Today was duller than doornails. Precisely the way I like it. A whisker before noon I'm awakened with . . . what else . . . POUND, POUND, POUND. I'm beginning to believe that you'll be as happy as I when this roof job is FINISHED. At least today he was working on the first-story roof, which contributed to the dullness of the day. I'm not nearly so afraid of him falling off a mere one-story.

In the afternoon, which came about quickly after I arose, like in one minute, I took Jazzi down the street so I could view the completed second-story roof. It looks so nice. But it's not even close to the color of shingles I picked out from the board of sample shingles. I went with a darkish color called Heatherblend. It's supposed to have blue and tan specks on a chocolate chip brown background. It does on the sample. On my roof, in the overcast Florida October day, it looks light reddish brown. Geez, I need a box of Crayolas. It's a light taupe, kind of, which Webster declares is "a moderate to dark brownish gray." (With a red cast, I add.) Well, Webster's definition (minus my addition) sounds more like the color I DID NOT pick, called Weathered Wood. Who would pick a color like that?? That's the last color I wanted, it looks like old crummy pavement. I'm trying to GET AWAY from the weathered wood look, like you know I want my gangplank walkway to the front door extirpated. So, if you think paint chips don't tell the whole story, shingle chips are way worse. How do they expect you, especially if you are decorator-challenged, to visualize a whole huge roof from a teensy weensy sample that they warn won't be the color you wind up with anyway -- dye lots and all that. I fully expect that come summer, in the bright Florida sun, the roof will look stark white.

Well, when Jazzi and I were walking back up the driveway, I heard a sudden but brief crash/skirmish type of activity. (BTW, two days in a row of driveway excitement, read yesterday's blog, what's the world coming to?) Jazzi and I wheeled around and there in the middle of the street was a tiny branch of oak tree, I mean so small a baby could brandish it, and one VERY STILL squirrel. I froze to the spot, as you might expect, based on my responses in other emergency situations. At least it wasn't the roofer. It took about 30 seconds for me to gather my wits, you know, work up the nerve to go inspect the poor deceased rodent, check his pulse and all, when a car noise brought the dead squirrel back to life in a jiffy, and he jumped up and scampered off like it was all in a day's work, to fall with a flimsy branch, from way up high, to the pavement beneath. I hope he learned something from his brush with death, to be a little more cautious. That, my friends, was my excitement for the day. But I have to say, it was interesting to me, since I've been so worried about the roofers tumbling down all week. You know, to have the squirrel fall practically on my head, when I spend a grand total of 30 seconds outside each day, apart from my walk, if I walk. And how many times does a squirrel go splat in the street aside from being run over by a car? That was strictly Providential, I would say. I can say that because the squirrel appeared no worse for the wear. I was wondering what I could POSSIBLY blog about on such a dull day.

Okay, for years I have had RECURRING nightmares about this roof. A big huge rainstorm comes up and my ceilings start sprouting leaks all over the house. First one, then another. I'm running around with a bucket collecting drops from this leak and that. I grow frantic as more and more leaks start and I can't keep up. Pretty soon the ceilings give way and water is gushing into the house. It's such a lost cause. I wonder if this imagery is somehow connected to when my grandfather had water gushing from his forehead, if you read my earlier blog. Whew, I have another dreadful recurring nightmare which I TRULY wish would exhaust itself. At the beginning of the school year the teacher says, You MUST read the entire science text by the final exam. This is high end science, 900-some pages and completely out of my realm of comprehension. Of course, I put it off, put it off, never read it at all. Well, that teacher is replaced by another teacher in the middle of the year, who never mentions Boo! about reading the science text. So I just say, GOOD, got out of THAT ONE! Two nights before the exam the teacher says, like small potatoes, when someone was dumb enough to ask, the someone probably being KEM, Oh, sure, you have to have read the entire text. Well, cramming is one thing, but this thing was unquestionably IMPOSSIBLE. Every time I dream this nightmare, I just feel sick, Sick, SICK. But writing it out is making me feel better, when I see it on paper I know it is just my imagination, but based on a life of procrastination just the same.

This afternoon when I came downstairs, having slept a very long time, Mike said expectantly, Do you feel all renewed and invigorated? I said, with zero spunk, mopey-like, I feel better. Mike thinks this is very funny, that I can't admit if I feel good. He's waiting for me to jump up and down and be raring to go. He might be waiting a VERY LONG time.

I topped off my dull day by trying to read old newspapers in an effort to diminish the pile on the dining room table (where we eat, it's the only table in the house). Really, I have to rummage up some discipline in my life. A few years ago my sister clipped to her refrigerator an article on discipline. The gist of it was that if we don't exercise personal discipline our life is going to be a total wash. ONLY through discipline and will power are we ever going to amount to a hill of beans, at the very least. I wish I had a copy of that article. It's true. Once I read, I think it was in ASK MARILYN, maybe, what one element MUST a successful person have. I learned that you can overcome bad nerves, shyness, lack of monstrous intelligence, luck, position, etc. The one common trait successful people had was the DISCIPLINE to stay motivated and work hard. Without that you may as well dig your grave, one sloppy shovelful at a time. So, on that note, I think I'll go grab some Spritz cookies with raspberry jam dots in the center and go read some more old newspapers. And worry about my scattered life habits, which so far have produced a one-bean hill, tomorrow.

Finding out RESULTS follow WORK,
KEM

10:00 AM. POUND. POUND. POUND. I am lying in bed trying to figure the number of men on the roof directly overhead. There is obviously at least one man on the roof, but only two at the most. Then I get nervous thinking about that one man, which he was, rolling off the second story roof. I'm the only one home so that would leave it to me to run downstairs and call 911 and try to resuscitate him. LORD, PLEASE keep him on the roof, in one glorious bronzed piece.

I did Google Kentucky Butter Cake and there are an easy 16,000 references to it on the modern marvel, The Web. One site boasted, Proudly Clogging Arteries Since 1963. I wouldn't doubt it since the recipes I checked each listed a cool 3 sticks of butter per cake -- 2 in the cake and 1 in the glaze. They don't call it BUTTER cake for nothin'. People who eat butter cake regularly probably drop like flies after so many hunks, but that makes them a legend and the family goes right ahead and bakes some more butter cakes. I'm going to try one right away, but I want to wait for the church lady's recipe. I KNOW hers is good, I don't want to mess around. Three sticks of butter! That's almost the whole box! Can't afford to risk that kind of butter on a lesser recipe. One person said their cake turned out dry. WITH 3 STICKS OF BUTTER?? How can that be, that much butter guarantees a gooey mess. That person must be to cakes what I am to plants -- a murderer.

Pertaining to the neat lady from yesterday. I want to know how she has TIME to make and keep a perfectly neat and organized home. What do I do with my time? Everything you ever heard of except keeping house, it appears. My day is so full and busy, just like yours. I guess if I gave up reading the newspaper I could have a tidier house. Ya think? DTD'S second cousin, she's one of those marvels I'm talking about. I've seen her in action. Lovely girl. So of course I had to ask her, HOW DO YOU DO THIS? She said, You come home and put things away right away, EACH TIME. That is correct, every time you use something it has to be redeposited in it's "home." You DO NOT just lay something on a chair or the counter or any ol' where. Okay. So that's it? I have to put things AWAY? Right NOW? My sister has said that storage is not my problem (even though we don't have a garage). She said my problem is empty cupboards and full flat surfaces. I think really my problem is that I suppose I have to clean everything before it can be put away. Because I don't want to mussy up the clean (if they are) cupboards. I at least have to dust off the bottoms of things or vacuum the edge of the book, like I think I've said before. Same goes for refrigerator stuff. But since food HAS to be put away right away, I do that. And I dust off the bottoms of bottles and cartons. My refrigerator shelves are nice 'n clean.

I have to say, it's kind of irritating that these women make it look so easy, like the ENJOY doint it. I want to follow them around some day, see what REALLY goes on. Wanda is who I need. Wanda is a Polish lady who keeps house for my friend. The two of them together keep 8,000 complicated sq. ft. GLISTENING clean. It's just ridiculous and revolting, that anyone can be THAT perfect. I need Wanda to come to my house for a week and give me a jump-start. But that would be too embarrassing for her to see how I live. She's only seen me separate from my house so far. She likes me and I like her and I want to keep it that way.

The other day I DID order my eyebrow sponge pencil, a few days after I said I couldn't wait another second. And it can't get here soon enough. My eyebrows are shades lighter every day because I do not have enough powder left in the sponge to give my eyebrows any beef. Merely dots of color is all I can summon from the sponge. Eyebrows look sparse, like they're thinning, as in balding. So why did I spring for DHC'S offer to "try" their NEW mail delivery service?? It takes at least twice as long to get your package as the regular shipping method, but it's cheaper. But cheaper didn't matter because this month is free shipping. The little marketing ploy that "got" me was, Would you like to save $5 today? Of course I would like to save $5, how do I do it? Why, just agree to the shipping trial. Well, then, LET'S DO IT! So, here I am, frantic for my new eyebrow sponge and it's going to take two weeks to get here. But I will be able to get a "free" ice cream cone when all is said and done. After I fill out the questionnaire how I liked the new cheaper snail mail. Someone, please lift me from the planet.

Just so you know, after four days of using Crest Whitestrips, and not all in a row, my teeth woke up the next morning hurting. But don't mind me, I am just a very sensitive person. If there is the slightest chance for sensitivity issues, count me in. After the 5th application, I can't say my teeth are whiter than snow. They still look exactly the same shade of compromised white as BW, Before Whitestrips. Maybe I'm using them too close to the expiration date. Maybe they are DOA. Or maybe I need to wait and see what happens after the 14 days you are directed to apply them. Some nights I've been too tired to use them by the time I remember, just couldn't swing another 30 conscious minutes. I've been EXTRA tired lately. I'm blaming FRUITEIN, High Protein Energy Shake. At the health food store this lady had a table set up with samples of this shake, it's made from Acai, some miracle berry, right? It was DELISH! The FRUITEIN can brags: Vitamins, Minerals, Enzymes, Herbs and More Than 115 Whole Foods. Wow!, give me some!, I said. See, my doc just told me I was going to lose more bone than EVER BEFORE in the next few years. Cheers! He said I had to take tons of mgs of Calcium and units of Vitamin D EV-A-REE day. So what's a girl to do? Vitamin pills make me nauseous. This drink is so yummy with milk. Well, whenever you drink the drink, suddenly you are zapped of all energy, is that what they mean when they call it an energy shake? If that is the case they should retitle the can, FRUITEIN, High Protein Energy-No-More Shake. Or Energy Shake Down and Out . . . FOREVER. See, Uncle Pete was right, I don't make anything easy. Mike said I was a sucker to buy this powder in a can. I think he was right, I haven't felt good ever since I started on it a couple weeks ago. Talk about a disappointment.

Speaking of Mike, guess what? I lost his eyeglasses today. We went to pick out new frames for him. I KNEW he would walk out of the store having picked out new glasses on the spot. Not like I, who has to see every pair in America, twice, before I make my VERY unsure choice. Not one to be unpredictable, he ordered the new glasses, proud as a peacock. Back in the car I asked, Didn't you even want to check out any other glasses? NO WAY. Then I said, We're going to Tampa to eat at Nordstrom's. Well, somewhere in our wanderings and in and out of the car, I removed his glasses case from the cup holder in-between the seats to stick in my water bottle. That is the last recollection I have of his glasses. As far as I'm concerned, they vanished into thin air, or at least spilled out onto some parking lot where a car has since made them one with the pavement. We didn't know this until we pulled into the driveway and Mike says, Where are my glasses? Says I, Your guess is as good as mine. He indicated that I wasn't thinking correctly to give a cheap bottle of water more consideration than his expensive glasses (even though the lenses are yellowed with age, just like teeth). Well, this is true. I am too tired to know what I'm doing, see above paragraph.

So, all in all it was a mixed day. It was too bad to lose the glasses, but the roofer was not plunged to his death, which way beats out glasses plunged to their death. This reminds me of Anne of Green Gables when she walked the ridgepole of a kitchen roof, at her enemies' dare, and fell off. Her best friend rushed to her side, Anne, are you killed? Please tell me if you are killed! I don't want to act this out with the roofer. It was too dark to tell if he finished the second story, but hopefully tomorrow he will be on the first story and my worries will be vastly diminished.

If you ever eat at Nordstom's, go for the Beet Salad. For crying out loud, it was DELICIOUS. How could anyone on earth not love a roasted beet? We've been through this before. You KNOW how I love beets and Lima beans and things like that. I've had a friend tell me that peas taste like dirt and she WILL NOT TOUCH THEM. You could have blown me over. Another friend said, Beets taste like dirt. SAY WHAT?? What's with the dirt association, besides the fact that's where beets and beans grow? (Well, I have to admit, there IS an association, but I leave the dirt in the field, not on the beets.) Don't forget, ya'll, we are LIVING DUST. Don't despise the dirt. Even though beets and peas do NOT taste like dirt. But more power to you if you say they do.

I am WAY too tired to sift through my notes on America's "B"-But-It's-Not-Baseball Pastime. Tomorrow?

KEM of Extraordinary Levels of LOW Energy, Somebody Help Me, PLEASE

I'm NOT Organized and These are MY Cookies

This morning the roofer stopped by to tell Mike that he couldn't work on our roof today. He was limping. Uh-oh. But that is not the reason he couldn't work for us. He couldn't work for us because he had to work for another man who was yelling at him to finish the job.

This means I COULD have slept in all day. But I couldn't. Instead I had to get up early anyway to go to my friend's clothing party she hosted in her fantastic, perfect home. Where she serves delicious quiches and homemade strawberry shortcake and more. Lots of spanky women came. How are all these women up and running and arrived at appointed destination by 9:15 AM, and in their right mind?? Even clothed, even though they came to buy clothes. Beats me.

I struck up a big conversation with this adorable lady. She moved to a different house over the summer and had to pack up her belongings, pretty much all by herself, in three short summer weeks. Of course she has two young school age children and a husband. Of course she works (for herself, she's a designer/decorator). Of course she sells jewelry on the side. And has her Real Estate license. Of course she always looks totally put together. Of course she's just as peppy as they come and very social. OF COURSE she's just the total package. I'm telling you, it's nauseating. But she was SO NICE, too. OF COURSE. I loved her. She told me, because I had to know how she swings all this, how she keeps organized. She keeps organized because she LOVES IT. It makes her feel so good to know her house is in order, she can sigh Relief and feel Rested and Relaxed, The Triple R Blessing. In fact, if her house is in disarray she feels constricted, like someone has their hands around her neck. Wow, I wish my claustrophobia worked in that direction. Instead, I have a fear of the Communists taking over and locking me in a car trunk for torture. I would say The Neat Lady's Claustro leads to a lot more productivity than my claustro, wouldn't you? Actually, she is very good friends with my friend who hosted the party, and they are like two peas in that pod. If you toss in Penelope Cruz, who also cleans closets for therapy, as I'm mentioned, you can make that three peas in that pod. This girl today said that she can holler from the other room to tell her mother, The powdered sugar is on the middle shelf of the pantry in the left front corner. Me, I don't even know if I have powdered sugar, and if I do where is it and how old might it be? Her mother isn't organized and wonders how her daughter came about it. The daughter actually helps her mom get organized from time to time and it lasts about one day, so she gives up, I guess they both give up. This marvel of a human being told me she had ALWAYS been crazy particular and organized. So there you have it, you are born with this capacity for neatness and cleverness, or you are not. I am not. She emphasized that life runs so much more smoothly if you make a habit of doing things like constantly cleaning out your kids' closets. Well, I'm going to have to turn into a copy of this lady. It's impossible, I know, because she doesn't require sleep, but I'm going to have to do it anyway. And she's funny, too. Why not?

So, the TEN MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION. Is the roofer coming tomorrow?? The shingles came today, they were forklifted up to the roof. There they are, all in cute little stacks. I SERIOUSLY HOPE Mr. Bumfoot shows tomorrow because it is supposed to get cold and rainy this weekend. Tomorrow is Friday. OF COURSE. Just like when you get crucially ill, like with the Swine Flu, on Friday at 6:00 PM and the doctor won't be in the office again until Monday AM. Well, I'm going to go take two Advil PM'S and see what that does for me.

One last thing. After choir practice tonight we had cake in honor of someone's birthday. I knew this lady was bringing the cake, she is famous baker in our church. But dadgum, she bought the cake from Publix, same place as famous fight over ice cream flavors, read yesterday's blog. I was counting on one of her sinful homemade desserts. I have tasted this lady's pound cake and it is, hands down, the best cake I have ever tasted. She's not one to fret over a few thousand calories and all kinds of bad kinds of fat in a single slice of cake. Not her. Not me. I like her. So tonight I said, Wow, I need your pound cake recipe. She said it's called Kentucky Butter Cake and it is so great, especially with the buttery sugary glaze poked down through the cake. Pure decadence. And she found it when it was circulating online or something. Man, I have bad luck with recipes that come from chain emails. One I tried was Microwave Cupcake In a Coffee Cup, or something. It was easy enough, so I made it. I couldn't make it immediately because it called for an egg and I didn't have an egg. But I was very curious, I like cupcakes, remember my cherry cupcakes, you do if you read my blog a month ago. So I promised myself to have an egg by the morrow. And I did have an egg the next day and I made the cupcake-in-a-coffee-cup. It was absolutely vulcanized, and tasteless, too. Which didn't stop me from eating part of it, because it was my handiwork, after all. The other part I graciously offered to Mike. But he knows my tricks, he knows that if Microwave Cupcake had been delicious he would have had none of it. I'm kinda stingy about food, ain't that awful? Once as a kid I had my own private box of Girl Scout cookies. We were in the car and my sister and mother wanted one of my cookies, and I said, NO. Even then the burning red shame rolled over me, wave upon wave. My nephew is stingy with food, too. It was his birthday today. Same nephew who shops with me for vacation food (read post from a couple weeks ago). What a pair we are, eh? It's a wonder we didn't padlock our own personal food in our own private cupboards and post signs KEEP OUT OF OUR STASH IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU -- and, oh yeah, everyone have a happy vacation.

Okay, I'm just rattling tonight. Tomorrow I promise MYSELF to write about America's Favorite Pastime, which starts with a "B" but it ain't Baseball. Does this ring a bell with anyone? It does if you've been nice little blogees and reading my blog. Baseball season IS winding down, that's my deadline, the World Series. DEADline. Who thought of THAT? It's so insinuating.

Going to Google Kentucky Butter Cake, Kentucky is a GREAT State, almost like Michigan,
KEM

Of Roofers, Nails and Kids' Essays on Me, Me, Me

HOW NOT TO WAKE UP IN THE MORNING. Let's talk about this. It's important. As you may know, yesterday was Day One of Successful Roofing Job (positive thinking here). Today was Day Two of Four. At ten 0'clock in the morning I, who was still asleep, was abruptly awakened by POUND, POUND, POUND. Approximately less than one minute later, while I was still in bed, I heard a final POUND followed almost simulataneously by what I can only describe as a DEATH GROAN. Then, after a slight pause, there were hisses and growls and wincing type noises ending with a second Death Groan. I assumed it was THE END, you'd better know it. I simply froze in my bed with fear -as in SOLID. Yesterday I had prayed BIG TIME that no roofer would fall off the roof and break his neck or worse. Honestly, friends, I was petrified. I was SURE someone had fallen to the ground in a life-taking thud or smashed off their thumb OR SOMETHING. All other actions/sounds on the roof clanked to an instant and THOROUGH cease-hush, as in when something tragic has happened. I can hear all this clatter then silence eloquently because there is a French door in the bedroom that leads to NoWhere. Seriously. It used to lead to a deck kind of arbor thing built on top of the laundry room roof. But we are not the type to fuss with something as high maintenance as THAT. It had to come down. Previous owner had secured the deck by driving nails straight through the laundry roof. REAL SMART. That roof has leaked ever since. So now the French door opens to air. You have to step WAY down to land on the roof. If an inspector ever gives me a bad time about a weirdo door like that, I'm going to tell him it's our fire escape. It is. Then what can he say? Anyway, the head roofer was replacing all the wood on the roof right outside the door, so I was an ear witness, call me to the stand. It was so close he may as well have almost been IN the bedroom.

Well, guess what had happened? Oh yes, SOMETHING happened alrighty. I found out much later because, like I said, I was a block of ice on my mattress, unable to even twitch or breathe. Don't count on me in an emergency. Just don't. In my family if the toilet overflows the best we can do is stand there and scream. So . . . the head roofer had stepped on a four-inch nail, it pierced straight into his foot and touched his bone. And I'm taking it for granted he wasn't barefoot. Listen, that's all the detail I have or want to have. When I saw him late in the afternoon I suggested he go to the doc, but he said he didn't even feel it anymore. Of course not, his foot is probably void of life and ready to fall off. Listen, with roofing, I have a one-track mind consisting of a one-word vocabulary -- FALLING. He assured me he had his tetanus shots. I'm thinking the second Death Groan was when he yanked out the nail. All I know is the very thought of the whole horrible episode causes me to disintegrate all over again. I can HARDLY WAIT until tomorrow. But I'm going to my friend's home clothing party. GOOD TIMING.

Okay, we must move on to a merrier topic. If Day One of Roof was uneventful, Day Two about sent me over the edge.

A most long time ago, when DTD was 8 years old and my stepson was 14, I took them to the grocery store. I thought they could help me shop (??), and we could all, you know, do a little activity together. We had been a family just over a year. When we got inside the store a fight erupted over which flavor of ice cream to buy. DTD wanted Such and Such and stepson wanted Thus and So. Two specific and irreconcilable ideas. And nary the twain shall meet. They each INSISTED on their flavor, neither one would budge a sugar granule. My nerves quickly became disheveled (strong nerves are not my forte). I don't know why I didn't just buy two cartons of ice cream and be done with it, but I didn't. We probably came home with no ice cream because I was disgusted with their unyielding display of My Way, You Take the Highway. So, in a display of my own, one of uncommon brilliance for me, if I don't say so myself, I made them write an essay on what was wrong with their behavior and what they planned to do about it. I will copy below the essays, unedited (although I'm sure I may make a comment or two which I shall distinguish with parentheses).

DTD: 1. I'm sorry. 2. I saw a lady setting on a bench. 3. I falt sorry for her. 4. Nick can peck the ice cream nest time. 5. He can peck the jam too. 6. I will try to do better nest time. 7. She (lady on the bench) was there the hole time we were at Publix. 8. She looked nice. 9. I do not need iney boded to play with at the pool. 10. I will be platet. (pleasant?) 11. And eat all the food they give me (sheesh, like it's poison). 12. I should go to bed ole. 13. I should not be able to watch t.v. for the next (must have made a mistake) week. I should have to wash King (dog) by myself. 14. I did wrong. I will pray that I will do better nest (that's more like it) time. 15. I onley want preants from my famley. 16. And money for the poor from every body else. 17. Nick can cose (choose) the whole summer. 18. I will not complane as much. 19. I should not have 50 cents in my lunch iny more. 20. I should not be albe to buy luch any more.

Now, isn't that totally priceless? She got her spelling talent from her mother, plus, I think she wrote this in a hurry. Nevertheless, it covered a lot of bases and was sweetly expressed. I think she was worried about the poor woman on the bench, who, in all probability, was not going to be getting ANYthing anytime soon, much less a particular flavor of ice cream. I think that woman made quite the impression, at least for that afternoon.

Stepson: I'm sorry I'm not as grateful as I should be. I should be happy with what I have because many people do not have what I have and they would be happy to have what I have. So from now on I should be more happy with what I have. All the poor people in the world are probably happy with what they have so we should be happy with what we have even it its an ice cream flavor you don't like. You shouldn't fight over little things either even if your parent thinks you were talking on the phone for ten minutes and you really only talked on it for 5 minutes, you still shouldn't fight over that. I should also be happy I'm getting a new room (basically). I guess it's worth sleeping on the couch for 2 months, but I should still be happy that my room is being remodeled and it looks totally different. And one day I'll finally be able to sleep in it. So since I have so many great things in my life I should not complain about some ice-cream flavor I don't like or that it is my turn to pick the flavor. So basically the lesson is be happy with what you have because many people don't have what you have.

Well. I thought stepson expressed some very fine sentiments and showed an improved attitude overall. Maybe he was thinking the poor homeless woman would be sleeping on the hard cold bench, and she would be THRILLED to sleep on a warm gooshy surface, even if it was a couch. Nevertheless, I think he drove home the point that he had ISSUES with his room remodel. He decorated his notebook paper by drawing faces around the hole punches. The holes served as noses and he drew frowny mouths below. Also, he left no doubt in my mind that he should be happy to have what he has because many people do not have what he has and would be happy to have what he has so he should be happy to have what he has, etc.

After they wrote their essays, I sat everyone down in the living room and read them aloud. Complete with DTD'S spellings spelled out, you know, Early, O-L-E, which stepson thought was just too hilarious. When I read his paper out loud, though, he even thought that was hilarious, too. Well, it was.

KEM of the Death Groan Shivers and Essay Delights

Button Crisis Averted

Hallo. Guess what? My blog has born fruit. Button fruit. My button problem is history. That was easy. Listen to what my sister emails after reading the blog:

please don't get rid of your buttons. Buttons are so charming and you should have them fill up a cool glass jar. very vintage-retro. send them my way if you don't want a jar of buttons.

So, if this isn't the perfect solution to buttons in excess, I'd like to know what is. I will give them to my sister for Christmas, in a darling glass jar, just the way she likes them. They will be her pride and joy. PLUS, if I ever need a button, she can mail me one. My sister's gain is the loss of button collectors everywhere. Sorry about that, but it's the way the button bounces. (Thought I should go for a little corn tonight.) To think I could have underestimated the pizazz of a box of buttons like that. To think they were almost given away so recklessly. I have zero imagination. But now they are rescued, just in the nick of time. Precious little buttons.

Okay, so the roofers are something else. I NEVER saw ANYONE work so hard IN ALL MY LIFE. WOW. After Day One, I am UTTERLY exhausted, more than ever, which we didn't think possible. All day, at any second, I expected a roofer to drop in on my head, the noise was so ferocious. But at least they didn't show up until 9:00 AM, instead of the promised and dreaded 7:30 Am. I am MOST curious to see what the finished product will look like. And you know how one thing leads to another in house projects? Now the eaves should be sanded and painted, they're so close to the gorgeous new roof and all. Then, since building and home improvements have taken a beating in this economy and workers are eager for work, the roofer wants to take out our gangplank of a walkway and knock out the wall that encloses a little patio in front of the house. Well, I gave him the idea first and he jumped on it. He loves and adores demolition. Of course, then we would have to replace the walk with something safer and prettier. Half of our driveway, where we park the cars, isn't cemented in, either. While he's at everything, he should pressure wash the house because it is filthy and is getting filthier with shingle dust. Oh, and let's not forget the sheetrock repairs in the ceilings, once the roof is tight. You can bet your bottom dollar that the second we complete all these beautifications, we'll have to sell the house. But at least it will have some curb appeal. Of course, the yard needs a makeover, and I've always wanted our staircase to be redone. The man from whom we bought this house, he was a do-it-yourselfer and had temper fits in some of his doings, you can tell. One Coat Charlie and all the rest. Well, I suppose any house has endless upkeep and wish list. That's what Mike tells me, anyway. I don't really buy it. I want a sweet little cottage with good bones, wood floors and quality windows. Something MANAGEABLE. Something we can mostly keep up ourselves. Yeah, that's my ambition.

Okay, MUST cut this short, I'm seeing little white and blue sparks in my eyes. Crazy week.

Hoping the roofers arrive at noon,
KEM

Black Dots Dotting Brussels Sprouts

Hello. I'm still working on a roll of plastic wrap that I bought on vacation in June. The brand is Laura Lynn. Hmmm. That sounds familiar. As in my sister, Laura Linn. This brand needs a companion product, maybe called Kathy Linn. It says 200 sq. ft. on the package but in reality it seems like miles and miles of plastic wrap. I'm not complaining. This is good. I use it multiple times a day and it just never goes away. Like the poor woman in the Old Testament whose oil never went away, the pot always had some more oil, no matter how many times she used the last drop. It would be nice if all supplies behaved like that, I'm musing, the bottomless pits.

I am in the business of demoting. I demote what once were good clothes, like my tye-dyed-courtesy-of-Bar-Keepers-Friend-shirt, to stay-in-the-house or exercise clothes. Or work in the yard clothes, 'cept I never work in the yard. But I should. Then I demote food. Well, I try not to go there, what with my three day rule, but if bread seems stale, I guess you can make French toast out of it. But French toast hardly sounds like a demotion even though the directions SAY to use stale break. Okay, this one is tricky. But you know how food tippers say if something is less than prime, you can mutilate it in the blender and make soup out of it, then who will know the dif? I will, that's who. Or cook blemished berries into a syrup. Naw, I don't think so. Hardly appeals.

Okay, so I definitely demote rags. Old kitchen washrags and towels, when stained silly, become rags to mop floors or dust furniture. It has to be down to two criss-crossed threads before I'll throw a stinkin' lousy rag out. This is really bad. I'm the type who won't wear new clothes. I might wreck them or wear them out or something. My sister is the opposite type, she can't wait to wear something new, she'll wear it home from the store. So . . . what disorder do I have that makes me behave in this peculiar fashion? It's VERY hard for me to throw anything out. It all goes in the Goodwill pile, as I've mentioned before. I got a kick out of something that happened on vacation (see above). My friend gave me a book to read. The main character thought and did so many of the things I think and do that I thought I WAS the main character (MC). It was really weird. For instance, the MC'S daughter has the same eye roll thing going, reserved exclusively for her mother, that DTD has for me. When the daughter gave her mother some sample lipstick from her job as a beauty editor, it was the wrong shade so the daughter told her mother, MC, to throw it out. MC said, I'll give it to Goodwill. Well, my sentiments exactly. Daughter rolls eyes and says, Goodwill doesn't want your USED lipstick. And I'm thinking, Why not? It's perfectly good. Not a doubt in this world I put new things like that in the give away pile. How can anyone say one little bare use is USED? Well, anyway, the book is Home Safe by Elizabeth Berg.

I just don't get it. I knew a lady who once a month went through her ENTIRE HOUSE and threw out anything the family hadn't used during that month (minus seasonal decorations or fancy dishes and clothes, I would presume). She admitted that she went overboard, but hoo boy, I kinda wish I had her guts, to be indelicate. Then I just read that this male decorator does the same thing. He says if you don't keep up with things then your house will go to pot. Well, he said something like that. Wow, I'm inspired. For instance, I have a box full of buttons, hundreds of them, that I can't quite bring myself to give the old heave-ho. Why is this? I've used one button in the last 11 years. Surely I would never miss them . . . until I needed a button the very next day after I threw them out. Guess I could check out the Reader Exchange in the newspaper. I'll bet there is a button collector out yonder who would be hysterical to have another box of buttons. In fact, there are probably LOTS of button collectors drooling for a fresh box of buttons. At any rate, I must need Electric Brain Shock or something. Everything is too hard for me.

Once when I took DTD to visit her great aunt and uncle on the Jersey shore, I was helping make dinner. I got to do the salad. First off, it takes me FOREVER to examine each bit of lettuce, to make sure there is NO brown on it, none whatsoever. My sister has said I would last 30 seconds in a commercial kitchen. So, I got all the brown off and I asked DTD'S aunt, Do you have a salad spinner? The uncle was sitting at the kitchen table watching the whole scene. He became exasperated and blurted out, GOOD GRIEF!, you make the BIGGEST DEAL OUT OF EVERYTHING. That didn't hurt my feelings because it's true, I do make the biggest deal out of everything. They didn't have a salad spinner. I dried my perfectly green lettuce by hand, spinning it outside in a dishcloth, you know, winging it in circles over my head by arm and letting all the water droplets fly.

Everyone makes fun of me for studying my food. One time my sister and I went out to lunch. I got salad. I had to look it over. DTD says, Mom, why do order salad, how can you possibly enjoy it? Good point, DTD. Anyway, my sister was laughing and making fun of my oddity, having a high old time, when I found a little worm curled up in a lettuce leaf. I pierced it with my fork and brandished it for all the world to see. She thought the fact that I found a worm tucked in my salad was even funnier than looking for a worm. Once I found a dead fly in my salad. I suppose the general population is operating under the notion ignorance is bliss. Good for the general population, who has more hours in their day than I. (Not sure that was grammatically correct.) No one knows where I got this super inspection trait. Someone in my family, though, is the type to plant himself by the driveway so he can study the situation as you pull up, scanning the car body to see if you acquired a new ding in the last half hour.

I have never understood the advantage of eating creepy brown lettuce. Or not digging out the bad black spots in potatoes. The normal person, when making mashed potatoes, probably goes, Well, I'll take out the worst spots, but who is ever going to know if a few little icky spots get mashed in, I mean it will all be so mashed and well-distributed. No, a normal person probably doesn't entertain a thought process that even comes close to that. They just peel, boil and mash in 15 minutes flat. Once at Thanksgiving I was making creamed Brussels sprouts. That was the only dish for which I was responsible. I sat there FOREVER (two hours?) peeling the outer layers off the sprouts, one by one, because I had to make enough for a table of 10 even though probably only one person was going to eat them . . . me. You wanna know why I fanatically peeled off the layers? Because they had little black dots on them. Black dots seem to enjoy the cabbage family. If you look closely, sometimes you can see tiny black spots on cabbage leaves and broccoli stems, all the way up to the flower buds. Ewww! What are they? Something peculiar to the cabbage family? Mold? Little stationary animals? Whatever they are, they ain't purty and I ain't gonna eat 'em. The hostess at this dinner was getting annoyed it could take me THAT LONG to fix a side dish. It really is unbelievable. But I can tell you one thing, when you eat my food, it is not disguised. It is PURE and DOT FREE. Which makes me wonder how carefully giant processed food companies study their food before it splashes into the vat. I have a feeling they aren't handling every individual Brussels sprout. My only hope is that the food they use is harvested straight from the farm outside their factory door to the conveyor belt. Maybe super fresh food doesn't have time to grow black dots. I have been meaning to ASK MARILYN about these dots. Recently she was asked why she doesn't write for some science journal instead of Parade Magazine. She said, Have you seen the questions? All the smart people are reading the ASK MARILYN column. Yep, that's what she said. I wonder if my black dot question would lower the curve, as in killing it.

Okay, the roofer starts in the morning. He drives in from a town a good ways north. I asked Mike, What time is he getting here? Mike says, 7:00 AM. 7:00 AM?*!*?*!*?*!*? What is WITH PEOPLE?? How can this be a good week? I'm just going to bed at 7 AM. How can I sleep with men stomping around overhead, ripping off my roof?? And nailing a new one down? Hmmm. I might ask my friend who bragged about her mattress if I can come over and take naps. They're all gone during the day, but they have barky dogs. No, that probably won't work. Well, I'm looking at the glass half empty. Instead, I need to practice saying, By the end of the week I will be as sleep-deprived as is humanly possible and still be partially alive, but I will have a beautiful new roof. PLUS, the weatherman, if you can believe him, is calling for cooler weather and no rain this week. An answer to prayer, if it happens. FOR ONCE, let's hope the esteemed weather man is RIGHT ON! I always tell Mike he missed his calling in life, he is infatuated with the weather channel.

Please, don't start looking for black dots on your broccoli and cabbage. Don't worry about gray ground beef. Brown is beautiful, just ask any old banana. I got someone hooked on loose hair. I am a bad person.

Oh, my friend turns 100 tomorrow!

Just KEM

When You Don't Have a Job

Today after Sunday School a group went out for lunch and I tagged along. We all had plenty to eat. I asked this lady across from me, What do you eat tonight after a big lunch like this? Without hesitation she said, A peanut butter sandwich and milk. And the milk has to be cold (she's famous for knowing her own mind). I thought that was an excellent idea and so excellent in fact that it's just what I had tonight, minus the milk because I'm out. Plus apricot-raspberry preserves. Plus three chocolate chip cookies, I made them last night. For lunch I had fish and chips. For breakfast I had a chocolate chip cookie. Also ccc after Sunday School because I brought them to share. I feel really sick.

For those who don't know it, my husband lost his job going on 19 months ago, not fun for him. The state of the economy has made it very difficult to find employment. Just 10 days ago a dear friend's husband lost his job. I told her, We can take consolation in the fact that millions of people are in the same boast as we. That's really not so cheery, but cheerier than supposing we are THE ONLY ONES. We are not. Still, it's an uncomfortable feeling, to say the least.

So, I tried to say some things that might be helpful, preaching to myself first and foremost.

I am positive that God has these things happen for a purpose, that He will stand out to us as we should perceive Him. I think I even blogged about that a couple of Sundays ago, that he strips us of our earthly joys, pleasures and comforts, so that He will be the absolute source of our joy. I mean, it's true, when we hit rock bottom, He is still there in all His faithfulness, love and glory.

We do what we can do. God will provide for us. We have to exercise our faith and not despair. That scene in Anne of Green Gables (have you all seen that film?, it's the best) really got branded into my mind. Anne was being all dramatic about something, I forget what, she was all down in the dumps. And Marilla, whom Anne live with, said, To despair is to turn our backs on God. Easier said than done. But if we have to go through these trials, we may as well behave NOW as we will wish we'd behaved when God comes through for us, whether that be a better job or just learning the lessons he intends. I mean, I think to myself all the time when I get depressed, Wow, this is not acting in faith. It will feel so silly to smile after God gives me something tangible, when indeed His presence has been with me all along. Have I ever gone hungry? NEVER. Have I ever not had clothing or shelter? NEVER. Has God ever withheld His love and goodness from me? NEVER. All my little attitude of wanting everything "just so" has been humiliated time and again. But still, I feel in my heart I have not fully accepted all that God wants me to learn, REALLY learn. I'm afraid my pride, stubbornness and even anger toward God crop back up and diminish my returns on the lessons God is bringing into my life.

So, I ask God to increase my small faith. I ask that the desires of my heart be for lasting things, for God Himself. I seek forgiveness for becoming impatient and discontent. And whatever God has in store, I truly look forward to it. Let's all remember, the trials of this life are but for a moment compared with the eternal glory that awaits us.

My friend confesses that it is so hard to wait on the Lord, that she hopes He has good in all this. She said, I have seen good come, actually...nothing but the Lord seems good...all other worldly things seem preposterous. One day she was overwhelmed with the emotion of the situation but mainly because, "I knew I needed to trust the Lord completely ... and He is so worthy of my trust."

Hoping in God,
KEM