Sunday Scribblings — Late


Yes, this is going to be another somewhat sappy post.

Have your ever heard “Waiting on a Woman” by Brad Paisley? It is the absolute truth for many women, but not this one. I am painfully punctual and hyperventilate any time we are running even the smallest bit late.

Sweet Baboo is never concerned by time. He takes his time showering, shaving, getting dressed. (Meanwhile, I am ready and waiting with my coat on, sweating.) He combs his hair and proceeds to “become attired”. (Saying that he is getting dressed just doesn’t cover it.) He asks me 2 or 3 times, does this look OK? Would the other shirt be better? What about these shoes? (Still sweating. Trying to be adult and not pout.) Combs hair again. Brushes teeth. Finds wallet and keys. Combs hair yet again. (I have to say tho, he really does have great hair for a guy his age.) Makes a cup of coffee. Checks time. (Not that we’re on time, of course. I think he just checks to make sure that it’s still the same day. Or maybe just to dig at me and my little time compulsion.) Okay — turn down the heat, put on coat, check that wallet and comb is in back pocket, comb hair, pick up coffee cup and finally, FINALLY out the door.

I am totally not kidding.

But there is just no way to be even slightly miffed about this.


Yesterday, while I was at work and he was home “puttering”, he was quietly preparing a surprise for me. A surprise that I wasn’t aware of until bedtime.

And get your mind out of the gutter!

He had taken the alarm clock apart, taken the plastic face off and colored the area where the light shines through showing the numbers with a red magic marker. Then replaced the lens of the clock, reset the time and alarm, and plugged it back in.

You see, I had complained the day before that the green light from the numbers lit up the whole bedroom when I was trying to sleep and I should probably look into buying a clock with red numbers.

my heart (Sigh)

Honey, you can make us as late as you like.

Told you it was sappy.  And also true.

Click the link. Enjoy the video.

Waitin’ on a Woman


Sunday Scribblings — Tradition


During my doomed marriage, I tried to normalize holidays for Darling Daughter by introducing traditions.

One of the first was for both of us (DD and me) to go to a tree farm to pick out our Christmas tree. After all, who could resist the name “Troll Knoll Tree Farm”? Well, apparently DD could resist after the first year we tried it.

I tried to interest her in sewing and crafty items one year, thinking that it would be something we could do together every year. She tolerated my intentions for that one year but let me know that she wouldn’t be participating next year.

Ditto with baking and cooking for the Thanksgiving and Christmas day meals. Zero interest. Mega attitude.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that she was directing me on which traditions she wanted and which she didn’t.

I bought her a nutcracker soldier one year for the holidays. I saw another the next year and bought that one too. The following year, when we were taking the ornaments out, I was reminded that I needed to get her another nutcracker because now it was a tradition. Who knew?

Back when she was really little, I was very frustrated by the overpriced Easter baskets, toys, candy, etc. I bought a brown wicker basket, filled it with green fabric strips, tossed in a couple of books, some raisins, and Peeps (can’t forgo all of the sugar) and she was happy as a little clam. She still has the basket and the fabric strips and she fills it now for GrandDolly.

One year when she was a teenager, we took a ride through town and the outlying villages, just looking at the lights on Christmas Eve. The next year, I was reminded that we needed to do it again because it was tradition. And so we did.

The newest and funniest tradition that my  DD likes to talk about every year, is that there is at least one gift that I forget to give her.  It seems that within a month or so after the holidays, I find something stashed in a closet that I forgot to wrap. I feel

I guess the best traditions are the ones that you don’t know you are starting.

Please stand by — a bit of crowing is in order


Okay, I probably whine a bit too much about my hands, I admit it.  But when it becomes difficult for me to sew, something MUST be done.

So this is what I done. Meet my new friend Audrey. Audrey A-Line Baby Lock. My sewing friend Kim is going to be SOOOOO jealous.


So here’s the scoop. I finished the chenille and floral quilt for LJD’s daughter, but not without alot of hair pulling and turning the air blueing. My old machine (which was only two years old, but hey what the heck) was giving me fits with the needle thread constantly drawing back and out of the eye, and turning the handwheel is just not fun for me anymore. Inserting the bobbin into the case and then into the machine was also maddening — my fingers are just too stiff to do it easily. And then there is the needle threader, which in order to use, you need two hands, one foot, and a prayer. So I decided it was time to bite the bullet, pull out the charge card and get myself a needle up/needle down, drop in bobbin, built in needle threader does everything but make my coffee in the morning sewing machine.


“Ahhhhh,” she sighs contentedley, extremely pleased with herself.) “I am a very, very happy camper.”