It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

Everyone needs one. I’m thinking of building one. I know, I seem to dream about building a lot of things. I need to use that online architectural degree I’ve been pursuing during this time at home. (I should have done that!)

Sitooterie – a word whose popularity has waned since 1975. Wonder why? It’s a substitute for “gazebo, conservatory, place to sit and relax.” See? Everyone needs one. Now, wouldn’t a conservatory be cool?

I dream of one towering above the house, glass-enclosed, full of Dale Chihuly glass sculptures, not unlike the Chihuly museum in Seattle. I would put plants in there, but living in this desert-like climate I relinquish that part of the conservatory dream. Glass is easier to grow. When the morning sun would rise and hit that place – rainbows and color everywhere!

Of course, it would not be cool, but rather too hot to even go in there and relax. It would no longer be a sitooterie, rather a window-washer’s dream. So, I’m going to make the little baby conservatory I found on Pinterest using old windows. I will install fake plants, or maybe unused glassware from the cupboard.

And really – I won’t do any of this because it will require my spouse’s intervention and he will ask, “Now where is this piece going?” I don’t have that answer. Yet.

“There’s a Wocket in my Pocket!” That was my favorite Seuss book to employ at bedtime, because once again, I could recite it and turn the pages without even looking. Those were the exhaustion days and the Doctor provided relief. Now, I feel like I have to reread the pages from the night before of my current entertainment to remember what the heck the story is about anyway. It’s time for a change up.

I’m digging back to the past and bringing out the old Norton anthologies – huge tomes of which we only studied about a quarter in college, if that. Jostle the brains cells again, right, “Paroline,” fellow cohort in the pursuit of English language studies? See what the heck the other sonnets are about? By the way, Sir Patrick Stewart recites a sonnet a day if you’re interested. I learned this from Katie Couric via “Pann.”

Don’t worry – I won’t do “Sonnet of the Day,” And you can use “What’s your favorite Dr. Seuss book,” as a start to your cheerful banter at the dinner table.

We’re all digging deep.

I had no idea that I would be driving past this place yesterday, which was the spot of my “prepare a monologue” audition. When an actor hears that, he or she thinks, “Shakespeare.” Well, I had long prepared a monologue but it was by Will’s contemporary, Andrew Marvel. “To His Coy Mistress.” It is a favorite poem full of wit and delight.

And then….this was the beginning of the end for me. At the last minute, I decided my monologue would not be from any great work, but rather a contemporary writing I also had memorized and could turn pages on without even opening my eyes. “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom.” It was my daughter’s favorite book, fun to read, as this excerpt from my cobwebbed brain details.

“Skit skat skoodle doo flip flop flee, everybody running from the coconut tree. Mommas and Poppas and Uncles and Aunts, hug their little dears then dust their pants.”

I didn’t get the job. I probably only went on about four more auditions before I hung up my hat. Anyway, all of that flooded back when I drove past this old theater on Federal Boulevard, now the “Victory Church.” I definitely need to get out more!

As another Indy-NASCAR-Autobahn-wannabe sped past me – the same one who chose to tailgate me through the light at my corner – I thought about how I could dwell on the negative. I could have thought about what an insensitive driver the guy was, how he was endangering others with his erratic, rude behavior, and just how annoying his actions were.

Thankfully, I was able to stop myself from going down that path, because I had a job to do, one which led me on a driving mission to purchase Thompson’s Water Seal for the porch. Even though the last two cans I purchased were dented and oily, I got them home without damaging my vehicle. Swiftly, I applied the sealant, and only stepped in the liquid twice. Once again, gratitude prevailed. I had remembered to wear shoes which were now conveniently water-proofed.

The positive vibes kept coming, and I was happy I could accept them on my eight hours of sleep. Of course, it only took three nights to rack up that total.

Some days are just half-full and hanging-on-by-a-thread-days.

Well, you have to look at the bright side – or you turn into a dim bulb. The administration of this blog has chosen to drop “Fandangle of the Day,” because said administration is realizing that most of her ear adornments are round, and she’s tired of photographing them. She’s tired of a lot of things, obviously, but she did get a kick out of these.

Finally, with apologies to mathematicians everywhere…especially those related to me!

Look what I rediscovered as I was on pine cone duty! This little guy has been hanging on for two years now, growing in the shade of three larger Ponderosas. If he can do it, we can do it!

Kibitzing with my Mendoza pal, “Panita,” she reminded me of a good life lesson: do not describe a vineyard’s wine as smelling like “dirty socks” when in the presence of the vintner.

Yes, I did that. It was an honest comment, just which slipped out. We were enjoying our wine tour in Mendoza on the last day of our vacation. Every host we had on the tours emphasized that wine was meant to embrace the memories and experience of the people or event with which it was paired. It should invoke the moment, and when you enjoyed that same wine again, you could recall those special times.

Maybe my nose wasn’t quite ready for the assault, but whatever the appropriate term was, it was not “dirty socks.” My observation probably explained why the host did not bother to escort our cozy little group to the end of the vineyard property. However, it did invoke a moment and I can accurately recall the experience, even without drinking the wine!

My glass of wine last night was delightful and did not remind me of a gym class.

The band Green Day’s song, “American Idiot,” came to mind after I attempted to highlight my locks yesterday. While this stab at hair care could be the reason for the band’s name, it could also be the origin of the warning, “Do not try this at home.”

Good news – I’m out of hair colorings.

When I awoke, I had this image of my grandfather. He used to pour Kellogg’s cornflakes in the bowl, put another bowl on top of that and crush them. Then he’d pour more cornflakes in the bowl before dousing them with milk. That was his appetizer! Bacon and eggs and toast followed.

The best breakfasts were the Sunday morning “wienie” breakfasts. I went to college thinking everyone ate hot dogs for breakfast. My grandma called them wienies, and they were procured from the meat locker one block away. They were the protein for the morning meal, which was the most important meal of the day!

Speaking of…

Cheerio. Cheerios!

It was time to open the box and get to the root of the problem. Thus, I went scrounging around under my bathroom sink for that Clairol box. Lo and behold! I found the purple and teal hairsprays I procured during my mermaid phase of life last year. What better time to go purple?

Now the best part of using up my goods is that it took a full 30 minutes for my husband to even notice my hair was purple. This is how quarantines can affect homes. We become immune to our spouse’s oddities. If only we could become immune to the virus that way, huh?

Tomorrow – I’m going green. My lovely daughter gave me that special hair coloring for Christmas. This is a great time to be bold – when no one knows who you are behind the mask!