Wednesday, July 27, 2016


The only patio I have these days is off the front of my house, near the driveway. This is  because the one out back is overgrown. The front one is devoid of character, antiseptic and gives you a front row seat into the lives of everybody around the neighborhood. You see them come and go. I really do not find it a peaceful place where I can unwind and relax, much less read a book,  because we are on display out there too. But it is all I have to work with, so I reluctantly sit there. For a while now, I have wanted to put a canopy or umbrella over the small table we have out there to block out the sun during the hottest part of the afternoon. My husband was not on board with this, so I let it go. But when my best friend showed me hers on Skype, I was smitten. It was charming. The perfect setting to read or drink a glass of tea or lemonade. So I was determined to make my patio more hospitable too. After looking around at the local garden shops and superstores I zeroed in on one umbrella I liked, really liked. 

But the trouble was it was too expensive. And it was too large and heavy to accommodate our small area. So once again, I let my dream go and stopped trying to make this front patio a cozy retreat... because it just isn’t going to be. End of story. Then I found myself shopping in a Kmart that was going out of business. There in a bin were some patio umbrellas for under $29.  All had been opened and rummaged through and missing parts. But I found one similar to the expensive one I had been looking at elsewhere, sitting at the  bottom of the bin,  still sealed.  It was lightweight and designed for smaller spaces. I grabbed it and brought it home. 

Then, I sprung the discovery on my husband. He was not thrilled one way or another that I had found something. But he opted to set it up for me that night. Suffice to say I was tickled pink by the prospect of having it put in place. 

He took the stand

Then the umbrella

And put them together.

Then sat down to admire his accomplishment.

 It turned out to be the perfect fit. 

I was duly impressed.

Now I’m ready to rumble.

Monday, July 18, 2016


see you again soon...
Don't do anything I wouldn't do
while I'm gone. 

Check out my
for a new post 

Monday, July 11, 2016


Our refrigerator is about 12 years old. We got it because it is small and fits in the tiny space available for it in our kitchen. We LOVED the color BLACK... and we searched high and low, to find a refrigerator that was... because it wasn't trending then... even though all our other appliances were that color. Throughout the years...our fridge has served us well... holding casserole dishes, assorted meats, vegetables, fruits and condiments, not to mention our favorite beverages. But the other day, a drawer in the bottom of the refrigerator began acting suspicious. When my husband pulled on it, it responded like it had been glued shut.  He fiddled with it and it eventually opened. He got what he needed and forgot about it. ENTER me a day or two later. Having never notified me of the situation he encountered, it once again reared it’s ugly head. Problems have a tendency to do that if you IGNORE them. I was having a craving for the Rainier cherries so I went to pull the drawer out to get them and my hand slipped. Besides getting it sprained, when I tugged, the front of the drawer cracked and pulled right off in my hand.  

(click on photo to enlarge)

Suddenly I was DRAWERLESS. Quite a spectacle indeed. Then my hubby told me his story. Since the damage was done,  we went online looking for a replacement. It took a while to match part numbers to the right model fridge, but we did and placed an order. It cost $75. OUCH. Three days later the drawer arrived. And my husband gleefully installed it happy to solve a problem so quickly. He proudly showed me his work with the following caveat… because the refrigerator is so old, he told me… the new drawer doesn’t EXACTLY match the old one.  Me being anal about such things… went into the kitchen to see it.

I’m curious WHAT YOU THINK? Should I be thrilled... or upset at what our $75 bought. 

PS) I posted this story at 3 AM but it did not appear in the feed until late this afternoon. Almost 10 hours later? What's up with that BLOGGER?. 

Tuesday, July 5, 2016


 My hands were so-ooo bad the other night...
I was beside myself.
I just could not sleep, or get comfortable.
Irritable, frustrated, 
I sat here and cried buckets of tears.
Silently asking WHY this is
happening to me...
for the millionth time.
I finally found some comfort
under the spigot in the kitchen...
running warm water over my fingertips
and hands. It soothed them...
And it took the edge off. 
(I have found COLD 
on the other hand,
makes the situation worse.
Hands BURN and tingle more.)

Test after test are forthcoming.
Conclusions have yet to be reached
by those who are supposed to know
by now... something, anything.
So I play a waiting game. 

One waiting room after another.
Sandwiched between the duties 
of being wife, mom, grandma, 
daughter, blogger.
Getting impatient.
No relief for my weary soul…
But I forge ahead
Because that’s what you do.
You keep fighting
when something knocks
you down.
And eventually... answers come-
Whether you want to hear them or not.
I do a little daydreaming 

Wishing I was ANYWHERE else.

Saturday, July 2, 2016


"Fireworks had for her a direct and magical appeal. Their attraction was more complex than that of any other form of art. They had pattern and sequence, colour and sound, brilliance and mobility; they had suspense, surprise, and a faint hint of danger; above all, they had the supreme quality of transience, which puts the keenest edge on beauty and makes it touch some spring in the heart which more enduring excellences cannot reach." (Jan Struther, Mrs. Miniver, 1930s )

"The daylight always fails too soon—except when there are going to be fireworks; and then the sun dawdles intolerably on the threshold like a tedious guest." 
(Jan Struther,  1930s )


"America celebrates her independence every July 4,  
with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, 
the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness."
Erma Bombeck 


Monday, June 27, 2016


My husband grew up in Michigan. It’s where we got married. (by a judge with the initials CAR in the Motor City) Back during our courtship my husband took me everywhere he had ever been, exploring all his old haunts throughout the state. I fell in love with the sandy beaches, the urban flavor of the cities. It was our playground. So... Michigan is special to both of us. But we let it go. When he moved away he left a piece of himself there and so did I. We used to reclaim it whenever we went to visit his family. But… they have long since passed, except for a brother... and our trips back there became few and far between. When we did go back… first stop was always the cemetery, a drive past the old house and little else. Depressing right? A few years ago… a part-time consulting position gave my husband more than a little access to Michigan again.  At first… I would travel with him. But then it got tiresome. I was stuck there all week while he was tied up in meetings and work. Money was limited. We had one set of wheels. So taxi’s or Uber were out of the question.  I just sat in the motel watching TV or taking photographs in the lobby and parking lot. It got BORING. So I stopped coming with him on these business excursions... especially since he was too tired to do anything else, after he got back from the office. It became obvious, my husband and I have been taking life for granted. So I threw down the gauntlet. It’s time to start living again. He was working himself into an early grave and so was I back here.  I knew I needed to recharge my batteries and felt he needed to do the same.  I suggested we go someplace for a few days to relax and unwind. Just a quick getaway. No technology. Someplace neither of us had been before. So the job, our health problems… and the past with it’s baggage, could take a backseat for a while… and we could just 'live in the moment'. The PRESENT. I insisted we pinpoint a location, asap. He showed me his hand, asked where (it’s a Michigander thing, the hand) and we got to talking. He hemmed and hawed... no matter where I suggested. Then… something happened. We heard a commercial for PURE Michigan. It sealed the deal.  The words sang to me. To him. (best promotional campaign we had ever heard) I got on YouTube and we listened to every ad they had up. The writing captures your imagination and Tim Allen’s voice brings it alive. It said what we needed to hear. Michigan is WHERE we needed to be. If you’ve never been there. Stop what you’re doing and LISTEN to these three short video ads below. Let Michigan bring you to that place that is MISSING in your life. Let it embrace you in all it’s wonderment. Let it remind you who you are deep down inside. And NEVER let it go. PURE Michigan isn't just about them. It's about US, all of us. 

Sunday, June 19, 2016

DUCK there is TAPE

For all the ladies who read my blog, I apologize in advance . Reading this post will probably make you shake your heads in disbelief. As for the men… I think you  are going to smile saying, that broad is resourceful. And that broad would be me. For the past month or so I have noticed a problem with the handles of my purse. They were getting frayed. I have about dozen other purses I could use but I like this one, in particular. And frankly, I do not feel like switching out  what is inside it... to put into a new one. Call me lazy. But I find that task tedious and frustrating. Everything has to go in new pockets and places, then you spend days trying to find what’s where. So I decided to just keep using the purse I have… frayed handles and all. But it has become a bit of an eyesore, brought to my attention by a friendly stranger, when I was shopping. She suggested the pocketbook was well used, pointing to the handles. This made me a tad bit self conscious about carrying it around… but I still stubbornly refused to replace it. The color combination suits me. I LOVE it. I did not want to let it go just yet. The body of the satchel is fine. What could I do about the handles, I asked myself?  Then it HIT me. I could FIX them with an old product we all have used. That MEN gush about. Now ladies… this would be the time for you to sit down. The sacrilege I am about to describe will disturb your sensibilities in a world full of Vera Bradley, Michael Kors and Coach purses. However, men you can stand up and applaud. I did something you would do. It may sound more borax than classy, just hearing about it ladies…  but the end result speaks volumes. It was a GOLDEN opportunity to put this particular product to the test. So I did it. I’m here to tell you folks that YES indeed… Duck Tape does FIX everything. It’s just not about the silver anymore people. It comes in an assortment of colors ready to tackle any project. Take a gander at the pictures below. (click on them to enlarge)  I wrapped the handles of this GG…ing Purse , I carry everywhere… with Gold Duck Tape. It matches. And makes the purse look new again. Designer ready. I’m a CONVERT and new Duck Tape devotee. Frayed is no longer an issue. What have you used DUCK TAPE for?