Tag Archives: postaday2011

Rant in Minor

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This is simply annoying: Martha Stewart’s advice to copy a hotel technique to remember to flip mattresses 4 times a year to preserve their lives (the mattresses, not the employees).

So you make two tags, one says January and April (which is upside down) which you pin carefully to the top end of the mattress; the other says October and July (which like April is upside down) and yes, pin that to the foot end of the mattress.

Are you still with me? I know, there is NOTHING WORSE than Martha Stewart’s extraordinary anal instructions: January is printed upside, April down, October is printed upside, July is down. I feel I am a marsh-mellow head.

And then the cheery finish. Every January, April, October and July, just make sure that it’s That month that is on Top of the Foot of the bed. (As if this action alone ranks close to finding a Cure for Cancer.)

Despite my disdain, if my mother was still alive, I’d report this tip to her and she would say,  “What a great idea, would you do that for me the next time you visit?” And I would hear myself saying, “Sure, no problem.”

Where’s the USSR?

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Artist Wendy Gold is on to something. Vintage globes to be exact. She finds them and  decoupages them to create other worlds. Here is “Where the Wild Things Are.” It is a standard size globe and costs $399. If you order one it will be one of a kind. See other examples here.

I guess this is the front -- or the back.

Another old globe trick is a diy that I saw on Design *Sponge, the blog that is a wonderful catch-all for high bar projects and results. The instructions are so thorough, it will make you believe in you all over again.

You could also use as a message board.

Of course, you can forgo the entire crafty treatment and simply collect globes to sit around the house. I really liked this idea from apartment therapy where a globe was hung on the wall in the corner. Made me want to think of other unexpected places for global art.

Eye-wakening

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I first started wearing glasses in the 6th grade. I remember I walked home after picking them up from the eye place. It was a sunny, fall day. I zig-zagged along twisting and turning my head to catch all of the things I had been missing.

The trees were as crisp as paper cut-outs, shadows were parts dark black and hazy grey and leaves floated lazily into bright red, orange and yellow heaps. I flipped my glasses onto my forehead to marvel at the difference they made.

Well, truth be known — I probably didn’t marvel, after all, this was sixth grade.  No doubt, I just thought over and over, How cool is this? I love these glasses.

Ever since then, it has thrilled me no end to buy a new pair of glasses. I think my new pair makes me look quite scholarly even though not many have noticed.

That’s okay, I am old enough now to marvel at the difference all by myself.

Berry-Berry

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I rarely make dessert unless it’s ice cream or sorbet with fruit. If I bake a fabulous carrot cake with the great cream cheese frosting that makes me want a corner piece or a  lemon meringue pie or the best chocolate cookies in the world recipe, I will eat way more than a reasonable amount.

But some days, I just want some kind of dessert.  Not a super-sized dessert fit for a family of 6. And not one that will hang around a long time without losing its appeal.

I found it. It is a cobbler recipe that is so easy and so good, you’ll want to thank me every time you make it. (I got it from Sig’s mother who hasn’t a clue where she found it.)

Easy and Good Cobbler

1/2 stick of butter
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup of sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 cup of milk
dash of salt
1 1/2 cups fruit (fresh or frozen, I use mixed berries)

Melt the butter til it begins to brown. Pour into a 1 1/2 quart casserole dish. Combine all the dry ingredients in a bowl; add milk and mix. Pour batter over butter in dish. Put fruit on top of batter. (You can add sugar to sweeten, but personally I like it  tart.) Bake at 375 for 30 minutes, til brown on top. Sprinkle sugar on top if you feel like it.

Scoop into parfait glasses and top with a good brand of vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. Recipe makes 4 servings; if you double it — you’ll need to cook it longer.

Now, really could life be any easier than this?

H.M.D.

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I found the Poetry Foundation looking for a good poem for mother’s day. And I found out it’s worth a stop — their mission is to make poetry more up front in people’s lives. They’ve got a fat archive of poems and a home page they can brag about.

Mothers rock.

Try Poem of the Day, or Poems about Relationships, or take your chances on a Random Poem.

Today they have a sampler of poems in honor of mother’s day.

I particularly like this one by J Lorraine Brown because of the vivid imagery and the reminder that all mothers start out as fearless little girls.

Tintype on the Pond, 1925

Believe it or not,
the old woman said,
and I tried to picture it:
a girl,
the polished white ribs of a roast
tied to her boots with twine,
the twine coated with candle wax
so she could glide
uninterrupted
across the ice—
my mother,
skating on bones.

Flag Wavers

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One thing about those Boy Scouts, they really know how to use flags, here’s one now sending a message to his brother who is evidently on a nearby mountaintop. It was this little guy’s job to find out what they get for Mother’s Day.

Here was his brother’s reply.

In case you’re a little rusty on semaphore code, here are the messages along with a translation. The first boy says … SHE WANTS DIAMOND STUDS. His brother flags back, “R YOU KIDDIN’ ME? WE R GETTIN’ CELL PHONES, 4 GOD’S SAKE. Want to do this fun thing at home? Here ya go.

Here Comes Summer

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I think I'm going to like this.

Summer starts when I clean off the front porch, bring out the tables stored in the garage, and plant pots to hang from the eaves and crouch in the corners. It is a huge production mostly because I get easily distracted.  Every year, I swear to simplify.

I bought a couple of different begonias and diamond frost for my Big Focus.

This year, I do not replant the geraniums, I simply fasten a hanger onto the pots and up they go. I decide not to mix things, mixing causes me grief since they all have special needs and I always forget what they are.

So it’s one pot — one kind of plant cept for the feature focus. I pull all of my house plants out, yank them out of their stupor, trim them, and stick them in new pots. I hack a couple to the soil line and wish them well. I throw a stub of a dracena into a vase to see if it will root. I am on fire.

I sweep the porch and bring up the hose basket so I don’t have to drag the hose from the side of the house every time I need to water.

Then,  I water everything and every surface. Sig comes home and looks around; he loves the porch. He says, “Looks great, want me to go get some wine? ” Yeah baby — here comes summer.

Party Like a Rock Star

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Margarita Ville

1 6 oz can frozen limeade                      6 oz tequila                                              2 oz triple sec

Fill blender with crushed ice. Pour in ingredients and blend until smooth. Rim glass with salt; add slice of lemon or lime. (4 Servings)

Happy Birthday, Sheilah.

(Picture from Seriously Cute )

Get a Break

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Groupon, the place that negotiates pretty hefty discounts on food, services, and entertainment, city-by-city is picking up speed. A set number of people in the area have to buy in by a specific date in order for the deal to “be on.”

What can happen is a simple e-mail to a circle of friends and suddenly you have a night out with everyone getting a cost break.  Yeah, I think it is a clever idea, too. It does short-cut the annoying cycle of, Where do you want to go? Dunno. You? I dunno either. You?

(The other day it looks as if a maverick has been tearing up Groupon. After the deal of the day, there was advice on how to survive fairy tales. It suggested if offered a wish, say, “My first and only wish is to eat a wish-granting fish.” It was absolute nonsense. And I’d steal that line in a flash.)

I didn’t whaat?

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I scan the spam crop that had collected over-night and see, “Attend high school at your own pace” in a subject line. As I clear everything, I think, Oh sure, right. I shoulda’ remembered to graduate.

That night, I dream that I am at my old high school. I walk into a familiar classroom, slump down at a desk and look down at an exam booklet. The sum total of my knowledge and preparation for this test adds up to Zero.

I feel sick as wave after wave of anxiety rolls through me. I flip through the booklet in hopes of a couple of essay questions, the kind I can usually punt. I don’t see any. My mouth is dry and my hands begin to sweat.

I hear a voice drone, “Reminder, people, your performance on this test is worth over half of your final grade.” I have a C going into this, if I fail the test — I may come out with a D at the end. But if it’s a low C, an F might give me an F in the class. And if I get an F, I may not graduate. I hear my heart rate speed up.

“You may begin now.”

Aargh! I CAN’T DO THIS, I shout to myself. And then I wake up. I stay perfectly still and breathe deeply a few times until my mind grabs onto reality. And that is just one of the ways that spam has shortened my life.