Apparently I didn’t get my own memo. I meant to blog more. I will try harder to come up with clever topics and photos.
So last month, my husband and I spent two weeks on a cruise of the Greek and Turkish Isles, as well as a trip to Italy. We love Italy and, even more so, enjoy the food and wine. I got to stock up and eat my favorite Italian indulgence. Green olives. You just can’t get them in the states. Oh sure, we sell them, but they are pickled in a sour vat of acid, then jarred. Ugh. In Italy, you can buy them from a bin–pure and natural, pit in. Each bite is like the best olive oil. They are the most mellow and delicious olive you will ever taste.
Other foods I discovered while on vacation was the perfect, warm from the oven, Greek “cheese pie.” Talk about died and gone to heaven . . . these flakey pastries are stuffed with herbs and feta and are amazing.
Sigh. Wish I had one right now.
In the coming weeks, I’m going to try and blog more. I’ve been out of the country for two weeks and the past week have been recovering the 9 hours I lost flying to Istanbul.
So while on vacation, I tried on clothes. Very interesting. In the US, I’m a size 8 in clothing and a size 9 in shoes. In Turkey, I wore a size 42 in clothes. In Greece, I wore a size 38 and a size 40 in shoes. In Italy I wore a size 46 in pants. I grew frustrated that nothing fit. I tried on 20 pairs and asked the clerk what is up with these narrow cut legs in the pants?! She said, “Model legs.” That’s the Italian cut in all pants . . . “model legs.” Well, in disgust I told her I have “American thighs.”
It’s fun to visit other countries and look at their clothes, but after this experience, I may stick to checking out all the local foods and eating them versus trying to fit into their model clothes.
P.S. The fashion in Italy is tight white linen pants w/o undies or at best, a sheer-nothing thong.
As I’ve mentioned, I live on acreage. It’s a lot of property to take care of. My husband thinks big–just like Matt Roloff on Little People, Big World. If we do something around here, my husband knows how to do it. He’s tiling the bathroom and doing an excellent job. That’s his indoor project. He got it into his head that he was going to put in a garden. And a small garden wouldn’t do. This is him on his tractor tilling the earth and making rows. He decided to put a garden in our corral since we don’t have horses. So this garden runs the length of the arena–twice. We’re planting enough to feed the neighborhood.
I have to give my sweetheart kudos . . . he has a good heart and enjoys helping people, and I’m sure all these veggies will go to good homes. Ours included.
Real soon I’ll post a picture of the six new members of our family. Hint. They go baaaaaaa.
This is a memo to the hundreds of birds who share our five acres with us. While I like watching you while I sit poolside, and you can be amusing, I don’t want to be entertained at the crap of dawn, i.e. 5:00am, when you’re up and I’m not.
To the robin who sings in the cherry tree just outside the bedroom window–give it up. She’s not coming, and all your singing isn’t going to entice a robinette. They’re all taken, just move along.
To the blackbirds with the red wings. While some feathered friends find your call sultry, I find it repetitive and irritating. Refrain from that song until after 7:30am.
To the killdeers who screech after midnight. I am aware we cohabitate with a raccoon, and he has a nocturnal prowl, but give yourself some credit–he’s not after your nest, he’s eating other birds around here. You don’t have to call out warnings all night long.
To the Quail–you can stay. You’re quiet and you only make noise when you fly. And you’re cool to look at.
To the finches . . . I’ve tried to attract you with various seeds and you still give me that “we’re on diets” flutter as you fly right on by the seed clump. I guess you can find chow elsewhere.
To the geese who poop bigger poops than my Yorkie. Fly south now, and quit honking on the pond to announce your arrival. If you insist on staying, put a lid on the beak and just blend in with the ducks.
To the ducks, both mallards and wigeons . . . you guys are cool. I like you. You’re entertaining and I love your fuzz puff babies who hatch and float effortlessly along the pond. I hate to see their numbers go from eleven to one within a week. It’s the raccoon. I’m sorry. I wish I could save you but he’s a crafty critter. While I love you guys, you need to tell the babies to stop trying out the swimming pool. Guys, they don’t know how to get out. All that “peep peep peep peep peep” this week around 5:30 woke me up, only to find the little guy trapped in the “cement pond.” And then when I graciously tell you I’ll get him out for you, Momma, you attack me. Foul. Maybe I should just leave the squirt in the pool.
To the doves–you birds freak me out. At night, you roost in the pine trees by the garbage cans and if I empty the trash after dinner, you all fly off at once in a big swarm, your wings sound like bats. I think you should find another yard. Plus, you poop everywhere and it’s gross.
To the blue heron . . . dude, you’re a glutton. Morning and night fishing. You’re eating our pond dry and it’s a big pond. Maybe go find fish over at the Boise River for a couple of weeks .
I believe that about covers it. Consider this memo your fair warning that I’ve had enough of all your shenanigans.
I had to get a mammogram today. It’s no big deal. You just have to do it. It actually doesn’t hurt. I go to a place that does digital imaging so you don’t have to sit and wait for film to be developed.
So I’m in the machine, the picture is taken. I’m unclamped and stand there talking to the technician. She says, “You should see your film.” So for several seconds, you have that panic of “OHMYGOSH! I have the Big C!” Then you think–they can’t say that? Can they? Only the doc can tell you that news. So I go check it out on the screen and she says–see this?
I look at the image of myself and see a wall of muscle. She tells me–that’s your pectoral muscles and they are fabulous. You have man muscles. I never see these on women. I’m like, oh . . . okay. It’s because I work out with a trainer. I’ll let him know.
I guess I’m flattered, but I don’t have the body of a dude. At least I hope not!
P.S. Check to see when you are due for your mammogram.
I’ve mentioned before that I live on a little over five acres with a half acre pond. We get a bunch of critters over here. A fox, racoons, a million squirrels, robins, kill-deer birds, doves, a blue heron, ducks and geese. For the most part, we live in harmony. That is until breedin
g season. Right now, I’ve really got a bone to pick with the geese. The ducks, about 50-100 live on the pond. They quack and cause noise, but I can live with it. The geese, on the other hand, come honking in for a landing at 5:30am and wake me up. They like to swim and honk.
I caught these two on the patio this morning. The honking culprits. I chased them away and they swam in the pond, as if they could care less I shooed them. I’m sure they’ll be back tomorrow morning with another wake up call.
I hate that I have to wear glasses. I’ve had them since high school for distance and night driving, but I rarely wore them. As I entered my thirties, it was a given I had to have glasses at night to drive. No getting around it. My mid-forties when I couldn’t read the aisle markers hanging down in the grocery store, I knew I was sunk. But glasses for distance were annoying since they prevented me from reading the food labels and pricing . Close up, reading products on the shelf was like looking through blurred lenses. I tried contacts–one close up contact in one eye and one distance contact in the other eye. It’s not for a person who sits at the computer. Then I got computer glasses, hated those. After turning 50 last year, I got bifocals. First time I put them on I said You’ve Got To Be Kidding Me. I didn’t think I could get used to them. Now I love them. I have bifocals in my sunglasses too.
The trouble is . . . I don’t think I look good in glasses. My eyes are set too close together and the shape of my nose is weird so the glasses slide down it and then the top part of the frame is in the crease of my eye and you can’t see my “carefully” (LOL) applied eye make up. It’s a dilemma. Vanity. Eyesight. Vanity. Eyesight. Hmm.
I went to a charity fundraiser not to long ago and I chose Vanity. I couldn’t see a darn thing clearly if it was more than five feet away. I had to have my husband lead me through the room like a seeing eye dog, but I looked good in my long ballgown without four-eyes.
If I could only make contacts work. Why do my eyes have to be so problematic. I can’t see close, I can’t see far. I can see the computer, don’t mess with that line of vision. For this combo, there is no choice but glasses.
If anyone has any nice styles, please e-mail me the link where I can take a look at them. Thanks!
These three femme fatales are looking quite dashing in their peeps.
I rarely turn on television during the day, and I hardly ever used to watch television at night. Just had other things to do. But I’m finding I’m following more shows than I have in the past. Partly due to DVD series I walk to on the treadmill. So here’s a list of shows I’m into right now.
The Real Housewives of New York
Little People, Big World
And I’m going to check out The Unusuals and there’s a show coming on in May called Glee that looks funny.
Right now I’m in the middle of season 3 of Desperate Housewives. It’s pretty entertaining. It’ll be interesting to see the new season when I catch up. Gaby has changed in a big way. Other than these few shows, I don’t turn the set on. When my husband unwinds at night, it’s Fox News all the way. He loves O’Reilly. I think I’d rather stick needles in my eyes. I’ll keep to my mindless reality shows. At least then I don’t have to go to sleep at night fearing the economy is going to take us all down into a black vortex of doom. There’s not much I can do about it anyway.
But wait . . . maybe we can. Buy books. Any books. By the buckets. Keep the bookstores in business.
This is my Yorkshire Terrier Cocoa. We also call her Cocoa Puff or simply Puff. She’s the sweetest dog in the world.
A reader, Donna, made Cocoa Puff this darling sweater! That was so nice of her and I think the Puffster looks just adorable in this. She needed the warmth after a bad hair cut from the groomer. The poor thing was all but shaved bald! I’m happy she enjoys a sweater and will leave it on.
If anyone else would like one of these cute sweaters for their pooch, please feel free to contact Donna at email@example.com .