Thursday, November 29, 2012

Bah Humbug


Photo credit:  asterisk.apod.com

 
How did this happen?  When did I become a Christmas Scrooge?  There are times during the year when I make up something to celebrate, and order a cake to make it official. There is the The Guys Went Hunting The House is All Mine – Mine Mine Mine cake. There is the Company’s Coming and I Haven’t Seen them in Weeks! cake. Easter always involves baskets, ceramic bunnies, and spring flowers. Even though I live on top of Spooky Hill and nobody comes here, I always have glow sticks, Play Doh, and candy for Halloween. Yet sparkly red and green ribbon, Santa at the Mall, and “Jingle Jingle Jingle...I am old Kris Kringle, I’m the King of Jingle-ing” wafting through the grocery store just ticks me off. I don’t mean a little tick off. I mean I want to yank out my spiked thigh-high boots, my pleather jacket, rub on some fake tattoos and black lipstick and go stomp through the mall. What’s that about?
This is possibly a shock to my unicorn-loving friends, but I’m not even sending Christmas cards this year. That will be the first time since I used construction paper and crayons, and hand delivered them to family members sitting across the table from me. Let’s be perfectly honest here, I adore honestly, it saves so much time. The reason I’m not sending Christmas cards this year is I don’t want to. Not sure what I’m going to do with the four books of beautiful holiday stamps I already bought. Nothing is wrong. I still love you. Stop by and we’ll have cake.
Last week while standing in line to exchange a pair of jeans, I spotted a display of gift cards. So, it isn’t the pressure of coming up with gifts that put the bee in my bonnet, because I’m done shopping. Yay. Surprise.
 
Photo credit:  Stephanie Karfelt
 
Haha, just kidding. Mostly. Of course I will suck it up, hide the attitude, and if necessary produce some live reindeer on Christmas Eve, and play the part of a sheep during a reenactment of a live nativity if it is called for. But I’m all Joan Jett Punk Rocker about it inside, and don’t you forget that part. There would be a picture of my black-leather bad-self costume right about here, if the act of googling such images hadn’t frightened me terribly. Some things cannot be unseen, and I’d rather play Christmas Consumer Sheeple than go there. Just remember though, Hermie doesn’t like to make toys.
 
Photo Credit:  TheLetter.co.uk
 
How about you?  Are you all over the holiday season like twinkle lights?  Or are you ready to sign my petition to have it moved to every other year?  What is it about the holidays that crawls up the back of your shirt with sharp toenails?  Or what is it that thrills you to the tips of your Charlotte Church Christmas CD? 
***
Epic Slinky Dogs will be awarded to the most moving tales on either side. Be sure to follow my blog to be eligible.
Photo credit:  Stephanie Karfelt

Monday, November 26, 2012

Time Travel Jeep - The Castle

The Time Travel Jeep is an Urban Fantasy series I'm writing, and sharing in short-story installments.  Lizzy is in town for her Grandmother's funeral, when her Jeep starts jumping through time - S. R. Karfelt


It’s hardly a castle, just a shell of one. Most of the leaves are off the trees, their trunks twist, bare branches vein against November sky. My tires bounce over bumpy courtyard stone. I park my Jeep, and a rear tire juts higher than the rest. It feels like I’m sliding forward into the open entryway. Blowing leaves swirl, settling thickly. My first real kiss happened inside that empty castle. It looks the same, except a historical plaque has been mounted near the entrance. I already know the story. Back in the 50’s, an Earl, or a Count or a Squire had it shipped stone by stone from the Carpathian Mountains. He had it reassembled right here in Norman, Ohio, for his love. The story goes that she disappeared and he never finished it to search for her. Teens sneak in the park after hours and build campfires inside it, and graffiti their names on the walls, and fall in love.
That’s what Jon and I did.
It is a long drive home and I should probably leave. Instead I sit and stare at the castle, fiddling aimlessly with the radio. Not aimlessly. I know exactly what I want. I want to hear Bon Jovi on the radio. I want to hear our song. I want to time travel into the past and see my husband again. Most of today has been useless attempts at forcing myself into the past, but this one I want too much to give up. My finger spins the dial. A Temper Trap marathon sounds from my favorite station. Light silhouettes the trees, and I sit back and sip on a chai latte until only cold dregs remain, planning what I will say when my Time Travel Jeep cooperates and takes me where I want to go.
Static and piano music crinkles faintly from the radio, pulling me from a fantasy involving Jon and a summer night long ago. Automatically I reach for the dial. My brain catches up and I shiver, the day vanishes and I’m plunged instantly into darkness. It worked, but I don’t think this is where I want to be. I flick on the headlights. A long black car, resembling a hearse, is parked just inches from my Jeep. There is a door in the castle, and glass now glints in the windows. Thick snowy evergreens tower over the stone walls, and for the first time I’m genuinely afraid of where the Jeep has taken me. This is definitely not Norman, Ohio.
“I can get back,” talking out loud makes me feel braver. I open the Jeep door and slam it shut again quickly. “Once more, and I’ll return.”  I open the door, but someone grabs it, stopping me.
“Come out,” A heavily accented, Count Chocula voice murmurs. The door is pulled wide open. “I command you to obey me.”  Inexplicably I obey. Automatically nabbing my car keys, I slide out. Instead of landing on leaves, my heels hit paving stones and slushy snow. The dome light reveals a small dark haired man wearing a horribly outdated suit and an actual cape. Eyebrows half-way to his slicked-back hairline, he’s staring wide-eyed, not blinking. It reminds me of my cat when it wants inside.
“Vladimir vants to suck your blood,” he whispers, exaggerating each word and apparently referring to himself in third person. He’s a very tiny man. Clutching his cape in a fist, he’s peering up at me over the crook of his arm. “I vant to, I vant to, okey-dokey?” A faint snort escapes me. Disapproving eyebrows almost meet his smooth hairline. Eyes widening ridiculously, he moves his head slowly back and forth in what I suspect is his idea of a hypnotic gesture. There is not a community theatre in the country that would have him. I bite the inside of my mouth, hard, determined not to laugh at him.
“Vy you not listen to Vladimir?  Give me bite.”
“Um, I have some chocolate in the car if you want that,” I offer.
The little freak actually hisses at me, head and eyes still rolling, reminding me oddly of my cousin’s pet Pug. I reach inside the Jeep and tug my purse towards me, fishing inside. Vladimir starts slowly waving his hands at me, old vampire-movie Bela Lugosi style. I expect him to hiss, “Open Sesame”. I produce the chocolate bar, Norman Ohio’s claim to fame, dark with a touch of sea salt. I’d almost rather get bitten than part with it. I hold it up.
He straightens, hands falling to his sides. “Vy you no afraid of Vladimir?”
“Where I come from vampires aren’t so scary.”
“Vot?” He puts hands on narrow hips and bares his teeth at me.
“21st Century vampires are kind of buff, and good looking, or at least sparkly. Would you please stop doing that?”  Grimacing, he opens and closes his mouth a few more times. There are definitely creepy fangs in there. I hold the chocolate bar towards him. He sighs dramatically and nabs it from me.
“Vot is buff?”  He unwraps the bar.
“Fit, muscular.”
Sucking in his stomach, he looks affronted. “Vladimir buff!”  He takes a big bite of the chocolate and glares at me. The paunch slowly expands as he chews. He takes his time eating the chocolate, bug-eyes traveling rudely from the top of my head to the tip of my booted foot.
“Who you?”  It comes out sounding like ‘voo-yoo’.
For some reason I admit my first name. “Lizzy.”  A gust of icy wind blows over him. His cape swirls, but his hair remains slick against his head. The wind blows my hair back, cutting through my sweater. It rocks the Jeep and the driver door slams shut, almost taking my fingertips as I reach desperately for it, a shout of protest dies in my throat. The dome light vanishes and I know the Jeep will return to my time without me.
Then I’m simply back inside it. Once more it is daylight in my own time, and I’m staring at the shell of the stone castle through the windshield, my icy fingers clutching my car keys. Once my heart stops thundering inside my chest, I brave opening the door and slide out on shaky legs. My feet slip on damp leaves littering the paving stones. I trot to the empty archway of the castle and read the plaque.
Convoy Castle was transported from the Carpathian Mountains in 1950, by Squire Vladimir Convoy. Convoy’s intended bride, the Lady Lizzy Buff never arrived, and the castle was never completed. Vladimir founded the Norman Chocolate Company, in honor of his lost love.
Racing back to the Jeep, I twist my ankle but keep running anyway. Climbing inside, it takes me three tries to shove the key into the ignition, and I’m afraid to look around. By the time I reach the state line, I’ve received two speeding tickets. No small feat driving a Jeep. I don’t believe in vampires, but I do believe in creepy stalkers. That is what I tell myself, but just to be safe, I’m never going back to my hometown.
***
This installment of The Time Travel Jeep finds Lizzy on her last night in Norman, Ohio, after her Grandmother's funeral.  (Click on "Grandmother" to read that story.)  I'll post more of Lizzy's adventures as time allows.  Let me know what adventures you'd like to see Lizzy have.  If you had a Time Travel Jeep, where'd you want it to take you?  



Tuesday, November 20, 2012

On A Roll

 
Photo Credit:  Lahoma McMillion
 
Aren’t those candy turkeys adorable?  Fellow writer Lahoma McMillion made them. She said it took her six hours to make thirty of them. The Awesome Thanksgiving Mom Award goes to Lahoma!  Are you making something special for our national feast day?  I did not go to Lahoma’s lengths, but I am preparing to host the traditional meal at my house. I don’t like to waste time cooking. By nature I think I’m the person who should be coming to your house for the holiday, but since that never happens (hint), I have to suck it up and cook and bake. And this is how it goes.
There is an entire cupboard devoted to random recipes and I root until I find the pumpkin roll recipe. I lose interest right about here and start calling people to chat while I work, while piling ingredients on the counter. Pumpkin Rolls require tea towels with lots of powdered sugar sifted onto them. I like this recipe, very messy. It also involves chopping nuts, again, hugely messy. It even involves lining cookie sheets with waxed paper, then vegetable oil and flour. Awesome stuff.
 
Since this will involve a mess that might require me to move afterwards, I decide to make four pumpkin rolls. Now it involves fractions. So I get off the phone and realize that I am one egg short – and I don’t mean metaphorically. I call a neighbor and ask for an egg, drive to her house (I live in the country) and pick up the egg, she thinks it is funny. Back home I mix the batter and get back on the phone. While on the phone, I pour the batter into the prepared cookie pans. It looks too thin. Shoot – I forgot to add the flour mixture. Multi-tasking has never been my thing, I get off the phone. Using a spatula I scrape it back into the mixing bowl and add the flour and do it again, without redoing the waxed paper. As mentioned previously, I lost interest in this – well, technically before I even started it. So I’ll take my chances, besides now I’m checking out YouTube videos (Did you see Dumb Ways to Die? I hope I never do any of those). I bake the cake, which is the shell of the pumpkin roll. While it is baking I mix up the filling. This involves sifted powdered sugar (Baking Tip:  Easily done over a large measuring cup with a small wire strainer and an egg beater – now I’m on Facebook), real butter, cream cheese, and real vanilla. Since I’m into healthy eating, I mix myself up a spinach smoothie for lunch. To even out the healthiness, I lick the beater with icing on it.
All this awesome baking has attracted the attention of my friendly neighborhood giant, Zeus. The pumpkin cakes smell wonderful as I take them out of the oven, and Zeus comes into the kitchen and plops down on a chair. He leans his giant head on his giant hand and checks out the powdered sugar all over the counter and tea towels. “What are you doing?” he asks. I cross the kitchen with the cookie sheets, and warn briefly, “You might not want to sit there.”  Then I thump the cakes onto two of the tea towels. A cloud of powdered sugar goes FOOF all over Zeus. He takes it like the big manly giant he is, and says, “You did that on purpose.” “Yes,” I admit. Let’s face it, if Zeus wanted to grind my bones to make his bread, he’d have done it long ago. I’m starting to like this baking stuff.
You peel the waxed paper off. Then roll up the tea towel, and place the cakes on a wire rack to cool.  After it is cooled, you unroll and toss the sugary nutty tea towels into the sink scattering both as you go. Now you spread the icing evenly.
Then just roll it up again. Then you cool it in the refrigerator a bit, until it firms. After that you cut the ends off, to make the roll look prettier, and you give the ends to your giant as a peace offering. To eat you slice it neatly. It really is yum. Recipe below if you like to make huge baking messes and would like to make your own!
Will you be feeding any giants this holiday season?  Or perhaps a horde of beloved friends and family?  Share your baking trials and tribulation (or epic fails) with The Glitter Globe. The best story will get an Epic Slinky Dog. (Just follow my blog and leave a comment below.)
***
Pumpkin Roll
Cake:
Powdered sugar
¾ cup all-purpose flour
½ tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. ground cinnamon
½ tsp. ground cloves
¼ tsp. salt
3 large eggs
1 cup granulated sugar
2/3 cup canned (or cooked fresh) pumpkin
1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
Filling:
1 package (8 oz.) cream cheese, softened
1 cup sifted powdered sugar
6 Tbsp. butter, softened
1 ½ tsp. real vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 375F. Grease 15x10-inch jelly-roll (or cookie tray). Line with wax paper. Grease and flour paper. Sprinkle a thin, cotton kitchen towel with powdered sugar. (Use a wire strainer to do this, easiest.)
Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, cloves, and salt in small bowl. Beat eggs and sugar in large mixer bowl until thick. Beat in pumpkin. Stir in flour mixture. Spread evenly into prepared pan. Sprinkle with chopped walnuts.
Bake for 13-15 minutes or until top of cake springs back when touched (and isn’t sticky). Turn cake onto prepared towel. Carefully peel off waxed paper and roll cake and towel up together (starting at narrow end). Cool on a wire rack.
For filling beat cream cheese, powdered sugar, butter, and vanilla extract in small mixer bowl until smooth. Carefully unroll cake, remove towel. Spread mixture over cake evenly (to edges). Reroll cake. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least one hour. (Double wrap in foil to freeze, freezes well.)  Slice to serve.
 
 
 






 



Friday, November 16, 2012

It's Tradition

Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt
“So what do you want to do for Thanksgiving?” I ask my family. “Because I could really go for Thai food, and I’ve always wanted to see Bangkok. Delta is running a special.”  Once again they decline my latest holiday plan and opt to go the traditional route. That is why my kitchen is covered in a fine coating of powdered sugar, and my freezer is already filling up with baked goods that involve pumpkin and cranberries. Twice this week I’ve forwarded emails advertising gourmet Thanksgiving buffets at posh hotels, but they ignore me. I hate to cook, but they know I can do it. My Bohemian Gram and my MIL taught me everything you really need to know about cooking and baking. Make everything from scratch and use butter. So you see I can do traditional and old-fashioned, with a small dash of Glitter Globe style. Are you a traditionalist?  Or are you faking your way through the holidays too?
Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt
 
“Hon?  Where are the tents?”  I searched all morning, between chopping ten pounds of walnuts and working on a scene in my novel. It is my philosophy that overnight company needs their own space to hide in, especially kids. There are not enough bedrooms, so I use tents. String up some fairy lights, a pile of pillows, blankets, flashlight, and good books that I subtly tuck inside – then everyone has their own space. Indoor camping is hardly traditional, but it is fun. Have you ever left something out of place for so long that it became invisible?  Like a pile of tents by the back door, waiting to be put away?  For ten months?  “Never mind, Hon!  I found them!”
 
Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt
 
Food and shelter aren’t enough for a good old-fashioned Griswold Family Vacation. Entertainment must also be seen to. We opt for traditional games like, “Can you do this?” which is fun for all ages, and my MIL kicks butt at. Not only can the woman tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue, but she rocks at somersaulting. If you know the family personally, you did not hear this here, and if you don’t – no we do not drink. Hard to believe, but true.
Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt

Music, dancing, baking, crafts and storytelling are also part of our tradition. Sometimes we’ll toss something new into the mix for the kids. Last year we arranged a small plane ride for them. I’m almost surprised they’ve agreed to come back to my house this year. I guess nausea passes. It was sweet though, the way they clambered out of the plane and kissed the runway. It was sweeter the way everyone got along too. Family time, life just doesn’t get any better than that.
Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt
 
What are your Thanksgiving plans?  I hope you have the day off!  Are you doing the cooking?  (If not, how do you get out of it, email me explicit instructions.)  Are you a traditionalist or a non-conformist?  Is company coming or will you be the company?  And have you ever set up a tent in your house?  (As always, if you follow my blog and leave a comment you will be eligible for an Epic Slinky Dog!  Winners will be based on epic Thanksgiving tales, so give it your best shot.)
Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt
 






 

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Pity Party

Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt
Did you hear that crash at the Glass Museum? Don’t worry, it wasn’t your child. It was me. I dropped my phone on a display of glass balloon animals (taking blog photos, I hope you feel a bit guilty since I did it for you). Vertigo is one heaping bowl of sucks. Miraculously nothing broke. Is there special multi-tasking insurance for clumsy people? Though blundering is not just a human condition. This week Sandy, my pet butterfly, got the tip of his wing caught in a bit of dried honey and flew off without that bit. It was the same day that I hit a rabbit driving home in the dark. Mother Nature’s disappointment in my nurturing skills is vast, a given being a part-time vegetarian who dreams about hamburgers. At any rate I decided to throw a pity party. You’re all invited and encouraged to share your tales of woe. We’ll even have pity party prizes.
My entry into the pity party hall of shame is the allergic reaction I had to…(wait for it)…allergy shots. How pathetic is that? It wasn’t a horrible anaphylactic shock reaction (thank God). I specialize in those freaky little reactions that doctors toss nonchalantly into the ‘side-effects’ category. “Does the incessant itching bother you, Mrs. Karfelt?”  “Not at all. I’m wondering if I could get a prescription for one of those cones? You know the kind Vets use on dogs that won’t stop gnawing on themselves?”


My invisible poison ivy-like side-effect goes to the back of the bus when compared to Lauren Hewell’s tale of woe. The recent college graduate shared her story with The Glitter Globe. Lauren’s in the job market by the way. 


So what’s your story? Have you ever been thrown out of Walmart because your child screamed that loud? Did you sign up for NaNoWriMo* and then remember that Thanksgiving is in two weeks, and you’re hosting company and the family gathering? Did you have to get in a car with an infamous stray dog known to have once eaten an entire goat? Today’s pity party day, and we’re all here to commiserate with you. Keep in mind the goal is to laugh at ourselves, and there are prizes for the best-worst story. (Follow my blog to be eligible for a prize, and leave a comment below. Feel free to suggest what you think an excellent prize would be, but be prepared to accept an Epic Slinky Dog, chocolate, or shards of broken bits from a glass balloon animal. Just kidding. They did NOT break. Really.)

Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt


*NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. When inspired writers take on the challenge of writing an entire novel the month before Christmas (and risk alienating their Thanksgiving company, again).






 



Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Mis-Snakes, Scales & Puppy-Dog Fails


Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt

Once Zeus had a pet snake named Houdini. At least that was the name he eventually earned, being as he escaped and roamed the house at will. In an effort to keep the snake confined, Zeus duct taped the lid on Houdini’s cage. Returning home afterwards, Zeus discovered his snake wrapped in duct tape and dangling dejectedly from the roof of his cage. Since I tend to brake for butterflies, Zeus considers me an animal lover. So he brought me his duct taped snake, as though I’d know what to do about it. Though the man is a big, tough giant and all, I could tell he was attached to this two foot reptile and resisted the urge to put it in an airtight bag and toss it into the trash while I could. I called the vet. The Vet laughed really hard, and repeated the story several times to coworkers. I kept the phone tight against my ear, so Zeus wouldn’t hear them laughing. It isn’t a good idea to laugh at a giant over his pet snake. And that is how I ended up wedged in a tiny bathroom with a giant, soaking a duct taped snake in a sink full of warm water. As the Vet predicted, Houdini was more than a little ill-tempered about having duct tape peeled off his body. He lost quite a few scales in the process, but Zeus kept a firm grip on his head as I worked. Perhaps you’re apathetic about Houdini’s fate, or perhaps you’ll be happy to know he lived – though he was forevermore a few scales short.


People are odd about their pets, aren’t they?  I’d like to think it bodes well for our species that we can love even the sorriest, most unlovable creatures so fiercely. Surely you know someone who has a cat or dog that is anything but worthy – but that is pampered and loved inexplicably. My BFF had a cat once, I forget its name. Let’s call it Humper, because that is what that cat did. It specifically liked to have at it with anything that belonged to BFF. Her hats, slippers, pillow, etc. It was a big, fat, white thing that pretty much shed and made love to BFF’s belongings. Oh, it slept in her dresser drawer and ate on her kitchen table too. When Humper went to the great dresser drawer in the sky, he was in the process of jumping off the kitchen table after eating. He ate – alive – and landed – well, dead. BFF told me about this over the phone. Though I clamped my hand over my mouth as fast as I could, she heard the inappropriate laugh that escaped. Let me just take this opportunity to apologize to my BFF again for my demented sense of humor. (Normally she appreciates it, but everyone has their limits.)  It wasn’t funny that the cat died – it was just the visual that got to me.
Clyde T. Brown is an East Texas cowboy, chaws tobacco, drives enormous gas guzzling vehicles, and in all the time that I’ve known him I have understood about 10% of anything he said due to the plug in his mouth and his accent. Clyde also has a pile of teeny dogs that look like mops. Am not sure how many there are, they move a lot and are hard to count. When Clyde goes anywhere, he takes the horde with him. I ran into him in a parking lot once, and he put an arm out the window to gesture towards something. I gasped in horror. It looked as though he’d almost lost the appendage to a shark attack. Since there are hardly any sharks in Texas, I asked what happened. Couldn’t really understand much of the answer, but apparently the horde had turned on him when he was feeding them. For me that is a deal breaker, but I’ve never had a pet horde.
Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt

Unless you count the butterflies, (but they were more of a scientific study to my way of thinking) wherever I’ve lived in North America I raised Monarch Butterflies. Thousands of them. It started as a Kindergarten project, and eventually morphed into a migration tagging project through The University of Kansas ( http://www.monarchwatch.org/ ). I won’t give you the dissertation on what can be learned studying the insects, but I will tell you that my family cringes when they see milkweed, and my daughter has never recovered from the summer of exploding chrysalis’s. A few gross of butterflies can endear you to your neighbors, they tend to hang around once you release them – so there were usually butterflies around our house. But a few gross of caterpillars can have quite the opposite effect, especially if your neighbors stop by during litter box cleaning hours.
Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt

Have you or someone you know ever loved an unlovable pet?  Your Mother’s Doberman that once ate an entire Thanksgiving turkey?  The Rat-Terrier that once ate your Easter basket?  A pet mouse that escaped and ate a curtain?  How about those guppies that teach young children that some parents do eat their young?  What is the best or worst pet story you have?  The Epic Slinky Dog giveaway continues here at The Glitter Globe. Follow my blog and leave me an epic pet story for a chance to win one. Remember to check back to see if you’ve won!

 Slinky fainted when confronted by a puppy w/horde potential



Photo Credit: Phil Scot

Friday, November 2, 2012

Hunting Season

Photo Credit:  Stephanie Karfelt
 
It’s Archery Hunting Season somewhere in the continental USA. One of my favorite times of the year, though I am no fan of hunting. In my life I’ve hunted one thing, Monarch Butterflies, more precisely, their eggs and larvae. It was my goal to raise one thousand of them a year. Six hundred seemed to be the point where my family would rebel. Since I started writing 40+ hours a week, I quit raising butterflies. This year I happened across a caterpillar the night before a freeze, so I brought it inside (along with a pile of milkweed to feed him). He hatched the night Hurricane Sandy was coming through my area. So I appropriately named him Sandy. Isn’t he beautiful? 
 
Sadly Sandy cannot migrate to the sunny climes of Mexico. He’s a late bloomer and it is too cold for him to fly. He tucks his legs up under his body and flops over when I take him outside. He also does that when I try to feed him, but there is a trick to unfurling a butterfly’s proboscis and making him eat. It reminds me of putting broccoli on the table in front of little kids. You get about that much cooperation. I think he may have snacked on my anniversary flowers willingly, you be the judge.
video
Back to hunting season, my Dear Hubby is an archery hunter. While he makes himself scarce over hill and dale, company trickles through my house for two solid weeks. I indulge in all-night writes. The grocery budget goes to odd take out (like dessert from my favorite restaurant), or dinner at a new cafĂ©. Tonight it was a spinach raspberry smoothie at a place with a piano bar. Inexpensive and a place DH would appreciate me visiting while he’s out of town. Next week is a “Blind Harvest Dinner”, served in complete darkness. Another one DH will quickly recover from having missed. Though technically having my anniversary dinner during the hurricane was almost complete darkness.
This year we’ve set the goal of organizing the house. Somehow I’ve managed to score friends and family with organizational capabilities. A feat I appreciate beyond words, especially since they share their mad skills. Right now, as I sit and write my blog, I can hear their sneezes while they sort out a closet in another room. It’s not all fun and games. Earlier I was forced, against my will, to go into stores and choose organizational supplies. Things like storage bins, decorative little shelves, hangers, and baskets. I feel about shopping pretty much the same way my Dear Hubby would feel about that Blind Harvest Dinner. My friends dragged me away from the two foot art deco reindeer that caught my eye, and insisted I cooperate.
Getting Organized
Jamming an eight foot shelf inside my tiny Time Travel Jeep was an adventure in itself. After twenty minutes at check-out, (during which the cashier tried futilely to ring it out under ‘lingerie’ and requiring the assistance of several managers) we were given a special shelf price of under $40, on the condition that we leave the store. The cashiers even carted our deal out to the car and helped ram it into the car, in the rain. And even though we drove home with the shelf flush against both front and rear windshields, blessedly no deer or bunnies darted out in front of us, requiring a new windshield. All in all I’d say so far this has been a very successful hunting season.
The Bargain Shelf  Organized
What have you hunted lately? Butterflies? Bargains? Your cell phone or a pen that works? Share your stories with me. Tell me what you do during hunting season, even if you have no idea when that is. (It's now by the way.) The Epic Slinky Dog giveaway continues here at The Glitter Globe. All you have to do is leave a comment below and follow my blog. I will randomly pick a commenter. Be sure to swing by later to see if you’ve won!