Friday, April 29, 2011


This is our first harvest of the year, spinach. We had a few volunteer plants come up in one of our raised beds. It was enough to pick, wash and steam. It tasted marvelous on a veggie pizza.

Talk about potential! These rose buds are getting ready to burst into bloom.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Marrying George Clooney

Please raise your hand if you have ever had a fantasy of marrying George Clooney.
I have taken a poll among my many curiously deranged, off-balance girlfriends who very often find themselves dancing or, in some cases, swaying to the beat of their own iPod in the middle of the night.
That is how this excerpt from Marrying George Clooney: Confessions from a Midlife Crisis Marrying George Clooney!.”  by Amy Farris  begins. 
OK it not just that I wanted an excuse to post a picture of George Clooney on my blog, I really LOL reading this excerpt.
So enjoy:
Each one, honest to god, has a similar fantasy. Mine goes like this.
Tossing and turning, more tossing and turning, and more . . . tossing, and more . . . turning. You slip out of bed and find yourself standing in front of the bathroom vanity mirror: the puffy droopy eyelids, along with the ever-so-slightly sag in the jowls—and you can understand on a cellular level how Faye Dunaway was able to turn herself into a radioactive trout. First it was the eyes. Let’s pull and tuck them tightly (adding the glamour of Scotch tape) so that they appear to no longer be in the center of the face. Let’s take the nose, which at one time was so perfect and straight, and now expand the nostrils so they can hide canned goods in case of a nuclear meltdown. And now the lips—it’s always such a tragedy when the mouth starts to take on the form and shape of a six-lane freeway. Why, oh, why do we women do this to ourselves? Really, what is the point? Because we want to get hired as the ingĂ©nue, the sexy hot babe. Hey, I’ve got news for you—we are sexy hot women, but we’re all botoxing ourselves into non-expression frenzy mode. I mean, really—what is so sexy about a shiny forehead that only seems to move when you jerk your arm?
MarryingGeorgeClooney cover 300x450 Marrying George Clooney!Back to my fantasy.
I go into a bar.
There are a few scattered customers. Mostly drunk out of their gourd, mumbling, wobbling, and peeing in their pants. I order a Cosmo, straight up, which really means cranberry juice with a twist of lime. I get up from my bar stool and saunter over to the jukebox. I play Laura Nyro and Rickie Lee Jones. I, for one, want to hear women sing about rejection and pain and unrequited love and abortion and guys named Chuck E. who, yes, are in love.
And then he walks in.
Makes himself comfortable at the end of the bar. Orders a beer. Fiddles with his brand-new, sleek, black, sexy iPhone. He looks at me. I look at him. He looks at me again. I mouth, “Hey . . . want my number?” in perfect Italian. He looks at me in his Clooney kind of way, eyebrows tilting up, eyes looking down . . . a smirk . . . he nods. Then he slides the iPhone ever so gracefully—landing right in front of me. I punch in my ten-digit number and add a smiley face with a wink, sliding it right back to him.
“Hey,” he says, “you have three 7s in your number. That’s lucky.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. That’s me, Ms. Very, Very Lucky.”
Nine months to the day I give birth to our first child, whom we name Dolores Claiborne Clooney. She dies three days later under mysterious circumstances. Then I fall into a coma. And stay in a vegetative state for eight years. The only people who seem to visit me on a regular basis are Robert and Mary Schindler, Terri Schiavo’s parents, who petition to adopt me. I vaguely remember hearing someone—possibly a nurse or an attendant—saying that George thanked me at an Oscar ceremony. He didn’t mention me by name, but he did refer to me as “his coma girl.”
Boy George releases a single that same year, “Coma, Coma, Coma, Coma Girl,” and experiences a huge comeback post-jail.
I end up on the cover of Time magazine, as “Vegetative Person of the Year.”
I wake up from my coma; George and I inevitably divorce. Amicably. I open a fast-food vegan restaurant, called Vegetative Taste, with a drive-through for hybrids only. It becomes a franchise, and I am awarded the Nobel Prize.
I am jarred by the sound of an alarm clock.
My husband, upon waking, turns to me: “What’s with the Scotch tape?”
He cannot relate at all to my fantasy life with George.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Why Do Some Boomers Act Much Older?

As I approach my 60's, I've fallen victim to the notion that I'm suppose to feel achy, old and used up. The article I linked here is a great antidote.

Life gets better! Being older (and wiser) is fun.

Why Do Some Boomers Act Much Older?

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Quilt Block Cube Calendar

I am so often amazed by what creative people can do. I found this cube calendar from Pen Pencil Stencil.

I love the quilt blocks and it is such a clever idea! Awesome!

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Whew! that was quite a long break.

Just as I was gearing up to be a more consistent writer on my blog, Life happened. I still don't know exactly what pulled me away. But I hope we can assume I'm back.  Time will tell.

I and the family have a great vacation over Christmas break. I had my first cruise. I loved it.  There was plenty for all the kids (who are all adults now) to do, good food and beautiful sunshine and scenery in the Caribbean.

Yes we took a lot of pictures (even pictures of us taking pictures)

During my hiatus from my blog. my niece had a wedding shower. Isn't she a darling bride to be?

I did do some sewing/fiber stuff too but didn't take many pictures (maybe I was overwhelmed sorting through the vacation pictures). 
I made table toppers for my niece's upcoming wedding out of this dynamite blue/green/brown paisley fabric.

And completed a place mat or two out of cotton broadcloth.

So I'm back. Sorry it took me so long.