A Cum Laude Miracle

This is my baby.  Surprised?  Me,too!  I never thought I'd have a six foot four inch African American son, but here he is.  He doesn't look that tall standing next to his girl?  Let me give you a hint, she just graduated from NC State, captain of the basketball team.  Did I give birth to him?  No, but I might as well have.

This is what he looked like when I first met him, just a young kid fooling around with my big wolf malamute hybred on Halloween:

Julius, child of my heart...my thinker, my court jester, my clown.  The kid who fell through the balcony from the second floor and landed standing on his feet hollering, "I didn't do it" as the railing crashed to the floor.  Julius who danced to "I Will Survive" in the spare bedroom so hard with his younger brothers that my dining room ceiling fell in.  Literally.

When Julius was about 11, he must have seen an Elvis movie with a female character named Claire.  Most people who do Elvis impressions say, "Thank you, thank you verrah much."  For years, Julius would say, "I love you, Claire" in a perfect Elvis voice to me as he left the house.

As he got older, his vocabulary expanded.  His voice got pretty deep after it changed and when he was particularly disgusted by something he'd say, "Miss Annie, that's riDICulous, it truly is."

After Julius went on a full scholarship to a private Christian University in Raleigh, NC, he sadly said to me, "Miss Annie, I don't come home much, because everyone I came up with is either dead or in jail."   It was a commentary on an entire generation of African American males.  Thank God he is in Raleigh.

Today I watched a miracle.  I watched Julius Gregory graduate with honors from Shaw University.  My Number 15, GO SHAW BEARS. He beat the odds.  He left the streets.  He starts his job coaching young people on Monday morning.  Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you verrah much.

Is Your Breadmaker Out in the Garage?



Where's your breadmaker?  Do you still have it?  Is it out in the garage on top of the old refrigerator in a laundry basket with a hole in the side next to the almost empty can of bug spray from last summer?  Bring it inside!

I bet you haven't used it in a while.  Don't worry, you can download the instructions from the Internet.  There are all sorts of fabulous recipes on line, here is a good place to start looking:  http://allrecipes.com/Recipes/bread/bread-machine/Main.aspx

So here's the secret about bread machines.  Bread cooked in a bread machine tastes icky because it is actually steamed and not baked.  However DOUGH prepared in a bread machine is a lot easier to work with  The little paddle on the inside mixes things very effectively and there's no mess on the counter.  The bread machine does a lovely job of letting the dough rise.  When your dough is finished, you take it out and pop it into the oven. 

I use my bread machine to prepare pizza dough about once a week.  I make a whole wheat crust and put Italian spices right into the dough. The dough process takes about an hour and a half.  Then I knead and form the crust.   I put the crust only into the oven and cook for half the recommended time.  This keeps the crust from getting soggy when the ingredients are put on top.

I take the pizza out, brush it with olive oil, add my vegetables and cheese and put it back in to finish. You can see the result above; this particular pizza was topped with sliced fresh Roma tomatoes, carmalized onions, mushrooms, and green peppers.  Another favorite combination is spinach, carmalized onions, red peppers, and feta cheese.

Grilled Cheese

We all have comfort foods, don't we?  They are the yummies that we gravitate towards when we are feeling puny or the weather is cold.  Nursery food, they call it in Great Britain.

I don't think you can do much better in the comfort food department than grilled cheese.  Humble you might say.  Sublime I say.

Yesterday was a frustrating day. You know, one of those times when you have to do five things to get one thing accomplished.  While I was preparing dinner, I had a very important phone call come in, the cordless phone went missing.  Then I cut myself chopping vegetables.  All rightie then, bring on the grilled cheese.

No expensive Brie, Gouda, or Chevre need aplly for this job.  Nope.  Just your basic individually-wrapped American cheese singles and some good quality whole grain bread.  Just the right amount of browning on each side in the skillet.  Too little...the sandwich is too soft.  Too much and it is burned.  Other than the weighty timing issue, the grilled cheese sandwich couldn't be more simple. 

I served my grilled cheese last night with homemade soup and orange slices.  Yikes, was that first bite of crunchy toasted bread and molten cheese the essence of perfectly balanced flavor and texture or what.  And comforting?  Boy howdy.

My grandmother, Helen, used to suggest that a "nice cup of tea" would make everything better.  I'm sure she was right, but last night, it was all about a nice grilled cheese sandwich.

Why I am not Martha Stewart

The other day I was hurrying out the door to the gym.  I noticed that the yellow roses in my elegantly tarnished silver pitcher (purchased at Goodwill for $3.25) needed to have the water changed.  No ordinary dime store vase for me, oh no, all my containers have to be chic, thrifted, special, vintage, or antique.  Thinking that this little chore would just take a moment, I put fresh water in an ironstone pitcher and filled the silver one.  And filled.  And filled.  My, I thought, that water must have really gotten low.  

Then I noticed that the water I was pouring in was pouring back out down the spout of the silver pitcher all over the dining room table, on the green silk runner, all over the napkins, and the green placemats.   Finally, it was developing into a puddle on the floor. It was a Martha Stewart moment for sure.

The next morning, I took a whole chicken from the freezer and left it in the sink to thaw.  About four, I decided to stuff the chicken full of fresh herbs and lemon slices and roast it.  Then I realized that I had frozen the bird with the giblets inside.  The chicken was frozen solid down the middle.  I had no other ideas for dinner.  I started running water into the cavity.  It didn't budge.

Then I had a brilliant idea. Needle-nosed pliers, that's it!  I got some and started pulling and pulling.  I was GOING to get that frozen giblet packet out.  I braced myself, concentrated, and gave a mighty pull. The pliers slipped off and the momentum caused me to smack myself right in the face.

And that, my friends, is why I'm not Martha.

Rest in Peace AT LAST Pride of Midtown

Engine 54, Ladder 4, Battalion 9

THE PRIDE OF MIDTOWN

Psalm 72:2

May He judge your people in righteousness, your afflicted ones with justice.
 
Finally, may you rest in peace.

Sunset on the James

 I had dinner here last night, a grilled steak salad and a nice chilly glass of Pinot with my mom, her cousin Marianne and Marianne's husband, Bill.  The sun was setting over the James River and the temperature was nearly 80 degrees yesterday.  Amazing.

Funny how things happen.  My mother has had a home at Kingsmill for over twenty years.  It is a resort and golf course with private homes built around it.  Marianne went exploring around and said, "Hey what about that restaurant on the River?"  I'm not sure what we all thought it was, but we'd never been there.  Just goes to show what you can see and find when you look at things from a new perspective.

I had that familiar pain when I saw my father's jacket hanging near the door on the way in. We leave it there.  The jacket is a sort of talisman or something, I notice we all touch it lightly from time to time.

Most of the time, I don't have to think that often about my father's death.  My mother and I did the talking on the phone, since my father was rather deaf.  I don't think he enjoyed talking on the phone even when his hearing was better.  They lived most of the year in Atlanta, so it was not unusual for me to go for periods of time without talking to him.

But when I walk into the house at Kingsmill and he is not in his old familiar spot on the couch rising up with a smile to give me a hug, I can't really push his absence out of my mind.  In some ways, the distance is good because I can carry on with my life.  In this way, however, it is bad, because I experience his death all over again every time I go through the door.

I'm kind of glad that we didn't discover the restauarant on the water until after he was in heaven.  This gives us a new memory to make with the family as it is now and not as it was.  Life goes on and God's mercies are new every morning.

Don't You Love Before and After's?

Okay, obviously the above is a "before" shot of a dollhouse that I found left out for the trash.  I'm always so eager to get started on a project that I often forget the "before" shot.  I nearly forgot again!  I had already started "aftering" the dollhouse and then remembered to run in for the digital camera.

The simple dollhouse made me sad when I rescued it.  Some "Papa Joseph" or "Daddy Tom" or plain ole Grandpa must have lovingly made it from plywood for a small girl he cared for very much.  He carefully cut some extra flooring for the kitchen and different colors of carpeting for the other three rooms.  My heart hurt to see it out there for the trash.   I felt like I was witnessing the Velveteen Rabbit story gone wrong.  I HAD to rescue the lonely dollhouse.   

Here's the after, the finished project, bolted to the endless weathered fence around the back yard.  This is on the front yard side, actually.  I thought the finished treatment gave the house some curb appeal.

Here's a close up on one of the cubbies or pukas as they say in Hawaii.  Since I lived in the Aloha State for many years, they are pukas to me, too:



Those are just Goodwill and garage sale things, painted in the three kindergarten simple colors I use outside the house. 

Ahhhhhhhh, I feel so much better.  This is a much happier place for Grandpa's loving work than the trash!  Honestly, I felt almost outraged that the dollhouse was there.

Blue Skies After the Storm

Whew!  Last night was a little scary, with a tornado warning and massive thunderstorms...all part of that killer storm that started out in Texas.  I had the basement door open and ready as a refuge and lit the oil lamps. 

We were very fortunate here in my town, but there were 7 deaths in our area.  God help the survivors in Gloucester, Virginia and northeastern North Carolina.

God's mercies are new every morning.  Today dawned a fresh spring day with blue, blue skies.  I headed to Starbucks on my bike.  I don't think I've mentioned lately here how much I love my vintage red bike with the basket in the front.  Forget about high-tech mountain bikes, stupid biking shorts, gears, speeds, making time...none of that works for me.

Just give me a pair of jeans and a hoody sweatshirt.  Let me peddle at my own pace, stopping to look at lovely gardens or porches with white wicker or gingerbread architecture out front.  I want to take pictures of the Craftsman-style cottage and surrounding fence, created with little round stones. The cottage and the fence both have the stone finish. Hansel and Gretel live there, not sure if you heard about that.  Want to see it?  Follow the trail of bread crumbs.

I don't care if the cool peeps in the Portsmouth Riding Group pass me by at all.  I see no reason to dress up like a court jester to ride my bike, let's just start there. 

Secondly, no offense to all men who love biking shorts, but I don't need to be able to see whether you are circumcised or not.  C'mon, you're not Lance Armstrong, you're just the former assistant city manager taking a bike ride on Sunday morning.  To be honest, men in bike shorts (and Speedos for pity's sake) all look like they're trying to smuggle plums.  TOO MUCH INFORMATION.  Go to Europe, they love that kind of thing.

So I pedaled in my modest fashion (but still got my heart rate up there) wending my way along Constitution to Peninsula to Spratley to Navy Avenue to Crawford to North to Starbucks.  Please note that there are no trendy names along the way containing words like Trace, Arch, Trail, or Crescent, instead of Street, Drive or Avenue, nor any neighborhood where all the street names are kinds of trees.  And none of the houses have two-story Palladian windows.  Just sayin'

So I had my vente three equal sugar free vanilla latte thanks to a sweet friend who put so much money on my Starbucks card (for my birthday) that it made me blush and read the New York Times.  This is Sunday afternoon for me this time of year.  I think it is pretty swell.

Wisteria

Happy Friday! 

This is the wisteria bush right outside my back door.  If you look very closely you can see my little Lulu staring at me as I take the picture. 

The wisteria vine is twined around another bush that blooms yellow at this time each year.  I have no idea what the yellow blooms are called.  However, the two gorgeous pastel colors mixed together makes me think of Easter.  I'm very pleased that someone long ago decided to grace my house with this beauty.  Thank you, thank you so much!

Wisteria blooms should be the flowers that grapes come from, don't you think?  Actually, the wisteria plant is part of the pea family, of all things!  The aroma as I go out the back door to play with the dog or hang laundry is piercingly sweet.  My wisteria is a little grace note in my day that I appreciate.

I Heart Mowing the Lawn

Okay, I don't have anything as fly as the Flymo, but I love mowing the lawn.  I really do.  I live on three city lots set on a corner, so there's a whole lotta lawn to love.

I love mowing the same way I love to iron.  To me, they're kinda the same.  The only difference is that you can iron and watch "Law and Order" rer-runs and still appear virtuous and busy.  One must always appear to be both virtuous and busy.

They're the same thing.  You kinda push your "machine" up and down and smooth things out.  The feel-good results are instantaneous.  Ahhhhh look, now doesn't that green row look tidy, neat, and oh-so-Leave-it-to-Beaver? 

It could be a green plaid shirt or my lawn, it doesn't matter.  These chores are methodical and predictable.  Well, aside from the occasional rock that flies up or a smocked bodice.  I didn't really need this parenthetical thought.  I think I just wanted to type "smocked bodice" which is a phrase I don't often use.  The Queen's dresser may use this phrase more than I.  Getting part of the task of either mowing or ironing done just makes you want to finish the whole thing.

Mowing the lawn smells good.  I love the smell of cut grass.  Ironing smells good too because I get this lavender scented item I call "sniffy stuff" at The Dollar Store,  It isn't spray starch. 

Just my thoughts from sunny Portsmouth, Virginia.  The back is mowed.  The front remains.  I have to make an apple crisp for my dear friend Joseph who was just in hospital.  I didn't forget the "the" in that sentence.  He is British and that's how he says it.  I am doing something exciting with a doll house and picking up a prescription.  I bring Lulu with me in the Jeep to go through the Navy Rx Drive Through and she get's a dog treat.  I'd like a little chocolate cupcake with pink frosting, but the Navy thinks that's a little over the top.  Have a good day.

Don't Let Her Sweet Look Fool You

So you think this is a cute looking dog, do you?  I beg to differ. 

Meet the tyrant of the household; 18 lbs of teeth and attitude.  She just knocked over the lentil soup I had left out for lunch and ate it.  I don't even want to think about the digestive celebration which will ensue in about six hours.

She is smart. Little Bit is aware of the exact geographic center of a king-sized bed in case you might be thinking of bathing her. And on that bathing subject, she's filing a complaint with PETA.

This is the only dog I have ever encountered who growls when she wishes to be petted.  I'm not quite certain where or how she picked up this little trick.  I keep trying to tell her that supplication is much more effective.  She tells me she is a student of Donald Trump and finds intimidaton works better for her. And that I'm fired cause her kibble just isn't cuttin' it.

Little Bit, a deceptively adorable name by the way, picks fights with big dogs.  She's like the little guy that always starts the bar fight by sucker punching the meaty football player.  She'll bark like a ferocious lunatic until the offended dog wanders near.  Little Bit has always been walked along with bigger brothers or sisters over the years.  If it looks like the other dog might be trouble, she casually walks underneath a taller canine sibling.  She keeps calm and carries on, just like Queen Mary.

Or should I say the Queen of Sheba, because Little Bit must occupy the choicest spot in any given room. She searches out the freshly-washed quilt on the back of the sofa, the newly-changed bed with the sheets dried on the line, or a new living room chair, and parks herself right on it. She owns it, you see. It is hers by the divine right of kings or should I say queens? She is, after all, Little Bit. Where else should she lie down?

Saturday

 I like to go in to Pier One, but not for the reason you might think.  It is rare that I buy anything there.  For the most part, I think Pier One is really over-priced.  You can occassionally find things on sale.  No, the real reason I enjoy browsing in Pier One that I greatly enjoy looking at how they stage and display items.  They do a lovely job of it.  Sometimes I get ideas for table settings.  Other times, I see an intriguing color combination that I might not have put together.

Today was different.  Today that sweet tray with the blue bird on it had MY NAME ON IT.  And now it is mine.

Wednesdsay

This antique chair once had a caned seat that someone's bottom eventually wore clean through.  The chair didn't sell at a friend's yard sale, so I rescued it and painted it red.  I should buy stock in Krylon Spray Paint...I really should. 

I found a basket that fit right in the seat.  I drag a chair like this out every spring.  I'm going to find a nice grapevine wreath for the fence and create one of my little outside "rooms."

I filled my "fresh flowers" container that is made with salvaged materials, including part of an old staircase.  I keep it full of something April to November...pansies, geraniums, mini-pumpkins, etc.

As my grandmother Helen used to say, "it's a good drying day."



White Roses

If I could have a rose for every time I thought of you, the world would be empty of them.

A Spring Saturday

and how I went to my very favorite place, McDonald's Garden Center and picked out lavender, purple coneflower, hydrangeas, and other flowers for the cottage garden.  It is still just a bit too cool for hydrangeas, a flower I truly adore.  They are a magificent pink or blue depending on soil acidity and look even better when dried.  I should have just left the hydrangeas at McDonalds, but I just couldn't leave such beauty behind.

What you see is the result.  While the weather warms to welcome the hydrangeas, I will enjoy them inside my fireplace in a large basket.  I like the way the mirror reflects light in the back.  And now that I look at it, my coffee table.  Which was trash picked from someone I don't especially like.

Split Pea Soup

I know split pea soup is old hat for most of you, but this is for a beloved friend who wanted my direction

1 bag split peas
2 boxes aseptic pkg chicken or vegetable broth OR
Any kind bouillon dissolved to make 8 cups*
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tomato (or more and this is optional)
5 stalks of celery
1 onion
Spices to taste I use:
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper
2 teaspoons fennel seed
Salt to taste

Put olive oil in the bottom of a large, deep pan that has a cover. Chop onion and celery and add to oil.

Cook on medium to low heat ten minutes, stirring occasionally. Don’t let heat get up too high. Add all spices but the salt. When celery and onions are soft (about 5 minutes longer), add the tomatoes and cook for five minutes. I also added some shredded carrots which I had on hand. Maybe a half a cup. Carrots are also optional.

Add the entire bag of split peas. Mix them in with the vegetables, oils, and spices thoroughly. Cook for five minutes, stirring constantly. This step infuses the split peas with the spicy flavor.

Add 4 cups of whatever broth you chose. Bring to a boil. Reduce to low and cook 40 minutes, stirring occasionally. Do not keep the heat on too high.
Check the soup from time to time during cooking. Add more liquid as needed. The amount of liquid needed varies according to the crop of beans and how long they’ve been on the shelf. If the mixture becomes extremely thick, add more water. The mixture starts out watery and gets thicker. If it gets sludgy looking, you need more water. Remember you can always add more water, but it is hard to take it out when you add too much.

The picture above is just the right amount of cooking water.  After 40 minutes, your soup is basically finished. Take a taste and put in salt to taste. You can eat it as is after adding the salt. OR you can get fancy and draw off about two cups of the soup from the big pan. Let it cool thoroughly and run it through the blender. Add this back into the soup for a smoother texture if you like.

You can boost up the nutrition by adding a cup and a half of frozen corn or frozen mixed vegetables. Or not. Whatever you want. Pea soup is extremely forgiving. I like to serve it with cornbread baked in a round cake pan. Fresh grated parmesan or mozzarella cheese are both tasty on top of split pea soup. A salad is a nice side dish. Then you have dinner.

*Now, as you know, I enjoy channeling my inner Martha Stuart. I make my own broth. I will explain that process below. You may use any type of broth you like.

I usually roast a chicken with herbs In the cavity. I pick the chicken clean of the meat I want to use for another meal. I take the entire chicken that is left, with the herbs and put it in my largest crock pot. I add an onion cut in half and a few stalks of celery. I fill the crock pot up with water to the very top. Finally, I add a capful of whatever vinegar I have on hand which will boost the calcium from the bones. I turn the crock pot on high until it is very hot. Then turn it down on low for at least 8 hours or more. I strain the broth and take the remains, put them through the blender and put it in the dog’s kibble. They really like it.

If you do not have a dog or a neighbor’s dog who jumps your fence all the time, you may discard this leftover stuff with my blessings.  Here's what it looks like when it is all finished.

Busy Friday

Whew, busy Friday!  I had an interview I needed to do for school with a senior forensics tech.  Wow, it was nothing like NCIS or CSI, but he did once use heated super glue on an entire car in a special chamber to obtain evidence.

Then off to lunch at the Officer's Club at Norfolk Navy Base.  So many Naval aviators, so little time!  We had the buffet which was extremely reasonable.  Best deal in town, I think.  I was amazed at the colorful salad bar and the fresh steamed vegetable available.  I'm going to have to go do that again!  The O Club is on the "airdale" side of the base, with all the planes and helo's taking off and landing.  Very interesting views on a crisp early spring day with bright sun and blue skies.

A lot of us bloggy girls have posted on galleries.  Daisy Cottage Kim has one with red mirrors which I love.  This is my version.  Many vistas in my house are hard to photograph because of tall ceilings and narrow aspects, like the stairwell.  So, please be patient with the pics.

My gallery is based on a few scripture references.  The first is "Now I see in a mirror dimly, but then I shall see face to face," a Biblical reference to heaven.  The second is that God has given us the "keys to the kingdom."  The third is a biblical reference to the cross which says that it is scandal to the world, but salvation to those who believe.  I hang all my cross necklaces here, too.

None of the frames, mirrors, or crosses were over $5.  That's the rule.  They were not all black, in fact, they were nearly any color you can imagine.  I spray-painted them all in the backyard for a uniform look.   It took me about two years to get this all together.  I just picked some big mirrors at first and filled in around them.  Psssst, don't tell anyone, but some of the mirrors are cheapo plastic.  I found some of the frames out for trash pick up.

Want to look at some great "galleries?"  Check out this link to a bunch of them at the amazingly fabulous Nesting Place blog:

http://www.thenester.com/2011/02/gallery-walls.html

Oscar the Grouch, the muppet who lived in a trash can on Sesame Street used to sing this song:

Oh I love trash
Anything dirty or dingy or dusty
Anything ragged or rotten or rusty
Oh I love trash

That about says it all, kidlets.  Enjoy your weekend!

Thursday

Please enjoy with me this little addition to my vintage globe collection.  Or should I say tall addition.  Naturally, it had to meet my $5 and under rule. 

Now I'm coveting a black one like this:

Guest Blogger: Mom, More on the Blue Westinghouse Pitcher

Hi Anne:

I always loved the blue Westinghouse pitcher, as well. I loved to see it sitting in the fridge, filled with my grandmother's lemonade, every hot day during the summer. She used eight lemons, sweetened it with God-knows-how-much sugar, and garnished it with freshly picked (by me) raspberries.

The first summer we went to the Harvey's Lake house, Nana took the pitcher. She filled it, as usual, the first two days of that first summer, and cooled it in the fridge for dinner. Damn, if Carl Leighton (note from Anne:  my mother's uncle by marriage) didn't drink the entire pitcher of lemonade both nights before dinner!  From the third night on, we had water for dinner.  When he started drinking beer later on in the evening, she made the pitcher of lemonade for us kids. Oh my, she was, indeed, a great problem solver..........and after that, she never took the pitcher to the lake for the summer.

Love, Mom

So kids, there ya have it, right from Mom.  A little known fact:  For the first few years of my life, I called my mother "Miss Maureen" because she was my pre-school teacher.

Here's an old-timey picture from Harvey's Lake in Pennsylvania, which my mother refers to in her little note.  If you look carefully at this old steamer,you can just make out the name, "The Wilkes Barre."  Wilkes-Barre was my mother and great grandmother's (whom she refers to in the story) home town.  I always thought that the blue pitcher was from MY Nana, but it had actually been my great grandmother's first. 

I was named Anne after this great-grandmother.  She only lived a short time after I was born, but from everything I have heard about her wonderful ways, she was a terrific person to be named after.  We still have her little book of family recipes.  I cherish all of my family's history.

Roast Chicken

Yesterday just seemed like a roast chicken sort of day.  I'm not sure why, some days are just like that.  Amidst all the errands and appointments, I popped into the grocery store.  I picked up a lime, some fresh herbs, and the teeny little red pototoes I always associate with Spring.  I'll have herbs of my own growing in the cottage garden soon.  I had everything else for the meal at home.

I parboiled the carrots and potatoes.  I don't think they are tender enough without this step.  I also threw in some eggs into the pot to make hard boiled eggs for lunch. More on them later.  I try to boil eggs with something else that needs cooking.  This saves energy and also imparts some calcium into whatever else is in the pot.  Make sure to wash off the egg shells.

While chatting with a dear friend (yes I am a multitasker) I got dinner together.  I tossed the parboiled potatoes and carrots, along with some uncooked celery, with a small amount of olive oil and a key lime spice blend.  Think savory on the key lime, not pie. 

I rinsed out the whole chicken, one of my least favorite chores on earth.  As we say in New York, it skeeves me out.  I stuffed the cavity where you might put dressing with fresh thyme, fresh basil, four cloves of garlic, and the shells of the lime with the juice sequezed out.  I used the juice all over the outside of the chicken and then rubbed in the key lime spice.   The vegetables were arranged around the chicken. I baked the whole thing at 350 for about two hours.

Still in the same conversation with a friend, I tackled the eggs.  I had all the cooked yolks mashed up ready for mayo BUT no mayo in the fridge. I saw some chipotle ranch dressing in there, sort of languishing on the side of the fridge., I used it in place of mayo and the key lime spice I had out instead of salt and pepper. Kids, I nearly swooned at the taste, it was that good.

Here's the result of the chicken.  It was, as they say, crazy tasty.  There was plenty left over for lunch, for soup for another night, and for Joe who stopped by and had a chicken leg while he visited.

Monday

This green glass vase was one of the treasures that I picked up with some other goodies at Goodwill.  The vase goes here:

Today was a complete whirlwind.  I woke up to thunderclaps and two scared dogs trying to jump inside me, that's how close they wanted to be. 

Little Bit and Lulu, these were the culprits during the thunder storm!

I had medical appointments, picked up prescriptions, cooked a great dinner, and ignored a grad school paper which is due soon.   I was so busy I ALMOST didn't have time for STARBUCKS!  I KNOW!  How shocking is that.

Oh yes, and I also have a Civic League Executive Board Meeting and I need to write at some point today.  Other than that, I sat around all day long and ate bon bons.  Like always.

Spring Fireplace Mantel

I'm always changing up things for the seasons.  Here's the Spring mantel:

I have this odd thing happen from time to time with the Goodwill a half mile away.  Sometimes I just get this strong feeling that I need to go there immediately.   Each time I answer that siren call, there IS something there for me!  Earlier this week it was the picture in the middle of the mantel.  The frame matched the yellow wooden bird I've had for quite years.

Here is a close up of the picture:

The dresser scarf was thrifted and set me back a whopping 55 cents  Here is a close up of the hand-worked detail:

The squarish blue pitcher came with my Grandmother Dunn's "ice box" when she bought it.  I've always loved the shape and the color.   The word Westinghouse is stamped on the bottom.

I love the yellow pitcher equally. This pitcher arrived four years ago with an arrangement of roses.  Love the vintage shape.  I doubt anyone would guess it wasn't the real McCoy or, in this case, real Fiesta.

The sentimental old picture you see to the right with the flowers is an antique.  The Scripture verse reads, "The entrance to Thy words giveth light.  Psalm 119:130.  Amen to that and happy Sunday.