When someone is rude enough to ask my age I have no compunction about lying. I simply respond by adding 10 years to my actual age and wait for their look of shock and the inevitable, “Wow! You look terrific!”
Works every time.
What could be better than watching Mighty Mouse on Saturday morning and eating dry cereal out of the box? Tom and Jerry, Heckle and Jeckle, Chip and Dale, Betty Boop, Popeye, the Road Runner, Sky King and Roy Rogers. Those were happy days.
My dad worked out of town. He arrived home Friday night after our bedtime, so Saturday morning was quiet time until he awoke. Then there were hugs and kisses, playtime, pancakes and chocolate milk, and lots of surprises. My sister and I were little spoiled princesses because our mother was dead so we were given the world on the weekend when Daddy was home.
Saturday morning was the prelude to an entire day of pleasure; just Daddy, my sister and me. We formed our own magical Technicolor universe until Sunday night when he had to catch his plane and we were left alone again with our cold, demanding nanny for another black and white week.
When my children were small the cartoons changed but not the Saturday morning mood. We’d sit on the floor in front of the tv with pillows and blankets, making forts and playing with Barbies while watching Fraggle Rock, Huckleberry Hound, Josie and the Pussycats, and the Smurfs. Sometimes our neighbors and their kids would come over to watch cartoons with us. We’d laugh, talk, play and drink Bloody Marys and chocolate milk.
This morning I woke up and went for a walk then came home and did laundry, paid the bills, cleaned the kitchen, chemically treated the toilet and water tanks in the camper and changed the bed linens. “But aren’t you retired?” you ask.
Sure, but for the past six weeks I’ve been traveling and having entirely too much fun with my grandkids (is that possible?), watching cartoons and videos and having adventures, so I had to give up this Saturday morning to get my black and white world back on track.
Now I’ll be free for another month to watch cartoons, eat dry cereal and drink Bloody Marys during my Technicolor Saturday mornings.
Farewell,” they cried, “Wherever you fare till your eyries receive you at the journey’s end!” That is the polite thing to say among eagles.
“May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks,” answered Gandalf, who knew the correct reply.” J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, Or, There and Back Again
Goodbye for now, friends. Find your eagle and soar!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fight or Flight.” Write about your strongest memory of heart-pounding, belly-twisting nervousness: what caused the adrenaline? Was it justified? How did you respond?
Some women may be terrified of snakes or spiders or polyester, but I have a gut-wrenching, butt clenching, panty-peeing fear of landing a plane. I don’t mean sitting as a white knuckle passenger as the plane lands; I mean sitting behind the controls and landing a plane.
I was doing great with my flying lessons. I knew the instruments, the functions of each part of the plane, how to do the pre-flight check, how to check weather conditions and many of the other myriad details of flying a small plane. I loved the take off and the actual flying and I could position the plane perfectly for landing. But, the moment of actual touch down scared the living hell out of me. The first two times I landed with my instructor as co-pilot, he had to take control as I struggled against the seat belts to sit at the edge of the seat with my legs crossed to avoid peeing, my sphincter and jaw muscles clenched and my eyes closed. Closing my eyes was my doom.
Everyone knows you can’t land a plane with your eyes closed. Two more lessons produced the same fear-induced reactions to landing the plane solo and my fate was sealed.
I fly commercial.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Three Perfect Shots. Take a subject you’re familiar with and imagine it as three photos in a sequence. Tackle the subject by describing those three shots.
How to make a quilt in three perfect shots … well, not exactly perfect shots. I used photos of three different quilts because each is in a different stage of development, but you’ll get the idea.
Cut up perfectly good fabric into little pieces to sew back together
First you take several beautiful, very expensive, perfectly good, 100% cotton quilting fabrics and cut them into little pieces. Then you sew the pieces back together to form a pattern. This is your quilt top.
Take a large piece of fabric for the back of your quilt, place batting on top of the backing fabric and place your quilt top on the batting. This is your quilt “sandwich” that is now ready to quilt. Quilting can be done by hand (think quilting bees), by a regular domestic sewing machine or by a long-arm machine. I am fortunate to have a Gammill longarm machine. My Gammill is not electronic so, yes folks, I hand guide that large machine back and forth sewing a thread pattern into the quilt sandwich. This is what holds the three pieces of fabric together to form a quilt.
Make a quilt “sandwich”. I quilt on my Gammill long-arm machine
After quilting, sew on the binding around the edges to finish the quilt. There’s nothing like sleeping with a hand-made quilt … sweet dreams guaranteed.
Quilts are made with love. Sweet dreams guaranteed!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Plot of Earth.” You’re given a plot of land and have the financial resources to do what you please. What’s the plan?
I received my forested plot of earth surrounding a large blue lake atop a ridge in the Allegheny Mountains. We gifted our four children with acreage on my mountaintop and built them each a small cottage near the lakeshore with outbuildings for their workshops. My son-in-law has an art studio and a dark room; my daughter a quilting studio. Her brother has an exercise studio with space for his bonsai and other passions and his wife received a sewing and design studio. Our other son-in-law’s workshop is used to design his outdoor line of products while our other son produces natural ginger beer and vinegars in his workshop. Guest quarters are located above each workshop and the cottages are designed for easy expansion.
We have cleared pathways between the cottages for our grandchildren. They can easily find their way to the communal building with the large country kitchen where there’s usually someone baking something. A vintage wooden table can seat 18 or can serve as a craft table for the kids. Our children are extremely competitive and enjoy cooking, and out-cooking each other, so we often enjoy wonderful meals together with lots of sarcasm, puns, sick jokes and occasionally arm-wrestling. A family room with a large fireplace, comfortable seating and a huge flat screen TV overlooks the play area with gaming tables and toys. A stock of my favorite books provides entertainment when the TV is turned off.
There’s a dock on the lake for fishing and boating. No motor boats; just kayaks, canoes and paddle boards. We built a campfire circle with lots of Adirondack chairs. Hammocks are strung between the trees and plenty of tire swings are available for the grandkids. A large shed holds our toys — sleds, skis, snowmobiles, snowshoes, rafts, badminton sets, volley and soccer balls, skates, hula hoops, tents, sleeping bags, fishing poles, life vests, paddles and oars.
The most fun part of this fantasy is the tree house we built in the large oak tree behind my cottage and the zip line that runs from the treehouse down to the lake. The shrieks and laughter gladden my heart, and that’s just from the adults. The grandkids aren’t old enough to use the zip line yet.
If I was given a plot of earth and unlimited resources I would create a Walton’s Mountain for my family. A place of security, serenity, safety and love; a place where my children and their children could support and protect each other. We would call it, Jodi’s Mountain … or we could call it heaven.
Good night John Boy.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Think Global, Act Local.”
I don’t quite understand it but hear that global warming is responsible for the bitter winters the U.S. has been experiencing. If true, perhaps residents of the frigid northern states will overrun Florida, purchasing every available property and my home will become immensely valuable. I could then sell it for a ridiculous sum of money and trade in my 17-foot Casita travel trailer for a large ostentatious RV and follow the sun wherever I wish. Or not.
Daily Prompt Use It or Lose It – Write about anything you’d like, but make sure the post includes this sentence: “I thought we’d never come back from that one.”
Steak and Thai Noodle Salad, cheese garlic bread and a Cosmo
The first sip was ambrosia. The first bite was savory, crunchy, smooth, a little bit tangy and absolutely exquisite. Each additional forkful was a burst of heaven. My daughter and I were having lunch at Houston’s in Atlanta. She ordered Cosmos (made with Tito’s vodka, of course) while we studied the menu and then she recommended the Steak and Thai Noodle salad. I have never tasted quite that combination of flavors … my palate wept with pleasure. And the Cosmo was pretty damn good, too.
French dip made with prime rib, horseradish sauce, fries and a Cosmo
And then we talked. And we talked. And we talked – about the past (I thought we’d never come back from that one), the present and the future. Remember when you were young and could talk to your best friend all day about anything and everything? Well, that’s what it was like and what a delight to realize that I was, in fact, having lunch with my best friend.*
*Note to my son: No, Matt, that does not mean that I like your sister better.
Daily Prompt – Most of us have heard the saying, “That’s the best thing since sliced bread!” What do you think is actually the best thing since sliced bread?
Are you kidding? The best thing since sliced bread is duct tape! I always carry pink and/or zebra-striped duct tape with me:
My sister has never been camping. She’s somewhat of a princess. Just kidding … she IS a princess. She puts on makeup and fixes her hair to take the garbage out. Just kidding … she NEVER takes the garbage out. That’s what husbands are for.
She’s beautiful, I’m a tomboy. She has an outfit for every occasion; I borrow her clothes. She enjoys shopping, I borrow her clothes. She has beautiful jewelry to match every outfit; I borrow her jewelry to match my borrowed clothes. She is a fantastic cook and hostess and loves to entertain; I love to attend her parties. She vacations at beautiful condos and cute cabins in the mountains; I go camping with my travel trailer and get stuck on the top of mountains. She is funny and effervescent; I am, ummm – droll?
We are opposites in so many ways but adore each other and have fun adventures (although we did almost kill each other in Costa Rica a few years ago). She’s an “un-packer”; I’m a “throw your suitcase on the bed and let’s go” traveler. We had great adventures on our road trip last October but this camping trip could be a game changer. Setting up a campsite can be hard physical work, not to mention having to back the camper into the site. I told her I absolutely forbid flip-flops with wedge heels at the campsite. I don’t care if she did just get a pedicure and a new toe ring. I warned her that camping means a minimum amount of outfit changes, little or no makeup and flat shoes or sneakers. She thinks I’m bossy.
I explained to her that the most important thing when camping is to pack light and consolidate your belongings. So, we agreed that to save space we will forego her bottles of rum and coke and my bottles of red wine. We figure one large bottle of vodka, a couple of bottles of diet tonic water and a half dozen fresh limes should do it. See how nicely we play together when we compromise?
Tomorrow I’m loading up my Casita and Saturday will drive 150 miles to Orlando to pick up the Princess, then we’ll leave for three days of camping on a beach on the east coast of Florida.
Pray for us.
Wander Woman 