NEWS FLASH: A Sasquatch sighting was here at my home this morning!!

Okay - so it was only a partial sighting - just the legs. And for some strange reason those legs appear to be attached to my body!! It's amazing how much leg hair can grow in only two weeks. Who knows how much longer it will get before I am once again able to reach down and properly use a razor?

I am currently contemplating various methods of adding additional length to the razor handle - without jeopardizing safety in shaving. I don't want to open any bleeding wounds on my legs - and then be unable to address the problem without an embarrassing visit to the local medical care center.

I can hear it now...

"So, how did you receive this huge gash that now requires 57 stitches?"

"Ummm, I was attacked by a rabid dust bunny? Maybe I need a tetanus shot."

Brain fog

The past 1.5 weeks have passed in a drug induced brain fog. Ever since surgery last week I have needed to be somewhat doped up to reduce the pain levels for mere survival. The pain really only hits when I do silly things such as breathing, standing, walking, or eating. Heaven forbid I ever need to sneeze, cough or blow my nose!! I honestly do not understand why people would ever make the choice to turn to drugs and live their lives in such a foggy world. I can't wait for the time when I can once again live my life with full faculties in place.

But until then, I am certain that my friends are enjoying observing and mocking my altered state of mind. But just remember - even though I can't quite think straight at the moment - I have been taking notes and suitable retaliation will be forthcoming (all in good taste, of course)!!

Journey of re-discovery

I have rediscovered something lost many years ago - and thought to never find again. It is amazing - but apparently I have lost enough weight this year to have once again found my waist (or at least the hint of what used to be my waist). Sometimes we don't know how much something is missed, until the joy of rediscovery comes our way.

The only problem with this rediscovery journey is that I need to seriously think about purchasing new (and smaller) clothing items. Outfits that have suited me very well for the past number of years are becoming larger. So, if you see me walking down the street with my pants hanging low - please know that I am not trying to make a young "gangster pants falling off" type of fashion statement. It could be that I have simply run out of safety pins.

I wonder if my upcoming hernia surgery will provide me with any new and exciting benefits? You know, make me "better than before; better stronger, faster" - kinda like the bionic man!! (if you're not old enough to remember that TV series - I am so sorry).

Maybe I will gain a bionic bellybutton!! (that's where the hernia is located). I wonder what enhanced super bionic type powers it could provide me? I don't think the bellybutton is attached in any significant way to legs, arms, eyes or ears - so this limits the bionic possibilities somewhat. Actually I might settle for a simple tummy tuck - think the surgeon will comply with that request?

Crazy busy - or just plain crazy?

I haven't posted anything on this blog for a while now. Life just got all crazy busy at work - and combine that with my crazy busy personal life and there you have it... total mental meltdown. It is difficult to write anything clever or interesting to read when one's brain cells are dying off at an exponential rate.

I am scheduled to have surgery next month for a hernia and will be away from work for two solid weeks straight. How sad is it that I am actually looking forward to going under the knife? Maybe next time I should plan a less painful (and more enjoyable) way of taking time off work, eh?

Memories (part seven) - shopping

What woman out there doesn’t like shopping? And even better than that - shopping for things when they are on sale!!

Back in the day at ZCMI (a marvelous department store in downtown Salt Lake City - that alas is no more) they would periodically hold what were known as “door crasher” sales. Mom knew exactly which door would be opened mere moments before any of the others in the store. It was there that she anxiously waited for the doors to be unlocked, and the highly anticipated sales to begin. Mom was always first in line of course - she hated to be late for anything - and being first in line would assure her of greater sales prowess. I distinctly remember still being in a stroller - and even later walking (make that running - Mom was known for her quick stride) with Mom to these sales.

Ready, set, run… masses of women rushing and almost knocking down hapless sales people who bravely unlocked the doors - all in an effort to get to the basement bargain tables before anyone else. It was there that the hoards of shoppers would find tables piled high with towels, sheets, shirts, socks, pants, etc. - all being offered at the lowest prices ever conceived of for a "door crasher" closeout sale.

Mom’s supreme strategy was to simply elbow other women out of her way and gather a large helping of whatever was on the table - sort through the items in her arms - throwing back that which didn’t fit her needs. Then she would thrust into my small waiting arms her chosen finds - and turn again to shove herself once more into the mad foray of bargain hungry women.

There is nothing more terrifying than to witness the flailing arms and elbows of determined bargain shoppers hunting for their prey in a “door crasher” sale. Some of these maddened women would actually have the audacity to try and pry Mom’s prized finds out of my tiny hands. But I would hold tightly - and with shopping genes bred pure and true into my very being - would scream at these women... "These belong to my Mommy!! NO you can not have them!!"

Maybe these childhood sales experiences are one reason why I do not participate in the day after Thanksgiving sales. I got the madness out of my system at a very young age - and today’s bargain shopping simply pales in comparison. I also don’t appreciate loosing valuable sleep just for the sake of shopping.

Perhaps those shopping genes have finally worn themselves out - or are not in reality quite so pure? That being said - I admit there is still a visible warm internal glow and sense of pure pride of accomplishment after a crushing bargain take down. Hummmm... shopping anyone?

Memories (part six) - church

At one point I was as familiar with Temple Square as I was my own home and yard. We would walk around those beautiful grounds a number of times every week. After all we only lived a block away in those early years.

I loved going up the long curved ramp to view the huge Christus statue in the North Visitor’s Center Rotunda. Static would build up from walking on that carpeted ramp – and what fun it was to then stealthily sneak up on my brother, or Mom, and watch them jump when touched. I remember being awestruck by the enormity of the statue, and the beautiful depiction of the cosmos on the background walls. I am still awestruck by this very special place – and need to make a goal to visit Temple Square more often than just at Christmas time.

One of my most favorite things to do at Temple Square was to watch the movie, Man’s Search for Happiness. I loved watching this movie, and even now forty plus years later remember most of the movie, almost as if I had just viewed it the other day. Among such scenes I can still hear and see the multitude of clocks ticking away – and hear the narrator’s voice-over talking about time. In my mind I can see the young family standing in falling snow at the graveside of their beloved grandfather – who was passing through the veil and being greeted by a multitude of loved ones.

Another loved but slightly more intense movie was, Christ in America. There was a point in that presentation where loud thunder type sounds and flashing lights were followed by the theater being plunged into total darkness. Then a deep voice quoted a passage from the Book of Mormon, announcing the resurrected Savior. And the scariness was soon over when lights came back on - and the screen had disappeared - replaced by the wonder of seeing a life-size three dimensional portrayal of Christ visiting the Nephites after his resurrection. I really liked that part best of all - and so would endure the terror before it so that I might gaze in awe at such a miraculous event. I always wanted to run forward towards the Christ figure, with the faint thought that He might possibly be real - but was too shy to really consider such an act.

We attended church meetings every Sunday in the old 17th ward building (located at 142 West 200 North in Salt Lake). In the chapel, which is still there, is a beautiful stained glass depiction of Joseph Smith’s first vision. I can remember sitting in church staring at that scene for what seemed like the longest time every Sunday. Such vivid memories of this window have remained with me - and even now I can clearly recall the smallest details of that stained glass window.

A few years ago I had the opportunity to be in that church building once again - and took the time to walk into the chapel. It was exactly the way I remembered it in every detail. I’m sure that being able to look at such beauty during Sunday meetings was what helped make me the most quiet, and well behaved, toddler in the history of Mormon church meetings (wink wink).

Memories (part five) - the yard

The yard as I remember had a huge front lawn with large trees and also some shrubs or bushes growing on the front corner of the lot. On the north side of the home was a sloping to steep hill leading up to the Deseret Gym on the next corner.

Among my play toys was a very small cart which normally held some small wooden blocks. This cart was soon repurposed and hauled partway up the hill (not too far - just to the back property line) where I would then climb into the small cart and carelessly careen down the sidewalk to the corner. Of course there was no mechanism to steer or stop the contraption - but what great fun was had until Mom and Dad discovered my reckless speed demon tendencies and put a stop to it.

On the south side of the home was a driveway and a garage (more like a very large shed) at the back end of the driveway. There on one side of the garage was a fenced sandbox play area where many happy summer hours were spent while my Mom (and Dad when he wasn’t away at work) were working in the yard. They were the caretakers/ managers of the apartment building - and so were responsible for maintaining the yard, and helping other residents as needed. In return they received a substantial discount in rent each month - which enabled them to save extra money towards their goals.

One day - when I was about two years old or so - I was happily playing in the sandbox. My brother had been duly instructed by my parents to not leave the gate open, and thereby enable me to make an escape. It was his desire to play with certain items in the sandbox, and rather than hassle with the gate multiple times to bring these things inside - his brilliant idea was to instead throw them over the fence, and enter the gate once. One of the proposed play items was a soda pop bottle, which ended up hitting me square on the forehead.

I don’t personally remember this incident (most likely the traumatic experience was firmly blocked from my mind). But I was informed that my screams could be heard blocks away (and Salt Lake City blocks are huge). My parents upon hearing me rushed to my aid - only to be confronted by a blood covered shrieking child (head wounds can bleed quite profusely you know).

Mom immediately gathered me into her arms, and I was immediately rushed to Primary Children’s Hospital where I obtained nine stitches in my small forehead. In their hurry and concern for my well being - my brother was summarily left standing in the driveway watching his parents drive away. But before you think too badly of my parents, it wasn’t as neglectful an act as it seems. Dad’s oldest half-sister lived in the same building - and she was there (attracted by my screams) to take care of my brother until our return from the hospital.

I still have a small scar on my forehead - which may be one reason why I have always thought my forehead to be ugly, and always wear bangs to cover that particular body feature.

Memories (part four) - the living room

The living room was the largest single room in the whole apartment - which isn’t saying much. It was there we had a chest freezer, which took up one entire corner of the room. A turquoise colored used sofa, a green Lazy-boy rocker/recliner (which Mom insisted on buying new when I was born). It was Mom’s dream to be able to sit and rock her baby to sleep - and uncooperative as I was I did not make that an easy nor pleasant task. Apparently I didn’t like to be held and rocked much as a baby. What I wouldn’t give now to be enfolded in the security of Mom’s loving arms and just held, let alone rocked.

Taking up the last of the space in the living room was Mom’s sewing machine cabinet. This was an investment purchase made shortly after their marriage when Mom informed Dad that she needed a new dress. He kindly asked her if she could sew - because that would be the only way financially for her to obtain a new dress. At that time it was an economical means for obtaining clothing - whereas today we can purchase clothing on sale for less than the same garment can be sewed. So Mom learned how to sew - and made many clothes that our family wore for many years - but she mostly sewed her own clothes.

For years I remember Mom making matching shirts for us all to wear during the summer months when we went somewhere as a family. Lovingly and nicely sewn as the shirts were, please remember that much of my childhood took place in the 1970’s - which was a time not known for the best fabric colors or designs. But we never got lost in a crowd.

I believe it was the last summer we were living in that small apartment, Mom made chekered shirts for us, but mine also had a matching sun bonnet (of sorts). I felt like a pioneer in my little outfit - and insisted on wearing it as often as possible that year.

(Me and my little doll)

Memories (part three) - the bathroom & kitchen

Continuing along with my earliest childhood memories - we move on to the bathroom and kitchen in the tiny apartment. My Dad's older sister moved into this same apartment after we moved out, and lived there for a few years. So some of my memories of just how small the spaces were are not all from age three and younger.

The bathroom resembled more a small closet or hallway than it did a true bathroom. Just like the inherent nature of a hallway - the bathroom was short, narrow and oh so lacking in space. There was barely enough room for a toilet and sink, let alone a bathtub.
As memory serves, I recall there was a shower stall at one end of the room rather than an actual bathtub. I vaguely remember my baths at that time being taken in a small tub filled with water and set inside the shower stall.

The kitchen was also more like a hallway - the refrigerator was at the end opposite the door, with the kitchen sink and stove running along one side - and the table against the wall on the other side. If someone was sitting at the table, it was impossible to walk past them or to gain access to stove, cupboards or sink.

Just inside the doorway to the kitchen and across from the sink - sandwiched in a corner there was a washing machine. Not like those found in homes today - but this was a white enameled metal tub with an agitator inside, a motor underneath, and a hose that could hook onto the side of a tub or sink for draining. (see images taken from the internet below).

But most important and fascinating of all were the motorized roller ringers on one side where clothing could be fed through, and the water wrung out of them. More than once I remember getting my hand, or even my whole arm, caught in those rollers as I tried to “help” Mom with laundry duties. Of course the clothes dryer was in good weather the clothes line out back - and in bad weather it was a clothes line stretched from wall-to-wall in the living room.

Memories (part two) - the bedroom

Continuing along with blog postings of childhood memories (and memories of stories told to me) - we come to the lesson learned of... no more jumping on the bed!

I never ever slept in a crib. There just wasn’t space for one in such a tiny apartment. Instead my first bed was the top half of a twin-size bunk bed. Yes, I said the top bunk bed. Mom knew that as a newborn infant I was yet unable to turn over while sleeping - and she had great fears of my brother (3.5 years older than me) falling out of the top bunk. So, until my Dad put into place a guard rail - it was my distinct privilege to sleep on the top bunk.

Finally Dad got the guard rail in place, and I was thereafter relegated to the bottom bunk. It was that first night sleeping on the lower bunk that Mom said I actually rolled over in my sleep for the first time - and promptly fell out of bed. After that I was always quite fenced in by pillows to prevent a repeat occurrence. And Mom was forever grateful that I had not started exhibiting such skills prior to that time. A fall from the top bunk would have had more serious consequences.

My first memories of the bedroom was the adventure of following my brother’s lead and launching myself from the top bunk - to land with great delight in the middle of my parent’s queen-size bed. It wasn’t a terribly difficult feat, as there were only a couple feet of space between the two beds. But what fearless pleasure was achieved through the simple task of climbing high to the top bunk - followed by a glorious bouncing, soft landing. No amount of parental commands could keep two enterprising children from such daring adventures.

Needless to say, the first purchase made after moving to their new home a few years later was the replacement of a by then quite damaged queen-size bed. When parents tell their children to not jump on the bed - there is usually a good reason behind such requests.

Memories (part one) - the home

I have been traveling down memory lane the last few days. Trying to gather together memories of past events, and life lessons learned from my parents. This has led to today's posting, and hopefully more future blogs as well. The first memory to be illustrated here, and one of the important lessons I learned from my parents, was that of leading a frugal lifestyle. More times that I can count have I witnessed first-hand my parents going without their wants, so that they could achieve financial needs.

I have vibrant, yet scattered, memories of moments in my life prior to moving to the home where I "grew up". We moved to my present home when I was three years and two months old (at that young age, the months count almost as much as the years do). It was my parent’s goal to buy a home of their own one day - where they could have the security of home ownership, grow as a family, and have adequate space for their anticipated children. So they made many financial sacrifices over the years to enable the realization of their various goals for the future.

A few weeks into their marriage, Mom discovered that Dad had credit cards with multiple department stores in town - and that each card had quite a few charges on them. She firmly set down the rule that if they didn’t have the cash for something, then they didn’t need it, and therefore it was not to be purchased. And if Dad didn’t agree with that arrangement, then Mom would take those cards and put Dad so far into debt that he would never get out. Fully believing her statement/threat - Dad soon became convinced that she was correct (after all, church leaders had been instructing members to "get out of debt and stay out of debt" for years). "Cash only" became their mantra from that time forward, and with few exceptions (such as home or car purchases) they followed that rule for financial freedom. Soon Dad was almost a greater proponent of this frugal concept than Mom was.

Within a year after their wedding, my parents moved into a one-bedroom first floor apartment in the north-west corner of a Victorian era home - which had been converted into multiple residences. This home was located a block from Temple Square - the Conference Center Theater now stands on the corner where that home once stood. A mere memory now of a time and place that is no longer. It was there in a small and cramped apartment they would live for the next seven years. And it was there also where they would welcome the births and early years of their two children.


Succumbing to pressure I have acquiesced and finally joined Facebook. Actually it is my alter ego of Messy Musings who has joined Facebook. I still consider myself to be quite "faceless".

Poor Messy Musings never actually went to high school - nor has she ever lived anywhere but in my own mind (please don't tease her about where she lives - she's quite sensitive about that). So Messy's Facebook profile is somewhat limited at this time. I am however in the process of asking her questions in order to complete other areas of that profile. Please remember that those answers will be coming from her and not me!!

So far Messy only has three Facebook friends - which is kinda sad when you stop to think about it. So, if you are on Facebook and want to be Messy's friend - she told me that invitations are welcome.


I have started this great new diet - guaranteed to provide a gain (amount yet to be determined) - but the promises are sure and hopefully will be large!! I'm so excited to see an increase - that I just had to share the news with all my friends!! Aren't gains what all diets are about? Well, with this diet I certainly hope so!! You see, I am starting a "money diet".

For the next few months, every single potential purchase (even for something as small as 50 cents) must first be weighed on the harsh scales of needs versus wants. Until then I will be wearing the ear muffs of need to counteract the singing sirens voices of want.
  • Yes I acknowledge this poorly formed metaphor is a blatant (but slightly altered) theft from the epic Greek mythological legend of Odysseus, and his encounter with the Sirens. But I much prefer an ear muff over stuffing ears with beeswax - plus I do not wish to be enticed by the sirens song while tied to a ship's mast.
    But I digress...
You see, my latest home improvement venture of rebuilding of the back porch (photos coming soon - I promise) is going to cost me almost double what I had originally estimated and planned for.

So in order to salvage my sanity and renew financial resources - I must commit myself. No, not to an insane asylum (though some friends might be of mixed opinion on that) - but I must be committed to diligently conserve income resources. To that end I shall endeavor to follow these guidelines:
  • If I can honestly survive without it for at least 2 to 4 weeks - then it is not really a need.
  • Only basic purchases at the grocery store are allowed (no indulgent extras) - and coupon usage is highly encouraged.
  • No purchases of new shoes or clothes - if I can continue to modestly wear something from my closet, then I don't need to buy anything new right now (no matter how cute it is).
  • Reading, television (and blogging of course) are on the approved entertainment activity list.
  • So-called "emergency expenditures" will be carefully evaluated on a case-by-case basis.
  • A re-evaluation of finances will occur just prior to Thanksgiving. If monetary funds are still lacking, then the "money diet" will continue. Additional financial evaluations will then occur on a monthly basis until further notice.
I have successfully completed a "money diet" before - living off of food storage items and creativity. It is not glamorous, and can sometimes have a degree of pain and small amounts of suffering associated with it. However, fortified with divine help from above, experience, and a semblance of confidence -- I shall go forth, persevere, and achieve necessary current financial goals!!

Sigh... time to dig out the wheat grinder and get back to baking my own bread (which is fabulous by the way!!).

Thou gorbellied folly-fallen giglet

Last week was supposed to be a fun adventure-filled trip to Cedar City, Utah - where I would attend the yearly Shakespeare Festival. The tickets were purchased back in April in high anticipation of attending this event - yet alas twas not to be.

Instead I spent my week of vacation at home - a "staycation" if you will. Not a bad way to spend time off work, but I did feel badly about backing out of the trip and making family members take the journey without me. But please don't think of me as a roguish pottle-deep moldwarp (or some other Shakespeare-ish type of unpleasant being). They had fun even if not graced with my scintillating presence. There were a multitude of reasons why I did a staycation this year - and it was actually not all that bad.

I spent most of the week in a productive way. I obtained multiple bids from various companies to put a roof and siding on my new back porch. The roof is now in place - and photos will be posted when the siding is finally installed in a few weeks from now.

I also spent an entire 11-hour day sorting through all the paperwork and accumulated items in my Dad's den. It's been three years now since he passed away - so it was about time I did something about it. I filled the recycle garbage can with shredded papers and such - then organized or disposed of the rest. It was amazing some of the things I discovered - among the clutter were many treasured items (which of course I kept).

Tasks like this make one step back and consider all the clutter we accumulate in our own lives and homes. If I were to die tomorrow - I do not envy the person who must go through all of my possessions. Perhaps it is time to make my home a "house of order" - to scale down to the necessities and eliminate clutter from my life. Wish me luck!!

My black thumb

I am the not so proud owner of what is commonly referred to as... a black thumb. Yes I admit it is true that I kill plants! This is not because of spite, hatred, or uncaring feelings towards plants. Rather it is a natural inherent part of my DNA, or something.

One would think that I am probably a descendant of many generations of city dwellers - those who are far removed from the workings of the land in growing plants and gardening. However, that would not be true. My family on both sides go back centuries with farming roots. Even my parents were both raised on farms, and they were each quite skilled when it came to growing a garden. And of course I did my share of weeding and helping with the planting and gardening while growing up. But apparently it just didn't rub off the blackness of my thumb.

My beautiful garden rows of lovely red potato plants with leaves so green and lush - is now a mere collection of yellow leaves with brown spots and slowly dying plants. The three rows of corn I planted are doing slightly better than the potatoes. There are a few stalks which stand taller than me - but other stalks don't even reach my kneecap. My lovely black thumb has obviously reared it's ugly visage, and wrecked havoc upon these poor defenseless plants.

The only living, growing, thriving plants in my yard right now are weeds of course. I diligently dig, hoe, and spray weed killer everywhere. Yet these noxious things thrive in spite of (and rudely mock) my black thumb. But I know a path to revenge against the weeds. You see it is obvious that if I plant it.... it will die. Therefore all I need to do is harness the dark power of the black thumb and sew weed seeds throughout my yard. Then watch the power of the black thumb assert itself! Long live the black thumb!!

Wacky ice cream

This morning I read a news report about an ice cream place that makes and sells quite unusual flavors. Among which are jalapeno cream cheese with a raspberry swirl... but even more strange than that is the bacon flavor ice cream that they offer.

You heard me correctly... I said bacon flavored ice cream!! They say it tastes like vanilla, a bit salty, and really like breakfast bacon. Now if they could only get some maple syrup flavor in there somehow. Feasting on that would evoke thoughts of eating a delicious pancake breakfast, with the maple syrup spilling over onto the bacon... yummm... drool

Actually, contrary to others opinions, it doesn't sound all that bad. Of course this is coming from someone who has actually eaten garlic ice cream and lived to tell about it! Garlic ice cream also tastes like vanilla - and you honestly do not know there is garlic in it until you are finished. Then it is like whaaaaa... now entering into steamy garlic halitosis land. Warning! Protect your young... the bad breath monster is now on the loose!!

For the past couple of years my church group (in Mormon parlance that would be "my ward") has had an ice cream social at the beginning of summer. We gather up a number of hand crank ice cream makers, and spend a fun filled evening making and then eating many wonderful concoctions. After all, it is always more fun when you have to work a little before the reward comes!! I think that next year we should expand the flavor menu slightly... bacon anyone?

Blog learning curve

I have been reading various BLOGS lately, and
noticed something VERY interesting...

a blog posting concept that - until now - has NOT been found on MY blog.

Did you know?
there are actually people
spend time to vary the CAPITALIZATION,
font style, and
color of text
in their blog entries ?

I on the other hand appear to be quite pedantic when it comes to blog writing...
text appears to have the
- no creativity - no imagination.

I keep telling myself that it is content and not context.
But so far repeating that mantra hasn't convinced me - well not totally.

Hence this "experiment" with a moresupposedly creative look to a blog entry.

I don't know about this...
it is
A LOT of WORK - and for what?

I think that after all this effort I shall in the future be quite content to continue in my little plodding blog world ways. And continuously repeat to myself that mantra about it being "content over context". It is a lot easier in the long run - and by focusing on one thing - perhaps I will actually develop into one of those amusing "must read her blog" kinda people!!


It is the simple things in life that we tend to take for granted. For example: sleeping, sitting, standing, walking, or even just getting dressed in the morning. But, when one of your appendages has received an injury - a whole new experience in pain accompanies simple tasks once taken for granted. Yes, I have been the recipient of such an injury... an inflamed left rotator cuff.

The good news is that it only hurts when I move that shoulder. The bad news is that one cannot go throughout the entire day (or night) without moving the shoulder. Thank goodness for anti-inflammatory drugs - and even greater thanks that it is only inflamed, and not torn (which would require surgery).

But the human body is adaptable so that things can be accomplished using slightly different methods. It also provides the world's best excuse to not do certain yard work tasks!! I only hope I don't get too used to the enforced laziness - after all my yard doesn't have far to go before it descends into total weed dominated anarchy.

Shocked and Amazed

But mostly GRATEFUL!!

It was a blissfully quiet evening yesterday - spent watching a few minutes of the news broadcast (just enough to get the weather report). Then it was time to curl up with a good book and perhaps gain some knowledge in the process. Or at the very least, read a book that would provide a wonderful escape form this world into one of adventure and imagination.

The neighbors were mowing their lawn - the steady hum of which provided one of those pleasant summer sounds as a backdrop. I thought to myself that come Saturday morning I too would be pushing a lawnmower around the yard (not one of my favorite tasks - but a necessary evil chore nonetheless).

After a good night of rest, imagine my amazement and shock this morning when upon walking out the front door what did I see? A clean-cut recently mowed lawn met my slightly bewildered eyes!! Yup, you guessed... it wasn't my neighbors lawn being mowed yesterday evening... it was MINE!!

To whomever provided this gift of service most gratefully received - I say Thank You!! Somehow those two simple words do not seem like enough - but until I discover the source of the kindness, it will have to do.

There are angels living in my neighborhood.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
How does your garden grow?

I don't know how Mary's garden is growing - but mine is coming along (now that three weeks of rain has ended, and I can actually work in the yard). On Monday I planted all sorts of bloomin' things in my little flower garden. No, there are no silver bells and cockle shells - instead I planted a geranium, some zinnias, salvia, alyssum, and a few marigolds.

The marigolds were planted in honor of my Grandpa. He was the dearest and sweetest man you would ever meet. Sadly he was also color blind - and yellow was pretty much the only color he could see in its full splendor. I remember how he would plant loads of marigolds along both sides of the walkway leading from the ditch (that ran alongside the road) all the way up to the house. He planted so many in fact that they would soon overwhelm and completely cover the walkway. Grandpa didn't care about that - he just enjoyed the beauty of the flowers.

When my flowers mature a bit, I will take photos and post them here on my blog. Until then - you'll need to use your imagination (which might actually be better than my sad little flower patch).

Who's coming to visit?

As a kid, when Mom would ask my brother and I to help clean up the house – our first question would inevitably be… “who’s coming to visit?”.

I rarely get visitors to my home these days – which has allowed me to often take the lazy road of procrastination when it comes to clutter control. I can be very “house blind” if you will – not noticing how stuff can quickly stack up on tables, chairs, and even the floor at times.

But, all that clutter has a purpose – or so I lazily lead myself to believe.
  • That pile of stuff is to be given away to charity so why has it been sitting there for three months now?
  • I just haven’t had time to sort through all the junk mail this week
    I believe everyone can relate to this one
  • A little dust on the flat surfaces isn’t the end of the world
    that is if I notice it before it gets too thick -- besides, the lawn needs to be mowed (and more people can see that than dust on the end table)
  • The full laundry basket provides a wonderful justification to go purchase new clothes I am getting much better at not doing this – due to financial constraints and full closets
  • Oh, are there dirty dishes in the sink? Maybe I’ll find time to wash them tomorrow
    there are just too many books to read, movies to see, and sleep to catch up on first
Instead of following Scarlet O'Hara's attitude of, "Fiddle dee dee, I shall think of that tomorrow" -- perhaps I should take more to heart my Mom’s response to the question of who is coming for a visit. More often than not she would reply… “We Are!!”

Anxiously waiting

Anxiously and frequently throughout the day I check my email and blog to see if someone, anyone, has posted a comment yet. Some glimmer that what I have written has been deemed acceptable. In a sense I suppose that I am searching for a personal validation (a pat on the back, if you will) that my thoughts are of value.

Then I find that I must stop and re-examine my motives. Why did I start writing this blog anyway? Was it for gratuitous flattery from others to boost my own pitiful ego? Or, was it a means to get me writing again after an almost 2-year hiatus? In many ways I think it is a combination of both. Shallow as it may be - I still possess a basic human craving to know that what I do, and what I say, has value in another's eyes.

For my inner, higher, more altruistic self - such feedback holds no real meaning. But I must confess that at this point of development in my life, I am a bit more egocentric than that. Please do not take this the wrong way - I am not begging for praise. It is quite obvious that my blog postings are of great quality and can fully stand on their own (wink wink).

However, should you be so inclined.....

It's in the bag

Food smothered in alfredo sauce is commonly referred to as "cardiac on a plate" - due to the deliciously high fat content. I am pleased to announce that I have recently discovered "cardiac in a bag"!! No need to pay high restaurant prices, eat off plates and use silverware. This new discovery comes camouflaged in a simple grease soaked brown paper bag - and is messily eaten with your fingers. Honestly, what could be better than that?

What is this culinary delight, and where might you obtain your share? I think they call it Five Guys Burgers & Fries for a reason. That's about how many people you need to eat a single order of fries - which come in two sizes, ginormous and ginormous on steroids! Add to that their regular burger (weighing in at almost 1/2 pound) - and it's a glorious meal fit for.... someone who doesn't care much about calories or grams of fat content.

I have determined that I am only allowed to eat there once or twice a year. That's because it takes about that long to exercise away the 10+ pounds gained by a single indulgence. Don't get me wrong - it is oh so well worth it!! I anxiously, mouth wateringly, anticipate that next greasy food fix - which will be sometime this coming Autumn. Until then I am ever faithfully crunching away on my stalks of celery.

Rain rain go away

I swear that I saw all sorts of animals gathering two-by-two and proceeding to climb aboard boats in the neighborhood this past weekend. It has been quite cool, and has rained at least once every single day now for more than two weeks. There are a plethora of mushrooms growing in my lawn - and also under my peach trees for heaven's sake (and I don't think they would be good in a salad either)!! This is not normal - I live in a desert!!

I really miss seeing the gloriously warm sunshine - and am more convinced than ever that I would not want to live in the Pacific Northwest, where I understand it rains much of the time. But give it a few weeks, at which time I will be clamoring for the then past cooler rainy days. You know, the time when temperatures start climbing into the 100's and the air is so dry that I can't even spit. Guess there is just no pleasing some people.

Unlike other blogs

Unlike other friend's blogs where they entertain using amusing stories and anecdotes from their children, husband, and pets -- this blog will be different as I have none of those entities in my life at this time - with the one exception of my pet, Bunny (you can read all about Bunny in a posting on my other blog... click here).

Therefore I am relegated to either talking exclusively about myself (big yawn / boring) --- or taking advantage of my friends and steal events from them and their weird life experiences to talk about. So to protect the innocent (or guilty as the case may be) - I shall be using coded names for these friends (see list on the right).

I must start out by giving due thanks to both ET and LOPC for their inspiration and influence to start this blog. So, if there are any who oppose my musings... you can blame them!! And thanks to CM for help with my current nom de plume.

In the beginning...

In the beginning a blog was created, and it was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the blogspot. Then Messy Musings said, let there be words: and there were words. And behold the words were good.

And thus all who come forth to A Mess of Musings shall obtain knowledge from such random thoughts as deemed worthy of posting. And joy shall be in the hearts of all readers. And thus we see a new beginning is had in the land.