  Really just great.  He accidentally, but very sweetly, nicked his finger with the screw driver and bled a little on the switch plate ... glad I'm not the only one.  It was very encouraging.

I also started a new large canvas ... sky.  Just beginning it, and it was the first thing I thought of this morning when I woke up.  It is going to be ... my favorite.