Bangs, bees, birthdays and books...

are an odd combination of things for a blog post, but it's my birthday and I can write about anything I want.  I was going to do a post a while back about my front door and the bee decor, but I didn't - so I'm showing it off now because bees just make me happy.  I found the wooden flower cut-out, welcome sign and little bee by the door knocker on Etsy.  Aren't they cute?  The sign on the left, the corner of which is peeking out, says Bee Happy.  The new sign confused my clients a little when I switched the flag out for it, but it's been up there since January.  I think they're used to it by now.  Come on in - it's raining outside.

Let's see, what was I going to say?  Oh, yes - bangs.  When is one too old for bangs?  I haven't cut my hair in a while, and while I am inordinately fond of headbands, that unfortunate hairstyle has a tendency to really show the grey in my mousy, brown hair.  I just can't do the hair color thing.  If I try to color it myself it looks like crap - seriously.  And I hate paying someone at least $75 to do it for me; consequently, I am besieged by greying temples.  Solution: I trimmed my own bangs and amazingly, I don't look my age - so maybe I'm not too old for bangs after all.  I may give in and go somewhere for a cheap quick trim.

Is this not the coolest thing?  My friend, Kathy, sent this lovely handmade sewing gadget to me for my birthday.  She said it had my name written all over it: ME fabric and useful, too!  It is a tile padded and covered with an attached pin cushion - with a fabric waste basket hanging over the edge.  Matches my bedroom sewing corner (and ME sewing basket liner) perfectly and I can't wait to use it!

Now for the books: I just finished reading Sunshine on Scotland Street - the latest installment in that wonderful series.  It was a lovely chronicle of the adventures of Cyril, the only dog in Edinburgh sporting a gold tooth, while his owner Angus is on his honeymoon with his new wife, Domenica.  Bertie is still the victim of his mother's yoga classes, Italian lessons and the psychobabble of Melanie Klein.  Bruce, the narcissist, has an interesting experience with his new found doppelganger and the lottery.  Danish reality television wants to do a documentary on Matthew and the triplets - but plans change with the filmmaker meets Big Lou.  Of course, now I have to wait about a year for the next one.

Fortunately, Mr. McCall Smith is about the release the next book in the Isabel Dalhousie series - I can't wait until the end of October.  No murders in Isabel's little corner of Edinburgh - but her adventures are interesting all the same!

Good Lord, it's hot!

I just got home from my weekly sauna sojourn at the tortilleria.  Thank goodness Ariela had time to pick me and drop me off at home on her way to work this afternoon.  I am not joking when I say that it is cooler outdoors in the ninety-degree summer heat than it is inside the bakery.  And all I'm doing in there is sitting at a table writing payroll checks and organizing the mound of paperwork that accumulates in a week's time.  Can you even imagine how hot it must be back where they are making the tortillas?  No wonder those women are a bit crabby and difficult to deal with.  I usually keep my cool amid all of the confusion and disorganization but I nearly lost it today when the alleged manager girl asked me to analyze how a Money-to-Mexico company arrives at the amount of commission they pay to my client every month.  She gave me this stack of papers (and I use that term loosely) that were going every which way.  This is the first time I've seen this stuff and when I started going through it, I realized that she had not matched up the daily transactions to the daily invoice from this company since implementing their system back in April and was just depositing the amount on the daily bill to the money transfer account.  There was no rhyme or reason to the mess she handed me and when I dared ask her about it, her response to my client - not me - was that the rep from this company hadn't told her to do that.  She refuses to speak English - or learn to, for that matter - and the more I tried to explain the potential problems with her lack of bookkeeping method, the angrier more upset she got.  I finally just stopped talking, crammed all the papers back into the envelope and stuck them in my tote bag to take home with me.  I decided to figure it all out later - I'll have to download the Wells Fargo bank statements for that account anyway.  And then there was the ham.  Or jamon, if you will.  My client had been out to eat somewhere and ordered a croquette that he enjoyed and decided to duplicate for sale at the tortilleria.  He sent two ladies to the store for potatoes, cheap boiled ham and bread crumbs.  About forty-five minutes later they came back, after having been to two Spanish-speaking grocery stores, and announced that there was no boiled ham to be had.  Both he and I found that really hard to believe and he said, "Did you ask for HAM?"  No, they both replied, we asked for jamon.  Their rationale was that they don't eat HAM in their country, so they asked for jamon, which in some places means bacon.  At that point, my client blew his top and I have never heard such yelling, in Spanish or English.  In the meantime, I called the Bravo Supermarket right down the street, which is heavy on the Latin clientele (since these ladies will only go to a Spanish-speaking grocery) and inquired about boiled ham.  "Yes," the lady replied, "in the meat department."  My client sent one of the ladies back out and for some unknown reason she went to Sweetbay and got ham sliced in the deli for $5 a pound.  More yelling ensued.  Not at all what my client had in mind - but at least it allowed them to get to work on the prototype.  I also discovered that you can buy mass quantities of cheap, boiled ham at Sam's Club for less than $3 a pound, but I digress.  I found a recipe for Cuban croquetas online, but the ladies weren't interested because it wasn't in Spanish - besides, they assured my client that they knew how to make croquetas.  I went back to writing payroll checks and for the next hour or so, one or another of the ladies came in to show my client each stage of the new recipe: mashed up potatoes, chopped ham - you get the picture.  A little while later, all four ladies came in with their version of a ham croquette.  I wasn't sure who was minding the store, but I was afraid to ask.  We were asked to sample the prototype while the cooks waited expectantly.  My client spoke first.  "Needs salt."  He took another bite and looked at me.  "What do you think?" he asked.  What I thought was, needs flavor - but I said politely, "Yes, a little salt.  And maybe a little, como se dice en espanol " it came to me: "ajo (garlic)."  I started to suggest cebollas (onions), but I kept my mouth shut.  Then there was some discussion as to the desired shape of the croquettes.  One of the ladies thought they should be served con ensalada - but who wants hot take-out food served on a bed of salad?  I finally suggested making them smaller and flatter like an empanada - which is more conducive to eating with one's hands.  That was apparently what my client had in mind as well and the cooks were dispatched back to the kitchen.  He shook his head.  "See what it's like?  All I get is an argument or a discussion about everything!"  I reminded him that his business is not a democracy and it's perfectly all right for him to be a dictator; he is, after all, the boss.  But that's just not his nature and things will most likely continue just as they are, whether my client is happy about it or not.  You know what they say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."  I have a feeling my client will just keep muddling on through...

Diagnosis: Isuzu...

So it's not quite as bad as I had imagined, but the news still isn't great.  Ray doesn't need a new engine computer, but the wiring from the engine to the computer has some bad spots.  He also has a leak in the transmission switch and the transmission pan - whatever that is.  And a new battery - but I can't complain about that because it is the original ten-year-old battery!  I keep reminding myself that repairing these relatively minor afflictions that Ray is suffering from right now is still cheaper than a new vehicle - which comes with monthly payments.  The Isuzu experts are working on fixing Ray up and hopefully I will be able to pick up him soon.  I love staying home, but I sure have missed having the option of going out on my own without having to ask a friend for a ride!

I have always suspected...

that crying did actually relieve stress - but it is apparently a verifiable, scientific fact.  And I could use a good cry right about now.  Seriously.  I don't know when I have felt so overwhelmed and so ill-equipped to deal with everything.  I am frantically trying to catch up on all of the work I let slide during tax season, my house is a disaster area and I am emotionally drained listening to people who seem to feel comfortable revealing their deepest, darkest secrets to me.  I tell you - that therapy chair has got to go.  People feel better when they leave here - having dumped all of their troubles on me, but consequently I feel like crap.  I honestly don't know how mental health counselors and psychotherapists do their jobs - or if they burn out after a few years of listening to other people's problems.  Maybe they just cry a lot.  Or change the subject.  I'm not looking to open a psychotherapy practice and unfortunately, I don't know a nice way to tell people that I don't want to hear their tales of woe.  Really - is there a nice way?  I have suggested professional counseling to the person who is currently spending a considerable amount of time in the chair, but that suggestion has not been acted upon as of yet.  I know that the main goal of therapy is to help the client work out his own issues, but I can't sit here and do the nod and repeat-the-client's-thought-in-different-words thing.  Sorry, Dr. Rogers.  I can listen sympathetically up to a point and then I end up doling out good, sound Lucy VanPelt-style advice.  And dang it, if you sit in my therapy chair and ask for my opinion on your situation and advice on how to deal with it, then you dang well ought to take said advice seriously - or at least give it some consideration.  And therein lies the problem; the tale of woe continues and the what-should-I-do question is reworded - hoping for the answer the occupant of the chair wants to hear - but I'm wise to that ploy.  I am not going to listen to the whole megillah only to give someone permission to continue the same destructive behavior.  And so I repeat the same advice: do the right thing, sh-t or get off the pot, as my grandmother would say.  Of course, no one is really going to listen to me - people just want to put in the chair time so they feel better.
As for me, I think I'll just have a good cry.

It really has been a while...

since I posted!  This new Blogger set-up is a little unfamiliar, but I am sure I will figure it out.  Tax season and that horrific allergy episode I had didn't kill me, so I guess I've come out stronger on the other side.  I have also discovered the brew-over-ice cups for my Keurig - wonderful!  Fresh tea in every glass - I am in heaven.  I am also thrilled with the ability to have just one cup of coffee - flavored or otherwise - and not throw away the other seven or eight cups.  Lord, I am thankful every day for caffeine...

It's time to turn off my left brain...

for a little while and do something creative, I think.  Every January, after having looked eagerly forward to it for a month or so, tax season begins and I put the left side of my brain to work full time.  For the six months prior to the beginning of the mad rush, I've enjoyed a contented balance between concrete and abstract thinking.  I do my work, but I also write, create cards, read, sew and take on little nesting projects.  You know, like rearranging stuff and cleaning the bathroom.  I have been moving pretty slowly the last couple of weeks - mainly from the horrific allergy and laryngitis episode which couldn't have come at a worse time - and I realized today that part of my lethargy is due to not taking a little time to indulge my creative side.  Maybe indulge is the wrong word; nurture is more like it.  So this morning, stacking the client tax files ever higher in the middle of my desk, I took an hour or so to putz around the house and do some freshening up.  I dusted the kitchen counter and rearranged the potted plants and some canisters.  I sorted through a couple of boxes of gift wrap supplies and consolidated them into one flat yellow box on my art desk that's easier to get to.  I put a load of laundry in the washer and put a care package together for a friend.  I worked on a word processing project for a friend having some difficulty with Microsoft Word and some pesky 3x5 index cards for a recipe book he's putting together.  All in all, not terribly creative things, but the mundane sort of tasks that require just a little creativity.  The kinds of things that soothe my soul - and that is just what I needed.  Now I can get back to work...

Time lapse tulips...

I enjoyed them for about two weeks!

I know I've said this before, but...

where in the world does dust come from and why can't we get rid of it permanently?  I know I can't be the only person on the planet who is tired of dusting.  I always put one of those super-efficient (allegedly) filters on my air conditioner, I have a space-age vacuum with a HEPA filter - but the house continues to be dusty every single day.  I realize that I'd have less dust if I had wood floors instead of carpet, but still...  Aggie doesn't shed and Peter doesn't shed much for a cat, so I know they're not the cause of all the dust on the flat surfaces.  I am pretty sure if I could figure out where it comes from and how to stop it, I could make a bazillion bucks.  I wonder if I could get a federal grant to study dust, its origin, its composition and its effect on the average American household...

A three hour nap...

is not really a good idea - especially at 6:30 pm.  And I was doing so well today: got the laundry done, tidied up my desk area, took away the trash, dropped off my toner cartridge at the UPS box to send to recycling, went to the bank - tying up all my loose ends before I am really busy this week.  Aggie & I had dinner, I set the dryer to run for forty minutes with the last load of laundry that wasn't quite dry and I thought: well, I'll just sit down for a few minutes.  I think my mistake was taking that nice fluffy blanket to the sofa with me.  It was a little chilly in here - if you can call 70 degrees chilly - and I told myself I was only going to sit there and commune with the dog and the cat until the dryer stopped.  Who was I kidding?  Three hours later, I woke up about smothered to death between the blanket and the animals.  My head is stuffy and my neck is stiff and I just know that there is no way I will ever go back to sleep tonight.  The worst part is this pile of stuff sitting on the corner of my desk, begging to be put away in the hall closet and I just don't give a crap.  See all the damage a nap can do?

Have you ever been held hostage...

by a stupid, inconsequential object?  I'm not being deep here -  I mean this ridiculous pink plastic paper clip.  Yes, the one right there.  I've been hanging on to this thing for probably twenty years.  I once discovered this quirky little gift shop that sold oddball office supplies, of which I admit that I am a big fan.  I bought three or four of the pink clips, a few purple ones, some funky pink scissors and a really cute tiny pink stapler.  One by one, over the years, the clips broke and the stapler went the way of earth.  I still use the scissors every day, but  I am down to one last pink plastic paper clip.  For a long time, I used it to mark the current day in my desk calendar - and then I embraced Outlook.  PPC (for lack of a better name) was relegated to marking my place in reading material, clipping bills together, holding my to-do list to the outside of my to-do folder; you name it, PPC is nothing if not versatile.  And then today, while I continued my annual pre-tax season get-the-house-in-order-to-get-the-carpet-cleaned frenzy, I found myself looking at PPC, lying there on the desk - all alone, no longer having any real purpose in the big scheme of things.  I am aiming for a relatively clutter-free work space - like that will really happen, but everyone needs a goal to strive for.  I don't need PPC anymore; he has outlived his place in my life.  I momentarily contemplated encouraging him to end it all by clipping a stack of papers beyond his ability.  No, I didn't want to be an accessory to what would surely amount to a crime against hard-working plastic paper clips everywhere.  I decided to just let PPC go; I took his photo, said thanks for the all of his faithful service and tossed him into the wastebasket.  Who knows where he'll end up - but I hope he's happy in his retirement.

  And no, I'm not insane - I just have really bizarre thoughts sometimes.

My new favorite...

hot drink for cool mornings: Vanilla Chai.  I drink hot herbal tea regularly, but I just discovered chai and I am loving it!  It's been really great these past few days since there's actually been a chill in the air.  I got the Big Train brand from Amazon - used their Subscribe & Save option and got two 1.9 lb containers for $17.92 with free shipping.  Such a deal!  You can have your order delivered to your door every two months - delicious and efficient.  I haven't tried iced chai yet, but I probably will as soon as it's unseasonably warm again.  I'm sure that change in the weather is right around the corner.  Hmmm, next time I think I'm going to try the raspberry flavor...

As good as new...

after having his left front paw re-attached, this is Marmalade.  He is the guardian of the client area - as well as the silent member of the welcome committee.  He was an anniversary gift many years ago and I am quite fond of him.  He lost his collar and name tag in the move somehow, but I think he's pretty sporty without it.  I was pondering a Christmas ribbon the other day when I noticed that his left front paw had been snapped off and was lying right next to his other foot.  He does stand in a high-traffic area - but it's still a mystery as to how he was injured.  Time to break out the super glue, I decided - and now he's back to his former self.  Now I'm trying to find a safer place for him; I'd hate for him to suffer a worse fate than a broken paw.
Any ideas?

You might have noticed that my photographs are back to normal - some idiot changed the camera setting from automatic to something I don't even understand!

I have always loved the Saturday...

when Daylight Savings Time ends.  It's like the official beginning of Fall - and the bonus of that extra hour to do whatever you want.  Read for a little while longer before you go to sleep, watch a movie, stay up until two in the morning to change the clocks...  Seriously - when I was a kid my grandpa always stayed up until two to change all the clocks on the farm - like it was the law or something.  I was tempted this year, but I only made it until 1:30 - but then, it was actually only 12:30.  But I digress...  One of the best things about the end of DST, especially when I was a kid, was that coveted extra hour of sleep.  I come from a family of early risers; I am one as an adult, too - but when I was a kid, especially when I was a teenager, I would have given anything to sleep in on Saturdays, but that was never going to happen.  My dad would get up around five, make his first pot of coffee and enjoy the silence of the kitchen for about an hour.  He'd read, play with the cat or most of the time, I suspect, just ponder the nature of the universe - or whatever other computer geek thoughts he thought.  Then, around six, he'd head off to the shower and wake my mother.  And like most Southern households, when Mama is awake - everyone is awake.  During the school week I could understand getting up early - we had to leave the house with my dad because he dropped us off at school.  But on Saturdays - no rest for the wicked - or two kids who would have loved to sleep until at least eight - or even watch cartoons.  Nope - time to get up, get dressed and clean the house from top to bottom.  Never mind that I had dusted and polished all the furniture every day after school during the week or that I'd washed the entire kitchen every night after dinner, including washing the kitchen floor - Saturday was cleaning day and we were going to do our chores - because, you guessed it, when Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.  And then, once a year, came the day I lived for and with it, that extra hour's sleep.  And the fact that Mama couldn't do anything about it.  It was an untouchable hour of leisure and my slothful self enjoyed it every time it came around.  I still do.  Apparently, we never outgrow the need to defy our parents.  Or at least I haven't.

Did you make the most of your extra hour this year?

Are these retailers crazy?

I keep seeing Black Friday ads - already!  It's not even Thanksgiving - what are they thinking?  Not long ago I was pleased to see a photo of a Nordstrom's door that  announced their intention not to decorate for Christmas until the appropriate time.  Good for them!  If I were inclined to shop, I'd shop there.  I think I've finally gotten sick of the all the commercialism in my old age.  Anyone who knows me will be the first to tell you that I do occasionally shop and that I like stuff - but over the past few years, I've gotten rid of junk I was hanging on to for whatever reason and pared my surroundings down to only the things I use and things I really like.  I have only shopped on Black Friday once in my life and I remember exactly when it was: twenty years ago.  I had gotten a flyer in the mail at the office about a special invitation-only sale at Burdine's (back before it was Macy's - it's been that long!) and so my mother and I drove off to the mall early on the appointed morning of the event and literally shopped until we dropped.  The sale at Burdine's was okay, but the real bargains were to be had at Belk (before it was Dillard's - Lord, I'm old!) and the best part was their free gift wrapping.  After a dinner at Cracker Barrel, Mama and I dragged ourselves and our gaily wrapped packages into the house - our holiday shopping complete a full month before Christmas.  It made the holidays seem sort of anti-climactic that year and I haven't done it - or spent as much - since.  I looked at a few of the ads online that promised Black Friday deals - and most of the stuff is just junk that kids will open, play with for a week or so, and then move on to something else - like the box it came in.  You can't go wrong with a good box, I always say.  I wish shoppers (and retailers) would forgo quantity for quality and be more generous with charitable giving.  But that's not going to happen, is it?  I wonder what would happen if a sizable portion of the population decided to boycott shopping on Black Friday - I'm going to do my part again this year.

I have absolutely no idea why...

I am always so happy when Friday arrives.  It's not like I've had some stressful, harrowing work week that is in dire need of a weekend.  Actually, every day is just about like any other for me - a few phone calls, some paperwork, some more paperwork, check the e-mail, still more paperwork, a final few phone calls and then it's time to snuggle up with Aggie & Peter on the sofa with a book.  Or I write for a while.  I am blessed with a relatively calm existence - for which I am very grateful, believe me.  The other day when I was out doing errands, I saw a sign with a statement that I have thought about quite a lot since: Beware the barrenness of a busy life.  Think about it; have you ever been so busy that you felt like you couldn't take on one more thing?  I have and in retrospect, those were the most miserable days of my life.  And those days went on for decades.  Over the past several years, I have learned to say no, respectfully decline requests, not answer the phone and generally ignore those social obligations in which I have no real interest.  Those uber-busy people who are out there dazzling their peers (or so they think) with their ability to multi-task and juggle a million obligations are probably secretly unhappy and wondering why their inner lives are so empty.  I am so thankful that I have finally learned contentment and that it is perfectly okay to just say no, to ignore a knock at the door or a ringing telephone, take a nap, read a book and to just do the best I can without sacrificing my sanity.  Yes, I'm thankful it's Friday, but tomorrow I'll be just as happy that it's Saturday...

While I haven't officially...

jumped on the Nutella bandwagon, I did finally break down and buy a jar just to see what all the hoopla is about.  And for nearly five dollars, I thought to myself, it had better be good.  Aggie and I are peanut butter devotees (Peter Pan with honey, thank you!) and while we are always game to try something new, I wasn't too sure about the hazelnut flavor.  And then there's the chocolate factor for Miss Aggie, who is, contrary to her long-held belief, of the canine persuasion.  Our opinion: not great on bread.  At all.  Not bad on an apple.  Pretty good on an apple, actually.  But that doesn't mean I'm going to make a habit of eating it regularly.  It's altogether too, um - Canadian to suit me.  Weird in a an oddly attractive way.  Weird in an I-could-get-used-to-this sort of way.  Weird in a $21.95 for this book in the US and $29.95 in Canada sort of way.  Nope - when this jar of Nutella is empty, we're going back to good old American, plain brown, what-we're-used-to, $2.99 every day peanut butter.  I don't care what Aggie says.

Blogging blahs...

To borrow my friend Linda's words, I've been suffering from the blogging blahs.  I started out 2011 with good intentions and then I'm not quite sure what happened.  Life, I guess.  I was thinking today about things in general and I realize that over the past few months I've spent more than a little time ruminating over what I've lost rather than being thankful for everything I have.  I haven't written a word in my gratitude journal in a couple of months and that's not like me.  I know that I am the one who has to choose happiness - it is not automatically going to come my way.  When I started blogging, it was my attempt at choosing happiness during a particularly low time in my life - it made me think of something positive, uplifting or even funny to write about every day.  I'm determined to get back to that.  Yes, indeed-y.  And so in that spirit, this morning I perused the craigslist antique ads.  That's right - a major source of entertainment for me, as I've mentioned in the past, is the horrific grammar and spelling that runs rampant on craigslist.  And, in case you've been wondering about the photo above, I found an hilarious one this morning:  Bainet Authentic $150.  Puzzling, huh?  I always let my imagination run a bit before I click on the link - it's more fun that way.  What could this person mean?  An authentic beignet?  That didn't make any sense.  Something from Haiti?  There is a town called Bainet in Haiti - but I couldn't imagine what sort of antique would come from there.  A bonnet, perhaps?  I clicked the link and imagine my surprise when this is what I saw:

A bayonet.  Honestly, this person wasn't sure if he was advertising a doughnut or a weapon.  And $150 for a glorified knife?  It just goes to show you that anyone can operate a computer these days whether they are literate or not.  He probably even owns a dinning table.  Made of mehoggenie.

P.S.  And I just noticed that I have two new followers - so I guess I'd better get back to blogging - a few people really are interested in my recipes, book reviews, craft ideas, movie picks and general smart-aleckiness.

Who'd have thought it?