State of Terror  by Hillary Clinton and Louise Penney.  Wowza, what a tale! The authors are sure good storytellers. I wanted to keep reading at the same time put the brakes on because I didn’t want the story to end. Dilemma, lol.  The main characters are kick-ass women with their hearts in the right place, the kind I hope I am. Sometimes I wonder that I may not be when I am among people who do not/cannot/will not/shall not equate liberal policies with the love thy neighbor principle. Probably the conservatives in my family think of me as a black heart. I have wandered. State of Terror. There’s so much I like about this novel. The plot is, unfortunately, believable. If you’re curious for more detail, check out Maureen Corrigan’s review, “ In this new political thriller, a familiar pantsuited figure saves democracy ”, at NPR.org. I was never much of a book reviewer. I didn’t like writing book reports way back when either. 

 I need a keyboard! Pecking at letters on this iPad keyboard is becoming more annoying, but still not enough to seriously research what’s the best move, purchase a keyboard, a laptop, or a desktop.  How lucky am I? This is what I whine about and these are the possibilities, all attainable, I can do to satisfy my gripe. I am very fortunate. This is the American dream that Daddy and Mama wanted for their children. I shall always be thankful they had the vision, the courage, and the love to leave their familiar world for a black hole because they had the faith their children’s lives would fare better than theirs. This is my life, I don’t know anything else.  That line of thinking is to be continued another day, sooner than you think, I’m back to growling at this keyboard. Is it even called a keyboard? How can it be a keyboard if you can’t spread your fingers out into typing mode? Bah, humbug.  That reminds me of my piano teacher long ago telling me that I was playing a piano, not a typewr

Just because we sprung forward with the clocks today, I stuck a brush in decopauge goo and finally begun the fabric headboard for the bed in L Studio.  It was about time. I stuck the foam boards, the base of the headboard, on the wall in January. This year, so that isn’t bad in terms of procrastination. 

  My first crafted greeting cards were made of fabric scraps and costume jewelry.  Bzzz, bzzz went the sewing machine.  Ouch! went I as I stitched by hand.  See the red hearts in this card. They’re cut from my once-upon-a-dress Mama made for me in grammar school. Fun!

Greeting cards galore—birthday cards, Christmas cards, Valentine cards, sympathy cards, and more. All vintage (1930 to whenever vintage stops), all used. All ours. Most of the cards are inherited from either Mama’s or the Husband’s parents’ collection of sentiments. We found the greeting cards, individually and in clumps, in envelopes, file folders, shoeboxes, and what-nots.  What do you do with your parents’ memorabilia? Our first reaction. Ignore them for years and years. Then came the COVID-19 lockdown. A lot of the cards got sorted. Some saved, others thrown out, and some cut up to make into our own greeting cards. We actually made Christmas cards last year, but I forgot to take photos. Lucky you! lol

Please tell me the story again, Charlie. So, he did. First, let me set up the story. The time: Fifth grade, the year President Kennedy was assassinated. The scene: Outside on a school blacktop. Lunch time is over. We, fifth graders, are dragging and carrying the green wooden lunch benches back to their rest place, about 30 feet or so. The quicker we finish, the more time we have to play before the bell rang. Said Charlie (I’m paraphrasing, of course): Usually a friend and me take one end of a bench, but this day I thought I could carry it alone. I did! All the way. No dropping, no stopping. I was happy, so proud of myself. I turned around to get another bench. What did I see? You, heading over with one bench under each arm. hahahahahah. Charlie first told me this story at our 10 year high school reunion. I love it! I have no memory of carrying two benches, moving benches, yes. I’ve no doubt that I could’ve carried one bench. I was strong for a girl, thanks to Daddy having no problem of

Crayons, colored pencils, and water paints were my pleasure. Only a little bit with the crayons. I didn’t like the way they felt in my hand. The Husband assured me he and his brother didn’t get boogers on them. The crayons were from his childhood, so many moons ago. Ha! Little boys have cooties, I told him.  Maybe I’ll melt all the crayons to make candles. 

The other day on Facebook my curiosity got the better of me, so I clicked on one of those silly name games to find out what it had to say about me.  I like knowing I’m 457% weird according to the game. hahahaha. The other stuff—there’s some truth.  Until tomorrow, Silent Storm Sue :-)

Nine pounds. That’s how much I’ve gained in three months. So said the doctor’s scale this morning. Bummer. I knew I was putting on weight, after all, I’ve been eating fudge, potato chips, and other yummy fattening snacks regularly the last month or so, but I didn’t think it would be that much. Maybe 5 pounds, I thought. It’s a good thing I had a doctor’s appointment today. The good news is that Doc was fine with my blood pressure, and he saw nothing problematic in my electrogram. Hurrah!  The nine pounds? Time to sweat.

That’s what I’m doing this year, experimenting with plants, cooking, crafts, painting, sewing, writing, so forth and so on.  Some may say I do it anyway, experiment. Perhaps. This year I’m making a point of doing so. As my wise Mama, the mad horticulturist, liked to say (paraphrasing I am) about the idea of doing something new, “Try it. If it doesn’t work, oh well. Try again.”   The other day, I cooked up a sauce made of olive oil, red onion, fresh garlic, frozen organic tomatoes, kippers, and martini olives stuffed with red pepper. Oh my gosh! My first taste reminded me of the fresh American mackerel that Daddy grilled on the rocks at Asilomar Beach in Pacific Grove once upon a time . Magic!

  “Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want,” said spicy Missy Molly by Golly. 

Meet Roy Rogers.  So called because of the dresser’s western motif. This was Mama’s. Originally, she and Daddy bought the dresser for my brother when he was a child. He must’ve liked cowboy stuff. There are photos of him wearing a cowboy hat and shooting a cap gun.  Brother didn’t want his dresser when he left home, so Mama kept it. Now, I have it. I went five years, last year, before I painted the drawers and decopauged the edges. I figure 70+ year old Roy Rogers would appreciate a new look. What do you think?

Some scientists investigated why certain persons  do not get infected with covid no matter how often they are exposed to the virus. One conclusion (the only one I recall, so please don’t ask) was that when a person has a cold, the cold bug     neutralizes any coronavirus it meets. Zap! Hmmm, could the main purpose of cold cooties is to protect us from viruses. Anyone ever have the cold and the flu simultaneously?  

  “I went to the Sanchez Nursery yesterday, but I drove right by. I didn’t see any store, only a huge lot with people walking around rows of plants, so I just drove by. It looked dangerous,” said the young woman to her companion. Standing behind them, I almost butted in. I thought about saying, “I shop at that Nursery. You have nothing to worry about. The owners are sweet and they offer quality pieces for cheap.” Instead, I checked myself and studied the young woman with her thick, crusty fake eyelashes and her bra straps lighter than the spaghetti straps of her tank top.  Nope. She doesn’t deserve the lovingly cared for plants at Sanchez Nursery. Not at all. Yep, I can be quite judgmental, too. Me-ow.

Our 2022 calendar is a work in progress.  I like how the February calendar turned out, all hearts inspired. Good thing, too. February is a month of  both sad and happy anniversaries: * the Husband’s late first wife’s birthday * the birth and death of Big Sister (one day of life, unfortunately) * the start of my career as a writer and editor (I love that my first day on the job was the second day because the first day was a holiday.) * the day we brought Missy Molly the pinky-nosed (wilde) Cat home * the Husband’s older brother’s birthday * the day Daddy died while having lunch at the senior center * the day Baby Sister died on Mama’s lap (Mama was about to feed her lunch)  Making calendars is therapy.

  The freesia have begun to bloom, hurrah!

How can I work in chaos? This, I asked myself as I sliced a thin edge off a rectangle of patchwork with a rotary cutter among tossed array. Tossed array, is that such a thing? It sounds like something I might’ve learned in physics, logic, theoretical mathematics, if it had been my pleasure. Thank goodness, Mama and Daddy had no clue about such things either. What was I talking about? How can I work in chaos? Picture this: Me looking at the tossed arrays of fabric spread over all available surfaces of the room. Where is that cute print I thought would be a perfect background for a card? No where to be found. Oh well, second choice works. Fast forward. Where is my card template?  I turned around and what do I see? Yep. That cute print I wanted. That’s one way chaos works for me.

I am pretending that I published this post yesterday. Yes, indeed. It’s a “rule” I just made for myself in my quest to write and post some bit everyday until. . . I’m done thinking that way. So, how do, how do? :-) By the way here’s a photo of the dove, an omen of good things, I hope, that’s hanging out in the persimmon tree. It could’ve been roosting there yesterday. Upward and onward. Vice versa, if you please.

The Husband doesn’t care (I asked first) that I’ve taken to using the aged appliances, furniture, and walls as my canvas. Everything has to be replaced or repainted anyway. If we don’t like the results, we know it’s not permanent.  The refrigerator was my first project.  As I was painting, I could hear Mama saying, “When are you going to vacuum the icebox coils?” Such a Virgo she was. :-)

To look at the clear blue sky this morning, I wouldn’t have thought it rained yesterday. Oh, wait. Yesterday, 2/22/2222 did turn out to be a lucky day for us in drought world. We got a good drenching of rain and a bit of hail. Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.... If I’d thought about picking up the camera when Missy Molly and I ventured outside, I would have shot photos of sweet tiny pellets of ice lining the bottom of the fence and splotches of melted ice on the geranium leaves. In lieu, I give you an old photo of a morning glory bloom. :-)