Got Rhinestones?

Well, what can I say? I thought this morning I'd dig out a pair of white garden gloves and glue some rhinestones on one of them and wear it around today, just to see what kind of response I would get.



Much like the time I carried Grey Poupon Mustard on my dashboard. I got lots of laughs out of that trick!



But then I saw that I'm a quart low on rhinestones and it was going to be too much effort, anyway. I've got better things to do with my time than rile up the public.



Not that they need riling! Good heavens it's like somebody famous has died or something!





If people make such a fuss over this has-been drugged out pedophile, imagine what kind of outcry there will be when Elvis dies!

Setting aside sarcasm for a moment, I do just want to say...that back in the day...there was nobody like Michael Jackson! We were all moths to that flame! At least, we were moths to the New Flame of MTV, and it was Michael's videos we were seeing! Off the Wall was a great album, but when Thriller came out, and there was Michael reclining on the cover in that white suit, our little girlie hormones sat up and took notice. This guy had gotten HANDSOME!

Must have been that nose job... So glad he knew enough to leave well enough alone and never did any plastic surgery after that first little nose refinement!

I even owned, for a brief period of time, a red leather Michael Jackson jacket.

But that was long ago. My rhinestone glove has been at the bottom of a landfill for at least 25 years, I'd say! So I won't be wearing it today.

Feel free to copy my idea, though! Wear the Glove! Moonwalk on Main street!

But I thought of it first!

Summer Fever

Everyone knows what spring fever feels like. You get antsy and you want to do a deep cleaning. You want to open the windows and get out the cushions to the lawn furniture. You want to take a trip somewhere, head for summer pastures, plant the garden. You want activity. You want growth.

But summer fever is something else entirely. You want to put your feet up, preferably on the front porch. You want your feet dangling in water, off the end of the pier or the side of the boat.

You want the laundry done already, snapping in the breeze on the clothesline out back. You want that cold glass of sticky lemonade or sweet tea and you want to rub it on your forehead or neck. You want the smell of sweet corn in the fields, almost ready for pickin'.

You want the mixture of Sun-In on your hair and coconut tanning oil to be your perfume.

You want lake water in your nose.

I've got summer fever, BAD, today. REAL BAD.

Good Deed, Indeed

Ah, Good deeds really do get rewarded!

Today as I was turning into the back alley where I park, I was flagged down by a debonair young gentleman with a skinny mustache. With hand motions of prayer and entreaty, he asked me if I perchance had any jumper cables.

I said I did but I'd have to get them out of my apartment. Now that I think about it, why do I keep my jumper cables in my apartment? They can't possibly do me any good there.

So I parked and got the cables and drove a few feet back down the alley to where his car was, and he hooked up the cables, started his car and Viola! A Good Deed was Done.

I felt good about it. He felt good about it. And that was that!

Except it wasn't. Because he said, "WAIT! I have something for you!" He reached into his back seat, rootled around a little bit and handed me a big armful of PRODUCTS.

Glorious, girly, fun-filled products! From his own line!




And they perfectly match the bag I was carrying. Now is that serendipitous, or what?

In the Midnight Hour She Cried 'More, More, More!"

With a Rebel Yell I'm on a bag-making bonanza!

This pattern is so easy and fun and it only takes a half yard of fabric. It's proving to be an excellent use of fabrics that I have no other use for.

I've been looking for little projects that I can make without buying any further fabric. It's really fun and stretches my boundaries a little bit to be confined to using what I already have. Especially when it's so much fun to run out and buy fabric at the least excuse!

I'm currently working my way through my summer looking/vintage looking fabric. But I can see this pattern working well for autumn and winter fabrics too.

Another project that I've had on my list for a while is another batch of napkins. I made the horrific and inconceivable discovery that I had No Pink Napkins! How I can hold up my Ponsonby Head after confessing that, I have no idea!

I had to remedy that at once, and so I did:


This was a very odd paisley that was just that wee tint towards being Pepto Bismal Pink, which is a color that his hard to use and not that pleasing to the eye. But as napkins, it lends itself well!


While I was at it, I decided a few minty green ones and paler pink napkins would be needed to add to the mix!

And thus I had a happy day! No crazy lunatics were drawn to my door and I was able to sew and sew and create to my heart's content!

And Then There Were Two

After yesterday, I decided it was perhaps best not to wander out today, so I started a project instead.

It's some kind of law of physics that a vacuum must be filled, and thus it is when I've cleared off a wee bit of space in which to work.

Using this basic pattern from http://mollychicken.blogs.com/my_weblog/ I modified it to be less of a giant capacious handbag that would store a three volume novel of more than revolting sentimentality, and more of a purse.

The first one took several hours, two hours of which were spent thinking.I love a messy creation station!

It looks more like an apron than a purse!

I always have to have twice the pockets that other people have.

Ta Da!

Mackie approves

******

I liked it so much I made a second one!

This one has shorter straps and is less wide.

Notice how Mackie has moved on over on TOP of the pink one.

Lip smackin' good!

Nut Magnet Collection Grows

I've added several new editions to my ever growing nut magnet collection. I know my readers are wondering why I don't take a picture of my fridge and show them to you.

It's because my fridge is full of magnetic notepads, the way God Intended, and also, these are not refrigerator nut magnets, these are the people kind.

Your tired, your poor, your unbalanced, unstable and unwashed all are drawn to me like bees to honey. I literally trip over them on my own doorstep.

Today as I headed out for some errands I saw that I had to have the insides of my windows washed. I could barely see out of the windshield in front or the sides.

Since I was on my way to the post office anyway I dug out a couple bucks to give to the guy who washes windows in the parking lot. He's a nice, decent man, obviously down on his luck, but willing to clean windows for change. He never bothers anybody or begs, but he is always there with newspapers and glass cleaner and a little stool he uses to stand on for the SUV's. I always have him clean my windows, he does a really good job.

So as not to make him feel he needed to hurry, I hung out in the lobby of the post office until I could see he was finished. It was here that I acquired my first Nut Magnet Experience of the Day.

A portly senior citizen man with slipping dentures approached me, already well into a conversation with me before I had made eye contact. He told me all about his pernicious anemia, his vitamin B12 shots, his high blood pressure pill, his daily diet of steak and baked potato, and how he would vomit every day; everything he ate he would upchuck. He told me how he liked to chew on women as well as steaks, and he gave me a leer. I almost asked him if he puked when he fed on women but refrained.

I thought I'd introduce him to the benefits of nutritional yeast but he didn't really have an input valve. Just output. He'd talk right over me no matter what I said. All the while I was trying to peer over his shoulder and around his fat gut to see the progress of my window washer.


It started back in the 70's" he said, apropos of nothing, "That was when they first got to our water. "


"Got to it, how, exactly?" I asked.

"You know, got to it. That was when they did it to all our water. Bio-engineered the DNA."

Now, I happen to know a bit about anemia because I was born with it and almost died from it several times, and I also happen to be a big fan of knowing stuff about DNA. After all, I've lost count of the times I've yelled at the back of a retreating boyfriend, "Get out and take your DNA with you!"


So I already knew that B12 shots are the treatment for pernicious anemia--although if he has a functioning terminal ileum, I don't know what all the fuss is about-- but I have not yet been acquainted with bio-engineered altered DNA in my water source. That just seems like a lot of work for Secret Ops to go to, and for what purpose? To make us a Stupider People?

I can hear them now in their secret labs in the underworld, "This dumbing down of America through Reality TV isn't working fast enough. People still show signs of resisting Twitter. Let's doctor up their Water!"


You know it's just not very likely. Wouldn't they doctor up our Starbucks instead?

I extricated myself from his presence by wishing him all the best of luck with his vomiting issues, and made a beeline for my car.

But Nut Magnet Adventure#2 had other plans. This man, bleary-eyed and somewhat shell-shocked in appearance, waylaid me with this stunner, "Ma'am! Please! That lady right there just farted on me!" I half looked at him and half at the retreating back of a well dressed woman whom, to my quick assessment, did not look like the back of a woman who would take deadly aim and let one rip in public.

What was I supposed to do about it? Run after her and demand she give him is clean air back? Confront her with her intentions? Demand repercussions? Ask her if she'd considered Vitamin B12 shots and introduce her to Nut Magnet #1 who might vomit on her and thus complete the cycle of Karma that I just somehow got snagged into?

I did nothing, alas, except express my deep felt sorrow and compassion for his horrific experience, and high-tailed it out of there with my clean windows as fast as my foot could hit the gas pedal. (ha-ha. Get it? Gas pedal?)

My next stop was the 98 cent store, where, as I was rounding the corner into the food aisle. I ran smack dab into a guy who was shoving a bag of chips in his pants.

This was starting to seem like a day for social torture rather than the joyous gad-about that I had intended.

It was a freeze-in-place moment. I really didn't know what to do. I looked around as if I had done the guilty deed, and wondered if store detectives would be descending in droves. I knew I had mere moments to formulate some kind of response. What would it be? Would I scream, "THIEF!" or "Drop that Bag of Chips, you are surrounded!" ? Or would I look the other way and pretend I'd seen nothing? After all, this was the 98 cent store, where everything costs one dollar. What difference did that dollar make to the store if this obviously homeless man was driven by hunger to steal his food?

Without even thinking I said, "I'll buy that for you, and anything else you want to eat."

But he didn't hear me. He was already moving fast and out the door, and I'll never know if my words had time to register before he was gone.

This morning as I left the house, a friend had told me I looked especially nice today, and that in my new pink blouse I was sure to attract an eligible man.

Fear of Commitment Affects My Functionality!

I loathe and detest that non-word 'functionality' by the way! It's so lazy! Is it so hard to say, "This will affect your ability to function!"? MUST it be converted to Kitch English?



Although these eggs were just fantastic and the salsa was the freshest, tastiest I've ever made...I had plating issues this morning. Yes, that's right, I had trouble committing to a piece of china. The Limoges? The Royal Crown Derby? The Belique? What would best showcase this perfect breakfast of eggs and salsa? The Spode? The Bell Hyacinth?

The eggs were starting to get cold, and the morning was growing long and I knew that the jig was up: I had to grab a paper plate and let it be.

These are the occasions when life reminds us not to get too lofty.

This morning Miss Evie told me just such a tale:

Her daughter had been chosen amongst dozens of candidates to be the Camellia Queen. That was a big deal back in the day. The entire family was honored beyond belief and Evie was just convinced, absolutely certain, that this would lead to big things for Greta.

"We thought this would lead to a bank opening, at least!"

As I was stifling my guffaws she went on with her story, "And to be certain, the phone rang the very next morning! They wanted her for a Grand Opening!"

She paused for dramatic affect, continuing on in a scandalized tone, "It was an opening for a SERVICE STATION!"

Food: It's What's For Dinner

It seemed like the perfect affair! Dinner at 6! Guests on their way! Food deliciously prepared! A quick text message to the the folks the door was unlocked and to make themselves at home until I could get there...Roast Beast with golden potatoes and organic carrots! Ribblees, otherwise known as spetzels, perfect, plump and glossy! And the grande finale: Banana's Foster!

Although it didn't exactly turn out that way.

For one thing, the auto-pilot mechanism in my brain over rode the 'leave door unlocked' command and thus with one turn of the key I locked my guests out in the cold and sleet! They had to trek mile after mile across the frozen tundra to another friends' house in order to keep from freezing to death on my doorstep until I got home!

Ribblee noodles, ready for the pot.

The right degree of texture and size

Into the pot a few at a time to keep them separate and give them room to breathe.

Broth simmering not boiling

Perfect Spetzels. I mean, really really perfect!

Except the guest of honor couldn't eat them because in the army they make them eat their own vomit and that's what these reminded him of.

Well, I wouldn't let him tell me the REAL reason he couldn't eat them, but that was what my mind conjured up when he said, 'it's because of something that happened to me in the army."

Ah! Fine Tri-tip steaks ready for the roasting pan!

Too bad I don't have any pics of this finished project because although some were taken, I believe my mouth was wide open in a scream and I refused to allow them to be published!

Crepes!

And here is where the story turns ugly! Because my Banana's Foster absolutely refused to flame! Not so much as a spark! Not even a small contained slow burn! Nothing! Nothing short of dowsing them in gasoline would have worked, and yet we tried and tried. The results were sugared bananas in burnt caramel tasting like a bottle of rot-gut Russian Vodka.

I was so traumatized I refused to allow the event to be photographed!

In my mind this post was going to end with a BANG! A lovely shot of my happy, full guests seated at my dining table grinning from ear to ear in sheer gustatorial bliss!

But instead, I will end with this shot so that I can issue a disclaimer!

I did it all while severely injured!

That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it! Bon Apetit!

No Bulls Would Die Today. (Hemingway)

My lady Miss Evie staged her own death today. I had heard about this performance but until now had not experienced it first hand. Here is how it went down:

I already knew she was awake because she had gotten up to use the bathroom a mere 15 minutes prior, and had given me a look. I went in to see if she was ready to get up.

Instead of the accustomed sight of her curled on her side lined in pillows, I saw her flat on her back with her hand thrown over her forehead in the universal sign of "Woe is Me!" In two years I've never seen her flat on her back so that was a big moment right there.

I said good morning and she didn't answer, she just lifted her hand a wee bit and fluttered her fingers at me.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"I don't know!" came her tremulous voice.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Oh, the usual."

"What usual would that be?"

"My heart palpitations. I think I'm dying."

I'm pretty sure that my own heart palpitations started up right about then. But rather than lie down beside her and die on the spot, I decided to tough it out. I grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse.

Mind you, I haven't the faintest inkling how to check a pulse. I've just seen it on tv.

But I thought I should check and see if she had one anyway. All the while my mind is racing about what to do next. I was just sure there was nothing posted on the fridge about what to do in this situation. I already know she will flat out refuse to go to the hospital so I decided to delay the 911 call until I had further information.

I know the first order of the day is to get those pills in her, since one of them is a big fat Xanex that she takes for anxiety.

I ran and got her pills and water and asked her to sit up in bed a little bit so she didn't choke. She managed to drag herself semi-upright, but not without a lot of sighing and trembling.

I decided I'd better stick right by her so I pulled up a chair. When she saw I was preparing for a vigil, she demanded her coffee in bed.

This was when I knew that the worst was over. Who, on their deathbed, demands a cup of coffee--strong and black, no cream or sugar? I got her coffee and while I was at it, I got myself some too.

She took a sip and said, "It's too hot!" Normally, she just sets the cup down and waits a bit for it to cool, but apparently since she was moments from passing out of this earthly realm, she didn't have the time to wait. "Can't you put some water in it?" she asked peevishly.

I did one better and put some ice chips in it. I really wanted her to get some coffee in her! She looked at the rapidly melting ice like she was going to demand it's withdrawal henceforth, but then she relented and drank the coffee.

"Do you really think you are dying?" I asked her.

"Why NOT?" she said woefully. "Everybody's got to go sometime! I've had a full life."

I nodded wisely. I know this lady and I know she is a talker, so I knew it would just be a moment before it all came pouring out of her, and it did.

"Besides! I got a call from Dan last night and he's leaving for China this morning. You know I can't stand to have any of my family go on a trip! It's very upsetting for me. I can't help myself. I am sure I'm dying."

I let there be a pause for a moment and then I calmly stated, "If you die today, he'd have to cancel his trip."

She was completely taken aback. "I wouldn't want that! I wouldn't like that at all!"

"Well, you wouldn't really have any say in the matter if you were dead." I said reasonably. "He'd naturally cancel all his plans to stay home for the funeral of his beloved Grandma."

It took about two beats of her palpitating heart to sit up further in bed and demand her breakfast.

"I'll have my usual golden breakfast." she declared, "And don't ever put rice in my eggs again!"

No grain of rice has ever touched her breakfast eggs as far back as I can remember, so I knew that for today, at least, not only would she not be dying, she'd be up to her old tricks. Status Quo.

An Unnecessary Purchase

Unnecessary, but needed. One of my work pals surprised me with 4 tee-shirts for summer. She had ordered them from a catalog and they were way too large for her. Of course that means they are skin-tight on me but I thought I could make them work.

If I could get past the colors, that is. We are talking Leprechaun Green, Neon Red and Acid Blue. (The 4th one is white, so no problem there.)

So I got out the trusty bleach bottle and brought them up to pretty pastel colors more in keeping with my natural coloring tones.

See? Pretty Easter Egg Green! With a lavender undershirt!

With freshwater pearls of course.

Along with the New! Less Neon! tees, I bought a couple new tops at St. Vincent's Thrift store.

I love thrift store shopping! It's a good thing, too since it's the only way I'd get any 'new' clothes at all. I usually have a hard time finding anything in "super-size-me" sizes, but occasionally I get lucky. And very creative...

This was an ugly granny dress which I converted to a cute summer tunic top to be worn with Capri leggings.

This was another Bleach-Baby. What was once Pepto-Abysmal pink is now a soft, pretty petal pink.

This is much neater in person. It's got a very long skirt and this giant tunic top. I'm going to cut up the skirt to make some shirred draping around the waist of the t-shirt. It's part of my movement to support Michelle Obama in her campaign for Textured Dressing.

I got all these pieces for under 10 dollars along with a Johnson Brothers Regency cream pitcher (to be featured later.)

So there was really no reason to make any further clothing purchases. No reason whatsoever.

But tell me--if you can--how I, Miss Pink Ponsonby, Queen of All Things Tea, could see this and walk away?

(Object in picture has been folded to appear smaller than in real life.)

Bon Aire!

Today was a truly tired, brain-numb type of day. I spilled an entire glass of milk down the inside of the fridge door. Why does milk take longer to mop up and spread further than water?

I was chatting with my lady or rather she was chatting and my mind was far, far away trying to wake itself up, when I heard her say something about 'a very charming, suave man'. To show I was, indeed, hanging upon her lips like a metaphor of bees, I said, "Ah! Debonair!"

And then after a pause I said, "Of course I have no real idea what debonair actually means. One uses it all the time but one has never looked it up."

To which she replied, "It means a man with a small French mustache."

Hydrangeas

It's June! I don't know about y'all but here in Sacramento we had a long, heavenly springtime. Only a few days of brutal heat and lots of cool mornings and evenings. And therefore lots of blossoms, blooms and flowers.

Hydrangea. So pretty they look fake!

And yet another 'unfinished object project' These are some Civil War Reproduction fabrics and a Texas Star pattern. Easy to hand-piece but awful to cut out from a pattern. It's going to be a table runner or a tablecloth, depending on how many stars I make before I run out of energy for this particular pattern.

Happy June, Everyone!