Seasonal Silliness

I'm an elf!  The DVD of the movie "Elf" has stuff you can do, including make a cartoon of yourself as an elf.  So I did.  (Does my nose really look like a flesh-toned golf ball?)

Tis the season for pure silliness, so I bought myself a pair of deely-boppers (at least that's what Hubby calls them).  They're little red sparkly balls on springs attached to a headband.  I have reindeer antlers, too, but they aren't as comfortable as the deely-boppers, which I wore for about 5 hours last night.  I either looked incredibly cute or incredibly stoooopid.   I also had on my light bulb earrings.  (Every time I put them on Hubby says, "Do they light?"  I think he's testing me to see how many times he can say it before I bonk him on the head.)

Meanwhile, I'm also wearing my Dollar Tree "diamonds and emeralds."  Now, Claire's at the mall has wonderful rhinestone bracelets in the $6-12 range.  But these little dollar store bracelets are almost as nice and considerably cheaper.  And in bad light, they look spectacular.  (Oh, I am such a cheap date.)

Why is it you can get a way with silly stuff at Christmastime but not other times of the year?  I hereby proclaim that silliness should be the order of every day.

Long live silliness!

Loving that Christmas Bustling . . .

I need to start my Christmas cards. I've sent out family cards, but that's it. I don't even know who to send cards to anymore. (My list has been shrinking over the years.)

To try to get into the holiday spirit, I figured I'd run out and do some quick holiday shopping yesterday morning. Turns out I spent more on ME! I bopped into Target with a specific mission. Well, they didn't have what I wanted, but I still ended up spending $50 on stuff I HAD to have.

I bought four more Christmas CDs. (This is a basic necessity of life. There can never be too many Christmas CDs lounging around old Ivy Bend.) One of them is very different from anything I have--music from around the world featuring Spanish flamenco guitar, Cuban Rumba, Hawaiian folk and Caribbean reggae. (Copied that last bit right off the liner notes.)

I really did need that glitter toenail polish, too, you know. And the candle warmer (because I just spent an ungodly amount of money on a candle that smells like lemon squares and I don't want to burn it because the cats are attracted to flames). And new lights for home office. I mean, I had to get them NOW because where are you going to find white lights in the middle of summer should you ever need them? Oh, and snowflake Post-it notes. Had to have them. And I had to get Mom's dog a present, didn't I?

So, have you found you've shopped more for yourself than those on your list?

Butt Ugly

I’ve been a fan of Puff Plus tissues for years. They’re easy on the nose (though useless for cleaning your glasses), and aren’t filled with lint like their sister Puffs without lotion.

But for some reason the company that makes this marvelous product has insisted on putting them in horrible, BUTT UGLY boxes. Like a pink box with big (gaudy) white daisies. Currently their Christmas boxes feature the same wooden/pointy people as on their commercials. (Do they think it’s little kids parting with their hard-earned money to buy this product?)

These boxes are so unattractive and intrusive to my décor that I’ve been reusing the same tissue boxes for years. When I run out, I simply take the tissues out of the new box and put them into the old boxes. Works for me. My favorite box is very Victorian; a green background with pink roses.
Awwwwww.) I’ve got a white box with gray accents in the bedroom.
One day these old boxes will simply fall apart from old age. Then I’ll have to think about using wrapping paper to disguise the "new" boxes.

Either that, or hope they hire a new graphic designer.

How about you?  Don't you think these are ugly?

To Bake--Or Not To Bake?

It's no secret that I like to eat.  Especially sweet stuff.  Cookies, cake, candy, I like it all.  The problem is, I eat it, I wear it, and who wants that.

But tis the holidays!  You're supposed to overeat.  You're supposed to bake, Bake, BAKE!  (The Pop-n-Fresh Doughboy said so!)

My excuse this year NOT to bake (and I'm really clinging to it) is I HAVE NO TIME.  Now, we all know this is a lie.  I used to work 40 hours a week, AND put in my time at the co-op and I still managed to find time to bake for the holidays.  I'm desperately trying NOT to find time to bake because I keep seeing my butt in the full-length mirror and thinking, "I really need to go on a diet."  (Can you say New Year's Resolution?)

There's a box of brownie mix on the counter that's saying, "Bake, me, Bake me!" I recently found Eva Wiley's (God bless her soul) peanut butter fudge recipe--the BEST in the universe.  And I came across Ruth Megan's peanut butter cookie recipe that I thought was lost forever.  *Sigh*  in the same league as the fudge recipe.

Cut-out cookies are just too much work, what with decorating and all...so the above are my choices for Christmas goodies.  Then again, maybe I should just buy them.

But that doesn't solve the butt problem.

(That's part of last year's production on the right.)

What's for supper?

No doubt about it, more and more, people are interested in where their food comes from. That's one of the reasons I decided to grow some of my own and have shared some of my garden mishaps. Overall, I think this is an excellent idea. (Both knowing where your food comes from, and people reading my blog posts.)

Yesterday, we walked into our local grocery store and were greeted by a young man with a bell, which did a very good job of drawing our attention right to him. It was one of those big hand bells like you see/hear with bell choirs, which are particularly visible about this time of year. The young man was standing bedside a set-up which usually holds fruits or vegetables, but he had a bed of ice and about ten pretty lively lobsters.

For weeks the store has been warning us they were going to sell lobster for $6.99, and this was the weekend for it. Actually, we'd gone to the store to buy a pound of cod, but there was that young man and his bell.

 Hubby inspected the lobster, and choose a pretty lively little guy. I walked away. Much as I want to know where my food comes from, I don't want to know it personally. The young man put Mr. Lobster into a plastic bag and into our cart. As we walked through the store, picking up a quart of milk, a yam, bread, etc., Mr. Lobster continued to flex his ... legs (?) and let us know that he was enjoying the ride.

Back home, we settled him on the bag of onions in the garage and went inside where it was above 15F. Sadly, that's the last I saw of Mr. Lobster until he was on my plate in pieces. Still, it looked enough like the little guy in our cart to fill me with tremendous guilt.

Okay, with the downturn in the economy not progressing much, lobster men are still suffering. People still aren't buying as many "luxury" items, and lobster is considered a luxury for most. So we were REALLY helping the economy of both Maine and our fair city by buying that lobster.

Point two: we're omnivores. We eat meat. I mentioned to Hubby that I felt guilty knowing we were going to kill and eat Mr. Lobster. He pointed out that he was the one who'd be doing the cooking, and swept his arm toward the meat counter and said, "Remember, this meat used to be cows, pigs, and chickens not too long ago. Now it's dinner."

He was right. The thing is, I don't usually meet my dinner while it's still alive. (And, mind you, dipped in melted butter, Mr. Lobster was exquisite.)

So why do I still feel so guilty?

We Are Not Alone

When I think of the inhabitants of Ivy Bend (the domicile hubby and I call home), I think of hubby, me, and our kitty kids.  But it's just not so.

Last night we were enjoying our Happy Hour in our finished basement pub when our little Princess scampered across the floor in pursuit of a BIG black UGLY spider.  Mr. Spider was soon dispatched, thanks to hubby's shoe. Then came the big flush.  Down went Mr. Spider.

Not 20 minutes later, as I was perusing Christmas With Victoria  for the 20th time, I looked down to grab my whiskey and soda from James the Butler (i.e. drink stand) and saw Mr. Icky-Bug sitting on the arm of the couch next to me.

Can any other woman fly off a couch and SCREAM as loud as me?  I think not!  Then with the blue Croc (shoe) of death in hand, I proceeded to beat Mr. Icky-Bug into a coma, while hubby cheered, "Flush him, Flush him!"  A wad of toilet paper later, and Mr. Icky-Bug was making his way down to the waste treatment plant.

Now I like to think of myself as a pacifist, but I will not tolerate bugs in my home.  They can live a long and happy life OUTSIDE of my house, the choice is theirs, but coming inside is the absolute kiss of death.

I don't like to think about the millions of other creatures (spiders, aphids, ants, dust mites) that might be living among us, let alone the occasional mouse who finds his/her way in here on a cold desolate night.  The idea that unknown creatures reside amongst us is downright creepy.  Early this morning, something was trying to scratch its way into the attic.  A few bangs on the wall soon discouraged it.  But what will happen when I'm not around listening for it?

I believe I'll take the Scarlett O'Hara approach to all this and "think about it another day."

In time for the holidays

I inherited this Christmas cactus about three years ago. I've kept it in my dining room and it thrived but never bloomed.  Until this year.  This year I did something drastically different.

I left it alone.  Honest.  I put it outside on the deck (along with Mr. Rubber Plant) and didn't even water it.  It sat out there from late May until mid-October and I never even gave it a second thought.

I'm wondering if I should take this approach with all my gardening: total abandonment.  I know we mulched heavily this year and did nothing else, and guess what?  Everything thrived except the weeds.

We had this gardening "epiphany" a few years back with Mr. Rubber Plant.  A former boss at the Big Yellow Box gave everyone in the department a plant.  I don't even remember what my plant was, but a co-worker retired and didn't want her plants and I inherited them, including Mr. Rubber Plant.

Mr. Rubber Plant was not happy moving to Ivy Bend.  He sat in the dark dining room for a year or two and lost all but four leaves.  So we figured what the hell and one summer day tossed him out on the deck.  He THRIVED!  Right now Mr. Rubber Plant has about 100 leaves.  Once outside, he seems to think he's returned to his native land where it's hot, humid, and rains far too much.

About the 4th of July, Mr. Rubber Plant notices he's back outside and says "Zowie!" and grows another 5-20 leaves.   When we bring him in for the winter, he becomes depressed.  Several leaves turn orange and he drops them on the rug for me to pick up.  He doesn't understand that winter would kill him, and he pines at the window as he reaches for the deck outside his wintry prison.

Kinda makes you want to shed a tear, doesn't it?

Yes, I think I'll abandon all my house plants to the elements in the summer.  Why not if I can get gorgeous blooms like these, eh?

Cranking up for Christmas

Much to hubby's chagrin, I'm cranking up for Christmas.  You'd think after 24 years (19 of them married) he'd be used to it.  But no, just because I've switched to  listening to all Christmas music, and since his office is next to mine and he's forced to listen to it, too, he's been a teensy bit cranky. 

Over the weekend I bought two more Christmas CDs.  One was a dud.  The other is Relaxing Christmas Piano (which I couldn't find a picture for)..  Very mellow.  I like it.  (Even hubby liked it!  YES!)

Yesterday while I was folding laundry, I had on Patrick Stewart's A Christmas Carol, which is absolutely wonderful. 

Listening to Dickens' Christmas tale reminded me that I haven't really started my Christmas shopping, although I do have a few things squirreled away.  It's time to empty the Christmas Club account and start the serious shopping.  And I have to start baking, too.  And cleaning.  And decorating.  And the outside lights.   The tree goes up this weekend. 

Talk about the Christmas rush.  How did I ever do all this stuff while I was working full time?

A cozy cup of tea

Last week we had dinner with my aunt and uncle, who'd recently returned from a trip to England.  (Oh, the steak-and-ale pie was divine, as were the parsnip cakes.  Yum!) 

While in England, my aunt searched for and finally found a place that sells tea cozies.  These are a necessity if, like us, you like to drink your tea HOT!  When she asked why they were so scarce, she was told that people in England don't make tea by the pot much anymore.  And more people now drink coffee than tea.

Is this sacrilege or what?

I recently replaced my tea cozy (of 30 years) with one I found at a garage sale.  And my aunt brought me back two packets of my favorite English tea, which you can't get here. (Well, you can online--but it's not cheap, and you have to buy a lot to get free shipping.) So here I was thinking I was sitting pretty for tea for quite some time.  And then tragedy struck. 

I broke my every day teapot!!!

I've had this pot for at least five years (garage sale find), and it has served me well.  It was brown, which is wonderful since you can't see the tea stains.  I loved my medium-sized tea-pot.  Tea is the first thing I have in the morning and often the last thing at night.  I look forward to my multiple cups of tea throughout the day.  Now what?

Mind you, I'm not without teapots.  I have two gorgeous bone china pots, but don't think I'm going to let someone as careless as me use them!  They're so beautiful I just like to admire them from behind glass doors.  (Along with my chintz cups and saucers.  Again, put behind glass to protect them from me!)  I also have a couple of one-cup teapots, which are useless for someone like me.  (But they are very cute.)

Getting a new "work horse" teapot is something that can't wait.  I need my cuppa--NOW!

There's a trip to Target in my future.

Spooked!

I love Barbara Michaels’ paranormal books. Her novel Ammie Come Home was the first adult mystery I ever read, and WOW did it make an impression on me. Four decades later, I still read this book occasionally. (Which I did only a couple of weeks ago.) It was made into an ABC Movie of the Week titled "The House That Wouldn’t Die," starring Barbara Stanwyck. (Okay, it wasn’t as good as the book, but it was pretty scary to a kid like me.)

But even more scary was another ABC Movie Of The Week titled, "Daughter of the Mind." A séance was held, during which the spirit of a little girl dipped her protoplasmic hand into a wax melter (her mother was an artist who worked in the lost-wax process) and there was the solid proof--complete with fingerprints--that the dead little girl was trying to contact her parents. Well, that was the premise, at least.

If I saw the movie today, I’m afraid I might find it was totally STOOOOOPID. But all these years later, I still remember it with a shudder.

But the scariest move (okay, maybe after "Alien") I ever saw was yet another ABC Movie of the Week, "The Night Stalker," a tale of vampirism in modern-day Las Vegas. (Oh, how I mourned the recent death of its star, Darren McGavin.) I rented the tape about 15 years ago, and I was still FREAKED by the film (originally made in 1972). I have a copy of the movie on a Beta tape, but (damn!) no longer have a Beta machine to play it on. So…yesterday I ordered the DVD.  Hey, hit me with a 2 x 4--I suddenly feel nostalgic.  (And I'm hoping the box set of the TV show The Night Stalker will magically appear on my birthday....)

I remember a LOT of other wonderful ABC Movies Of The Week, starring the likes of Sally Field, Jan Michael Vincent, Stockard Channing, and many others. I watched those movies with religious furor. Nothing like it attracts me to the tube these days.

Instead, I read. But sadly, I’m in the minority. If you’re bored by TV, visit your local bookstore or library. You’re sure to find something really good.

What have you been reading/watching?

It's my favorite!

Mr. Ivy doesn't understand how I can have a favorite part of almost every song I hear.  Ohh!  Did you notice that nifty chord progression?  How about that interesting bit of percussion?

He thinks I'm a nut.

Therefore, he doesn't understand how I can have a favorite fork, either.

My family has had a cottage for over thirty years.  Like a lot of summer cottages, it has a lot of odds and ends.  Mismatched dishes, sheets that don't match the pillowcases, etc.  And lots of interesting bits and pieces.


Most of the silverware is silver plated, which doesn't like being put in a dishwasher.  (After three years without a dishwasher, we finally have one once again.  YIPPEE! Although I will admit that hand washing dishes keeps your fingernails nice and clean.)  The dishwasher tends to discolor the silverware, but other than that, it seems to be okay.  But these photos are more discolored than the actual piece of "silverware."  Must've been the lighting.

This little fork is my favorite, probably because of its decoration--and among all the other forks in the drawer, it's one of a kind.  It's kinda small, which makes me think it's either a dessert or a salad fork.

And not only does it have decoration on the front, but it's decorated on the back, too.  Something you don't see on the silverware of today.

A friend of mine bought a lot of interesting dishes -- all with a floral theme.  She was determined to "build" a set of 12.  I thought how wonderful it would be to eat off of a different pretty plate every night. 

Do you have a lot of different favorites, too?

On Being Lazy . . .

I grew up in a house where one parent loved to read and the other didn't.  (Guess who I took after?)  We always had scads of things lying around to read:  books, newspapers, magazines, boxes of cereal.  We went to the library often, bringing home more books, books-on-tape, records, etc.

I can remember my dad yelling at my Mom: "Are you reading AGAIN!"  So it is that I often feel lazy if I just sit around and read. (There, I've said it out loud!)

I've spent most of the last few weekends sitting around reading, and let me tell you, it is WONDERFUL!!!  I've been averaging at least two books a week.  This is more reading than I've done in 20 years.  I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I'm not working full time any more.

This weekend I read "If Angels Burn" by Lynn Viehl.  It's a semi-erotic vampire thriller, which isn't my usual choice of reading material. "If Angels Burn" is the first in a trilogy and now now I have to get the other two books.  (And I sure hope she resolves what's going on with John and Alex and Michael by the last book, because it looks like Book II is about someone peripheral to the plot in Book I.)

We were going out to the grocery store and I was waiting for hubby, so I grabbed "Angels" and was sitting on the side of the bed, trying to sneak in another page or two and suddenly it was deja vu.  I was expecting Mr. Ivy to yell me at for reading.  Of course, this is not something he would ever do...but it was kind of weird anyway.

And now I'm reading a library discard (at a cost of 33.3 cents), "Lake Wobegon Summer 1956" by Garrison Keillor.  Now I'm not a Prairie Home Companion fan.  I've tried to listen, but there was a little bit too much of "olde time religion" for my taste.  But hubby laughed so much reading this coming-of-age book that I had to have a go at it, too.  (I'm on chapter 4 and have done a good bit of laughing myself.  Although some library patrons (who rated the book in the back) were very disappointed.  "Too much raunchiness!" etc.  Makes me want to read more!)

I know, I'm supposed to be doing laundry and I'm feeling miserable.

I think I'll just dip into Lake Wobegon for a few minutes...maybe that'll cheer me up.

All I DON'T want for Christmas

The other day, my mother asked me, "What do you want for Christmas."

Of course, my immediate answer was, "EVERYTHING!" But when forced to narrow it down, I came up rather short. Uh...let's see....

At my age, I can pretty much buy what I want. And as it turns out ... I don't seem to want all that much. In fact, I can better tell you what I DON'T want than what I do want. Yeah, that list could take up several pages, and maybe an entire BOOK.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but among my favorite don't wants are:


Bath Salts: Unless you have one of those deep, soaker tubs, warmed fluffy towels, and nothing on your to-do list, who has time to take a tub bath? And as I get older, I find I'm using less and less products that have a fragrance to it. So please--don't give me bath salts.

Clothes: As a kid, there was nothing worse than the dreaded flat, rectangular box. It meant a sweater, or new pajamas, or yet another hat, scarf, and mitten set. I don't care how old a kid you become, Christmas is for TOYS! My toys of choice have changed to books, CDs, and DVDs, but they're still FUN!

Candy and Sweets: My butt is already too big. I have a hard enough time avoiding this stuff the other 11 months of the year. I'd rather have some new highlighters, glue sticks and white-out. (Yes, I still use it.)

Candles: My mother put the fear of fire in me at an early age. I got one of those candle warmers a few years ago, but seldom use it--especially as I read something online that said the scent of these lovely smelling candles might be toxic. (Same with all those air fresheners--and I've heard the ones you plug in have caused fires.) Why might be toxic? Nobody has ever done a study.

That's just off the top of my head?


What is it that you DON'T WANT for Christmas?

Pizza and ... ?

It seems like there are infinite combinations when it comes to pizza.  I'm not talking about what you have on the pizza, but with you have WITH it.

Take my friend Jean for instance.  Her husband is a chef.  When they have pizza it's an ordeal.  First of all, her hubby MAKES the pizza from scratch.  But before he does that, he first gets out his big soup pot.  Yup, pizza night for them means homemade chicken soup comes first.

Go figure!

When I was growing up, pizzas were few and far between.  The only place around us that made pizza was a little hole in the wall called Chicken Delight.  (And as you might guess, the pizza wasn't very good--but what did we know--we hadn't had much to compare with--except for that rubber monstrosity they made at school with was 90% uncooked dough, 8% bad sauce, and 2% rubber cheese.)

As a kid there were three things to drink in the house:  pop, Kool-Aide or milk.  I got used to drinking milk with my pizza and still do to this day.  A nice, Tall, FROSTY glass of (skim) milk.

Hubby says it makes him want to puke.

He, on the other hand, either has a beer or a glass of scotch (unless we're reheating it at lunchtime and then he drinks--ick--Gatorade).

What do YOU like with your pizza?

By Remote Control

It's a running gag on commercials, TV shows, and in comics that men hog the TV remote.  We buck the trend in this house.  The truth is, we don't watch all that much network TV.  I'm pretty sure my husband has no idea which remote even turns on the TV.  That's not surprising, since we have five remotes sitting on the coffee table.

FIVE? 

Yup, five.  One is for the TV. One is for the DVD.  One is for the DVD/VHS machine.  One is for the DVD that we use as a CD player, and one is for the amplifier we use WITH that DVD player.  Three of them are black, and two of them are gray.  I must admit that on more than one occasion I've picked up the wrong gray one trying to get the DVD player to play, only to discover I'm using the wrong one.

Talk about a Homer Simpson moment!

I pretty much take care of all of these machines. (And hook them up as they come and go.  For some reason, we have gone through a LOT of VHS and DVD machines.  And it's not like we jump on them or anything.)  Some of these remotes are really cool, and one of them (the newest one) doesn't even have a power button.  (What's with that?)  To turn on the machine, you have to bend down and press the power button--not easy to do when your like my hubby and have two artificial knees.  (That's where I come in.  I'm really good at pressing buttons--no brag, just fact.)

But lately I've noticed that the TV remote is getting cranky.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  We bought the set soon after we moved into our house, so it's at least 17 years old.  It's a Sony and the picture is just as good today as it was when we bought it.  (I still have my first Sony TV and only stopped using it when digital replaced analog TV.  I should hook it up to a DVD player and watch movies while I cook.  Hmmm...yet another remote?)  When flipping channels, you can go from channel 3 up--but you can't go from channel 23 down.  You can punch in any number you want, but that gets to be a pain after a while.  (Gosh, am I spoiled, or what?)

Anyway, I'm concerned that the TV will far outlive the remote--then what will we do?  Will I have to actually get up and cross the room to change the channel one day, or will I have to get a universal remote that I can't figure out how to use?

I think we should stick to watching DVDs.

What's your remote situation?