Happy Halloween!



Mister spotted the spider shown above, and we both had a grand chuckle over it. Honestly – that’s the most creative use of a bullet-hole I’ve ever seen.


Here’s hoping your Halloween is super-duper nifty. And if spiders are involved, may they all be fake and fluffy. And hey – no bullet-holes, um-kay? No bullets, no guns, no injury. Fingers crossed, that about covers it.

Wrong, Wrong, Wrong



Betro and Aniela told me about it, but I barely believed them. It just didn’t sound right. Or real. Or something. All I knew was I wasn’t buying it. So they stopped at a liquor store and showed me what’s what.



Oy vey. What is the world coming to, people? Are we so desperate to get our drank on while getting cavities that we’ll resort to this? If you’re planning to imbibe this Halloween weekend, please do so responsibly. With a beverage that doesn’t need a “Z” to make it cool. And with a modicum of decorum. I mean really…


Thursday Memories



In the spirit of Halloween, I thought I’d share a photo with costume inspiration.


No – that is not a costume. It was a uniform from my flight attendant days. But hey – if you want to dress up as a stew, be my guest. Lucky for you, as long as you stay grounded there will be no jet belly.


Oh yeah. It’s a real thing.

Wish Me Luck



Today I hope to meet with the chick who commissioned a painting. If all goes according to plan, I’ll help her choose a frame for the finished work and then it will go and live its life in her home.


When you do something for someone, it’s generally okay. Let’s say you bring coffee to a friend. Or you help someone move. With few exceptions (like spilling coffee on said friend, or breaking someone’s stuff), those are just things you do and that’s that. But when you are asked to create something of a personal nature for someone, like a painting of a place near and dear to their hearts, well, there’s some pressure. And you want to do a good job.


I’ve lived with this commission for quite a while now, and I am finally able to say – out loud – that the work is good. And it is. And I think the chick is going to love it. And so will her family. And like a Charlie Brown tree, all that painting needs is a little love. Well – that and an appropriate frame. Wish me luck.

The Butterfly Effect



Mister called me in to see a butterfly that had flown in an open door. It was beating itself against a window, desperate to rejoin the outside world. I decided to help the little critter in its quest.



Did you ever have a butterfly net when you were a child? I seem to recall such an item, and it also seems like my sisters and I tried to use it, but never managed to capture anything other than each other. Of course, I could be wrong about all that, but my brain-hole is telling me that’s the way it went down. Anyhoo – I certainly don’t own a butterfly net now. And I really could have used one this past weekend. That butterfly was tricky, I tell ya. As it evaded my man-hands, I could feel the breeze it was creating, all around me. Naturally, that led me to thinking about The Butterfly Effect. Hmm. Science.



After a short while, I did manage to grab the butterfly and I walked the little dude outside, to freedom. It flitted away, as if nothing had happened. Instant recovery. I’d like to get me some of that.

Painting Fool



I spent a lot of my weekend working in the new pad. Specifically, I was painting a section of the front parlor. And once the painting in the area was finished, I had to clean the shutters because, well, they were dirty and not worthy of the freshly painted walls.


I cannot tell you how pleased I am to get this done. How tickled I feel to look at the completed work. How tired my body is.


The walls aren’t a big deal. Sure – the taping isn’t my favorite part of the process, but it is terribly essential and crisp, clean lines really rev my motor, if you must know. But the floor boards. The floor boards, y’all! In case you missed it, those are by the floor. Which means I have to get down low to paint them. And paint them I must. They’re too aged to clean (I’ve tried) and they’re too stained to ignore (tried that, too). So I crouched down and painted the muthas. 2 coats. By the time I was finished and stood up, I thought I might be permanently hunched. Truth be told, it took me a while to stretch out and regain my full height. And don’t even get me started on cleaning the shutters. That task took twice as long as the painting.


But now the shutters are bright and the painting part is finished. Today I’ll tidy my mistakes and touch-up where needed. Because I’m taking my time in getting the painting done, I’ll move on to another wall later this week. Believe it or not, I’m being patient. Really.


For now, I love the fresh, clean paint and the clean shutters. The whole area looks perky and inviting. I’m too tired to feel pride of ownership when looking at my work though. Maybe once I’ve recovered. And am sitting in the parlor with a drink in my hand. Maybe then I’ll toast me. Maybe by then I’ll see I deserve it.

World Pasta Day!



This day gets me excited each year: World Pasta Day!


I happen to love pasta. But then, I love bread and carbs and all things gooey. So there you go.


As I have a lovely sauce in the fridge, I’m thinking lasagna might be in order. Hmm. How great is it that we have a whole day devoted to pasta? It draws a tear, I tell ya.




Because I’m me, and because I am flawed, I have recently fallen out of touch with my neighborhood buddies, Betro and Aniela. Forgive me for not going into details, but suffice it to say I have allowed the excuse of life’s hurdles to somewhat isolate myself. To hole-up. To lose touch. It ain’t right, but it’s true.


Anyhoo – yesterday I and my buddies reconnected and made our usual trip to Costco. I apologized for my behavior and was accepted for who and how I am.


And the fun was just as good as ever.

And Then…



So yesterday I and several neighbors attended a city planning hearing regarding a large construction project in our neighborhood. We were there as appellants, to speak about how the project will likely impact our peaceful streets. I don’t know why, but the whole thing had stressed me out.


But I was also managing my expectations. Having received a letter from the city managers last week, a letter supporting the project and rejecting our appeal, I fully accepted that the hearing would probably go the way of the developers and not the neighbors. But I did still have to speak at the hearing, so I knew I needed to get ready.


It’s not like in the movies. It doesn’t matter how impassioned you are, or how prepared. The commissioners have the unenviable job of listening to all comers. And some of us are ding-dongs. I had written out my comments and timed my presentation, so that I wouldn’t have to hear a danged buzzer go off during my speech. And just before I left the house, Mister checked in with me and reminded me there was no need to be nervous. That I was indeed prepared and that it would be over soon enough. Turned out he was right. I even smiled when I approached the podium. Before I knew it, my part was done and the panel voted on our appeal. They sided with the developer.


After speaking with neighbors and a few folks from our neighborhood council, I drove my elderly neighbor home and we talked about the olden days. I dropped him off and parked the car.


Once I was inside and getting ready for dinner, I decided to change out of my meetin’ clothes, into some loungin’ clothes. And that’s when I saw it. I had a booty-hole in my fancy pants. I guess that explains why some folks didn’t want to talk to me at the meeting. And why some most certainly did.




Yesterday I was sending some mail and went to my stamp cubby to ready the pieces. I pulled out the various stamps I have on hand and selected what I thought was best. Then I realized I have only so many remaining stamps. And this troubled me.


Let me be clear about something: I am not a hoarder. If anything, I get rid of stuff more often than I should. But when it comes to stamps – in all their glory – I find myself wanting to hold on to them. As I tend to buy stamps that are only available for a brief time (limited editions), once they’re gone – they’re gone! And then I feel a short-lived sense of loss. It’s bizarre. And silly, I know. I am not sure, but I think part of my emotion is the knowledge that I’ll have to go to the danged post office to replace my stamp stash. I don’t know if you’ve been to the post office lately, but let me tell you – the patrons there are not the happiest bunch. So it takes a strong spirit to battle the wait and the other shoppers when queuing.


For now, I’ve got a few Johnny Cash stamps left, as well as a handful of Chefs and a couple of Harry Potters. I’ll dole those out and then see what the gub-ment has in stock. I hope it’s arty. And fun. And maybe historic. What have I been complaining about? Now I’m excited to see what’s coming next!