Game Time

I desperately needed to get out of the house.  A little peace and quiet was all I really wanted.

I told my husband I was going to Big Lots.  He just happened to need something from a nearby store.  I hated making another stop, but I figured it was only fair since I was spending his money.  And leaving the kids with him.  And what he needed was a part from the hardware store to fix a faucet.  Even I'm not selfish enough to say no under those circumstances.

When I went to say goodbye (after all, I wasn't sure I was even coming back), the 13-year-old was in his home office badgering him about taking her school shopping.  The kids don't even bother asking me anymore.  I would rather walk across fire with a knife in my back than take the kids to a store with me, and they know it.

Still feeling a little guilty that I was leaving him alone with the kids and a plumbing problem, I thought maybe I would take her off his hands and possibly even stop at Staples to buy the binder she had to have right now.

I knew before I walked into the first store that I had made a colossal mistake, considering the weak grip I had on the remaining scraps of my sanity.  She was bouncing around like a kid in a candy store.  It was Tractor Supply, for crying out loud.  This was going to be a rough night.

Big Lots wasn't any better.  I bought the couple of things I needed and decided there couldn't be anything in the store exciting enough to risk having a breakdown then and there.  There are enough stores I'm too ashamed to step foot in again.  I really like Big Lots.

Staples was where it all fell apart.  While she was trying to choose the binder she wanted (inevitably the most expensive one), I went to find a few things I wanted that were on sale.  She kept tracking me down.  "Nana, you keep getting away from me!"  Yes, dear, I keep trying.  As I tried to steer her back to the binders, she kept finding things she wanted.  Things we probably already have at home.  Things we don't need. But she kept at it.  Finally, tired of being the only grandma in the store yelling at her grandchild, I relented and agreed to one of the items she so desperately needed.  Rookie mistake.  And I'm no rookie.  The game was on.

"Nana!  Please get me this pack of erasers!  The colors are so pretty!  I promise I'll share with my sister!"  (She won't.)

"Oh, Nana, look! I really need this!"  (She didn't.)

"Can I get this, please?  It will really come in handy!"  (It wouldn't.)

I came home physically and emotionally exhausted... and financially broke.  And swearing I'll never take the kids shopping again.

From Cricut Tool Kit Case to Kindle Cover

(Try saying that fast three times.)

My granddaughter informed me just minutes before her 9th birthday that she wanted a case for her Kindle.  I was actually pretty excited because I was way ahead of her.  Well, ahead in the sense that I knew she needed something to protect the Kindle that I kept finding in the most unsafe places around the house.  I had been looking online, first to see how much the cases cost, and later, to see how in the heck I could make one to avoid paying the exorbitant amount they were charging for these things.

On Youtube, I found some covers people had made from old books, with the book reader nestled into hollowed-out pages.  Nah, not really what I wanted.  I started closely examining the ready-made covers.  I think I could make that.  But wouldn't it be so much easier if I could skip a step!  A few of those cases reminded me of something I'd seen before...

Yes, that was it!  I had been holding on to this case from my Cricut tool kit, "collector" that I am.  How could I throw away a perfectly useful thing like this, even if I had no use for it at the time?  Who's laughing now?  I located the Kindle and crossed my fingers that it would fit inside.  Just like Cinderella and the glass slipper, it was the perfect fit!  For once, my refusal to throw anything away paid off.

Now to figure out the details.  Would it be difficult to remove the foam inserts?

Well, yes and no.  The first piece came out perfectly, leaving a nice foam pad on which to rest the Kindle.  Could it really be this easy?

Of course not.  The second side started ripping as soon as I tried to pry the shaped foam tool holder from the backing.  Oh well, I'm still a step ahead of starting from scratch. 

I then measured the inside to see what size to cut the fabric to make padding for the "naked" side (even though my measurements are shown on the padded side--they're the same size and it photographed better).

Inside Measurements

I cut my fabric the width of the case plus a little extra for seams.

fabric width

I cut my fabric length roughly three times the length of the case to allow for seams and a small pocket.

fabric length

I folded it in half lengthwise, stitched across the width leaving a couple of inches open in the middle for turning right-side-out later. (Sorry, I forgot to photograph this step.)  I then adjusted the fabric so that the seam was about halfway down the fabric length, then stitched both side seams closed (this would allow the seam to be hidden on the backside).  I turned the piece right-side-out through the opening in the seam and pressed smooth.  I didn't bother stitching the opening shut since the case isn't washable and the seam is hidden.

I flipped the piece over so the seam was on the back.  I then folded the bottom up to make a pocket, leaving the finished piece the same length as my earlier measurements.  I pressed the pocket in place.

measuring for final size

I cut a length of ribbon to trim the pocket edge.

I then opened the piece to sew the ribbon in place (shown from the back side).

I then folded the pocket back into place (note the ruler showing the lengthwise measurement of the case).

I turned the ribbon ends under the fabric piece and stitched along both sides to hold the pocket in place.  I used a combination of fabric glue and hot glue to hold the fabric piece to the inside front of the cover.

I then cut two pieces of ribbon to make the lower corners that hold the Kindle in place.  These were cut long enough to double (for added strength) and with enough extra length to hand stitch to the sides and bottom of each lower corner.  Just an FYI:  this step wasn't easy.

I then cut a length of ribbon long enough to go across the top from side to side with a little extra to turn under.  I added a short piece of elastic on each end to allow enough flexibility to slip the Kindle underneath.  (This was originally going to be two corner pieces, but after the trouble I had with the first two, I didn't want to attempt that again.  She's only nine years old; maybe she won't be too critical of my shortcuts.)

Top piece, ready to be sewn in place.  I tried to position it so that it wouldn't interfere with reading.

See how nicely the Kindle fits inside?  How lucky can one woman get???

I used these two items to glue the inside padding/pocket piece.  You could use any fabric glue; this just happened to be what I had available at 1 a.m.

I then ironed some Heat 'n Bond to a piece of the same fabric I used for the inside.  I wanted to cut a flower to cover the Cricut logo on the front with something more appropriate for a young girl.  Don't hate on me all you Cricut lovers!--I still used my Cricut to cut the flower.

I used Design Studio to hide the inner cut lines from a flower shape I found on the Plantin Schoolbook cartridge.  After cutting it on my Cricut (my first attempt at cutting fabric and it worked great!), I used my sewing machine to zigzag the edges.  (Not the neatest job in the world, but acceptable for a rush job at 1:30 a.m.  We'll call it "shabby chic".)

I didn't actually iron the flower to the front cover because I wasn't sure how heat-resistant the case was, but I glued it down with fabric glue.  I attached a jewel to a green button for the flower center (looks like an olive, and at this point I really could have used a martini, or something with a shot of booze).  I cut a piece of ribbon long enough to loop into a leaf-type shape, and glued it down where the pieces met in the middle.  I then cut a length of ribbon for the stem and glued it under the bottom of the flower and over the middle of the leaves down to the bottom of the case (not shown; sorry, but it was nearly 2 a.m. and just hours before the birthday party).

As a final touch, I attached a small piece of ribbon to the zipper pull. 

Here's the finished interior, ready to protect the Kindle from everything except a careless 9 year old.

And here's the finished front cover.  Sure, I could have made it even fancier, but if you know me at all, you know I don't get much fancier than this.  Besides, it's for a young girl who will either lose it or get tired of it soon.  This way, I won't get nearly as annoyed when I find it in the trash.

Thanks for looking!  Hope this inspires you to repurpose something from your hoard!

I've Fallen and Nobody's Here to Help Me Up!

Every day I see the same commercial while I'm trying to relax with a little Judge Judy or Judge Joe Brown, and it bothers me.   The ad I'm talking about is for one of those "I've fallen and can't get up" alert systems for people who live alone.

Now, I don't live alone (only in my dreams), but I can imagine the horror of being injured, or just too damned tired to get up, and needing assistance that isn't coming.  In my life (the real one), I live with my husband and two granddaughters.  I often wonder what would happen if I fell (oh wait, that already happened) and no one came to check on me (again, already happened).  I usually figure if I can just hang on until the next mealtime, somebody will come to see why the hell there isn't any food on the table.

So back to the commercial:  The lady states she lives alone and rarely has visitors.  Recently she fell and couldn't get to a phone to seek help.   She goes on to say that as she lay there for eight hours (eight hours!), she couldn't help thinking of her kids and grandkids having to go on without her. 

If I find myself on the floor alone for eight hours, I'm thinking things like: Where the hell is everybody???,  and Nobody gives a damn what happens to me!!!  I'm definitely not having delusional thoughts about how difficult life will be for my family, who are never around when I need them.

I'm a realist.  I live with the assurance that if I fall, drown or have a heart attack, everybody will go on just fine without me.  At least until dinnertime.

Welcome Little Star

I made this card to welcome my nephew's first child.   The baby on the moon is from the Cricut Baby Steps cartridge.  I punched the stars with a Martha Stewart Punch All Over the Page, Starry Sky  (looks like I need a little practice lining that one up, or maybe the problem was that it was 2 a.m.)  Although you can't really see it in the picture, I used a shimmery cardstock underneath the patterned paper to give the effect of twinkling stars.  (Again,  photographing at 2 a.m. doesn't produce professional quality pictures.) 

Excuses, excuses.

Date Night Never Looked Like This

I thought that when I reached this age I'd be feathering my empty nest.  I fantasized that after decades of raising children and being tied down by their schedules, my husband and I could finally enjoy our freedom.  We'd travel, stroll through antique shops, and have romantic dinners by candlelight.  Didn't happen.

Tonight is date night.  But not for me and my husband.  I'm sitting at home alone, enjoying a "glass" of wine, and watching a recorded episode of Hoarding: Buried Alive (it keeps me motivated).  My almost-thirteen year old granddaughter is at the movies with her latest boyfriend, and my husband is in an adjoining theater watching a movie with the nine year old girl.

While I appreciate the peace and quiet, this isn't what I envisioned when I was making plans for our future.  But for now, I'll take what I can get.  Cheers.

Bad Things Happen After Dark

At 3:30 a.m. I was jarred out of my very-brief slumber by a loud thump.  My first thought was that my 12-year-old granddaughter was up doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing at that hour (now why would I think this???)  Of course it could possibly be the eight-year-old trying to squeeze in a few extra hours of playtime (she's been studying at the foot of the master).  I stumbled down the hallway, tripping over one piece of crap after another, and started the bed check.  Eight-year-old appeared to be asleep; of course that was questionable.  But no dressers were overturned, so I backed out slowly.  Twelve-year-old's light was out, but I heard the TV...stepped inside to find her lying on her bed, eyes closed, but quite possibly faking.  I called out her name.  No answer.  But everything appeared to be in place so I left.  Of course my husband slept through it all. 

My next step was to see if we had burglars.  A rational woman might get her husband to go along for protection, but that doesn't fly in my house.  A few nights earlier I had experienced a similar situation; as I was walking down the dark hallway to investigate the noise, I tripped over an open suitcase from my granddaughter's trip to camp the previous week.  I tumbled across it, certain I was going down face-first and would probably break a few bones in the process (the last three I broke still haven't quite healed).  Yes, I used a few profane words.  In a loud voice.  Intended to wake the dead.  Did my "loving" spouse come to check on me?  Don't make me laugh.  So being the caring spouse I am, and thinking maybe he really was dead and I hadn't been loud enough to wake him, I went to check on him.  Like this:  HEY!!!  Didn't you hear me?  I nearly broke my neck on that damn suitcase!  He barely moved.  As he rolled over to go back to sleep, I took one departing shot.  Thanks for all your concern, Jacka$$!!!!!!!!   With that, I slammed the bedroom door just for the fun of it.

So I went to check for prowlers on my own.  I crept around the corner of the basement stairs, hoping desperately not to see the flicker of a flashlight.  Nothing.  Either no one was there or they were way better at stumbling around in the dark than I am.

 

 

In the morning my husband informed me that he couldn't "rouse" the 12-year-old for church.  This is getting tiresome.  Somewhere along the way she has developed this notion that she can refuse to open her eyes, pretend to be dead to the world, and the big bad boogey man will go away.  I assure you, she didn't get this idea from me.  When it's time to get out of bed (especially if it's something that gets the kids out of the house), I don't tiptoe in the dark and I don't whisper gently in their ears.  Anyway, around lunchtime, sick of watching her spend her days in bed sleeping and her nights up doing God-knows-what while my husband sleeps soundly, I went to her room to "convince" her to get her butt out of bed. 

There was no bed.

Now I know without a doubt there was a bed at 3:30 this morning.  I saw it.  I'm not crazy.  Working on it, but not there yet.

"Get up!"  I said (rather calmly I thought, under the circumstances).  "What happened to your bed???"

I think I had to repeat myself a few times, but I don't quite remember, being in shock and all.  Finally, she mumbled something about "It's a long story.  Ask Grandpa."  Silly me, thinking he had grown a pair, I had the fleeting idea that he had taken the bed away in an effort to teach her that sleeping all day won't be tolerated.  No such luck.  According to him, when he went to wake her up that morning the bed had already been dismantled.  Seems it wasn't comfortable enough for the princess.

Princess needs a new bed.

Well, at least I now have a good idea what woke me up.  The good news is that burglars don't seem to be my problem.  The bad news?  A 12-year-old up at 3:30 in the a.m. with nothing better to do than dismantle furniture.  It's going to be six long sleepless years until I'm no longer legally responsible for her actions.

Little Blessings Disguised as Big Trouble



If you've ever stumbled upon my blog before, you know I like to complain.  And there seems to be an endless variety of topics that inspire me.  Aging.  Raising my granddaughters.  Aging caused by raising my granddaughters.  But hopefully you've visited here often enough to know I love my granddaughters with all my heart... and then some.

Tonight I was looking through a few scrapbook pages I've been working on.  (Yes, I do occasionally craft.  I just try not to make a habit of it.)  My current project is from a family vacation to the Caribbean in 2009.  Maybe it was those soothing pictures of the clear turquoise water.  Or the memories of the warm sand beneath my feet.  Could it be the bottle of wine I just consumed?  (Just kidding--I'm stone-cold sober.  I only sound like I've been drinking.)  All I know is: I had an epiphany.

Yes, I complain about giving up the dreams I had for my golden years.  And I certainly don't have the energy required to clean up or chase after two kids for ten more years.  Just the thought of arranging another playdate or birthday party, attending another school open house or PTA meeting, or God forbid hosting another sleepover, sends my blood pressure to a level never-before recorded in the history of mankind.  But these girls bring true joy into my life.  Not the joy I was looking for at this age.  Joy I wasn't expecting.  And it feels good.

For now.  I might have a different story to tell after they wake up in the morning.

Never too Young for the School of Martha

The pressure starts early.

My youngest granddaughter thought she should make a bouquet for her teacher.  She wanted to pick some flowers from around our yard, which wasn't easy since the pickin's are rather slim right now.  (I think you are supposed to "tend" to your plants from time to time.  We don't.)

After we tiptoed through the tulips dog droppings and snake holes, we found a few decent blooms.  I dug out a small vase (from a cabinet, not from the snake-infested "flower beds") and told her to arrange the flowers in whatever way she thought looked best.  "I can't make this look good, Nana.  We could sure use Martha Stewart's help right now."   Where does she hear these things?

"I think adding some greenery might help", I said, looking at the sad, sparse little flowers bobbing around in the water.  I went outside to look for something, anything, that might work.  My granddaughter followed me.  She was fascinated that I had thought of adding simple leaves to our floral arrangement.  "Boy, you sure can learn a lot from Martha Stewart!" 

I see lots of floral arranging, pie baking and bed sheet ironing in her future.  How did I let this happen?

Even this sad little bouquet looks nice when presented with such a happy face!

Serendipity

I haven't smiled much lately.  It's not that my life is so bad, it just hasn't turned out to be what I had worked toward.  Sometimes I forget that God has a much better plan than mine.


My youngest daughter called her dad early last week to let him know that she and her husband would be coming to visit.   They live several hundred miles away and we don't see them nearly often enough.  I hadn't even spoken to my daughter in a few weeks, which is unusual. I was starting to take it personally, but I also knew she was going through a lot.  She works long hours as a nurse in a hospital, and lately she has taken on extra shifts.  They were trying to prepare their home for sale, not knowing where they would move but knowing it was time for a change.  Then recently she was devastated to learn that she and her husband would have a very difficult time conceiving a child.  Being a mother has been her dream for several years now.  My heart ached for her.  She was learning to cope as best she could.  But then she decided to make the most of this road block and completely change the course of her life.  Rather than starting a family, she was now focused on turning her life into an adventure.  While I was sad for her and her husband that babies most likely weren't in their near-future, I was relieved that she was ready to move forward with other possibilities.


The day they were to arrive, I was out running errands when my daughter called me from my house.  I cut short my "errands" (code word for time- and money-wasting shopping excursions) and rushed home. 


When I walked through the door we exchanged hugs and talked about ordering pizza for lunch.  As I was putting away groceries (sometimes "errands" really do include errands), she stated that she had some news.  Trying to put on a supportive face, I braced myself to hear that she had been accepted into the Army.  Being the wife of a National Guardsman, she had decided that if she couldn't become a mother, she would challenge herself much the same as my son-in-law had a few years earlier.  She was actually looking forward to bootcamp.  We're alike in many ways, just not this one.


As she made her announcement, it became clear why she hadn't called lately.  This was news she wanted to give in person, and she was afraid if she spoke to me on the phone she wouldn't be able to contain her excitement.

That's right--they were having a baby!  I'm not sure what happened next.  I think I asked if this was happy news in light of the new plans they had made.  I think they responded that yes, this was good news.  All I know for sure is that I smiled a big goofy grin that probably lasted longer than was comfortable for anyone watching.  But I was happy.  Extremely happy.


When I first learned of the fertility problems my daughter and son-in-law were having, I prayed for a miracle.  I prayed more faithfully than I have in a long time in spite of the fact that I was pretty sure God was sick of hearing me whine about one thing after another.  This was different.  I had to be tenacious for my daughter and her husband.  And just a few short months later, I find my prayers were answered.   Oops, I forgot to withdraw the request when plans changed.  I hope my daughter will forgive me.  Judging from the smile on her face, I'm pretty sure she will.


Sometime in January, I plan to welcome my third grandchild into this crazy experience we call "life".  It isn't always what we want, but if we can find a way to gratefully accept everything God places in front of us, somewhere between all the heartbreak and disappointment we will find an abundance of His blessings.

Wasted My Life Again in Martharitaville

(Apologies to Jimmy Buffett for butchering his song title.)


I'm not reMarthable.  If you don't get the reference, you aren't watching enough Martha Stewart.  Unfortunately, I watch her shows way too much.  It isn't healthy.  Not for me, anyway.  As I previously posted, it's just too much pressure.

For those who can live up to that standard, I say more power to you.  I think the difference is in how we tackle life.  People who are reMarthable most likely embrace life.  Me?   It's more like I'm clinging to the last scrap of hope.  And that's one scrap that's hard to turn into something beautiful.

I enjoy cooking.  Sort-of.  The wonderful, delicious-sounding meals I see prepared on Martha's shows would never fly in my home.  I had expected that by this point in my life I would be cooking for just me and my husband, and I was sure I could turn him around to a more gourmet lifestyle if only because he would starve to death otherwise.  But I'm still cooking for three picky people.  Some evenings I'm tempted to set out a variety of jarred baby food and let them go at it.

What can I say about crafting?  Martha makes it look so easy.  But when I go into my cramped, unorganized crafting space (the one I share with our exercise equipment, a large tv, giant desk and various kitchen appliances), for some reason nobody has bothered to lay out all my needed supplies in an orderly fashion.  The same thing with home improvement/repairs.  Recently I watched Martha learning to re-grout bathroom tile.  Not only don't I have an expert there to guide me through the process, but I can be assured that when I personally go to assemble all the necessary tools (because I'm self-reliant that way), something will either be missing or the battery will be dead. 

And don't get me started on how great Martha looks.  I'm pretty sure she's at least 15 years older than me.  I doubt anyone would guess that.   Shouldn't she have wrinkles?  At least on her face if not in her clothes. And speaking of clothes, how can she cook and not splatter grease on hers???  I wear a giant apron and I still come away from my stove covered with stains.  But if things don't change around here soon, in the very near future those stains will come from opening jars of pureed carrots.

Judgment Day

Someone has once again declared that judgment day is upon us.  For me, every day is judgment day. 

Recently my 12-year-old granddaughter told me I needed to get a job.  To her credit (most likely  because she didn't want to set me off), she wisely added that she understands I already have a job--caring for her and her younger sister and all the work that goes into that.  But she thinks I need to work outside the home.  Why?  Has the economic downturn taken such a toll on our family that she fears our downfall?  Does she just wish we had more disposable income so we'll finally buy her that much-coveted Ipod Touch?  No.  She simply wants a more sophisticated answer when her friends ask what her parents do.  I suggested she tell them I'm retired from the health insurance industry.  Nope, that wasn't good enough.  "Well," I said, "at my age and because I haven't worked in thirteen years, the best job I could get would most likely be at a fast-food restaurant.  Is that what you want to tell your friends?"  (Not that there's anything wrong with an honest day's work at any job; I just figured she was looking for something impressive to report to her peeps.)  She had a blank look on her face in response to this, suggesting maybe this would be better than admitting your grandmother "doesn't do anything".  Okay, this would require some finesse.  I have no desire to re-enter the workforce except under the most dire circumstances, but I refuse to give my grandchild another reason to resent me.  So I stated my case: "Honey, do you really want me to be more stressed that I already am?  Can you imagine how much yelling I'll do if I work all day then have to come home to cook, clean and do laundry?"   It took only one brief second for her to reply, "You're right, you don't need a job."

Case closed.  All charges were dropped.

Embarrassed by her Grandmother, again...

Unplanned, But Never a Mistake

Big Attitude in a Small Package

Today I celebrate the 33rd birthday of my firstborn child.  There is really no way to describe a mother's love.  I certainly couldn't understand it until I experienced myself.

I was only 18 when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant.  I was single, barely out of high school, naive and scared to death.  But I already loved the child growing inside me.  Back in the '70s, being unmarried and pregnant was a much bigger scandal than it is now.  But no amount of personal shame would have prevented me from giving birth to this precious gift.

For many years it was just the two of us.  Then I met the man who would become her father.  He loved her immediately, which was fortunate for him because we were a package deal.  Shortly after we were married, he adopted her.  And from that day forward he has never thought of her as anything but his own daughter. 

Over the years we've been through just about anything you can imagine.  We've experienced happiness, sorrow and unbearable pain.  But through it all I've loved my daughter with all my heart.  And I'm proud of the strong young woman she has become.

Some of the best things in life aren't planned.  They come along unexpectedly and give you joy you never thought possible. 

He Did It For Me...and For You

Romans 5:8 - But God demonstrates His own love for us in this:  While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

I love Christmas.  Family gatherings, good food, watching children's faces light up as they open gifts, it's truly a special time.  And in the midst of it all, I enjoy attending the Christmas Eve service at church.  After all the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, it's wonderful to relax and remember the reason for our celebration:  the birth of Jesus Christ.

But the holiday that touches my heart more than any other is Easter.  To know that Jesus offered Himself as a sacrifice to atone for my sins is more humbling than I can express.  I've struggled with this my entire life.  What makes me so special?  And how do I live with the guilt?  But God doesn't command us to comprehend this; He only requires us to believe and accept this precious gift. 

I find it hard to speak to others about my relationship with my Savior.  It has nothing to do with being ashamed of Him.  It has everything to do with being ashamed of me.  After all, I'm not the best representative for someone so holy.  I have failed Him in so many ways.  But He gave me the gift of everlasting life.  And all I had to do was reach out and take it.  The least I can do is let others know that the gift can be theirs, too. 

May God bless you this Easter Sunday and every day.

Gold and Diamonds and Memories, Oh My!

Someone recently asked the following question:  If you had the opportunity to trade your original wedding ring(s) for something with a larger stone, more modern, or just more to your liking, would you do so? (This was assuming you still had the spouse that came with it.)  I was faced with this dilemma a few years ago.  So here's my story...

I had been married at least twenty years.  I can't remember where I was or why I noticed, but much to my horror I discovered the diamond was missing from my engagement ring.  I immediately tried to retrace my steps (just for the day, not the entire twenty years), but the stone was nowhere to be found.  For days I searched my house, my car, my pants pockets; everywhere I went, I searched.  Eventually, my obsession with finding the diamond died down and I gave up.

Fast forward (months? years?  I don't remember how long):  I was cleaning my laundry room and pulled out the washer and dryer to clean the floors.  (Trust me, this isn't a regular habit of mine...I'm pretty sure it was the only time I've ever done that.)  For some reason...instinct or divine intervention...I decided that rather than simply sweeping up the piles of debris, I would actually search through the dust bunnies (and quite possibly actual bunny carcasses) to search for lost treasures.  And there amidst the filth was a shiny object smaller than a pencil eraser.  A really tiny pencil eraser.  Could it be?  I was giddy with excitement!  I showed my husband, but he wasn't convinced it was my diamond.  Maybe he was under the misconception that he had bought me a bigger stone.  But I pulled out my engagement ring setting, placed the mini jewel on top of the broken prongs, and bingo!  It was a match.  I set the pieces aside, unsure if I really wanted to spend the cash to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.  After all, if my husband thought my original diamond was bigger than the stone I had found, didn't I owe it to him to repair my ring with a better representation of his love for me?

Time went by (again...months? years?  I have no idea), and it was Christmas.  My granddaughter had been hinting at a surprise that her grandfather had for me.  And yes, you guessed it.  Presented to me all shiny and pretty again was my engagement ring!  But the diamond in it now, if you believe it could even be possible, was smaller than before.   When my husband had taken it to the jeweler to have the stone reset, he learned that what he had in his possession wasn't a real diamond.  The jeweler  claimed it couldn't  be the original stone because it was too large for my setting, but I think that was only because the prongs had broken off.  No matter, I had my ring back. 

Now the question remains:  Was the stone I found beneath my dryer the one that had been in my ring?  If so, my husband was ripped off by the jewelry store where it was purchased.  If not, what was it and where was it from?  Life is full of mystery.  Or something.

Now that we've taken the scenic route, let's get back to the point of the story.  Why didn't I replace my engagement diamond with a larger one?  I'm sentimental.  I also have a difficult time parting with clothing and toys my children have outgrown.  I can't part with clothes I've outgrown, either.  Something to do with remembering a time when I was younger and thinner (I also heard someone say this on a show about hoarding--we'll save that topic for another day).  And there has never been a photo so bad that I could bear to throw it away.  I like to have something tangible to go along with my memories.

My engagement and wedding rings are a reminder of all the years my husband and I have spent together.  Good times and bad.  They are reminders of where we started and the journey we've taken since.  They were chosen 28 years ago by my then-boyfriend, who totally surprised me when he got down on one knee and proposed.  I remember the moment when marriage was no longer just an abstract idea, and I had to decide if I was ready to commit to spending the rest of my life with this one man.  Those rings have been with me during childbirth, tragedies, heartbreak, joy, sadness, loneliness, and everything else life has given us.  My rings have experienced more air travel than I have due to the countless times I've thrown them across one room or another in a fit of anger.  They remind me most of all that God sent me one special man... not a perfect one, but one handpicked just for me.  Sometimes I need a visual reminder of that.  And sometimes I just need something to throw.

Blindsided

My intention wasn't really to make "pun" of anything, but the title just happened to be the first word I thought of when I decided to write about this.

I received some upsetting news at my routine eye exam Tuesday.  I've long known my vision was deteriorating, but I assumed it was another toll my advancing age was taking on me.  For almost their entire lives, any time my grandkids thrust some tiny object in front of my face I've reminded them that I'm "blind" and can't begin to see it without my glasses.  But when I learned there is a problem with one of my retinas, the fear of losing my sight, even if only in one eye, became very real to me.

There are so many things I want to do in life.  With the exception of sleeping, all the others are best done with good (or at least adequate) vision.  How can I beat my husband at tennis if I can't see the ball?  I missed the entire ski season this year because of my recovering ankle; will my family ski without me from now on?  And I already have trouble crafting due to my weak vision.  (Well, that and a lack of talent and creativity--even perfect eyesight can't solve that problem.) 

I haven't yet been told the potential outcome of my condition, and frankly I was too afraid to ask.  What little I can find about it online doesn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy.  At the moment all I've been told is that it could resolve on its own, or I might need to see a retinal specialist.  For what I'm not sure, but in my anxiety-driven mind I can imagine all kinds of unpleasant scenarios.  I'm trying not to worry, but that really isn't in my genetic makeup. So I'll sit back and relax until my follow-up visit in two months.  Yeah...sure.

Over Before It Started

For me, summer has ended before it even began.  My granddaughter had taken the dogs outside to poop on my pool deck when she noticed something crawling around in the mulch.  From inside I could hear her screaming, but about what I couldn't tell.  As I ran to the door, naively ready to rush outside to her rescue, I saw my husband standing over something with a deadly weapon.  Unaware of the danger I would be facing, I opened the door to see what had happened.  "It's a snake", he said, "but not a dangerous kind."  They're all dangerous!  Just the sight of one could kill me! 

"Should I let it go?"  he asked.  Does this man,  my spouse of 28 years, know me at all?  "Off with his head!" I shouted from my throne (the highest chair I could find).  And just like that, he chopped the creature in half.  My hero!

So it's back indoors for me.  See you again after the first snowfall.

The aftermath. 
(You didn't think I'd have a picture of the actual creature, did you?  I don't do snake photography.)



The weapon so deftly wielded by my husband



Eat Your Heart Out...

...because you aren't getting my cake.

Sure, I don't need it.  But I'm counting on it to chase away these blues.  Until I step on the scales tomorrow.

Another Year and He's Still Here

He's managed to stick it out another year.  My poor husband has put up with me for 28 years now.  I don't make it easy.  And the past few years have been especially difficult.  More accurately, I've been especially difficult over the past few years.  I wasn't much better before.  I guess he took those vows seriously.  God bless him, he really is the best earthly thing that ever happened to me.

For all he's had to endure, I made him this card.  Not the best deal he ever made.

Now I realize just how appropriate the sentiment is

Added "dimension" on the inside

I pulled out my Cricut Sweethearts cartridge, certain I could find an image on there for the occasion.   Being creatively challenged (to put it mildly), I still couldn't come up with an idea.  Well, at least not one I could see myself completing before our anniversary was over (yes, I waited until the last minute).  I had something else in mind when I chose the tree, but it required a lot more work than I had time for so I had to tweak my "design" (yeah, that's what we'll call it).  I did manage to find time to emboss the leaf and wood patterns on the tree in a desperate attempt to jazz it up ever-so-slightly.  And as usual, no matter how many times I practiced stamping the sentiment before actually stamping inside the card, I still managed to mess it up.  So the inside got a few layers--we'll say I added that for "dimension". 

God, in His infinite wisdom, sent the perfect man for me to spend my life with.  I can't imagine it any other way.

Just One More Visit

My mother would have turned 73 today, but she left this earth four years ago.  I wasn't ready.  But then I guess no one is ever ready to lose someone they love.

I always knew I should visit her more.  She couldn't visit me because she spent the last years of her life caring for my sister around the clock.  She would have it no other way.  First and foremost, she was a mother. 

Some nights when I'm trying to fall asleep I'll say a little prayer.  "Dear God, please send Mama down for one more visit.  There's so much I meant to say."  So far He hasn't answered me.  At least not in the way I want. 

Her life was no picnic but she was always patient and loving.  She had six children and we all felt loved.  I've always had a difficult time showing my two children how much I love them.  And patience isn't even in my vocabulary.  I wish I could ask Mama how she did it all.  I wish she could just tell me, one more time, that I was a good mother.   Most days I hear about everything I've done wrong (often it's just the voices in my head), but Mama was always on my side.  I need that now.  More than ever. 

But more than anything, I want to be her friend.  I want to tell her what a wonderful person she is.  I wish I could let her know what an inspiration she always was and continues to be.  I want to say, "I love you."

When I pray tonight, rather than asking God to send Mama back to visit me, I'll try to be selfless like she always was.  I'll just ask Him to tell her how much she is loved and that her children miss her like crazy. 

Happy birthday, Mama.

Mastering Mediocrity



I started scrapbooking for the fun of it.  Nothing more than a way to preserve memories and have fun doing it (okay, and to avoid housework).  Then I started visiting online communities where people were masters at papercrafting.  After a while I started to measure my simple creations against their works of art, and it sucked the joy right out of me.



A representation of my cardmaking skills
 (I'm even less accomplished at photography)

Then reality struck like lightning.  Sure, I enjoy scrapbooking and cardmaking.  I also enjoy jewelry making and sewing.  And I love to cook.  Well, maybe I just love to eat, and cooking gets me there.  But the point is There are lots of things I enjoy.  I can't be an expert at all of them.

The one piece of jewelry I actually completed

Completed but never worn

Is it really necessary for me to create papercrafting masterpieces that make others drool with envy?  Does every piece of jewelry I make have to sparkle with beauty and creativity?  Must every culinary endeavor result in a dish that would impress even Martha Stewart?  I've always been an underachiever anyway, so maybe I should just dip my toes into all the fun things life has to offer and learn to bask in the glow of mediocrity.



Who, Me???

I was totally shocked to discover that not only did someone read my blog, but actually gave me an award!

I am so grateful to be recognized by Lisa at http://cricutcrazylisa.blogspot.com/! 

 I was given some rules to follow in accepting this award, and since I've never been much of a rule-breaking rebel, this isn't a problem. Well, not today anyway.  I'm feeling good.  So without further ado, here we go:

Rule #1:  Link back to the person who gave you the award (see above).

Rule #2:  Share seven random things about yourself.  Here goes nothing:

1. I enjoy crafting, but in moderation (hence the shortage of actual projects on my blog).
2. I dream of living on the beach in the Caribbean.  A lot.
3. I love to cook, but no one in my house "appreciates" my style of cooking.
4. I hate housework.  Although if I was cleaning a beach house in the Caribbean, maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
5. I hate getting old.  But I'm not ready to die, so I'm learning to deal with it.
6. I often question my sanity, but as long as no one else does I guess I'm okay.
7. And finally, I'm painfully shy.  Totally nuts and painfully shy.  What a combo!

Rule #3:  Award seven recently discovered bloggers with this award:

1. http://julesscrappyspot.blogspot.com/
2. http://scrappin-times.blogspot.com/
3. http://paulacsworld.blogspot.com/
4. http://apinkrose-andreaa.blogspot.com/
5. http://girlcanscrap.blogspot.com/
6. http://queenbee3200.blogspot.com/
7. http://kassicreations.blogspot.com/

 Rule #4:  Contact these bloggers and tell them they've won the award.

So not only did Lisa help me get my day off to a "winning" start, but I get to do something nice for someone else.  Thanks again, Lisa!

Making a List and Checking it Twice

No, I'm not Santa. Sure, my hair is turning white and I am getting a little thick in the middle.  Not to mention I've noticed some new growth on my chin...the beginning of a beard perhaps?  But no, this list has nothing to do with good little boys and girls.  It's all about shopping.

I saw an ad this morning for a department store.  On Tuesdays they offer a senior citizen discount for customers 55 and older.  In case you missed my previous post on the subject, I was given the senior discount recently.  It still hurts.  So starting today, I'm keeping a list of every store that mentions a senior discount and the day that discount is available.  And on those days I'll shop somewhere else.

Ski-free Vacation



Watching the cold, cold world from inside my cozy condo



As I whined wrote about previously, my husband planned a ski trip while I was still trying to regain full use of my surgically-repaired ankle. He almost convinced me that a ski boot would magically protect me from all things unholy, but my common sense eventually prevailed.  I told him I would be willing to make the trip, but I was staying inside where my chances of living to see another birthday were much greater. And if it was going to be a vacation for everyone, the kids would not be staying indoors with me.

Our room overlooked my favorite ski run.  (Did I just say that?  I have a favorite?  Well, let's just say it's the greenest of the green and therefore the least likely to end my life.)   I could actually look out my window and take photos of my family as they began each day of frozen fun.  It usually required me to stand by the window for what seemed like FOREVER (how long can it possibly take to ride an elevator down two floors and strap on a pair of skis?), but eventually I got a picture of their backsides as they hit the trails.  More importantly, I stayed warm.



My crew headed out for some icy fun with no old lady to slow them down.

 

As I watched countless people glide past my window, I tried to muster some feeling of regret that I couldn't be out there, too, but all I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief.  Forget that I find skiing to be a constant battle of man vs. nature (and a tad unnatural if you ask me), but it was freaking cold outside.  The first day there the temperature was around 4 degrees farenheit, and with the near-blizzard conditions, the wind chill made it well below zero.  Not my kind of weather.  Not my kind of fun.

In the end, it actually worked out for everyone.  Seems I'd been holding them back. Without me to spoil their fun, my husband and oldest granddaughter got to try a few black diamond trails.  My youngest granddaughter skied down a few blue hills, quite well from what I hear.  And I got to stay indoors where it was toasty warm.  Yes, it was a vacation from skiing and I couldn't have been happier.