It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

My daughter came to check my availability for some fun stuff she has in store without her daughter. We are happy to oblige, of course.

As she perused my availability, she noted that I was scheduled to be the accompanist for a wedding. This was yesterday, three hours before my commitment. I was sitting at the kitchen table with her, totally ignorant of my schedule.

I did know about it 18 months ago, did receive a “save the date,” did write it on the calendar, and yet, forgot to look at the day when I awoke. Also, I didn’t outline it in red, as I do normally for important things. Egads! Thank goodness she read my calendar after I commented, “I’m just planning on staying home today.”

It might have been the best accompaniment I have ever provided merely because I showed up!

The wedding was beautiful, by the way.

Yard work does not come without injury in my world. My arms are the proof – and hey – I even had longish sleeves on?

Sure I gashed a hole in my arm cutting down a dead shrub. Yes, the belt on the riding mower broke mid-stream, causing a great disturbance in the repair force around here. It could have broke for anyone? And the welt on my other arm is subsiding after last week’s trimming attempt. All pale in comparison to the fact I nearly cut my finger off sawing a log years ago.

I was about 15, helping Dad, insisting I could saw that log. The saw jumped, slicing my finger. I was too stubborn and aghast to admit defeat, wrapping and nursing that digit forever. I’m sure my dad noticed the attempts to hide my left hand, but he never said anything, even after I sported a very pink scar the rest of my high school years.

I learned that bandaids can be sutures. I haven’t sawed any limbs off of myself yet. So overall, it was a pivotal event.

This jewel-of-a-moment was brought to you by my angst in not being able to finish mowing the property due to the abundance of rain. I know it will dry one day, I will mow, and the mower and I will be whole once again.

The bedroom has a new look. It’s called, “Living With a Vacuum.” It’s not what you think.

The recent spate of miller moths has sent us to bed nightly with one or two guys fluttering around the lights. I did make the exaggerated comment that, “Nothing is worse than a moth flying at your head in the middle of the night.” Of course there are worse fates, but I really hate even that thought. Thus, the vacuum has resided nightly for about a month, occasionally catching one or two live ones, and obviously a useful tool in scooping up the fatalities. And the fun that ensues when we’re both on the hunt for one of those annoying, yet ecological important insects, is rather amusing.

We don’t live in a vacuum. We know how to have a good time.

This could be the real deal.

While trolling through the Pinterest array of recipes, I stumbled upon this beauty. If you are looking for fame this could be your solution?

What you could be famous for is up for grabs. I’ll be baking bread today, something that gives me a hint of fame in the household.

Enjoy your “Little House on the Prairie” day.

Delicious, especially when paired with vanilla ice cream! It’s pretty much a guarantee that I will order a strawberry malt, strawberry DQ Blizzard, strawberry Concrete Mixer from Culver’s, or maybe even a strawberry shake from McDonald’s. Ice cream and strawberries scream, “Summer!”

I could use some summer, especially since the heat kicked in this morning. To all of you enjoying a warmer clime, soak it in! I’ll be placating myself with strawberries and vanilla yogurt. It’s not quite summer.

Yesterday’s RBC – the Canadian Open – was fun to watch. I caught the last two holes, which really, were like the last two minutes of a Nugget’s basketball game. The Canadian guy, Nick Taylor, sunk a 72-foot putt to win. That was worth viewing.

No matter what happens during the event, the prize is often determined in those final minutes. And that is ultimately enough for me. (Unless I need a nap, then I probably need a few more golf holes to accomplish that task.)

Tonight I may bite the bullet and watch the Nuggets as it is being played. Maybe. DVRing and fast forward are our friends.

Go, Nuggets!

Never again shall I have a garage sale. It kind of goes along with the statement, “I’m never painting a ceiling again.” Then I proceed to paint two ceilings after that, one this past February.

Technically, this is my daughter’s sale and I am the support staff – the one who convinces people they desperately need a window fan, Christmas decor, plant stand. My strategy is to hand them a box to fill and then make them a deal. It worked fairly well today, and really, I get a big kick out of people and their interests. You meet some characters, for sure. I’ll be closing up the shop tomorrow, reminding myself that I’m never doing this again.

I’m setting a reminder in my phone for two years from now, when the urge to de-clutter will hit once more.

Oh, the lengths we now employ to avoid paying ten cents for a plastic bag!

It’s rather humorous to see people walking out of stores with their arms loaded because now they, “don’t need a bag.” Or purses, stuffed to the max with cheese, yogurt and other precious refrigerated items, because now we, “don’t need a bag.” Well, I need bags!

I relied on those bags for liners in my mini-trash cans. My precious stash has dwindled and I am reduced to using the bag from the five-pound purchase of potatoes. Or perhaps the flimsy bag used to restrain my lettuce or other vegetables. Or the bag the monster-sized grapes came in. Or the plastic used to bundle the four-pack of tissues. Or…You get it. There are plenty of smaller bags we already use which work just as well. I am not at a loss. There is also the old school – use no bag and just empty your trash as you used to do.

This only comes to mind as I am emptying my little receptacles in the promise of a timely trash pick-up tomorrow. I’m still polluting our land with plastic, I’m just not paying for it.

Looking forward to those biodegradable plastics being used in every corner of our lives!

The Hard Rock Cafe is closing in our city. It’s just as well since I believe I only ate there once. That one time happened to be a significant birthday years ago, and I happened to successfully dance on a table to “YMCA,” at that time. Why my friends and I were on the mall during the day when we had children to retrieve after school? I do not recall. I do know we were forced to imbibe in sodas and no alcohol, so my antics were merely normal.

Ah, memories. When I think of all the dumb stuff kids do these days, I shake my head. It might have taken me a few years more to accomplish idiotic feats, but I managed them, also. Here’s to fun and laughter which hurts no one!

Now to oversee the felling of two three-story-sized trees on the property. Age has provided wisdom as I am not doing this myself. There shall be professionals on the scene.

Apparently, you can teach an old dog.

Yes, yes. I know it’s been a bit of a break. It was a learning curve excursion, complete with a two-year old and pregnant woman. Travel must definitely be adaptable with both of those considerations! It’s a skill I haven’t had to employ for thirty-plus years.

In between naps and parks and eating, we did manage to have family get-togethers and properly celebrate the graduate, our reason for choosing to uproot and fly away. The weather was most cooperative, even keeping the Midwest humidity at bay. Apparently it all stayed here at home, where I am now having to reschedule yard work due to the rains. Thankfully, I did not book the trip to Ireland as I feel I am abiding there.

After arriving home last night, we are once again out of here, this time to visit the Botanic Gardens, where I’m assuming the moisture has resulted in a riotous bloom fest. Then, even eschewing my weekly bridge game, I shall hope to return home and unpack.

As my mother oft said, “There is no rest for the weary.” Hm. It’s too early to nap anyway.