While trying on bathing suits in a dressing room with a three-way mirror, I discovered that in a previous incarnation I must have been Reuben’s muse. The 16th century artist apparently loved chubby women. Hence, the term “Reubenesque”. My kinda guy.

While trying on bathing suits in a dressing room with a three-way mirror, I discovered that in a previous incarnation I must have been Reuben’s muse. The 16th century artist apparently loved chubby women. Hence, the term “Reubenesque”. My kinda guy.

The definition of “drama”? A day in the life of a tweenie.
Whining kid: “Mom, all my friends wear high heels to school. I don’t want to wear sneakers to school anymore. I’m not a little kid. You just want me to be ugly. You want me to be different. You don’t want me to be popular. You want me to be a geek.”
Me: “I don’t care what all your friends wear, you’re not wearing high heels in 6th grade.”
But, after another 24 hours of whining, pouting, tears and hysteria and noticing how she unsteadily navigated in the little kitten heels bought for her cousin’s wedding I caved.
Me: “I’ve given it some thought and decided that you are now old enough to make wise decisions. You can wear those shoes to school if you want, just like all your friends.”
The next afternoon I watched her hobbling toward the house holding her shoes in her hand and wincing with each barefoot step.
Whining kid: “Mom, you did that on purpose! You knew I’d get blisters from wearing those shoes. I had to go to the nurse’s office to get bandaids and then I had to line my shoes with toilet paper to keep them from rubbing and the toilet paper fell out of my shoe and people laughed and it’s all your fault! You ruined my life. I’ll never forgive you for this. Wait til I tell Dad what you did. He’ll divorce you and I’ll live with him and he won’t make my friends laugh at me.”
Me: “Sweetheart, I didn’t force you to wear those shoes. As a matter of fact I didn’t want you to wear heels to school because I know how painful they can be. I wear heels every day and sometimes I get blisters. I never want you to be hurt but I let you make your own decision. I think you learned an important lesson.”
Whining kid: “Yeah. You want me to be unpopular.”
And that, my friends, is the definition of drama.

The epitome of a good day:



Before

After

I don’t believe the good lord intended for my 67-year old ass to ride on a narrow mountain bike seat for any extended period of time. If such were His intentions, He would have made my ass smaller or the seat bigger.
As we all know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and I intend to live a healthier lifestyle by riding my bike for any errand within a 3-mile radius of my home. Today was the first day of the rest of my life (do you like my aphorisms?) with a 3-mile ride to return library books and pick up a few audio books for my car trip next week. Mission accomplished in 40 minutes, including 10 minutes to choose my audio books.
Pros: feel good & energetic, proud of myself, felt safe & secure on my smaller bike, no accidents
Cons: my ass bones hurt. I didn’t know there were bones in your ass. Temporarily solved the problem by alternating butt cheeks on the saddle.
So, there is definitely a larger, cushier bike seat in my future as I continue to peddle my ass around town.

Get your mind out of the gutter!

Daily Prompt – Fork Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
Daily Prompt: Dirty – Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I don’t walk into the sliding glass doors when they’re dirty. I appreciate the marks left by wet cat noses, grandchildrens’ jelly fingers, kisses on the glass, greasy fingerprints by the handle and messages written in the pollen. It’s true that you really do see stars when you hit your head hard enough. Ask me how I know.
My granddaughter thinks its funny when I walk into the glass doors because I circle the spots where my nose and chin hit the glass and when there are several she draws pictures connecting the circles. She’s easily amused and I’m always happy to provide cheap entertainment.
So, buy suncatchers for the doors you say? Nah … I solved the problem by buying Crayola Window Crayons and drawing seasonal messages.


Daily Prompt: Legacy –Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I’m a quilter not a baker. I hate to bake. I’m not good at it and my failures over the years are legion. Most kids bring homemade cookies or cupcakes to school to share. Mine brought bags of potato chips.
But, for some reason my carrot cake gets rave reviews. My son requests it every year for his birthday. Why? I’m convinced it’s because it is the most difficult, expensive, frustrating, anxiety-producing, time-consuming cake in the world. It’s true … paybacks are hell, but I can’t remember what I did to that child to demand such retribution.

So, I started by assembling all the tools and ingredients I needed and told myself to remain calm, stay organized, take my time and clean up as I go.

Things deteriorated almost immediately. My printer ran out of ink so I was working from the recipe on my Kindle that kept shutting down then sliding out of my hands because of the oil, eggs and buttermilk on my fingers. I panic very easily when I’m baking.

OK – I get that it’s three layer cake because it’s so dense. But I don’t understand why I have to oil and flour each pan and still cut out parchment paper to cover the bottoms and then oil and flour the parchment paper.

Thank heaven for food processors or I’d still be grating carrots, chopping walnuts and shredding coconut.

Ta da! I finally got everything into one bowl and it smells and tastes like … carrot cake!

Looking good, right? I’m so proud of myself.

But, I don’t understand “Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean”. After 30 minutes the toothpick looked clean, but I wasn’t completely sure. So, I baked for another 3 minutes and then did the toothpick thing again and still wasn’t sure. After the third toothpick, I noticed the cakes’ edges looked really brown so I removed the pans from the oven and the anxiety kicked in — under-baked, over-baked who knows? It’s kind of like a new recipe that say, “Adjust seasonings to taste.” But if you don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like….?


And then the cleanup … seems like I used every surface, utensil, bowl and appliance in my kitchen. There was so much flour in the air that I had an asthma attack and had to stop to use my inhaler twice.

You think I was kidding about the flour in the air and on every surface? I laid my spatula down and when I picked it up, there was its silhouette. After the kitchen counters were washed, the bowls, utensils and appliances cleaned I still had to mop the floor and wipe down the cabinets. I turned the A/C on to clear the air. What a production! We won’t even talk about the icing.

Happy Birthday, Matt.
When the birthday boy tasted his cake I learned the good news and the bad news … the good news was that it was absolutely delicious; the bad news is that I’m going to have to do it again next year.
Daily Prompt: Object – Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
Remember Perry Mason? I loved that show … Perry and his sidekicks Della Street and Paul Drake and his nemesis, District Attorney Hamilton Burger.
I started watching the show when I was about 10 years old and never questioned that Perry’s clients who were on trial for murder were always innocent. Before their trial was over I knew he would unmask the real villain and thoroughly humiliate Hamilton Burger.

I had trouble, though, when Perry stood up to object. The judge would either “overrule” or “sustain” the motion and, because I didn’t know what those words meant, I never knew if it was a good thing or not for Perry’s case. But, of course, the best part was when the real murderer collapsed on the stand and confessed.
What an innocent age we lived in then. We knew Perry Mason would save the day.
Oh wait, that was Mighty Mouse.

Daily Prompt: Contrast -Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I’m a Florida girl. I never saw snow until I was 21 and moved north with my husband to attend Ohio State University. I did not know what cold truly was. I almost died.
It wasn’t too bad until after the holidays. We had a white Christmas and it was magical. But then we had January … and February… and March. Ugly grey slush, ugly grey skies, ugly grey trees. The contrast to my Florida winters was stark and depressing … no sunshine, no green, no blue. Just a black and white world. I was homesick, cold and miserable.
Then I had an opportunity to fly home to Miami Beach. Oh, joy! In the ancient days of my youth planes did not conveniently coast to a stop at a terminal building. Stairs were rolled out to the plane doors and passengers disembarked onto the tarmac.
When I stepped through the plane door I stepped into a technicolor world. The only thing missing was the Munchkins.
