A Few Words About Nothing in Particular

Dear Diary,

Over the weekend I had a day in which the hardest decision I had to make was what color nail polish to put on my toes.

It was a perfectly unproductive day of rest.

The first part of this day consisted of a short drive to a friend's house with my girls for a little GB&M.

Girls Brunch and Musical. 

I think this is the start of a great tradition:  A little Gene Kelly and bleating lambs frolicking within the borders of mysterious Brigadoon to go along with my egg and spinach frittata and citrus punch!

Second only to popcorn, brunch seems so apropos for musical DVD watching.

Then I headed back home for some creative writing and to sit out on the back deck and sort through all the bottles of nail polish the four household females have acquired.  I even managed to throw away some bottles of nearly empty, or way-too-gooey, polish in the process.

The compulsive in me came out as I pulled out bottle after bottle of color from the bin and grouped them.  No surprise that the pinks and purples were the most popular on the spectrum.
I found colors at the bottom of the bin that haven't seen the light of day for probably ten years.

Now it is Monday, and I am back to job hunting, helping out four-legged friends as well as two-legged ones, cleaning, volunteering, praying for hurting loved ones, laundry, list-making...get the picture?

But I can do it with a light step and rosy attitude because my toenails are sooo Diva Pink!

 

 



Time to add "cook dinner" to my list of to-dos.
Ta Ta!

LJ

Suh-weet!

Dear Diary,

I need to give a shout out to my folks for the Whetstone's hot chocolate mix.  Whetstone and I have a friendship that goes way back into my childhood.

But I digress. 

As much as I love Whetstones and my parents (in no particular order, ahem) my heart and tummy warming IHS moment today is actually brought to you by a stranger named Bob.

He is the maker of Sweet Stripes, a product I bought on a whim (and for only a buck) at WalMart.

 

Look at those dandy edible barber pole peppermint sticks! 

Imagine what a person could do with these babies!

 

For today, they were great stirrers for our hot chocolate.  They are softer than a candy cane, making for quicker meltaway action.

 

This is an IHS experience you just can't duplicate in July.

 

Sweetly yours,

LJ

 

The Job of the Heel

Dear Diary,

Almost every school day morning, the first thing I do after I get up is make the girls' lunches.  In my PJs and -- if the family is lucky -- my faded pink robe, I saunter into the still-dark kitchen to pull out the "samwich" supplies, which includes bread of some sort.  On a good day it is usually a choice between bagels, sub bread or sliced sandwich bread.

Inevitably, when I choose to use the loaf of sliced bread, I remember a scene at my cousin's house a few years ago.  It is funny what tidbits of information stick in my head over the years.  I often can't remember an occasion, but I can remember a moment.

At my cousin's home, we were putting sandwiches together for some reason.  I assume it was for a cheap lunch option for our airplane ride home from the Sunshine State, but I can't be sure.  I reached into the bag to pull out some slices, which were quite a few for my family of five.  I reached the bottom of the bag and grabbed the heel. 

Being the sacrificial mom that I am, I knew that the sandwich with the undesirable heel would be my own.

After assembling said sandwiches for the family, enter my cousin.  She is frugal minded, like me, and had the foresight to offer us her food for our comfort on the (equally frugal) plane ride.  But when she saw my heel-clad sandwich, her eyebrows furrowed. 

"Why are you eating the heel?" she asked. 

It's my job, as a mom, to eat the heel, I thought. 

In actuality, I didn't have time to reply before she said, "We only keep the heels in the bag to keep the rest of the loaf fresh.  We don't eat them."

Boy, were my eyes opened to new wonders.  Not eat the heel?  What kind of luxury is this?  Do I really have permission from my economically like-minded cousin to discard the heel for a fresh, fluffy slice of bread?

Every morning since then, as I reach for the slices to make a "samwich" for my girls, I remember her comment and bypass that heel and go straight for the center cuts.  

I have a new job for those heels:  to protect the freshness of the inner loaf! 
And when their job is done, I toss them. 

Yup.  I do.  Unless I am hungry for a piece of toast. 

Heels do make pretty good toast.

Love to my cuz,
LJ