Good-bye '07, Hello '08

I’m a list maker. I like to list things. What to get at the grocery store, what I need to do around the house before company arrives, what flowers to plant in the spring, what I’d like in a dream house, places to which I’d like to travel, favorite movies, books, etc. Lists, lists, lists. I wish I could say making lists is a sign of an organized mind, but I think it’s much more likely this is a sign of a mind that wishes it were organized. Or maybe it’s even a call for help. All I know is I like to make lists, but even more than making them, I like to cross things off my lists.

Things I crossed off in 2007

Realized that the chocolate truffles Em and I made on almost a whim could take us places and we began our business, having fun with it and getting closer to Em
Entertain more often
Finish the two year house remodeling
Begin planting the flower garden
Enjoy the outdoor fireplace


Things I hope to cross off in 2008

Get the commercial kitchen inspected and approved.
Settle on “the look” for our truffle business, boxes, bags, tags, business cards, website
Our state’s governor serving our truffles
Take a hands-on chocolate creating class in Paris
Advertise the truffle business and grow and grow and grow
Send my writing to contests, magazines and bring new writing to my writers’ group
Diet and exercise (I really, really want to cross this one off)
Creating whimsies, hooked rugs, feather trees, mohair teddy bears, etc.
Find an original piece of artwork, signed by the artist for the dining room wall
Read more
Enjoy the flower garden more
Entertain more

I know there are more things I crossed off my 2007 list just as there are more things I hope to cross off 2008's, but some things fade away in memory once they’ve been achieved while others don’t poke their noses in until the last minute. The lists truly are a work in progress. My 2008 wish for everyone is that they progress in the coming new year.

Twas the weekend before Christmas

Since the shopping is done and I won’t be in full cookie baking mode until Sunday, tonight and tomorrow I will have some time to read. I’ve been busier than normal lately, or maybe this is the new normal, and haven’t had my usual time to read. I miss it. I start recalling favorite books when I’m not reading new ones and my favorite book of all time is Watership Down. I read it when I was about sixteen and I didn’t know before I read the book that adults wrote books aimed at other adults like this one. Talking rabbits with their own fables and myths. Every few years I reread the story of their exodus and adventures, crying every time I get to the part of Bigwig defending the run in the big battle when, for the first time, he acknowledges Hazel as his chief rabbit and, in doing so, wins the day.

There are a couple of books from my childhood that are especially dear to me besides the usual Nancy Drew mysteries and what girl didn’t covet that convertible of Nancy’s, Gone-Away Lake and Magic Elizabeth, but far and away my favorite childhood books were an English mystery series by Enid Blyton about the Famous Five. George, a girl who refused to be called Georgina, her dog, Timmy, and her cousins, Anne, Julian and Dick. Why and how my elementary school library in a rural town in Michigan ended up with what became my favorite book in the series, Five Run Away Together, about English children and their dog who traipse about having the best adventures ever without any adult supervision is a mystery in itself. I feel certain no grown-up realized the book was there. There was another book in the high school library that no adult had read called The Great Time Machine Hoax, too, but that’s a blog for another day. Thanks to Alibris.com and eBay, I’ve been able to gather together the rest of the Famous Five books. As for the copy of my original foray into the series, Five Run Away Together, I bet I owe a whopping fine to the elementary school library.

So, tonight and tomorrow I’m going to have time to read and maybe I’ll find another book that will hold a special place in my heart. I think this may be one of the best reasons I have for reading. There are high standards for admittance to that place in my heart, but the company is worth the try.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

It occurred to me a few days ago that I have never in my life wished for warmer weather. I have sometimes wished I were warmer when I didn’t dress for cold weather, but never that the outside temps were warmer. I like the cold. I like snow.

I love snow.

Sunday we got the first real snow of the season, 6". Enough to finally cover the grass and put white icing on all the trees. Heaven. I love the way the snow muffled the noise while I was outside. There seemed to be more quiet. Monday, on my way home, I went farther out of my way than necessary in order to get to my favorite back road and see it completely snow-covered as I drove along enjoying the view.

I love the way no two snowfalls are the same. The landscape is different as each snowflake is different and as each of us are different. Snow is a reason for me to celebrate and look at my world in a new way.

Fa-la-la-la-la

I’m beginning to feel in full on Christmas mode.

I’ve begun amassing the various ingredients for the Christmas fudge I make every year and for those cookies that only show up for a few days during this season before they are devoured. They last about as long as snowflakes caught on our tongues. I’m giving boxes of truffles to my co-workers so those ingredients are stacked on the kitchen counters, too, waiting to be turned into rich, decadent chocolate truffles rolled in cocoa or micro-shredded chocolate pieces.

The very small towns through which I drive to and from work have brought out their party clothes. Store doorways are decorated with evergreen roping and large angels, candy canes, candles and tin soldiers all made from different colored weather-resistant illuminated garlands hang from the light poles. I can’t say I’m enamored of the blow up plastic figures which seem to be in vogue now and which are tethered in every third yard, but they are eye-catching if nothing else. What I like are the lights. Colored lights or white wrapping trees, edging rooflines, surrounding yards and bringing soft luminescence to the dark.

Then there is the soundtrack to this time of year. Stores, malls, radio stations, television commercials all piping Christmas carols into the ether. Twice on my way through the grocery store yesterday I heard people who were stocking the shelves singing aloud and along with the carols. I left them to it since they could sing and I, alas, cannot, but it made me smile and I turned up the volume on my own internal singing. Life would be greatly improved if we had our own soundtrack and since I’m not of the ipod generation, this is the only time of year when I get that wish.

Bring it on.

Office supplies

A set of folders I’d almost forgotten I’d ordered arrived yesterday. They have drawings and watercolors of birds on them and they’ll be shown off on my desk in a white metal file holder labeled ‘Etc’ on the front. My lamp is almost useless if I actually need to see by its light, but it is lovely to me and the lamp shade is of some sort of waxed parchment so the glow is soft and warm. My favorite mottled blue coffee mug is almost always on my desk filled with our own house brew. I have two chairs in my office, not the comfortable padded ones with the levers to raise the heights or swirl around, but two Hitchcock Christmas chairs with old pillows as cushions. I sit in one and my cat claims the other one. He sleeps beside me while I work, company during those times when it seems like I have so much to do. A pair of candles in clear glass holders that some magician formed with clear vines and leaves on the surface illuminate the pages when I’m writing in my journal on dark, quiet mornings. The television is usually on TCM with an old black and white movie playing or if one of the old radio programs on XM radio is what I want instead, that is on so I can hear Suspense or Jack Benny or whether or not ‘only the Shadow knows for sure.’ My clock is a small silver and garnet affair that I could not resist and my calendar a birthday gift from a friend, a perpetual calendar like our friendship. On the warm sage green walls, I have framed and matted photographs of an Irish castle and an Irish gate from an extremely talented photographer I know along with a framed and matted set of four illustrations from my favorite childhood book, Five Run Away Together by the English author, Enid Blyton. I also have a set of stamps issued in England to honor Sherlock Holmes and a framed poster advertising William Gillette in the play, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a wannabe Brit and I can claim one sixth on my mother’s side. There are many more supplies in here, leather and fabric covered journals, books, small framed photographs, an ibis paperweight, rattan blinds on the windows and a Persian wool rug on the floor. Not to mention the flotsam and jetsam of my work.

Not to mention that at all.

The twelve days of Christmas

Is Christmas a time of remembering? Or is it that in nearing the end of a year, we tend to think back? Whatever the reason, this time of year brings back memories. Right now I’m remembering the Twelve Days of Christmas. This is what we called the twelve days leading up to Christmas when we were kids. I know, I know, the twelve days really start on Christmas and end on January 6, but that didn’t work for us. In order to make the wait until Christmas Day more exciting, if possible, my family did our own version. No partridge in a pear tree or lords a leaping for us. The twelve days were for cookie baking and caroling.

We took a lot of care in designing our twelve days every year. My brother, sister and I each picked one day when we planned dinner and helped make it, whatever we wanted. One night we set aside for buying and decorating the tree, a live one back then because the only artificial ones readily available where those silver ones people set up with a four color wheel that turned before a spot light and made the tree look different colors. I’d like to think these trees would eventually dim in the collective memory, but now they're ‘retro’ and are coming back. I shudder as I digress. One night we picked out to drive around town looking at decorations. One night we’d ‘treat’ our relations to the off-key sound of our caroling. We weren’t good, but we were enthusiastic. The rest of the nights were set aside for cookie baking, fudge and popcorn ball making. Christmas Eve, the eleventh night, we each opened one present, always new pajamas, and ate cookies and fudge. We nearly fell into sugar comas before going to bed.

Overall, my memories of our twelve days of Christmas are stronger than the memory of any gift I received the morning of the twelfth day. I'm sure at the time whatever it was I wanted to see under the tree on Christmas morning was terribly important, but now I’m happy to say my best memories are of the things we did instead of the things we got.

I'm day dreaming of a white Christmas

I’m driving down to Coldwater today, back roads, of course. We had a little snow over the weekend, snow, then freezing rain, then snow again. I absolutely love winter and I don’t mind driving in the mess. I usually drive a bit above the speed limit, but not when the white stuff is around. I slow down, not only because the roads are more treacherous, but because I love to look around at everything covered in snow. It is an entirely new world, new landscape, even a new point of view.

I find myself day dreaming.

I remember a Christmas about twenty years ago when the temperatures were higher than they’d been on Easter that year and I know that there have been many years when we did not have snow on Christmas Day. None of that reality matters when I’m thinking of the holiday season because I can only dream of Christmas as covered in snow. The first Christmas at the house we live in now when all day long enormous flakes fell and we could hardly see across the street. The Christmas when the roads were so snow-covered and slippery that my husband got the four-wheel drive truck out to fetch Em back to the house for the festivities. White, snow covered, snow falling Christmas Days.

All my Christmas’s are white.

Just another day in the universe

Today is one of those days that makes me want to chuck my regular job. There’s been nothing really mind blowing going on today, but I’m finding it more and more difficult to clear my mind of work when I am doing something else. Anything else. Reading a mystery (by my favorite mystery writer no less), writing (so that one day I might be someone’s favorite mystery writer), creating whimsies, hooking a wool rug, going to the store - anything.

Scientists talk about dark matter. That the matter making up what we can see does not account for all of the mass in the universe. What we cannot see accounts for the vast majority of mass in the universe. Dark matter is of unknown composition, but its presence can be inferred from the gravitational effects on visible matter. I submit that my job is too much in my head and, thus, is impacting my visible universe. It is, in fact, dark matter and, more and more, I feel the need to get rid of it, to tell it to take a hike.

According to Wikipedia, only 4% of the total density of the universe can be seen directly. About 22% is thought to be composed of dark matter. The rest, 74%, is thought to consist of dark energy. I’m placing my hopes on dark energy. I like that idea that most of the density of the universe is made of energy and not mass. Makes me believe my efforts can overcome any dark matter and can take me beyond, probably into the unknown. Old maps used to have warnings posted at the borders of unexplored areas, “Beyond this point, there be dragons.” So, first I’ll slay my job, then I’ll face the dragons. Time to sharpen my sword.

Magic moments #1

Those first hints of autumn in a red vine winding around a tree trunk, the joy of a grandchild’s first steps, the way a pet can look at you and you know you’re their whole world, the alchemy of heat changing flour, eggs, sugar, milk, vanilla, baking powder and cocoa into a chocolate cake, fireworks, finding a friend who laughs at the same jokes and has read the same books, the quiet and surrounding darkness of early morning, the crackle and snap of a fire in the hearth, a welcoming hug at the door of a friend’s house, the smell of baking and a shoulder on which to rest your cheek.

A day in the life........

I did not go shopping yesterday. Yesterday was Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving when the stores started opening at 4AM. At 4AM I’m happy to say I was tucked up all warm and cozy, full of second helpings of Thanksgiving dinner, cats asleep with us on the bed and my dreams full of family and food.

I usually start to decorate the house the day after Thanksgiving. We have a small yard, but there are enough varieties of evergreens, holly, boxwood, etc., to fashion a decently full wreath for the front door. I smell the pine from the wreath while I’m decorating the artificial tree. Every ornament is a memory, the when and the who and the where as I unpack a lifetime. The lights wind around the branches illuminating the entire tree, highlighting special ornaments; the elf in the small swing “repairing” a light, the small fabric and painted cardboard angel that was on my mother’s tree and the ornaments we’ve brought back from vacations or been given by friends and family. Then there is the set of bells we hang on the back, the bells that tell us one of the cats is trying to climb the tree. The same two cats who will later curl up to sleep under the tree in the quilt we use as a tree skirt. There are ornaments to hang in the windows and adorn the front door wreath and, despite the Thanksgiving leftovers which will fuel us for days and days, I have a batch of cookies to make and holiday movies to watch.

So, I did not help fuel the economy yesterday. Instead, I did my bit to fill house and home with things to delight all the senses. I don't think anyone could call that Black Friday.

To quiz or not to quiz

I, too, check out All Atwitter’s blog. Here are my totally serious quiz answers. Totally. Seriously.

1. Diamonds or Pearls? I long for a string of pearls, loathe the one pearl on a chain look on myself and I’d take diamonds any ol’ way.

2. Chocolate or Vanilla? I’m afraid I go against the grain here and vote for vanilla. For me there is nothing better than good vanilla cake with thick vanilla icing.

3. Beatles or Stones? I’m a Beatles girl, but it’s a good thing this wasn’t a choice between Beatles and Beach Boys. Or Beatles and cookies.

4. Steak or Pasta? Pasta, pasta, pasta. Haven’t had steak in a long time and I don’t miss it.

5. Revolver or Semi-Automatic? Having a husband who took me to the gun range to shoot, I have to say the revolver seems like a REAL gun. I felt very Annie Oakley firing the lever action rifle, too.

6. Feather or Foam? Foam that conforms to me as I sleep, thank you very much.

7. Republican or Democrat? What, no third party candidates?

8. Stick or Automatic? I like driving a car so I choose stick as my favorite. Otherwise it’s just aiming.

9. Table Service or Buffet? Let’s see, I go out to eat and I still have to serve myself? No way. Send that cute waiter to the table to whisper the specials into my ear.

10. Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall? I always used to say winter, but I’m beginning to more fully appreciate the autumnal run up to winter. Like a long Christmas Eve. Fall now has the top spot in my affections.

11. Sailboat or Motorboat? A sailboat when you can only hear the wind and the sound of the boat cutting through the waves.

12. Dogs or Cats? I’ve totally loved every dog and cat I’ve ever had, but all the dogs ended up being outside animals. The cats sleep on the bed and curl next to me on the sofa. Cats have the edge with me.

13. Beer or Wine? Hmmm, a toughie. The few beers I like I really like, but when a good wine is being served........ Wine wins by a nose.

14. Hugs or Kisses? There are people from whom I love hugs and people from whom I love kisses and a few from whom I love both. If it’s my birthday, I want lots of both from everyone.

15. Cary Grant or Jimmy Stewart? Since my name isn’t Judy, Judy, Judy, I guess I’ll have to go with Jimmy Stewart. Though I might be thinking about Cary Grant.

16. Pie or Cake? Of the two, I’d rather stuff my pie hole with cake.

17. Tea or Coffee? Coffee. If I were drinking tea right now instead of coffee, I wouldn’t yet be able to focus on the screen.

18. Male Friends or Female Friends? Female friends win. If this were an arm wrestling contest, the man’s friends would send him in there alone while the female’s friends would be doing their best to distract the opponent. Flashing parts of their anatomy if the opponent is male and flashing shoe sale coupons if the opponent is female. Women know their audience.

19. Pool or Beach? Pool! Just let me float on a giant blue inflatable cushion while someone fetches me a cool adult beverage.

20. Hotter or Colder? Generally colder. Unless it’s coffee, I hate iced coffee unless there is some sort of alcohol involved. Would there be alcohol involved?

Blinded by the light

There is a store on my way from home to work that, as Em says, rhymes with Smarget. Yesterday I stopped there to get some of their coffee and I came away with the realization that geniuses work there. How else can I explain a relatively sane woman’s first reaction upon entering through the double wide automatically opening doors, “Ooooo, pretty!” Somehow, though, I made it past this first display still heading directly toward the coffee. The problem is, on the way to the coffee aisle, I’m glancing down all the other aisles, and what do I see? Nothing in the aisle itself, but stacked before the wall at the far end of the aisle, trios of red bowls. “Ooooo, pretty.” I turn and head toward them. It was early in my shopping trip so my sane internal voice still had some control. “You don’t need three plastic red bowls.” I put them back, but the damage was done. I’d been pulled off my direct route to the coffee and into Aladdin’s cave.

Lights everywhere. Displays of Christmas trees lit in all different colors, different sized bulbs, lit wreaths, lit garlands, lit displays of reindeer, Santas, snowmen and gingerbread houses.

“Ooooo, pretty.”

They also have coordinating rolls of wrapping paper, Christmas cards, gift tags, ornaments, holiday packaged candy, cinnamon and peppermint scented candles and all of it reflecting the lights.

“Ooooo, pretty.”

The sane little voice in my head tried to regain control. Really. I even heard it repeating one word over and over, “coffee,” which was fortunate because I won’t be going back to that store for a while and I would have been really embarrassed if I’d forgotten to get the coffee before I left.

Maybe I should go back sooner, though, to study how they do it. It would be research for our chocolate truffle company and I’m sure the IRS approves expenses for research. Don’t they?

A good sense of direction

I’m always surprised by people who can’t read a map. To me, this means that when they travel, they don’t know where they are and they can’t find out. They’ll have a vague notion that they’re somewhere in Montana. They turn the map this way and that and stare, befuddled, waiting for the “You are here” arrow to appear. These are the same people who can’t tell where East is even when the sun is rising. The same people who feel lost every time they must negotiate around an unforeseen obstacle.

There is a flipside, though. It might be that I just like to know where I am. I believe I have a good sense of direction, that I know where I’m going and at least some of the steps I need to get to my destination. Other steps or twists and turns won’t be clear until I’m on my way, the unforeseen detours, the washed out bridge, the decision to follow a trail not on the map, trusting that because I do have a good sense of direction, I’ll be able to find my way even without having plotted this particular path toward my goal or back toward home.

This is not to say I’ve never been lost. We all have moments when we panic because nothing is familiar and we’ve screwed up or burned a bridge before we realized we needed to be on the other side of the river. But there are many times when being lost is a blessing, a chance to explore something new, to see new vistas, to find a new way, perhaps a better way. Opportunities for us to experience things which may change our itinerary completely. Chances to explore those places which ultimately change our goals, our direction toward those goals and even change where we call home. With a good sense of direction, you can find your way even when you’re lost. Especially when you’re lost.

Indulge

There are many ways we pamper ourselves; bubble baths, massage, manicures and pedicures, savoring a perfect piece of chocolate, etc. There are as many ways to pamper ourselves as there are selves (times infinite as we all have more than one way to do said pampering).

Here’s my favorite way. Room service. To me this is the height of pampering, of indulgence and of sheer spoiling myself. Dial the phone or hang the ‘breakfast in our room’ tag on the door before going to bed in a good hotel. Voila! A knock on the door at the appropriate hour and someone rolling in a cart holding china plates covered with silver domes, pots of coffee and cream, a rose, ice water and orange juice, a rack of toast and tiny little jars of different jams and jellies, crisp white cloth napkins and real silver. Room service is not something I get to do with any regularity, but, when I do, heaven.

So, however you pamper yourself, do it. Take a break, take it easy. Indulge.

All Hallow's Eve

I love Halloween.

I love handing out treats, seeing the costumes, hearing the parents calling out, “don’t forget to say ‘thank you’” to their little beggars. And I love giving two candy bars to each trick or treater. When I was a kid, that was the coolest, getting two treats in our pillow case turned treat bag.

I have, on various Halloween’s, tweaked my appearance in a small way that not all the doorbell ringers noticed. I’ve had what looked like a nail through my little finger wrapped in gauze with fake blood and, one year, two little dots roughly vampire teeth distance from one another on my neck. That year I also had fake blood dripping from a corner of my mouth. I was amazed and amused by the number of trick or treaters who said, “Lady, do you know you’re bleeding?” One little girl, alone on the stoop with her mother standing back by the road, asked about the marks on my neck. I looked up in the sky and said that a vampire bat had swooped down and bit me. She started backing up, looking at the sky, BEFORE she’d gotten any candy. Now it is my aim to actually scare, but only if, a moment later, the kid starts to laugh, realizing it’s all part of the fun of Halloween. This little girl was truly scared. So I explained it was fake, that I hadn’t time to get a real costume like hers. She came back, but she still kept looking at the sky. I gave her THREE treats.

My favorite Halloween was the year I had a broken knife wrapped in cotton gauze dotted with fake blood that looked as though it went through my wrist. Many a male trick or treater, why is it always the boys, asked if they could touch the knife and, when they did, they were thrilled that the knife wiggled on both sides of my wrist. A few of the younger ones asked if it hurt. I told them I was heading to the hospital once I’d finished handing out treats and they’d giggle and run back to tell their parents. Apparently, one child was convinced I actually had a knife through my wrist because he came up to the house again with his parent, a parent who asked if I’d explain that the knife was fake. I showed the youngster how it all went together and told him he was now in on the secret which nobody else knew. If you’ve never seen a three-foot tall pirate with a fake parrot on his shoulder smile a grin so wide that you remember it years later, then all I can say is, you need to start handing out treats on Halloween.

And while you’re at it, hand out two.

I've got to figure this out

I need to figure out how to post links in my blog. All Atwitter has a haiku contest every week, plus her blogs are laugh out loud funny. I found her through Skywriter, a blogger who deservedly keeps winning the "Thoughtful blogger award." She makes you laugh, makes you cry and makes you think.

Anyway, here is my haiku entry. This week's topic is friends.

Shared dramas, laughter,
you are my secret keeper,
kindred spirit, friend.

Plastic fire

I love a good wood fire be it outside or inside. I have a house with a fireplace and it is a delight to light a fire and relax to the sight, sound, smell and warmth of a fire on the hearth. Something about the sound, the crackling or the shifting of the wood as it burns that harkens back to all those fires I knew on camping trips as a kid. I hated camping, still do, but I loved the campfires. All the family around in a circle, popping corn on the fire or roasting marshmallows. I am not an aficionado of the properly browned marshmallow, toasted just right on all sides, a treat for the eyes as well as the tongue. No, I thrust the stick with the bright white marshmallow on the end directly into the fire, the hot orange hollows where the flames ebb and flow like liquid until I’m holding a torch which I turn to make certain there is no area unscathed. Then, I blow out the flame and use two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate to slide off the molten, ash-covered glob. Yum. We used to stay up until arrows of dawn’s light stretched across the sky, feeding the campfire more wood, telling stories, talking, laughing or just listening to the crackle and pop of the fire.

What I don’t understand is the popularity of non-wood fireplaces. Though the gas flames are hot, they are fake fires to me, plastic fire. The argument is always the same, no ashes to clean out, no wood to haul in, not having to get up and add more logs. To me the difference is the same as seeing a picture of a snow-covered mountain and being told this is just like being there. Not the same thing at all. One might as well just put a picture of a fire burning on the hearth on the wall and call it done. I don’t see the point of plastic fire.

So I clear the ashes, haul in the wood and get up from my comfortable spot on the sofa to add more logs to the fire. The cats are usually stretched out warm and supple in front of the fireplace. They twist slightly so their stomachs are available for rubbing once the fresh wood has been added to the glowing coals. Then it is back to the sofa, back to stories and conversation accompanied by the pops and crackling and the soft thud of half burned wood falling onto orange coals.

A good (cuppa) joe

My husband and I carpe diemed this afternoon and drove around the countryside’s winding roads looking at the colors, the meandering road lined with gold(en leaves). Gorgeous oranges, yellows and reds against the greens, against the blue and white of the partly cloudy sky and reflected in the wind-rippled surfaces of ponds and lakes. Trees and bushes dressed up for the biggest party of the season.

We wondered how best to toast this escape into the blazing autumn. Ice cream or coffee? The ice cream shops my husband frequents on summer motorcycle rides were closed for the season. Coffee, then? There is a coffee place that overlooks the lake, but as we pulled into the parking lot, we could see the CLOSED sign in the window. We drove on until we chanced upon a small coffee shop a mile away and across the road from the lake. I’ll be polite and say there was little charm in the decor of the place and not a lot of choices though there was a reason for this last part which we had not yet grasped.

Two regular coffees (house blend) and a cinnamon role to split between us from the owner who seemed alternately ready to talk us to death and leave us to sit in peace. We expected little though the coffee cups were a nice weight and were of a height that meant we’d have plenty of room for cream as well as coffee.

It’s always when you have no expectations that you’re truly surprised. Best cup of coffee we’d had in ages, possibly even surpassing our own house blend which we think is pretty good. And the cinnamon roll, heated and dripping with a cream cheese icing that made us scrap every bit off the plate, was the perfect compliment. When we paid, the owner would only take $2 because, he said, it had been so nice to have someone there to talk.

It was nearly 3:30PM when we rose and made our way to the door and on the door, we saw the sign, OPEN 6AM to 3PM. Profuse apologies on our side, smiles on his as he waved us good-bye. As we drove home along curving backroads, we agreed about the coffee and the cinnamon roll we’d had. And we agreed about the owner of the coffee shop. He was a good joe.

Haiku

If I could figure out how to link to the blog having the haiku contest with pets as the theme, I would. Here’s my entry.

Warm furry bundles
curled in the crook of my arm,
the crook of my heart.

Brit Speak #2

A few more that I think are wizard.

Bollocks (apparently I misspelled this one before)
Old Bean
Gobsmacked
Rubbish
That bloke's a right git

No wonder I want a pool

I have recently been diagnosed with Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder or Reverse SAD or Summer SAD. I’ve always had it and didn’t know. I also didn't know there were others out there like myself, over a 1.5 million Americans who are affected. In short, we go against what is considered “the grain” and have trouble coping with all the sunshine and heat in summer. Trouble coping as in depressed. Trouble coping as in loathing that the sun is up before 5:30AM. Trouble coping as in no energy in the summer. We (that’s me and my Summer SAD homies), prefer the darker, cooler days of the year. Prefer is too mild a word; love, adore, come alive, feel as though we can finally breathe. Maybe all that was wrong with Dracula was that he had an extreme case of Summer SAD and quite literally (or literaturely) could not stand the sun. Makes me wonder about Bram Stoker.

The way I manage summer is to turn up the AC until I can etch my name in the frost on the inside of the windows. Or I would do if my husband also had Summer SAD. I’m in shorts and a t-shirt and he’s in long sweat pants, two layers of socs, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head and neither of us is happy with the temperature.

SAD is an appropriate acronym for both those who need the sunlight and those who abhor it. Sad is how you feel. I am unbelievably grateful for air conditioning. And I am unbelievably grateful the hours of daylight are lessening and the temps are, mostly, getting cooler. Now, bring on enough cold so I can see my breath in the air. I will smile then and be SAD no more.

Guilty pleasures #1

Blogging
Naps on the sofa with my cat sleeping between my ankles while an old movie plays
Freaking cold weather with air that feels sharp when I inhale
Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow and blizzards. And not watching it go on somewhere else, either, but right outside my own door.
Leftovers
Dark, quiet mornings
Tab and raw chocolate chip cookie dough
Black and white movies
Baking
Making truffles, especially new flavors or coming up with new coatings
Floating on my back in a pool in the sunshine which is the only way I can stand summer
Getting to hear other people who are excited about what they’re doing
Creating

Mine are mostly odd. I imagine that most guilty pleasures are odd. Wait a minute, does that mean I’m normal? Oh, the horror!

Advice on pissing off the universe

Don't do it.

Brit Speak #1

I love it, I can’t help myself.

That’s put a spanner in the works
Rubbish
He looks such a pillock
I’ve got a dickey back
Fog in the Channel, Europe cut off
Wanker
More tea, Vicar?
Summer hols
Daft
‘Cor blimey
Bollix

The moment before everything begins

For a week or so, I’ve had the feeling, a bit of anxiety mixed with a bit of excitement, that I’m on the verge of taking big steps, a phrase I prefer to “on the cliff’s edge waiting to jump believing the net will appear”(yada yada).

At some point today, I should hear back from the person who will tell me what is needed to have a kitchen in which Seductions Chocolates can be made and, then, legally sold, shipped to people who will, we hope, love them. I will find out if this can be done in our house or not. Not = anxiety. In our house = excitement.

In two days, I have the first writing group meeting I’ve had in years. A meeting at which I will share some writing, hand out a short story and actually look for criticism. What I truly want, of course, is for these strangers to love my short story as well as give me needed feedback. Nothing good to say = anxiety. Love the writing and here’s some help to make it better = excitement.

This past weekend, I saw a group of artists in whose company I would love to find myself. Their talent and imagination is something to which I aspire. My feeling that I’m not good enough = anxiety. My feeling when I look at the whimsies I’ve already created = excitement.

I have had a few moments this past week when I am immobile, when the sheer cosmic weight of all I’d like to do with my life feels impossible to shift. Then I remember that all I’d like to do with my life isn’t a burden I need to push before me up a hill, and a steep hill at that, it’s a journey to fantastic places and fantastic people. The weight is joy and accomplishment. And I’m already at the top of the hill. I got here doing all the things I didn’t want to do with my life. The work, a lot of it without joy, that I did in order to pay the bills. The co-workers who made life more of a misery than was necessary with their complaints and their attitudes. Bosses who made more work than I would have had to do if they’d just stayed away. My journey now surrounds me with all the things I want to do, not have to do. It is a gently rolling path down the hill with a view of the amazing landscape stretching before me and all around me. And I’m not alone on the journey.

Fraidy cat and Scaredy cat

As observed in my earlier posts or by simply looking at the calendar, one can't help but note that Halloween is getting closer. Our two cats, Tigger (Tigs) and Boswell (Boz), do not care for this most fun of holidays. Since the rumble of a truck passing by makes both of them stare around wide-eyed, certain that DANGER is somewhere near and the first far-away sound of thunder sends them disappearing beneath the sofa, one can imagine how the frequent ring of the doorbell brings them from deep slumber into full on panicked intruder alert.

However, they are not guard cats. When the doorbell rings and an intruder is sensed, Tigs and Boz head into another room where they sit with their necks craned toward sound of the fearsome beasts at the door as though they’d like us to believe they are brave. No amount of gentle talk and coaxing can entice them back to their spots on the backs of the sofas or curled up on a cushion next to one of us. Not until the danger is well past. Not until every ghost, every ballerina, every Star Wars’ character, every lamb so little they must be carried by a parent has gained a chocolate tribute and left. We have about 40 trick or treaters on the average All Hallow’s Eve, not a lot, but just enough to keep our little ones in a constant state of stress.

Once the porch light is turned off and the candles in the jack-o-lanterns extinguished, our brave little felines creep back into the living room. They sit near us, not entirely relaxed, and always with at least their paws touching us. Later, they jump on the bed and sleep nestled against us, wanting the security, feeling safe at last.

This, to me, is as good as chocolate. Halloween has perks.

Oops.....

My favorite ghost movie is The Uninvited, not the Univited.

Cat People

The original “Cat People” is one of my favorite films.

Ha! And you thought I was going to write about the two felines who share our house. The two furry brothers who think everything we do is for them. Well, they might be right about that.

No, this is October and I’m going to talk about the suspense and/or scary movies I like. To start with, almost everything Val Lewton produced; Cat People, Curse of the Cat People (which has to be the oddest sequel ever while still being a good movie), I Walked with a Zombie, the Leopard Man and the Seventh Victim. My favorite ghost movie, The Univited, for the amazing house, Windward, if nothing else, but there is so much else. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, my second favorite ghost movie and another great house, Gull Cottage. The Others which I found surprisingly good and is the only one of my selections not in black and white.

There are also the classics, The Wolf Man, which I perversely love in spite of Lon Chaney, Jr. And the original Frankenstein which I have yet to see all the way through. When the monster is lying on the table and his hand moves, somewhere deep inside me a shriek starts and I have to look away (run away) or I know I’ll scream. I do not have this trouble with Bride of Frankenstein with Elsa Lancaster, and Son of Frankenstein with Sherlock Holmes, I mean Basil Rathbone. The abstract sets of Frankenstein’s castle in Son of Frankenstein are totally strange, I doubt anyone could be happy with the staircase in their house, but this film is the basis for most of the spoofing in Young Frankenstein so it’s worth a look.

Halloween is coming and I need to get into the mood. I think I’ll turn off the lights and watch Cat People again.

In reference to

....the last post. "October" is why I don't call myself a poet.

October

Mums of gold and burgundy
against the smoke from burning leaves.
Trees’ bright party clothes fading
to old world tapestries.

Crystals of dew on spiders’ webs,
preserves put up in jars.
Warm fires, sweaters, friends,
crisp nights spent gazing at the stars.

Hay stacked beneath bright blue skies,
stalks of corn tied together with twine,
plowed fields of brown corduroy,
russet red apples and warm pumpkin pie.

Tracings of white on window panes,
the scent of snow in the air,
caterpillars wound in silken robes,
the calendar sauntering down the year.

Halloween creeps nearer
with bonfires and tiny spooks
seeking treasure from strangers
who freely hand out loot.

Winter’s on the horizon,
frost’s upon the ground,
apple cider and doughnuts,
leaves all falling down.

In the know

Other than a very few words, English is the only language I speak. I take silly pride in being about to say “garage” in English (garage), French (garage) and Russian (garage) though I doubt someone from France or Russia would be amused. Especially if that person is trying to learn English. I think that must be one of the biggest roadblocks to learning any new language. Not getting the jokes, the references, the slang. Not being in the know.

When someone says, “We might as well be wearing red shirts,” a large number of people know this is a Star Trek reference to those hapless and usually unnamed non-speaking members of a Landing Party whose imminent “death by alien” is the first clue the society into which they have had Scotty beam them down is unfriendly. No so someone who is new to English and who doesn’t know about Scotty’s beaming abilities, either.

The Super Bowl of (insert competition here). Arm wrestling - potato chip flinging, we know this is THE Big Event.

The Edsel of (insert product here). A big uh-oh, maybe like New Coke.

“I think you’ve jumped the shark there, pal.” You’re wishing you could have a do-over while someone new to English is thinking the office staff just got back from a trip to the aquarium.

But I don’t think I’ll fret too much over this. Even computers have trouble translating. When someone in a brain trust somewhere designed a computer program which would translate from one language into another, one of the test sentences was “Out of sight, out of mind” which, when turned from English into Chinese and back into English, became, “Invisible idiot.”

Hooking

The best way I’ve found to keep a touch of nervousness at bay is to do something that requires creativity. Even as I write this there may be a queue of well-dressed people waiting to taste the chocolate truffles E & E, short for the proprietresses of Seductions Chocolates, have slaved over. Or not, and that’s where the nervousness comes into play. It’s best right now if I keep busy.

I have a wool rug I’m hooking and it is calling to me to work on it. The rug will end up in the half bath which, as it looks now, is a cold room. It’s a simple design with a horse. I’m new to rug hooking and didn’t want to go too far afield with my first attempt at designing my own rug. So, it’s a horse I traced from a boot scraper I’ve had for a long time. Very basic. Not as basic as the first thought I had and then discarded for the half bath, PISS OFF, but still, and it is going fairly well.

My next design is very far afield. I’ll be translating a quilt design I saw on the cover of a magazine into a large hooked rug. A wind blown tree on a small knoll with leaves swirling down and around. It won't be an original design, but it will give me practice that will stretch my talents.

I find rug hooking to be very soothing and meditative. Not unlike the process of making chocolate truffles. I suppose if I ever improve my hooked rugs to the extent that I present them to the public, I’ll have to find something else to do to keep the nerves from frazzling.

Truffle anyone?

A Good Book

I peek in on only a few other blogs, musingsonaperfectlyaveragelife.blogspot.com and Skywritings at lighthawks.blogspot.com where I just finished reading a post on reading (how appropriate). She is way more eloquent than I could be, sez who, sez me, but one does reflect on THE books of one's life, especially those books read when young, and the role reading has played in shaping a person.

I can vividly remember being about twelve and my mother telling me that books were not a substitute for life. I thought, no, but they'll do for now and, in the meantime, they'll help me figure out the life I want.

They have. I learned how people are supposed to behave, not that they always do behave in books as in life, but how they are supposed to behave, a standard by which to measure my own behavior. I found role models in characters who were flawed, but often still did the right thing. I learned about foods beyond meatloaf and places beyond Galien, Michigan. I learned that I was not alone.

Gone Away Lake
Five Run Away Together
Watership Down
Magic Elizabeth
A Christmas Carol
Nicholas Nickleby
Bleak House
The Captains and the Kings
Airs Above the Ground
The Hidden Staircase
Jane Eyre
The Great Time Machine Hoax

Forget nuture vrs nature. Books shaped me.

Favorite lines and what to do with them

There are certain lines or situations in movies or television programs that just make me fall over laughing. Here are a handful of my favorites.

James Garner in The Americanization of Emily - "The moon didn't come out!"
Charles Coburn trying to knock the toupee off Jean Arthur's fiance's head in "The More the Merrier."
Art Carney addressing the golf ball in The Honeymooners, "Hello, ball."
I'm not the biggest I Love Lucy fan in the world, but when Ricky Ricardo says, "I'm not the father of that cheese," I cry with laughter.
Barney Fife remarking, "Giraffes are selfish."
Pretty much anything from the Dick Van Dyke Show, but a special favorite is the scene when Rob walks in the living room from the kitchen completely dressed except for the pants Laura is pressing and is a bit embarrassed to find Sally and Buddy standing there. He does a slight double take back toward the kitchen, then, in true Rob Petrie form, puts a hand over his own eyes and walks on to the bedroom.

God forbid I'm ever in a coma, but if I ever am, please bring my DVD set of the Dick Van Dyke Show to by bedside and play them so I can hear. If there is any brain activity at all, I will respond to Rob/Laura/Sally/Buddy and Milly/Jerry. Also, please feel free to laugh yourself, because if Dick Van Dyke doesn't bring me back, the sound of my loved ones laughing will. You'll have to be brave, though, because there may by looks of shock from others who don't understand why you're laughing until you cry while standing by the bedside of someone in a coma. Persevere. If it works, we can always explain it later. If it doesn't work, at least you'll know you did all you could.

And God forbid you're ever in a coma, but if you are, I'll do the same for you.

Best advice ever

In a conversation about the best advice we'd ever been given and in order to make my husband laugh, I once said the best advice I'd ever been given had been, "Run for it!" And it worked, he laughed, but I've been thinking about that advice. Run FOR it. Not run away from it, but for it, to it. Run to what you want, don't be unsure, don't be afraid.

So, in the future, if anyone should ask for my learned advice,.........

Run for it!

Still learning

I'm going to take a class. The class is geared toward those who want to start a business making and selling gourmet chocolates. I need the class not only because I, along with my daughter, Em, want to start such a business (building on the chocolate truffles we already make over which people have literally drooled), but because the only thing I truly know about chocolate is that I like chocolate. Really like chocolate.

So I'm going to learn and I'm going to experiment and I'm going to work hard and I'm going to create and I'm going to have a blast. I'm going to mess about with chocolate.

The class doesn't start until January. Until then, I'll continue experimenting with different chocolate truffle flavors, caramel for one and, for Christmas, peppermint. I'll continue learning and experimenting and working hard and creating and having a blast.

Reflections on the drive to work

I take the back roads to work instead of taking the highway. There is a place where, in the spring, a dogwood blooms in front of a larger dark purple lilac and the different bloom times just barely overlap. The beauty makes me catch my breath. I know the three places where I need to slow down because people in those areas keep guinea fowl and the birds tend to congregate by the side of the road as though waiting for the school bus. Another spot goes nearly unnoticed unless there is snow to highlight the evergreens surrounding a very deep red barn. Winding curves and straight stretches with trees touching overhead to form long tunnels. I'm on nodding acquaintance with people walking their dogs and with the goats, sheep and miniature horses. I keep a wary watch for the deer. Just like a relative who's had a few too many at the family reunion, the deer are equally likely to stare glassy-eyed as you pass as they are to stumble into you.

I pass through several very small towns one of which has hand-drawn "Welcome, Hurst Family Market" signs in windows and on an easel at the corner near the library. The nearest grocery store had been nearly twenty miles away. The towns all have holiday banners that go up on the street lights the week before Thanksgiving and flowers in enormous pots along the sidewalks that stay tended all summer.

And then, yesterday, I turned a corner out in the country on my drive to work and a yellow and black bi-plane crossed before me barely clearing the power lines. Then the cowboy flying it banked the plane into a steep turn almost straight up and flew back across the road, then lower and lower until he skimmed the field and began dusting the crops. Wow.

I take the back roads to work instead of taking the highway.

Things I never got from Monk or Psych

I am, obviously, one of the lucky ones.

As did many people in the area, we lost our electrical power Thursday night. We were lucky and had power restored in the wee hours Friday morning. Lucky. I can count the blessings of restored power; we didn't lose all the frozen food in the big freezer, had air conditioning for relief from hot and humid, power for the hair dryer meant I didn't have wet hair and power for the coffee maker meant caffeine and on and on.

What we didn't have was cable.

No Monk, no Psych, no local news and weather, no military channels for my husband, no Saturday morning mystery on TCM and no Saturday night movie on one of the premium channels. And no computer hook up to anyone else. No mail. No blog. No checking anything out online. Nada.

We didn't have cable.

So, we pulled out the DVD's and watched old favorites, reliving and remembering why they are old favorites. We walked around the house with a book in one hand, a finger keeping our place while refilling coffee cups and carrying them back to the sofas. We're big readers anyway, but in the past two days we read even more than usual, sharing the best bits with one another, laughing, talking and 'what ifing'. I cleared off the work table downstairs by finishing up a few projects. Actually finishing them. So, now not only do I have a cleared work table and a completed hooked wool rug (a very small one) I can now use, but a sense of accomplishment. I never got that from Monk. And the cleared work table has spurred me to pull out all the new wool I've amassed over years and begin washing and drying it so it will be ready to use when I start the new hooked wool rug. A rug I've been planning for the last six months but never started because I hadn't yet washed the wool. I've never gotten this kind of motivation from Psych. I have enough space on the work table to spread out all the oh-so soft washed and dried wools and begin choosing a color palate. I've cleared off the chalk board over my work table and listed the new chocolate truffle flavors I'm going to begin making and testing this afternoon instead of next week because there is nothing to compare with that sense of accomplishment from the completion of a project. I can do it and I did do it and that is incredible motivation for me.

I've learned some things from two days without cable, things I knew but that had been buried beneath the distraction of absolutely everything being available. The old favorites, be they movies or a DVD collection of a television series, are old favorites because of they way they make us feel, uplifted or inspired or just plain happy. The old favorites are the ones to which we go back again and again. That reading inputs knowledge into a better part of the brain than pictures flashing on the screen. And that a cleared work table now has space for autumn colored wools begging to be touched and sorted and cut into strips and worked into a rug that could be handed down to another who may look at it and remember me long after Monk and Psych go off the air.

Now I'm going to leave my computer, slip a DVD into the player and head off toward my goals with the realization that I am, obviously, one of the lucky ones.

Ah, to be in England now that Harry Potter is there

England isn't a real place to me. England exists solely in my mind, the England of Winnie the Pooh's Hundred Acre (Aker) Wood, Narnia's lamp post, Dickens' crooked streets, Victorian shops and Ebenezer Scrooge (Old and New Testament both for what is Scrooge without Bah, Humbug?), the forest of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, King Arthur's Round Table, the Famous Five including their dog, Timmy, traipsing everywhere without adult supervision, Robin Hood in Sherwood forest poaching the King's deer, Lord Peter Wimsey jaunting from country house to town house, Nagio Marsh's Chief Inspector Roderick Alleyn jaunting from town house to country house, Christie's characters everywhere, Elizabeth Daly's Henry Gamadge and his books, Patricia Wentworth's Miss Maude Silver and her perfectly preserved rooms, Harry Potter and Hogwarts.

It seems I was wrong. England is a real place to me.

Rainy days and Sundays (with no bird imitations)

For the first time this summer, there are spots in the lawn that look lush green. The rain is falling steadily and the day is still young enough that the quality of light makes the colors more intense. I have my big, thick, plush warm socs on my feet, a hot cup of coffee in my favorite mottled blue oversized mug, a sleeping cat curled up beside me, a couple candles flickering in their holders and an old black and white TCM movie playing on the small television here in my office. And I'm laughing. It seems Errol Flynn is doing his best to impress the girl, Kay Francis, telling her how he'll show her around the town while quoting paragraphs from the guide book all the while and adding his own bits of humor and observations about the locals. Kay looks him straight in the eye and says, "What, no bird imitations?"

Though I think life would be greatly improved with screenwriters and retakes, this rainy Sunday, even without bird imitations, is right on the first take.

Away from the fret of the world

From Lost Horizon by James Hilton: "These were his beloved things, all around him, the things of that inner mind in which he lived increasingly, away from the fret of the world."

This is what I desire for the world I build around myself. My beloved things, the things of my inner mind, that interior world where I live increasingly. In my own way I'm attempting to build, find or create my interior world as an exterior one. Nearly everyone says, "I'll know it when I see it." Of course we will, we've lived with it in our minds long before we see it in reality. It is familiar, comforting and makes us feel at home. We know it.

Quilts, soft muted colors, flowers, music in the background, old movies, wood burning fireplaces, candlelight, writing without interruption, a screened porch, brick paths, chocolates, a pantry, books and books and books, mysteries from the 30's and 40's, journals, cats curled up asleep on the bed, paintings of ships on stormy seas, a telescope, letter openers, magnifying glass, gorgeous frames and photographs, joyful secrets, needlepoint, chairs with ottomans, an old pine table for a desk, old radio programs, sweatshirts and warm socs, the Dick Van Dyke show, a sleigh bed, Blackwatch plaid, Brookhollow patterned china, Crane stationary, Waterman pens, hand-knit sweaters, dial phones, walking sticks, tins of cookies, scented lotions, fluffy towels, lanterns, BLTs, homemade hot chocolate with Bailey's, oiled pine kitchen cupboards, multiple paned windows, hand written letters, gardens with winding paths, kittens, Irish wolfhounds and Scottish deerhounds, sharing with family and friends while still having privacy and enough solitude, leather-covered boxes.................and on and on and on.

The twelve days of my birthday

Yesterday, I officially celebrated my fiftieth birthday, but I've been celebrating the event for nearly a week and still have a few days left to raise a toast with friends and family. Strange that there should be so much fuss over something I could neither halt nor hurry along, but it is good to have a point in life where one stops and contemplates the view. For me, the view looks good. I have a long to-do list and part of reaching a milestone age (not a millstone), is that you begin to say, "if not now, when?" Reaching fifty is, for me, extremely liberating. It means it is time to accomplish my goals by ignoring that nay-saying little voice inside that wants to keep me too safe and sometimes by ignoring those nay-saying little voices outside, too. I can't imagine anything less safe than reaching the next decade without making more of an effort toward my goals during this one. I have items to check off my list and I no longer have my 40s to waste thinking about doing them 'someday'. So, the writing group I've been invited to join will see my presence. Editors and agents, like it or not, are going to see the writing. The chocolate truffle company my daughter, Emily, and I want to begin is happening. The 47 side gigs Em wants to be involved with have my support. The new granddaughter has my total love. My husband's motorcycle riding, golfing, kayaking, paddleball desires have my support. The red barn studio will become a reality. My family and friends have my attention and love. Live! Enjoy!

With the wisdom of all my years, I give this advice to myself. Make your life happen because time flies whether you like it or not. Two days ago I was forty-nine. It seems like only yesterday.