The Seven Year Itch: Part Two

kkkThey dated for seven years. They lived together, grew in love together and in March of 2014, she did something uncharacteristic and blushes about it to this day. She walked into a department store and left with a sterling silver ring that would be similar to an engagement ring that she would pick out for herself.  She wore it in private for several months- in the car, during housework, running errands.

That September, she broke up with him.

The Seven Year Itch Continues tomorrow at 7:30 A.M.

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The Seven Year Itch: Part One

When he texted her over the summer of 2007, she was absolutely beside herself. After admiring him for most of their lives, she’d pine over each and every one of his lovely messages- things like, “Hey.  What’s up?” and “Oh, that’s cool.”  She’d have to type, erase and type each response several times before feeling satisfied enough to hit the send button. Should she use punctuation or was that too formal?  Did she use, “yea” or “yes?” It didn’t matter.  In reality, he didn’t care about those things.

He was from a good family and wasn’t like the other boys. When they started “going-out” for real, she was smitten.

 The Seven Year Itch continues tomorrow at 7:30 A.M.

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Lately on Lemons

654654I kick myself everyday for not blogging on LifesLemons often.  Or more.  Or more often than not.  That would be a start.  Lately though, it’s been hard to stop the daily momentum.  It’s hard to settle down long enough to express one complete thought.  Years from now, let’s admit, I’ll wish that I had.  Years from now, I won’t really matter that I skipped a swim or didn’t continue my wild goose chase for the “perfect shower curtain.”  When I read back taking a night off to stay in, and write, is worth it.

Exciting stuff is happening soon and some day, it’ll be super fun to look back and shake my head at all the things that were going through it at the time.  Embarrassingly miniscule, juicy stuff about pointless things that probably only matter to me.   Did I really once rattle on about how I can’t keep a swimming cap on my head?  That’s deep.  Or, I quote, “Wearing bad socks is risky business,” end quote.  What the?  And did I really leave an anonymous note on my teacher’s lecture podium asking him to dismiss class early on a nice day?  That’s bad-ass.  I’m such a rebel.

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Coffee Shop Wasted

I took the day off.  It was a last minute decision that made perfect sense at the time because there are few more opportunities this year to use time-off and even less opportunities to Christmas shop.  I’ll just think up some gifts to buy and head out.  I certainly can’t treat today like a weekend day, when I do not much of anything except pace around the house in my jammies eating white chocolate chips and slivered baking almonds by the handful.  I can’t wind up in a little hole in the wall coffee shop either.  That would get the day wasted.  IMG_0501

On my way to hunt for Christmas presents, I made a point to do a few important things first: swim, deposit a jar of pennies at the bank and stop at my favorite place for complementary donuts while my car got fresh oil.  Next, I passed a local dive and that neon, “Open” sign just sung to me.  One little drink wouldn’t hurt.

The smell alone was intoxicating.  Luckily my laptop was with me, just in case my brain started whirling and I needed a place to crash and blog for a while.  A few rounds later, my stiff legs and I were stumbling back and forth from the bathroom.  At one point, I was staring up at the spinning ceiling fan wondering what a White Elephant is anyway.  It would be most responsible to call a taxi service to drive around a personal Christmas gift shopper- I’m not fit to go anywhere at this point.  (I’d lose my table by the radiator.)  This day is shot.  Speaking of…make it a double (shot) of espresso.  I’d like to dance in the corner to let some energy out.  Which probably isn’t a good idea. So instead, I order some scones to soak up the caffeine in my belly.  I blog, take online personality quizzes and think about dancing in the corner again.

The baristas offer last call and I order a final round for me and all my new-found fellow wifi-bumming friends.  When I leave the building, an officer approaches me and my heart races- did I forget to pay the tab?  “Ma’am, have you been drinking…. coffee, with your car parked here for longer than 2 hours?”

Geeze, is it that obvious?  Somehow, I make it home but won’t get much sleep tonight.  I’ll wake up with bloodshot eyes and a hankerin’ for bacon.  (I always hanker for bacon.) My day off was coffee shop wasted and there’s not many Christmas presents to show for it.

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Berry Therapy

I’m a sucker for berry bargains.  We, on LifesLemons, know this.  So when cousin Taylor and I hit the grocery store to roam around like twenty-something girls do on a late weeknight, berriesI couldn’t resist buying three trays of twelve for just eighteen dollars.  Which is less than half of half-price.  I returned to the store early this morning for five more, to share at work, and again tonight, for six more.  Again…to share at work.  Only four trays are expected to stay in my possession, but here’s the thing- my freezer’s full.

It’s about 5 percent ice cubes, 10 percent animal proteins, 35 percent mystery broths and stocks and the remaining 50 percent is already frozen fruits, namely berries.  Remember The Blueberry Gauntlet of 2014?  Or Abracadabra Apricots? There have been several gauntlets of this nature due to irresistible prices and I can’t resist stocking up my stock.  It ultimately leaves me with zero freezer space and poses a problem. Times like this require stealthy Family & Consumer Science problem solving.

I’m sort of too lazy to can them as preserves and I’d rather not dehydrate.  So I’ve come up with a solution:  I’ll stop hoarding them and start eating them.  Or I can just check myself into therapy.  There’s probably a real nice place for people like me.

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Chili Weather Tradition

Many families ring in chilly weather by making chili.  Each year, around this time, Crock Pots nationwide are dusted off in order to dub the season’s official start by making that first batch of iconic deep red soup, which consequentially- no one probably even thinks of as soup anymore.  Did they ever?  Because it’s chili, duh!  The beans, the beef, the sight, the smell make it such.  And eating it this time of year is that momentous.  It’s a real custom that I can stand behind.wpid-img_20141101_134351_030

My tradition, as it applies to making this fall favorite, involves going to the grocery store to get ingredients for making a lovely batch of my own.  Won’t the house smell wonderful?  The slow cooker and that shiny bag of oyster crackers will effortlessly add to the Autumnal countertop ambiance.

With list in hand, I march in and head straight to the first ingredient for making chili.  It is expected that I see something like, the last of summer’s green beans, and remember that there’s stuff in the freezer (broths and stocks) that should really be used soon. Next, I eye other ingredients that technically don’t belong in chilis but undeniably could make a wicked stir fry or something else.

One thing leads to the next and before you know it, my “Chili Weather Tradition” is in full swing.  My shopping cart gets full of potatoes, carrots, squash or greens- pretty much anything except canned tomatoes and beans.  The original recipe is abandoned in favor of using foods that I already have or have ended up walking out with, during my trip to the grocery store for specific ingredients.  In all my life, I’ve never made chili but every year around this time, I’ll eat countless casseroles and soups that were once projected to be.

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Whole Grain Bacon

If you haven’t noticed, I take this blogging business very seriously.  Someday, I can see myself writing for, or at least contributing to, internet outlets, magazines or, once it goes viral.   Hey Mom and Dad, you helped pay for me to learn about nutrition but I’d rather discuss how dishwashers make french cut green beans cling to butter knives, as a freelance writer, instead.

I could be more astute though.  I could be a liaison between the field of nutrition and those who care to learn about it.  Wouldn’t that be a novel use of my degree?  The best dietitians and nutrition educators, that I’ve met, really engage people and don’t preach.  They find a way to get through.  They find a way to connect.  They’re outside-the-box thinkers and explain why and how a person should make ideal ways of eating more attainable.  Wloophat’s the point of leading a horse to water if it’s not going to drink anyway?  (Or something to that effect.) 

As an author, or “corespondent,” I could filter out the fancy scientific nutrition jargon that tends to lose people and boil the basics down to brass tacks.  People would listen because maybe I’m relatable and extra amusing. They would read my stuff for a painless crash course on amino acids, scroll down and stumble upon a legitimate justification for eating donuts at dinner.  Oops.  Audiences worldwide would come to discover new ways to mac their cheeses or to hear nice stories about Farm to Table eating.  They’d keep reading and stay for the elaborate stories about carrot peelers and my encounters with little old ladies on gravel roads.  They’d probably pick out real gems of advice to eat just a bit healthier.  Kinda, sorta.  Maybe.  Sounds promising.  Let’s talk about bacon.

Everyone, who’s been in my presence recently, knows that I’ve had a tremendous appetite for bacon.  A craving that isn’t the healthiest when succumbed to in the desired quantity.  There’s a solution though, for a person not to eat an entire package of fried meat in just one sitting. That is, if a person can stop shoving their face long enough to use the grease and pop some corn.  Bacon grease popped corn is incredibly satisfying when a bacon hankering just won’t go away without a fight.  Popcorn provides fiber, antioxidants and the fat will aid in shuttling fat-soluble vitamins.  Besides, recent research suggests that the saturated kind, as in bacon, isn’t so horrible after all.

Whole grain bacon.  You’re welcome.

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NTT: #Vintage_Microwave_Selfies


This week on the ICC Surplus Sale we’ve added a totally vintage microwave. #totes_vintage. It’s like, a 500 Series Memorymatic and belongs in a museum or something.  #no_lie   Your Grandma may have used this to warm up her hard tack bread or whatever.  #nasty_olden_days_food.  Nah, she probably warmed up stuff likec69ca686dc620211f164b571b71a6f6f leftover chicken soup but it was probably the homemade kind because back then, they didn’t have Campbell’s or whatever.  Or maybe they had Campbell’s, but not those crazy convenient disposable lunch bowls or whatever.  They probably had to use like, hand thrown pottery or something and food took like half an hour to warm up but back then, they probably thought that was good or whatever.  #back_in_the_day_probs.

You need to buy this because YOLO.  This vintage microwave is probably worth a ton of money because it’s like an artifact of our meal preparation heritage or something.  You could put it on display in your house and it’s like a total conversation starter.  Lol. JK.  You could use it as an end table.  #nifty-thrifty.

You could put it in your room and take wicked microwave selfies in the reflection for days. #nofilter. #back_n_time_babe. #vintage_microwave_selfies. 

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Car Closet

1395907_10201484495091553_254914868_nI came home from work tonight with a plan.  A checklist to execute.  A bunch of random stuff that I wanted to get done.  It was all going along fine, dishes-done, floors-done, until an overwhelming stroke of personal genius brought me to my knees.   I wept.  Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

There’s been a plastic drawer riding around in my back seat since last week, when I snagged it from someone’s garbage.  On Sunday, I washed it and until now, its went without a purpose- been dead weight. How about a trunk drawer?  Duh.

For those of you who don’t know, I practically live out of my car.  Since I go between like five homes, it’s only logical to pack enough clothes, various shoes and athletic gear to be prepared, just in case I decide to stay at one.  My clothes stay nice from the closet bar across the back seat and now, my shoes won’t get squished from limited trunk surface area.  All that I need now is a pop-up hamper.

When it’s convenient to stay at the house I’m closest to,  I’ve got dress pants and matching shoes.  After work, the occasional, spontaneous, last-minute, tennis match-dinner party combo is possible as long as I’ve got a racket and shirt that’s not aassweaty.  It’s quite simple to take your look from day to night with cute leopard flats and a red pair of glasses.  Rubber boots?  Those are handy.  Ankle weights?  Why not?  Bug spray, toilet paper, and wrinkle release?  Perfect- the phone book has had enough pages ripped out for long runs.  But, if it rains today and you can’t run, do you have an umbrella?  More importantly, do you have goggles and a towel to go swimming indoors?   Drying off with dirty underwear isn’t the best way to stay feeling refreshed.  (Get a hamper for those bad boys instead.)

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Smile, You’re on Krispy Kreme Camera

Running at night has its risks.  Drivers aren’t as alert, bad guys come out, it’s dark and easy to trip over things like uneven sidewalk, tree branches and trays of doughnut holes.  It happens-  I can’t make this stuff up.

wpid-img_20140807_221039_390A week ago tonight, while running, I stopped dead in my tracks on a street corner. With wide eyes and an open mouth, I stood there in disbelief.  I squatted down to take a closer look and rubbed my curious eyes with fists.  Sure enough.  There, sitting smack before me, were three trays of owner-less doughnut holes.  Who does that?  Could it have been Candid Krispy Kreme Camera?  (The lesser-known hidden camera show that puts unsuspecting people in unusual doughnut situations.)  Bewildered participants are ambushed by belly-laughing producers and camera crews.  They have a chuckle (and a long john) and go on their merry way.  Just kidding.

Sometimes they don’t find out at all!  After I finished taking pictures, I kept running and left the doughnuts behind.  I didn’t get bombarded by camera crews or belly-laughing producers and I was surprised by this.  When I passed the doughnuts a second time, I took a cup and a brief moment to suppose the likely-hood that they were poisoned.  I ate them anyway and didn’t die of abandoned-food poisoning.  I was surprised by this.  Then I waited three to five business days and didn’t get billed by Krispy Kreme.  I was surprised by this too.  Since this happened exactly a week ago tonight, I’m headed back to see if there’s more-  Are you surprised by that?

This time, I’ll smile (on Krispy Kreme Camera.)  I’m gonna be a Starrrrr.

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NTT:: Playing Pretend

Remember playing “pretend” when you were little?  You would recruit your most lifelike looking dolls and imaginary friends to play, “House” or “School” or “Subdivision.”  At least I played “Subdivision” and other make-believe themes.  Does that not surprise you?

My brother and I drove ouIMG_3321r “cars” (our bikes) around the “neighborhood” (the front and back yards) and pretended to do things that “cool” teenagers would probably do.  For example: We met our friends at the mall (the barn.) We played pickup games at the gym (the driveway.) We got ice pops at Mr. Freezies (the chest freezer in the garage.) We’d pretended to have all sorts of conversations with imaginary friends. For example: “Aw man, you’re grounded?  That stinks.”  “You goin’ to the game Friday night?” “No thanks, man.  I don’t smoke.”

It was So. Much. Fun. Today, you have the unique opportunity to invest in a large amount of chairs so that you and your imaginary friends can play all sorts of “pretend” games.  It’s best to imagine motifs that thrive with large seating arrangements.  Let me get your imagination rolling… “Movie Theatre,” “Ball Game,” “Wedding”…

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New Things:: On Lemons

Remember when I shared with you that I also blog at work?  I mean, I blog for work.  At work.  As part of my job.  I mean, I made it part of my job but I don’t spend a lot of time on it. Of course not.  That would be a waste of precious working time- at work.  Duh.

Come to find out, New Things wpid-img_20140807_110351_273Thursday is a highly effective tool that keeps people interested in mismatched office chairs and stuff- so they will buy them.  It’s a college-wide news feed so it keeps people informed of the latest college surplus inventory.  It also boosts employee morale- namely mine.  It’s a good time.  I mean, I don’t labor over it like I do LifesLemons. We’re talking twenty minutes, tops- and I move on to more important things.

How about I share them sometimes?  Then you’ll click over and buy some nice used furniture or something.  Deal.

Come back tomorrow and I’ll share this week’s.  I’d put it up here today, but Dad and Weston say my Lemons post get too long.  Babies.  In the meantime, here is a nice picture of my personal fruit basket on my desk at work.   It probably keeps me inspired or something. Nah, just keeps me from eating more cookies than I already do.

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How to Celebrate Survival of a Near Death Experience

I could’ve died yesterday.  You may recall, it was gorgeous out.  So I did what any respectable bicycle owner would do-  I slapped on some sunscreen, put on my helmet and left for a nice long ride on uncharted roads in the country.  Why not?  I had time (and daylight) to get lost.

After two hours, I was at a point in the ride where, had it been on a stationary bike, I would have been finished and showered by now.  My water bottle was empty, the iPod was dead and fatigue was starting to set in.  Everything looked the same- field, field, barn. There was an uneasy stillness to the air so I began humming loudly to stay occupied.  All of the sudden, from behind, the deafening blow of an air break jerked me to attention.  The semi, out of nowhere, passed so quickly and closely that I almost crashed into the pavement.  Eventually, the truck slowed to a halt, turned left at the stop sign and revealed his billboard-like trailer advertisement, for Frappuccinos.  That’s when it hit me- I’ve got to make ice coffee when I get home!cap

I arrived back at the apartment, loaded the blender with ice, coffee and milk, and here’s the part where I could’ve died…

The blender lid broke.  Milky coffee, plastic and ice covered everything within a four-foot radius.  My life flashed before my eyes and that’s when it really hit me, “Oh my gosh, I could’ve died!” What if, by holding down the lid, my hand slipped into the blade?!  It would’ve sliced my hand open or chopped my arm off, probably!  The blade could have ejected from the blender and flew into my gut like a ninja’s star throw.  I would’ve bled out on the kitchen floor with drops of caffeine glistening like dew all around.  That would be tragic.

After the kitchen was cleaned up and I stopped fearing for my life, I loaded ice, coffee and milk into the back-up blender. Only this time, I did what any respectable person would do when they celebrate survival of a near death experience-  I added sweetened condensed milk to the coffee and drank my fair share from its gooey can.

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The Blueberry Gauntlet 2014

I bought 21 dry pints of blueberries.  Each pint was 99 cents and out of season blueberries cost about $3.99.  So in my eyes, pints were priced buy one get three free- which is obviously a steal and should’ve bought more, but I don’t have the freezer space.

295918_10150263590951404_364376416403_7682864_7493842_n1If they even get to the freezer.  You and I both know that these little blue babies are tricky not to eat.  They have to survive quite the little gauntlet before stepping their tiny berry feet into the freezer.  The fate of many berries is my belly first- not the freezer, because each transfer lends an opportunity for total loss.  They have to endure a two minute car ride home, minus 23 berries.  If they take the front seat, it’s more like minus 89.  They have to suffer through being dumped into a large bowl and washed, minus 44 berries. They have to outlive inspection as pictured, minus 694 berries.  (605 as squishy duds tossed into a nearby yellow cake mix box and a minimum of 89 consumed.)  If they make it into the bag that’s being held open by the magnet I found on the floor at Schnucks, chances are they’re safe.  They’ll freeze to see another day.

On another note: This is BW’s second LifesLemons appearance in 2 months.  You go, Big Guy! Is that Spanish Moss Green by Revlon?  Why, yes it is. Yes. It. Is.

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Glasses Gluttony

I was gifted with poor eyesight and picked out my first pair of glasses in the third grade. For whatever reason, I wanted to wear glasses, have braces and strawberry blond hair all at the same time.  Not that I ever really knew what hue strawberry blond was… it just sounded like such a delicious shade of hair.  So I pretended my kj;kjhair was that color and welcomed braces a few months after vision correction.  My little rounds matched, “Molly” my faux American Girl doll and I was just about as cool as a third grader could get in 1998.  Can you imagine?

Then, I wore contacts almost every moment of every day in high school and most of college which, I believe, damaged the surface of my eyes for eternity.  It’s hard now, and so it’s rare, for me to wear lenses.   So most of the time, I’m in glasses… but it’s cool because I’m still pretending to have strawberry blond hair and the grill that I wear on the weekend gives the illusion of braces.

Kidding- I don’t actually have a mouthpiece that looks like palliative orthodontia.

Nah, I just found a website that sells prescription glasses for hardly anything at all.  (At least that’s what I keep telling myself.)  Because I’ve binge bought an obscene amount of glasses since March. Can’t say I’m much for moderation with many things.  Eat cookies, eat several; buy glasses by the truckload.  Termed: Glasses Gluttony. Won’t give you quite the colic as cookies do but it’s still problematic.  You put on a different pair and sweatshirt at Starbucks, ask for a refill and they think you’re a completely different person.  First you’ve got on leopard, next it’s red.  You’ll show up as a neardy bird and leave as Sporty Spice.  “Who is this girl and why is her purse like a clown car for crazy glasses?”  Don’t worry about it.  This too shall pass.

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Kicking the Habit- Part 2

It’s splendid to have normal looking nails because you’re not afraid to paint them wild colors and draw attention to them for once.  I’m wearing, “Plum Seduction” thanks for asking.  This color looks like red but it’s really, “Forestfire.”  See that brown on my fingers? Smell it.  It’s scented enamel, you Sick-o.  “Chocolate Truffle” to be exact.  I’m saving up to know what a “Pink Pineapple” smells like.  What a wonderful money waste, I’m so proud of myself.


This looks like a killer sandwich but the real star of the show is that thumbnail.  You can’t tell from the picture but he’s a thick bastard. Named him, “Big Wig” or “BW” for short.  And that background nail has an underbelly.  Good gravy!  No wonder I stopped eating, mid-sandwich.  I forgot to pray.  “God is good.  God is great. Let us thank him for these nails.”

As you can see, I’m getting better at painting them and preparing to paint them.  It takes experience to know what materials are necessary during a manicure at arm’s length.  Nothing is worse than remembering that your Quick Dry Drops may or may or may not be at the bottom of your bag but they’re probably rolling around under the passenger seat of your car.  That’s going to leave a mark and you’ll have to start over.  What a time suck.  What a wonderfully expensive, obsessively compulsive, so-totally-worth-it replacement addiction.  Send help… and polish remover.  I’m fresh out.

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Kicking the Habit- Part 1

It’s been a while.  Thanks for stopping by.  If you want, come again tomorrow for, “Kicking the Habit- Part 2.”

To an outsider, it seems easy.  “What’s the big deal?  Just don’t do it.  Just stop.  Stop biting your nails.”6eefd65bf53d4fccf9f4ec47a3ffab6d

As an insider, an ex-nail-biter, it’s wasn’t easy.  It’s incredibly hard for a person to quit biting fingernails after doing so almost their whole life.  But if you’re able to stop for long enough to see the light, to see the white…oh man, what a cool thing.  A crazy thing happens. Addiction to growing them longer and longer happens.  Addiction to painting them over and over happens.  Addiction to buying top coats, base coats and cuticle oil happens.  Now we’ve got real problems.

I have spent more time looking at manicure products in drug stores in the past month, week, day than I have during my entire life put together.  It’s marvelous, being camped out in the nail care aisle for hours on end like some kind of weirdo.  The same store clerk has gone and come back from lunch, asked numerous times if everything is okay and vacuumed the area, twice.  Sally Hansen is such a good read.

I’ve always tried to kick the habit, so I feel like it’s only natural to experiment with products that I’ve never had a need for in the past.  It’s a new experience, settling on one shade and hardly getting to the car before brushing it on.  Then drive until it’s dry, pull over and put on another coat.  “No, I’m fine officer.  Thanks for asking.  Just putting another layer on my nails… I thought the hazard lights were on.  Have a nice day!”


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Where I Get My Writing

I woke up to a text from my Mom last Saturday morning.

“[…] [a friend] and I read your LifesLemons posts all night. She wanted me to tell you,      she had goosebumps several times and thinks you’re an excellent writer. :)”

How sweet and admittedly, ironic. Did you tell her where I get it?  Or tell her at least about those times, Mom, when I wasn’t remotely good, let alone, “excellent” at writing?
In middle and high school, I was downright bad at putting my thoughts to words and being assigned a 3-page paper was like being incarcerated- for the both1976_1061835076005_9664_n of us.  I would write as much as I could (which was usually about a paragraph and a half) before graveling at your feet, Mom, begging for help at approximately 8:45 the night before it was due.

Then, we’d spend the next four hours double-teaming (and tag-teaming) my paper, collaborating back and forth, thinking of things to say and exactly how to say them.   It was agony, Mom, on that kitchen chair beside you and I’d complain that I could never be the writer that you are.  Still you ignored, patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) showing me how to weave my choppy ideas into beautiful complete sentences.

Everything that I know about the flow and complexity of writing came from working beside you, Mom, during those priceless late night collaboration sessions.  Now, the act is no longer a chore- but a solace and a hobby.  I am truly lucky that you took the time to share your gift with me.  You are where and the reason why, when it comes to writing, “I get it.”

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Easter Eggs & Cake

lllOne of the only Easter-related childhood memories that I have is at Grandma Cella’s house.  After we decked her Easter tree with little pastel ornaments, Mason, a few cousins and I sat at the newspaper covered kitchen table and dyed Easter eggs.  We used those little wire holders in attempt to keep our hands clean.  We were using her mugs with a globe design on the outside surface.  I think that she “sent away” for them and they’re my favorites, because they’re also our graham cracker dunking cups.  We were thSOICRH2Ppsharing just a couple dozen eggs, because I think the store was out.  We were eating jelly beans.  We were eating Gram’s homemade Oreo cookies. Cousin Whitney filled an ice cream cone up with leftover frosting and jelly beans and ate it. I thought that was gross.  Eventually, we were down to one egg, so we mixed every color and made the ugly brown, “goose egg.”  In my Easter basket that year, I got a big beautiful plush rabbit and a new Barbie.

Another Easter memory that I have is at Aunt Sue and Uncle Dale’s house.  Two big round white cakes were baked and once they had cooled, cousin Drew was allowed to use a butter knife to cut one of the cakes into a bow tie and two rabbit ears.  It was amazing to see the rabbit take shape before my very eyes.  I happily helped to frost and decorate the cake with white icing and jelly beans.  I watched in horror as Drew sprinkled shredded white coconut onto the frosting to be rabbit fur and shredded green coconut onto the surrounding pan to be grass.  Ick!

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Happy Birthday LifesLemons, I Folded In Stiff Peaks for You!!

295918_10150263590951404_364376416403_7682864_7493842_n1Happy Birthday LifesLemons! Did you think I’d forgotten?  You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?  I don’t blame you, it’s 10:38 PM.  But, I didn’t forget your 3rd birthday.  How could I? Growing Lemons is in my top favorite past times, didn’t you know?  It’s just that, well, you know… I’m either driving or working or eating or working or driving or eating.  Usually in that order.  It’s just too bad that blogging is farther down the free-time totem pole.  It’s right behind swimming and running.  Honest.

And since we’re being honest, LifesLemons, there’s something else that you should know. I’ve been meaning to tell you this for quite some time and I hope that you don’t take offence.

I’m cheating on you, LifesLemons.  I blog for another, weekly…but it’s part of my job, you see.  I author, “New Things Thursday” to promote the selling of college surplus- desks, chairs, odds and ends. You might even like it if you gave it a chance.  Posting steady reminds me of the way you and I used to be.  But it’s nothing serious, LifesLemons, the content is super goofy and you’re still my number one.  Honest.  But hey, if you want to check it out sometime, by all means, go to w, w, w, dot….What a rotten thing to bring up on your birthday.  Let’s change the subject.

I baked you a cake, LifesLemons, like I do every year.  Well, sort of.  I made it in advance and technically they’re birthday waffles again.  We enjoyed them so much last year and they freeze so nicely.  This year though, unlike last, they were completely homemade- pumpkin waffles with white chocolate chips.  That’s love. aksk

What else?  I’ll tell you what else.  I followed the recipe step-by-step, even though the egg whites had to be beaten separately.  Do you know what that’s like, LifesLemons?  Do you even know the extra steps involved?  Shell cracking with care, dividing the yolk, dirtying an extra bowl, not to mention finding both beaters (when I usually use a spoon.) This was all to form stiff peaks, to fold into the waffle batter, so they’d be extra light and extra fluffy.  Though it’s a huge pain, I did it for you, LifesLemons, for your birthday.  You know that I would never bake for another blog, but especially fold in stiff peaks.  I’d just throw everything in one bowl, all at once, and hope for the best.

Favorite posts of the year.

The Soap Box Chronicles Present: Carrot Peelers

Abracadabra Apricots

The One Who Runs

Since We’ve No Place To Go

In This Perfect Moment

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