The Perfect Color

We’re in the process of redecorating our home.  Instead of the original color scheme of drab taupe/pinkish-beige walls, we’re changing the color scheme to relaxing golden/sandy/khaki colors.

As you can imagine, this project has made me just a bit crazy.  I’m obsessed with choosing the perfect new color for each room.  So we paint large splotches of a potential color on all four walls in the room we’re working on, and then I look at the color in different light for a few days until I decide what I want.

But on Saturday morning I was indecisive.  So very early Saturday morning, before it was light out, I got Zen-Den to paint one more splotch of the potential color on a wall.  I figured that I’d get dressed, the sun would come out, and then I’d give this color one more look-see.

To decide for sure.

Well, as usual, Zen-Den got dressed much more quickly than I did.  And, as usual, he was standing around in the foyer waiting for me to get ready.  He had no idea that I’d stopped for one last glance at our color-to-be, so he shouted upstairs and asked me what I was doing.

To which I answered without one ounce of irony: “I’m watching paint dry.”

Because I was.  Darn it.

Instantly, from below in the foyer I heard Zen-Den burst out laughing.  He realized that I hadn’t a clue what I’d just said– and he could barely contain himself waiting for me to realize what I’d just said.

Eventually I realized what I’d said and started laughing at myself… which made Zen-Den laugh even more about what I’d just said.

And continue to laugh… all the way to the paint store.  Where I’m happy to report that the one of us who wasn’t laughing like a nut purchased the perfect color of paint for our bedroom walls.

So there.  HA!

You Have To Latch On To The Affirmative

You’ll be happy to know that the physical therapist, recommended by my doctor to evaluate my lower back strength and flexibility, has established that I have the hamstrings of a Rockette.”

This is a good thing.

You’ll be equally happy to know that said physical therapist, who is the epitome of tact and grace, did not mention my Mama Cass Eliott thighs.

Not once.

Reflecting on the above I have concluded that: 1) I’ll take good news, no matter how unique, wherever I find it;  and 2) it’s time for me to get walking on a regular basis again.

How To Make Me Smile

Show me a recipe with a bit of small town snark buried inside of it from an 1894 church cookbook.  Delightful.

AMBROSIA FOR ONE

Fill a saucer with fresh peaches, finely sliced, or strawberries, carefully picked and  selected; over this, place a measure of ice-cream, vanilla flavor.  Cover all with powdered sugar to the depth of one-fourth inch.  Eat with spoon (if your income is over twenty thousand dollars, you can use a strawberry fork). [emphasis added]  Serve with angels food, or almond macaroons.

~ ~ Recipes Tried and True by the Ladies’ Aid Society of the First Presbyterian Church of Marion, Ohio


Yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay

I know that it is customary in the blogosphere to put a photo of yourself on your blog.  As I understand it, the reasoning goes that by showing the world what you look like, more people will be interested in what you have to say.  You will be legit.

[I have my doubts about the truth of this assumption, but that isn’t what I’m in the mood to talk about today.]

So, not wanting to seem standoffish or out-of-touch, I decided to look for a picture of me.  This project seemed easy enough until I realized that I have very few photos of me.  I think that I must have been Amish in another life because I don’t like to have my photo taken.  Ever.

Still, I persevered and eventually I found this photo of me, age 3 (maybe 4?).

I think that this photo is close enough to what I look like now to qualify as a current photo of me. I still squint when looking into the sun.  I still have short blonde, sometimes curly, not quite straight hair.  I still have a rather casual approach to everyday outfits.

However, there are two important things about me that have changed since this photo was snapped.  First, I wear glasses all the time.

[Feel free to print this photo and draw glasses on me.  Make them kind of rectangular, rimless, with no-line bifocals– and make them very expensive.]

And second, I no longer carry a toy gun with me wherever I go.  I cannot overemphasize this point enough.

You see, this photo was taken during my “Wyatt Earp/Dale Evans” phase when I was convinced that if I dragged this gun around with me all the time, I’d eventually get my parents to buy me a cute little cowgirl outfit.  My tactics failed.  I never got the outfit and at some point a few months after this photo was taken, my little gun mysteriously got broken and was thrown out.

While it’s true that I never achieved my cowgirl dreams, this photo of me and the toy gun remains today.  And because of it I can show the world who I really am.  Or was. And more importantly, I can show the world that I’m a serious blogger with a picture of myself clearly posted for everyone to see.

Pleasantly Surprised

We’re having a wood floor installed in our study this week.  Last June we had the same style of floor, 3.25 inch select white oak with a natural finish, installed in our living room and dining room.  We liked the look so much that we decided to put it in our study, which is across the foyer from the living room.

{At this point I know that it’d be very bloggerly of me to add a photo.  However, seeing as the study is entirely dismantled to allow for the above-mentioned project, I have no access to our desk top computer where all the little photos live.  Let’s just pretend that this side note is a photo, shall we?}

The things that I remember the most about getting wood floors installed are:  1) how noisy it is;  and 2) how smelly it is.  Well, guess what?  This time I’m not experiencing either of these phenomenon even though I am right here in the house with all the chaos going on around me.

How could this be, you wonder?

The answer is really quite simple.  I have a horrendous head cold that has muted my ability to hear much of anything and has clogged my nose to such a degree that I cannot even smell my morning coffee while drinking it.  This is one doozy of a cold which, if I may be so bold as to say, could be the best one I’ve ever had.

Think about it.  Here I sit in my physically diminished state while our house gets prettied up and I’m not inconvenienced one little bit.  Couldn’t of planned it better if I tried.  Which I didn’t.  Because who in their right mind wants a head cold– no matter how helpful it is?