By the looks of the butter stock in the fridge, it's either holiday baking season here at the ranch or someone is on a suicide mission.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Like Buttah
By the looks of the butter stock in the fridge, it's either holiday baking season here at the ranch or someone is on a suicide mission.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Six weeks of "Hey Now"
How have you all been since I saw you last? Super fine, I hope! I haven't blogged in six weeks. Holy moly. Thank you to those of you who left kind notes and sent emails trying to find out if I'd fallen into a hole. I'm still kickin' but so much has happened around here. We did finally put our gasping house search out of its misery and Fall has given way to dead-on Winter sooner than it's really supposed to. The nights are so cold at the ranch and now I'm wondering why I poo-pooed the houses with brand new energy efficient windows. Vintage-schmintage! Who should have to wear a coat in the house!?
I was in the hospital for a little while for a heart procedure and that was the worst. Uggh. I can't even let myself go over it in my mind because it sucked so badly. Here is a photo of me in the hospital:
Okay, not really but I'm sure I looked just like that. The only good things that came from the experience were:
1.) They did verify that I actually have a heart.
2.) It appears that they fixed what was glitchy in there and
3.) I died for a bit and went over to see Jesus. No, you silly...I really did!
Now, I don't know if everyone's Heaven is the same so don't hold me to this if you get over there and yours is different, but in my Heaven there were a lot of grassy green hills and beautiful Autumn trees and thousands of dogs running and playing as far as the eye could see. It strikes me now that along with Heaven being stunning, it is also an allergy sufferer's worst nightmare! My Heaven looked like a Claritin commercial.
Mr. Kitsch made this super cute photo collage of me arriving in Heaven.
I also go to experience firsthand the warm, soothing light that all near-deathers seem to talk about. I'll never forget the experience as long as I live. I remember being really upset when I got jerked back to the living world and had to leave. I had always hoped and guessed that pets get to go with us to the other side but you know, it was good to actually get to see a preview with my own eyes. Mr. Kitsch said that I also told him while I was coming out of the drugged state in recovery that I got to spend time with my kitties who had passed away throughout the years. I don't remember that part but it makes me pretty happy to know that I did. Someone remind me of these perks when those medical bills start rolling in!
While recovering, I've had to be on strict bed rest which I accomplish about like I would swimming the English Channel. I am ridiculously cranky and I'm really not sure how my nurse (Mr. Kitsch) has put up with me. I've watched more Lifetime holiday themed movies than I care to admit. Sometimes when I'm feeling really drained in the head, they comfort me. That's the only way that I can explain it. I can totally predict the plots in the first ten minutes but I always seem to stay on board anyway. I like how during the holidays, the network switches gears from their usual two formats (women who fall in love with men who turn bad and try to kill them - and - teenagers who do the sex) and offer lighter fare with pleasant holiday music and usually a female lead who has been hurt in the past but learns to love again at Christmas. Call me a romantic. Or a simpleton. It's up to you.
I also did several hours with "The Pioneer Woman" who irks me to no end. Mister Kitsch has been exposed to my exasperated groans and finally asked me why I watch her show if she disturbs me so much. The only way that I can explain it is that I like to yell at her from across the room as she grins and cooks in her boho smocks. I don't know if you've ever watched her show but yesterday, she said, "We like to call meringue 'calf slobber' here at the ranch." It's those kinds of moments that keep me hanging on. Those and the montages where they'll go from footage of her making a big pot of chili to that of her husband and kids wrestling cows to the ground to cut their balls off. You're leaning towards calling me a "romantic"now, aren't you? I thought so.
The Pioneer Woman is way more romantic than me though. Yesterday, she made a fancy lunch so that they could have a light repast while watching themselves burn down their own barn.
Oh! I have to tell you this because I'll forget and never do it. Before I went into the hospital, I was at the grocery store one morning. I usually try to go super early before it gets packed but that day, I had forgotten that it was Senior Citizen Day. The store was completely jammed. Now, I am a nut for senior citizens so I was pretty okay with it, even though on that morning I had already been there two hours and still wasn't done. Senior citizens like to block aisles and think about the products that they purchase. So it goes. We'll all get old one day. Anyway, I was standing there with my cart and there was a little lady in front of me with hers. She was taking her own sweet time and as I do, I pretended to stare at something on the shelf in front of me so that she wouldn't know that I wanted to pass. I don't like to rush the seniors. So, she turns and looks at me and I smiled nicely. She then screeched, "WHY DON'T YOU JUST RUN ALL OVER ME!?!?" and I said, "Oh, don't worry. I won't." I was puzzled at her volume but figured that she might be hard of hearing. She then screamed even louder, "YOU JUST DID! YOU RAN OVER MY HEELS TWICE ALREADY! GET AWAY FROM ME!!"
So, okay. I was literally parked a few feet behind her and had gone nowhere near close enough to hit her and besides, the way that the carts are made, it's virtually impossible to run over someone's heels unless they've fallen on the floor and rolled prone under the cart's wheels. I was stumped and mortified. All around me, other senior citizens had stopped to gape at me and were giving me that look that says, "You young people today are trash!"
Oh my God, y'all...it was AWFUL. And I was trapped there because she was in front of me, screaming bloody murder and behind me, a logjam had occurred because everyone wanted to see the monster who was running down Granny Apple Pucker. So, I had to just stand there, feeling their accusatory eyes upon me until she was done with her product picking so that I could escape the aisle and my public shaming. Then once I did, I later passed her in the fancy cheeses aisle and would you know, she tried to start up with me again?! It took everything that I had not to yell out what I was thinking. Okay, or to sucker punch her.
I think that was my worst grocery store experience ever to date. I called Mr. Kitsch from the parking lot and told him that I was never grocery shopping again. I think I also went into some profanity laced spiel about how nobody has respect for anyone in this world anymore. I felt like my world had flipped upside down. I try to have old timey approaches to things and am guilty of sometimes saying, "Once senior citizens die, nobody will have respect for anyone anymore" and this little lady had just done me in. If you can't trust the little old ladies of the world, who can you trust? I sat there for a while, eating brown and serve rolls raw from their package and waiting for the heat to leave my face.
Also, I found a bunch of abandoned kittens in a park. See!
Some a-hole left them in the freezing cold in a milk crate. I mean...really. And no, I didn't get to keep one. Saaaaad! I always forget how kittens make that amazing rumble jumble purr when you hold them close. Oh, kittens.
Aaaaaaand, I think that catches us up to date! I'll catch y'all later on the flip side and heavens to Betsy, I hope to read up on some of your blogs as well when I can. I don't know what anyone is doing besides me and the Pioneer Woman and well, that ain't pretty.
Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha
I was in the hospital for a little while for a heart procedure and that was the worst. Uggh. I can't even let myself go over it in my mind because it sucked so badly. Here is a photo of me in the hospital:
1.) They did verify that I actually have a heart.
2.) It appears that they fixed what was glitchy in there and
3.) I died for a bit and went over to see Jesus. No, you silly...I really did!
Now, I don't know if everyone's Heaven is the same so don't hold me to this if you get over there and yours is different, but in my Heaven there were a lot of grassy green hills and beautiful Autumn trees and thousands of dogs running and playing as far as the eye could see. It strikes me now that along with Heaven being stunning, it is also an allergy sufferer's worst nightmare! My Heaven looked like a Claritin commercial.
Mr. Kitsch made this super cute photo collage of me arriving in Heaven.
Hee! Less Teletubbies and more puppies - just the way that I like it.
I also go to experience firsthand the warm, soothing light that all near-deathers seem to talk about. I'll never forget the experience as long as I live. I remember being really upset when I got jerked back to the living world and had to leave. I had always hoped and guessed that pets get to go with us to the other side but you know, it was good to actually get to see a preview with my own eyes. Mr. Kitsch said that I also told him while I was coming out of the drugged state in recovery that I got to spend time with my kitties who had passed away throughout the years. I don't remember that part but it makes me pretty happy to know that I did. Someone remind me of these perks when those medical bills start rolling in!
While recovering, I've had to be on strict bed rest which I accomplish about like I would swimming the English Channel. I am ridiculously cranky and I'm really not sure how my nurse (Mr. Kitsch) has put up with me. I've watched more Lifetime holiday themed movies than I care to admit. Sometimes when I'm feeling really drained in the head, they comfort me. That's the only way that I can explain it. I can totally predict the plots in the first ten minutes but I always seem to stay on board anyway. I like how during the holidays, the network switches gears from their usual two formats (women who fall in love with men who turn bad and try to kill them - and - teenagers who do the sex) and offer lighter fare with pleasant holiday music and usually a female lead who has been hurt in the past but learns to love again at Christmas. Call me a romantic. Or a simpleton. It's up to you.
I also did several hours with "The Pioneer Woman" who irks me to no end. Mister Kitsch has been exposed to my exasperated groans and finally asked me why I watch her show if she disturbs me so much. The only way that I can explain it is that I like to yell at her from across the room as she grins and cooks in her boho smocks. I don't know if you've ever watched her show but yesterday, she said, "We like to call meringue 'calf slobber' here at the ranch." It's those kinds of moments that keep me hanging on. Those and the montages where they'll go from footage of her making a big pot of chili to that of her husband and kids wrestling cows to the ground to cut their balls off. You're leaning towards calling me a "romantic"now, aren't you? I thought so.
The Pioneer Woman is way more romantic than me though. Yesterday, she made a fancy lunch so that they could have a light repast while watching themselves burn down their own barn.
Oh! I have to tell you this because I'll forget and never do it. Before I went into the hospital, I was at the grocery store one morning. I usually try to go super early before it gets packed but that day, I had forgotten that it was Senior Citizen Day. The store was completely jammed. Now, I am a nut for senior citizens so I was pretty okay with it, even though on that morning I had already been there two hours and still wasn't done. Senior citizens like to block aisles and think about the products that they purchase. So it goes. We'll all get old one day. Anyway, I was standing there with my cart and there was a little lady in front of me with hers. She was taking her own sweet time and as I do, I pretended to stare at something on the shelf in front of me so that she wouldn't know that I wanted to pass. I don't like to rush the seniors. So, she turns and looks at me and I smiled nicely. She then screeched, "WHY DON'T YOU JUST RUN ALL OVER ME!?!?" and I said, "Oh, don't worry. I won't." I was puzzled at her volume but figured that she might be hard of hearing. She then screamed even louder, "YOU JUST DID! YOU RAN OVER MY HEELS TWICE ALREADY! GET AWAY FROM ME!!"
So, okay. I was literally parked a few feet behind her and had gone nowhere near close enough to hit her and besides, the way that the carts are made, it's virtually impossible to run over someone's heels unless they've fallen on the floor and rolled prone under the cart's wheels. I was stumped and mortified. All around me, other senior citizens had stopped to gape at me and were giving me that look that says, "You young people today are trash!"
Oh my God, y'all...it was AWFUL. And I was trapped there because she was in front of me, screaming bloody murder and behind me, a logjam had occurred because everyone wanted to see the monster who was running down Granny Apple Pucker. So, I had to just stand there, feeling their accusatory eyes upon me until she was done with her product picking so that I could escape the aisle and my public shaming. Then once I did, I later passed her in the fancy cheeses aisle and would you know, she tried to start up with me again?! It took everything that I had not to yell out what I was thinking. Okay, or to sucker punch her.
I think that was my worst grocery store experience ever to date. I called Mr. Kitsch from the parking lot and told him that I was never grocery shopping again. I think I also went into some profanity laced spiel about how nobody has respect for anyone in this world anymore. I felt like my world had flipped upside down. I try to have old timey approaches to things and am guilty of sometimes saying, "Once senior citizens die, nobody will have respect for anyone anymore" and this little lady had just done me in. If you can't trust the little old ladies of the world, who can you trust? I sat there for a while, eating brown and serve rolls raw from their package and waiting for the heat to leave my face.
Also, I found a bunch of abandoned kittens in a park. See!
Some a-hole left them in the freezing cold in a milk crate. I mean...really. And no, I didn't get to keep one. Saaaaad! I always forget how kittens make that amazing rumble jumble purr when you hold them close. Oh, kittens.
Aaaaaaand, I think that catches us up to date! I'll catch y'all later on the flip side and heavens to Betsy, I hope to read up on some of your blogs as well when I can. I don't know what anyone is doing besides me and the Pioneer Woman and well, that ain't pretty.
Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha
Sunday, October 13, 2013
The Therapeutic Nuances of Granny Crafts and Baking
How have you all been? Great, I'm hoping! It seems like forever and a day since I've been able to sit down at Ranch Dressing. I've missed it. Life has been bazonkers and I've had one hell of a week. Yesterday, I woke up on top of my bed covers, in my street clothes after pulling a near-all-nighter (animal rescue...not doing beer bongs, I assure you) and soon found myself in the kitchen, eating straight out of the breadbox while saying out loud to nobody at all "I love ciabatta bread...desperately."
It's when you're romantically talking to a hunk of bread torn straight from the loaf while standing in yesterday's rumpled clothes and smeared makeup that a person realizes that it's time for a little "me time". I had seriously burned out....simply crashed and exploded. Thankfully, Mister Kitsch took me out for a little kindness that included tomato soup and a fat grilled cheese and then the great suggestion that we stop at a church rummage and bake sale. I'm usually up for anything that goes down near grannies but I was so tired that I resisted a little at first. It was soooo worth pushing through the exhaustion though. The yard sale wasn't much but as we were walking away, a woman said to us, "There are little ladies selling large pies downstairs."
The next thing I knew, we were in the basement of the church, completely flanked by senior citizens. A whole recreation hall full of them. Hello, Heaven. We bought a ginormous homemade apple pie and then stepped over to the craft table. At first, I thought that maybe the children of the church had made the items which would have made them precious enough - but then I learned that the senior lady manning the booth had made them herself. A woman after my own heart! She had pinecone turkeys with pipe cleaner gobblers and googly eyes as well as yo-yos made out of painted balloons filled with water. Bookmarks made out of felt and rick-rack and several other similar old-school crafts filled her table, each one more precious than the next - and each a buck apiece. Even puffy paint was represented. Who remembers puffy paint? Sigh. She had it in spades.
It took me a few minutes to choose but I decided upon a clucking chicken made out of a Solo cup with a felt beak and pom-pom rooster comb on top. The lady had affixed a string and a moist square of sponge onto the cup and she delighted us by making the cup cluck. I was all in. "Give me a hundred and fifty of them!" I wanted to shout. Instead, I left with one. He's now on display in the glass craft cabinet, beside the little googly eyed owl that my friend Rosy made for me from a toilet paper tube. They will be fast friends, no doubt and perhaps may find that they have relatives in common.
We bypassed the door prize registration booth as we reasoned that it was only a clever ruse to get our phone number and that deacons would call us every week to invite us to church. Not that it would be a bad thing, but having grown up Southern Baptist in a church where they guilt-called everyone like crazy on a Monday for missing a single Sunday, I don't want to go back there. I'm not handing out my phone number - even for the promise of winning a free hand-detailed car wash and wax. Even if that church is bringing Solo cup chickens and apple pie. Even if a large percentage of the ladies in the congregation smell nostalgically like lavender powder and Final Net hairspray.
As we were leaving the sale, Mister Kitsch noticed an old faux woodgrain answering machine on the edge of the yard sale section (so heavy that it took two hands to pick it up - "a bludgeoner" I'd call it) and once he saw that it had the cassette tapes still in it, he decided to buy it for two bucks just on the oft chance that there were still messages recorded on them. That's the kind of thing that we live for - snippets of anonymous folks' lives. We hit pay-dirt too. There were several messages on the machine.
The first was from a debt collection company (saaaaad) but the next several in a row were from a little old lady who sounded increasingly nervous that her calls were being left unanswered. I told Mr. Kitsch that we should plug the machine in and play it every time that we come home so that we'll feel like our grandmothers are still around, just clamoring to talk to us. I can remember getting messages like those back during the good ole answering machine days. Those were the pre-cellphone decades so callers didn't expect a person to answer instantaneously. I don't know if you all remember but back then, we left our phones at home when we left the house. I know! Crazy, right? I wish that I'd kept the old tapes with my grandparents' messages on them. Those would be soooo sweet to have.
I'll leave you with a video of Mr. Solo Cup Chicken. I know that you're probably totally riveted.
I hope that the rest of your weekend goes great! "The Walking Dead" starts back tonight! Eeeeee!
Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha
It's when you're romantically talking to a hunk of bread torn straight from the loaf while standing in yesterday's rumpled clothes and smeared makeup that a person realizes that it's time for a little "me time". I had seriously burned out....simply crashed and exploded. Thankfully, Mister Kitsch took me out for a little kindness that included tomato soup and a fat grilled cheese and then the great suggestion that we stop at a church rummage and bake sale. I'm usually up for anything that goes down near grannies but I was so tired that I resisted a little at first. It was soooo worth pushing through the exhaustion though. The yard sale wasn't much but as we were walking away, a woman said to us, "There are little ladies selling large pies downstairs."
The next thing I knew, we were in the basement of the church, completely flanked by senior citizens. A whole recreation hall full of them. Hello, Heaven. We bought a ginormous homemade apple pie and then stepped over to the craft table. At first, I thought that maybe the children of the church had made the items which would have made them precious enough - but then I learned that the senior lady manning the booth had made them herself. A woman after my own heart! She had pinecone turkeys with pipe cleaner gobblers and googly eyes as well as yo-yos made out of painted balloons filled with water. Bookmarks made out of felt and rick-rack and several other similar old-school crafts filled her table, each one more precious than the next - and each a buck apiece. Even puffy paint was represented. Who remembers puffy paint? Sigh. She had it in spades.
It took me a few minutes to choose but I decided upon a clucking chicken made out of a Solo cup with a felt beak and pom-pom rooster comb on top. The lady had affixed a string and a moist square of sponge onto the cup and she delighted us by making the cup cluck. I was all in. "Give me a hundred and fifty of them!" I wanted to shout. Instead, I left with one. He's now on display in the glass craft cabinet, beside the little googly eyed owl that my friend Rosy made for me from a toilet paper tube. They will be fast friends, no doubt and perhaps may find that they have relatives in common.
We bypassed the door prize registration booth as we reasoned that it was only a clever ruse to get our phone number and that deacons would call us every week to invite us to church. Not that it would be a bad thing, but having grown up Southern Baptist in a church where they guilt-called everyone like crazy on a Monday for missing a single Sunday, I don't want to go back there. I'm not handing out my phone number - even for the promise of winning a free hand-detailed car wash and wax. Even if that church is bringing Solo cup chickens and apple pie. Even if a large percentage of the ladies in the congregation smell nostalgically like lavender powder and Final Net hairspray.
As we were leaving the sale, Mister Kitsch noticed an old faux woodgrain answering machine on the edge of the yard sale section (so heavy that it took two hands to pick it up - "a bludgeoner" I'd call it) and once he saw that it had the cassette tapes still in it, he decided to buy it for two bucks just on the oft chance that there were still messages recorded on them. That's the kind of thing that we live for - snippets of anonymous folks' lives. We hit pay-dirt too. There were several messages on the machine.
The first was from a debt collection company (saaaaad) but the next several in a row were from a little old lady who sounded increasingly nervous that her calls were being left unanswered. I told Mr. Kitsch that we should plug the machine in and play it every time that we come home so that we'll feel like our grandmothers are still around, just clamoring to talk to us. I can remember getting messages like those back during the good ole answering machine days. Those were the pre-cellphone decades so callers didn't expect a person to answer instantaneously. I don't know if you all remember but back then, we left our phones at home when we left the house. I know! Crazy, right? I wish that I'd kept the old tapes with my grandparents' messages on them. Those would be soooo sweet to have.
I'll leave you with a video of Mr. Solo Cup Chicken. I know that you're probably totally riveted.
I hope that the rest of your weekend goes great! "The Walking Dead" starts back tonight! Eeeeee!
Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha
Friday, October 4, 2013
Deck's Glassware Got A Feature!
You may remember that I did a couple of posts a while back about our epic visit to Deck's Glassware in Chattanooga. Sometimes I still have fevered dreams about that place where I am sorting through stack after stack of dishes, searching for treasures.
Well, the local online newspaper Nooga.com decided to do a story on Deck's (yay!) and used my photos.
I'm so glad that Deck's and Chester are getting some attention. That gives me a smile a good mile wide. And gosh, I think I'd better get back there quick. That place is going to be swamped before long!
Click here to see the article. You can go here and here for my previous posts about Deck's.
Have a great weekend y'all!
Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha
Well, the local online newspaper Nooga.com decided to do a story on Deck's (yay!) and used my photos.
I'm so glad that Deck's and Chester are getting some attention. That gives me a smile a good mile wide. And gosh, I think I'd better get back there quick. That place is going to be swamped before long!
Click here to see the article. You can go here and here for my previous posts about Deck's.
Have a great weekend y'all!
Until next time,
x's and o's,
Eartha
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