the {new} tiny casa: too lazy to dye

The slips are still hanging in the window waiting for their baths of pink, orange and/or yellow. They look so pretty, sheer and simple as the light of the day filters through them and scatters about the casa. I have been picking up oodles of hours for both jobs so have had little time to get the slips dyed or even think about it.

There are boxes to still unpack and organize, objects to photograph for the holiday shop, things to make, articles to write, jobs to apply for...the slips are so dreamy they make me feel content. Content enough to go with it, let is happen as it may, dyed or not...

There are scones on the stovetop waiting to cool for their glaze, a new bed to photograph and listy-list in the making that is so long, my head hurts thinking of it. I will take it slow. Take it lazy. I will enjoy this morning on the sofa, wrapped up in a cuddle of quilts and I will make that listy-list even longer. I will place it where I can easily get to it and I will cross at least five things off. Lazy or not, THAT is doable...the slips however will have to wait.

the enormous bedspread

 I love, love, LOVE this bedspread. It is wonderful and delightful and tacky and kitschier than the tiny dish soap aprons my mamos used to tie on our palmolive just to drive me batty. Oh wait, almost kitschier. Those aprons deserve a post of their own.

Back to the bedspread. It is gloriously crocheted in colors I have not really seen out and about on my thrifting and/or blogging adventures. The yellow-orange is particularly enticing as it is a favorite of mine. It also fits over the entire bed not like my black afghan that barely graces the foot when I tug it out and try to display its happy colorful glory. This afghan is a bedspread, an honest-to-goodness blanket of divine design and mr. a-go-go hates it.

The other night he declared it was time for another blanket on the bed. As I had kicked this bedspread to the floor a few days before (shhh...it's been busy and the temps have been HOT) I told him he could grab it up or eke out the blue polarfleece under the stack of linens on his dresser. He went for the polar fleece but it was so encased and flattened and loved under the stackiest stack of vintage linens (plus one metal hair clip, a wee nutcracker ornament, and an aqua colored belly-dance veil) he gave up in a huff and flounced (not really, but I like the way flounced sounded there) over to the bedspread and muttered with a harumph and a grump as he hauled it up to the bed "But it's not warm, it's just heavy and it hurts my legs."

"Yes", I replied but isn't it pretty?

I think I am most fond if it because of the loud colors and combos. It reminds me of putting together  chinese jacks. Do you remember those? I wonder what we should be calling them now? I loved that game, LOVED it. I had set upon set upon set and would pool all those little candy colored links and create the most colorful markers and pieces ever. While the rest of my fellow players kept their sets separately, I was noodling around with mixing up my metallics, pastels AND brights. While my fellow players had markers in red, white and blue or pink and purple, my pieces would be monochromatic yet flashy and fun. Though, my favorite marker, it should come as no surprise, was a combo of white, hot pink, pale pink, two kinds of yellow and orange. It was one fat little jack, it was.

Methinks I need to unbury the blue blanket...sigh.

of chickens, sixlets and too much to do

This chicken recipe holder had me swooning the moment I spied it at the thrift. I picked this up along with a wooden burger shaper thingamabob that had a cow painted on it and I skippity skipped to the car as happy as can be (we won't mention the awesome garnet colored sweater I scored that managed to collect all the pink fluffy-pilly-wooly bits from the wool sweater that danced with it in the wash that I am STILL attempting to de-pill, no we won't). Even now, looking at this picture I find myself smiling at its fantasticness. Pair it up with a wee jar of sixlets in my favorite colors and well, you've got a smile that should last all day.

Happy weekend folks, I hope my confessional didn't scare you away. It didn't, did it? This weekend I have a CPR certification to get to, too many book write ups to tackle, some sample writing for a job thing I'm applying for and a tiny casa that still needs cleaning, unpacking and organizing. Yikes! Packed, I tell ya, packed!

friday's confessional: november 4

Aw shucks, I forgot what I was going to confesss (other than my intense feelings of jealousy towards, oh...everyone right now) so hows about a wee response to last week's confessional? In response to last week's confessional I wish to clarify that I was attempting humor to point out my ineptness at all things girlie. I am often confused when I receive super lovely letters after a post that tell me not to fret, that I am lovely and things will get better after a post where I thought I was poking fun at myself and my ridiculousness. I do love me a nice, encouraging word, believe me, it really boosts the ego (thank yous to the folks who wrote, thank you!); but I am so often confused that my tone is so often misunderstood. I often have people gush over what they see as my positive and sunny disposition (wha? really?) which results in two things. One, I smile and say thank you and then two, I give a guffaw because really, I feel like I am far too cranky all the time. But then, I write here thinking I am sunny and funny and honest and then I am told I am a bit of a downer.

See? Confusing.

So, here's the deal (and I promise, I'm trying to sound light here and positive), I have lived a quirky life fuller than full of tales of woe. Most of the time, I look back and think WOW, I'm still here, mostly intact and I feel pretty good about that. But then, the dark comes crashing in and I am sad and feeling mad and I go with it. There are ups and there are downs and I deal with it as we all tend to do. I write what I write because it helps to get it out of my head and then I think maybe someone else out there is feeling this way as well and maybe they won't feel as alone as I sometimes do. Don't you ever feel alone? I simply do this to keep myself sane, I used to write with a pen in a book but I got tired of my hand cramping up and the ink that would glomb onto my hand as I am a lefty. Also, when I write fast, there is no discerning what letter is which and what word is what, I'm a sloppy scribbler with poor penmanship, my typing isn't as swell either but thank goodness for spell check and the delete key.

This all goes back to perception. Even those close, close, close to me manage to mis-perceive my intentions. When that happens I fell all prickly and irritated and there may be an urge for some shin kicking. I feel even worse when I try to explain what I meant so instead I let it roil and boil about the noggin until I'm a bit heart heavy which has me crash, crash crashing down to bottom and I feel like running even further away than I have run already. It's a stupid cycle and I feel all of twelve all over again. I'm kinda feeling it now but I opened this can o worms so I can't complain. I guess what I want to remind people is that perception is a tricky thing. It's the song in the head that you cannot hear. It's what you bring to the party based on how your day has gone, and it's personal and real yet not real at all. Does that make sense? It's all relative.

I'm not sure I'm making sense even to myself but I do know that my brows are STILL a mess, more of a disaster really and I need to find a stylist up here in this little town and I need to figure out how to fork over the moolah to do it. I miss my gal down in L.A. Gals, really. They were great, shaped 'em up nicely and did not over pluck one bit. Here, people tend to wear their brows a bit on the skinny side so I am weary. Oh and thank you for your support and giggles in cheering me on. I'm not afraid of the work, just don't know where or how at this point. Oh and threading, yes threading! I used to get that done oodles and ages ago. Goodness, haven't had it done in more than a decade. I wonder if anyone up here does that. Good question. And like I said, I am not very good at this whole girlie business. You would think after 40 years I would have gotten the hang of it but I haven't. Eyelash curlers terrify me, shaving takes too long, lotion leaves my hands feeling greasy and I have no idea how to get my hair in an even part in the back when I put in pony-tails or knots. I also find myself staring at all the ladies around me. All of them. How do they get their hair so shiny? How? I have gel and shine and other sorts of goo but all it does is make my hair oily...oy! At least my grown out dye job is fairing up. Thank goodness the trend in hair color is "ombre" for once I fit in with my kooky dark roots. Go me!

mornings are for routines

I am beginning to enjoy the mornings a bit more now that the casa is slowly turning into a home of sorts. It helps that the light is brighter as well. Brighter still, next week once we turn the clocks back. I'm a bit over the whole daylight savings ritual but I do still enjoy my morning routine.

I stumble out of bed and quickly make it up before approaching the kitchen and living room. First stop, computer...oh I do love my internet next I hit the kitchen and fill the kettle with water and set to boil.

I grab the four-cup pyrex and add a green tea bag. Tea bags are kept in the cup cupboard. If the box is almost empty, I tuck the loose bags into a vintage squirrel mug, if not there is a tower of boxes that tipple-topple about as I retrieve the jasmine tea. We have a small variety of teas toppling about but lately, all I want is jasmine. I am down to two bags and really need to scope out some more. Better remember to do that sooner than soon!

While the computer is waking up and the water rolls to a boil, I either get dressed if it is a workday or bundle up if it not. Plans for the day clutter up my head as I coax myself to wake up.

If I am on it, which is not as often as I want to admit, I am dressed regardless and chowing down on a warm bowl of oatmeal. If I am not, tastee-os it is with a dash of cinnamon. If I am really not on it, I reach for the pink snail shaped half-cup and dish out a dash of marshmallow mateys as well. A smattering of rainbow marshmallows can make almost any day a smidge brighter.

Thrilling, isn't it? What are your mornings made of?

apple{s} of my eye

We've been hitting up the apple farm about every other week or so picking up around ten pounds of apples a pop. We always intend to bake a pie or make a crumble but somehow...

The apples get eaten up, bite by crispy bite as they were intended.

I have developed a fondness for a crispy, slightly tart apple with a cup of hot coffee, cream, no sugar. It seems an odd combination I am sure but I find it delightful. Perhaos if my nose worked, I would think differently but until then...

 An apple a day it is....