No, I am not going to blog about a violent tv show.
Check this out:
Believe it or not, I took a Pilates class Tuesday night. On the Reformer machine.
This was epic because (a) I am afraid of exercise machines, (b) I hate to drive in the dark, and (c) at that time of night I am always on the couch with Banjo Man watching reality tv or British crime dramas.
I wore black leggings, of which I own many, and a Walsh Jr. High t-shirt given to me by the Funny Grandson. I do not own Pilates socks (who knew there was such a thing?), so I was barefoot.
Barefoot, overweight and old. What a combination.
Oh, yes, and uncoordinated, too.
Fortunately the very sweet and very young instructor took pity on me and helped me change the springs according to the exercise and reach the handles behind me when necessary. There was one other newbie in the class, so we groaned and laughed at the same times. That was reassuring, as she was thirty years younger.
Am I going back next week? You bet I am! I will conquer this machine and I have all winter to do it!
Meanwhile, back at home, I use a Yoga Go exercise app daily. Chair yoga, thank you, in my office.
I collected lots of silk and velvet flowers (mostly from hats) when I was making vintage Christmas stockings for fundraisers.
It’s time to pass them on to someone who will do something beautiful with them.
I didn’t realize I had so many until I opened the storage boxes. I’ve divided them into lots and they will be listed on Ebay sometime this week.
And then there are the buttons. I spent most of yesterday afternoon sorting through a million or so of them. All vintage. All colors. Plastic, bone, ceramic, bakelite, wood…and so interesting.
And yes, they are bound for Ebay as soon as I can figure out how to mail them without it costing the buyers a small fortune.
I hope a fabric artist/seamstress/craftswoman enjoys creating with them. It’s time for someone else to delight in the possibilities!
And it’s time for me to acknowledge that I am no longer going to use them.
While football games blasted from the tv on New Year’s Day, I made a start emptying the cabinet that has lived for years in the corner of the dining area. Last month, when I realized that I no longer used my collection of ruby-flashed glassware, I also realized that when the ruby stuff went on to another home there would be little need for this piece of furniture.
An interesting thought.
I pondered. I stared. I envisioned an empty space with some artwork on the wall. I liked the vision.
You can see there are a lot of cookbooks stored on those shelves. And, to be exact, 29″ of them I use frequently. They will be stored on a shelf above the stove. The rest I will have to sort through. Some I will keep. Others will move into purgatory in the basement bookcases. Even more will be donated along with the eight bags of books waiting to go to the library’s storage shed.
And hey, unless I am cooking up an old favorite recipe, it’s more fun to peruse recipes on Pinterest.
I am also trying to cook less, but don’t tell anyone.
Back to the cabinet, Banjo Man wants to know what I am going to do with it. His first idea is to push it out to the little back deck and bang it apart with a hammer, then take the pieces to the dump.
He has done this before. Sadly, several times.
I hate to throw it away. But there is also the issue of how do we move a piece of furniture down the stairs and into the car to take…where? There is a waiting list at the consignment store, but hopefully we could donate it to the store in Westerly that supports music programs. I’ll ask if they take furniture if we ever get the darn thing into the car.
In the meantime, I spent Monday reorganizing the kitchen shelves and wrapping up glassware to donate.
Our trip home from Texas on December 29 was uneventful…until we tried to drive out of Long term Parking Lot E.
The flights had been on time, except for a30-minute glitch in Baltimore when the flight crew couldn’t find “Thomas Lister”, a wheelchair passenger who was nowhere to be found. Naturally Southwest didn’t want to leave a disabled passenger stranded in the terminal, so an extensive search was instigated.
They never found him. I hope he’s okay.
The flight from Baltimore was fast, our one suitcase arrived in a timely manner, we caught the shuttle bus to the parking lot and actually found our car despite the fact that it was almost 8:00 PM and very dark.
It wasn’t until we were driving toward the exit gates that I said, “What is that noise?? Do we have a flat tire or is it the road?”
Banjo Man pulled over to look.
“It’s a flat tire,” he announced, getting back into the car.
Uh-oh.
We drove closer to the exit gates and parked off to the side under a light. I called AAA while Banjo Man dug out the warm clothes we keep in the car for emergencies.
An hour or so later AAA arrived. A nice young man named Anthony proceeded to wrangle the spare from under the car and remove the flat tire. Putting the spare on turned out to be a complicated project. Anthony didn’t think it fit well enough for us to drive the 40 minutes home. He wanted us to tow the car to a tire store to be fixed in the morning, but it was now almost 11:00.
I suggested we just go to a nearby hotel and deal with the tire in the morning. Anthony reluctantly agreed that we could drive a mile around the airport to the Hampton Inn.
We’d stayed at this Hampton several times, when we’d had early flights the next morning and the weather was iffy or we wanted to leave the car there. I had no hesitation about staying there again.
Boy, was I wrong.
Here’s the review I left on TripAdvisor:
This hotel has really gone downhill. We stayed here at the last minute due to car trouble after our plane landed. Couldn’t drive home, so picked the closest hotel at 11 PM on a cold winter night. Staff was pleasant, but there was a guy sleeping in his car next to ours and waiting his turn for a shower inside. In the morning we saw derelicts hanging out in front of the door, homeless people being brought in for a hot breakfast, a security guard doing his best to keep them out, and other strange things that made me think someone had a system inside the hotel. The whole place needs to be vacuumed, the sink was plugged, our room had two bath towels, two wash cloths, one hand towel and one bar of soap. The bathroom door wouldn’t close. I tried to make coffee and the machine shot out God knows what kind of dirt. The chairs in the breakfast room should be in the dumpster. I am actually not a fussy person, but we stay in 20-30 hotel rooms each year on road trips and I’ve never seen anything like this from a Hilton hotel.
It was actually worse than that, with the drug addicts hanging out around the front door and a security guard ordering a reluctant cleaner to mop up their mess so customers could walk in and out.
I watched the feed-the-addicts show from the breakfast room while Banjo Man was down the street getting a new tire. When we checked out I asked the receptionist if they were housing the homeless now (which is happening in many hotels in RI), which would be a good thing to know in the future.
She looked aghast. ”Absolutely not! I call the police all the time!”
Hmmmmm…
Banjo Man, who had been in and out of the lobby and the parking area several times that morning, said that he hadn’t felt safe. It was weird and unusual to experience that in the suburbs. We weren’t deep into the city, by any means.
We couldn’t wait to get out of there.
Sunday morning I checked reviews of this hotel on Tripadvisor. Sure enough, the most recent reviews were negative. I wish I’d read them Friday night, but it was a good lesson: even if you’re cold and tired, take a few extra minutes and pull up reviews on your phone before heading to a hotel, even one you’ve stayed at before.
But the good news? We arrived in Rhode Island to bare roads and 40 degree temps. No wind, no rain, no traffic. Best of all, no snow!
I don’t know about you, but I’m excited. Banjo Man is heading into a peaceful winter without having to deal with surgery or radiation. I’m six months away from celebrating five years cancer-free.
I will admit to being a little nervous. It’s the month where I have annual tests, and once you’ve been diagnosed as “stage 3” there are no guarantees. So…we just live life and have a good time and don’t dwell on the “what if’s”.
Around here we stay positive.
So…I am positively cleaning out more “stuff”. Lovely, crafty things will be listed on Ebay. Unused-for-years cookbooks will be donated. Fancy glassware will either be used more often or donated. I’m taking a hard look at what is on the shelves of my kitchen cabinets.
This book has inspired me:
Decluttering and organizing makes me happy. Always has.
My plan is to get rid of this cabinet. Some of the things inside of it I will keep, but most of it will go. Oh, what fun!
Banjo Man is hiding in his office. Do you blame him?
This photo was to have been made into a Christmas card for 2023, but I worried that it wasn’t a very Christmasy picture. And not exactly holiday worthy.
But I love it and wanted to share. Banjo Man and I are in our happy place, holding hands, enjoying life. It’s what we do best.
2023 was quite a year. Radiation, recovery, the Gee’s Bend quilt retreat, two road trips totally over 6000 miles, the building of the “bunkhouse”, Cabinfest, special guests at the lake, and now? A trip to Austin to reconnect with the much-loved Texans.
Nancy is recovering nicely from her surgery, but unfortunately not enough to board a plane for Austin for the holidays. She loves her job as a CNA and a Med Tech and is so happy she made the switch to a different company.
Will is teaching 4th grade in south Austin and loving it. His stories are hilarious, especially since he can’t resist teasing his kids. I visited his classroom in September and saw “Mr. R” in action teaching writing.
Ben is still the best AP History teacher ever (and has the stats to prove it), and Amber remains head librarian at her elementary school. I’m so grateful for a daughter-in-law who loves to come to Idaho!!! She and Ben, along with the FG, hit the road in early June and head west to the lake every year. How lucky are we?!?
The Funny Grandson is now 13 and in 7th grade. As you know, he played football this year, with pads and tackling and helmets. The joy was real. His parents say he has been counting the days until we arrive in Texas, so I’m so happy he isn’t too old for Party Grandma’s games, movies and root beer floats at the condo.
So as we get ready to celebrate Christmas and close out 2023, we wish you all a Merry Christmas and a joyful and healthy New Year.
I unearthed my container of cookie cutters last week. Oh, the memories! Most I inherited from my grandmother and all of them had been used many, many times when the children were growing up.
I had the urge–after thirty-plus years–to make cut-out sugar cookies again. Just for fun…and because the Star quilt had finished up early I had the time.
See the fingers at the top of the photo? They belong to Daughter Nancy, who is recovering from her tonsillectomy. Settled on the couch, she watched in wonder as her mother attempted to recreate the past.
I have to say it all came back to me. Muscle memory clicked in when I picked up that antique wooden rolling pin. The dough, made two days before, was chilled nicely and ready for action. The cookie cutters were washed, dried and anxious to be put into service.
Making these cookies brought back so many lovely memories. I wallowed in them as I rolled and cut and sprinkled and baked. I missed those loved ones, now gone, and the excited little children who are now in their 40’s and–gulp–50’s. Generations of my family loved baking and decorating those cookies, and many, many children delightedly frosted their favorite shapes at cookie parties.
Typically they would be decorated with various shades of butter frosting, but I settled for colored sugar this year. Next time I’m going to go all in and frost the dickens out of them because, yes, I plan to do this again. This old Christmas tradition needs to be revived, even if I’m the only one to whom it matters!
I ended up with enough cookies for Claire and Sam, along with a tin to bring to Texas for the boys.
Today? It’s time to pack! Flying to Texas has become yet another Christmas tradition…and it’s a good one, too!
Daughter Nancy had a tonsillectomy Tuesday morning. I stayed with her in the pre-op area until the nurses wheeled her into the operating room and then I roamed the halls of the hospital looking for a cup of coffee.
Thank goodness it’s a very small hospital.
The nice lady at the front desk gave me directions and, while walking down a long, empty corridor, I saw this displayed behind a glass wall.
I had no idea what it was either, except that it was old.
And then…Is it really Florence Nightingale’s cap? Or one of them? If I am ever in the Westerly Hospital again (hopefully not, knock on wood) I will ask someone to explain to me why it’s there.
I should even google it and report back to you. I’ll let you know what I find.
Nancy is doing as well as can be expected, as they say. I think the pain is less than the nightmare various people described. She is very sore and tired and uncomfortable, but she likes her quiet little guest room downstairs. She ate applesauce while watching tv with us last night.
I admittedly have no Florence Nightingale genes. Caring for the sick is not my gift to the world, obviously. But I am great at “nursing with food” and can and will create anything my sick family and friends need for their recovery.
Yes, we have Jello. Lots of it. And tomorrow there will be French toast, made with brioche bread (with the crusts cut off so as not to aggravate a tender throat).
Italian ices, ice cream cups and puddings are also available here at my little rehab home. Ginger Ale? We have plenty.
This was taken at Ella’s, a beautiful restaurant in Westerly. Jeff and Angela took us here for a birthday celebration.
I am 72 and proud of it!
As you see, we are having a great time.
Daughter Nancy arrived earlier with a big bouquet of flowers and my favorite mousse cake (three layers of three flavors of chocolate mousse). So sweet of her!
On Sunday, Nancy, Banjo Man and I feasted on beef tenderloin, whipped potatoes and green bean casserole.
Tomorrow Nancy is scheduled for a long-awaited tonsillectomy. We hope her recovery won’t be too painful. If she’s up to it, we’ll haul her on the plane to Texas with us to finish her recovery. Fingers crossed for an easy and not-terribly-painful time. She is staying here with us for the time being and I am prepared, having just made many little bowls of Jello.
Banjo Man is going to make a vat of his homemade applesauce, so she will be well fed despite a painful throat.
In the meantime, I’m thinking about making Christmas cut-out cookies this week. It has been years since I’ve done that, but I dug out my box of 53-year old cookie cutters and it’s tempting to use them again.
It sure brings back memories. My father’s cookie decorating parties in Idaho, when the kids were young, are still highlights of Dancing Mandolin Player’s and My French Friend Janou’s now-grown children. I created dozens upon dozens of cookies for those parties. I made them ahead and froze them between wax paper in white cardboard gift boxes saved from year to year.
What is behind that section of my fancy-schmancy sewing machine?
That’s where thread is jamming.
Not the good kind of jamming, like with the Cougar Creek Band. Oh, no, this is the bad, frustrating, miserable kind of jamming in a place on my machine where I can’t get to.
Last spring I had the machine serviced and adjusted for tension and bobbin-winding problems. The first time I sewed with it after that was just a few weeks ago. The “reverse” button was temperamental. And the thread jammed many times when reversing. But not every time.
Free motion quilting was impossible. I have said many, many bad words because I am trying to create a Christmas gift and time is running out.
Where did I put that seam ripper?
I talked to a repairman on the phone Saturday afternoon and he had no idea what could be happening with the machine. I asked him to tell me how to take that section apart so I could see if something was stuck. He gasped and said, “No! No! Just bring it in and I’ll look at it!”
Chicken.
If I could figure out a way in, I would do it. I downloaded the repair manual and studied it for a while, but it was too complicated and gave me no clues as to how to fix the mysterious problem in the thread path.
I’ve had to redesign the quilting patterns so I would (a) not free motion–damn it– and (b) manipulate the straight stitch quilting so I would not have to reverse too often.
Banjo Man has been hiding downstairs for the past three days. He knows that Sewing Machine Issues make me grumpy and I am someone to avoid as much as possible.
He feels badly for me, though. Friday he even bought me a little chocolate cake. And a ripe pear. Yesterday’s gift was a bowl of Italian sausage and peppers he’d made. I didn’t leave my sewing room until 8 PM. If I finish the quilt, I can take the machine back to the shop (about 45 minutes away) to be fixed before we leave for Texas and be ready for January, my prime sewing month.
I sound a bit obsessed, don’t I.
It’s true. I am.
But don’t worry, I have a Plan B. And a checkbook.
is there any more pie? 