Dinner the Next Day

From my file "It's was really late but WOW! really good" : 

I kinda messed up this year on my traditional St. Paddy's day dinner.  Hafta say ... I'm really glad that I did.  I had planned to use my crock pot to cook my corned beef all day but the recipe I wanted to use was for a slow bake in the oven.  When did I realize this?  At 11:45pm Monday night, as I was prepping before bed for the next morning. 

Well.  

Phooey.  

A quick run of the recipes for the crock pot all seemed to result the same ... using water and basically a "slow boil" of the meat.  I didn't want that.  I wanted the peppery tender bake I had planned.  

So I changed my plans.

Because ... I am woman.  

I am single.  

I can do that.  ;)

Hurrying home from work, I was able to get to the house, get the very excited angelpup out for a quick bush inspection, and then get my corned beef brisket into a baking dish and into the oven for a slow bake at 310 degrees by 6 pm.  I should note here ... I did not use the provided spice packet.  Nor did I use any water.  Just the brisket, fat side up, covered in cracked ground pepper and tented with foil.  Thank you to Ree Drummond & ThePioneerWoman.com for the idea.    

Three hours later, by 9pm, a fork slid in with only a mild resistance.  At 10pm, that fork slid in like it was going into butter.  :D  Took it out and let it rest for about 30 minutes.  Slice.  Die of happy goodness from the taste test.  ;)

Meanwhile, while the brisket rested, I finished up the best batch of colcannon I have ever paired with a corned beef.  Was it because it was a truly sweet, good head of cabbage?  Because I used the whole onion instead of just part?  Because I combined recipes and used a bit of bacon and therefore bacon grease?  Because I mixed the potatoes into the cabbage mixture in the skillet and let it simmer a few minutes instead of dumping the cabbage mixture into the potatoes and simply stirring?  I don't have any idea.  What I do know is that between the taste and the texture, I am very happy with the results ... to the point of actually writing it down ... on paper! ... so I don't forget what exactly I did, something I rarely remember to do (the writing down, not the forgetting).  

Of course, by the time I was done creating my St. Paddy's day dinner it was WELL and WAY past dinner time.  Dinner had turned into a bowl of cereal and a peanut butter sandwich.  Not bad.  Not very Irish either.  LOL!   

In the end though, that's okay.  I had a couple of taste tests while I dished it all up into separate containers to grab and go for lunches the rest of the week.  I went to bed a pleased and happy camper.  

Cause, you know ... "better late ... "  

Day 7 - The word is "hair"

Today's photo challenge is hair.  

First thought would be to take a selfie.  Since I did just get my hair cut this week, that would likely be okay, even if it has now been washed and self done and will not look good again for another 4 weeks.  

I love my hair stylist.  My time with her is so relaxing.  We chat and she does this massage thing with my head that some call "washing" but I think is actually a manipulation of all my stress relieving buttons.  Somewhere between the initial wetting and the final draping of the towel to catch the remaining drops, my entire body just shifts out of it's normal hyper-drive and into a kind of euphoria.  

More than love though, I trust my hair stylist.  This is something that is hard for me to give.  I've been burned so many times.  Plus there was the trouble that, for so many years I could not afford the cost of a GOOD hair stylist.  So I would go as long as I possibly could before venturing out to a quickie cut place, praying all the while that the woman that was there last time that had done a half-way decent job would still be there.  Didn't always work out.  *sigh*  But hair is one of those tricky things and a bad haircut once can make you scissor-shy, twice can make you scissor-twitchy, and well ... then there was me ... equating going to get my hair cut with going to the dentist for a root canal.  

Then I had a girlie who wanted an intricate braid for a formal she was attending and her mom found J.  I was on duty for hair and general pre-formal "beautifying" that day and we were making an outing of it ... hair, nails, lunch, etc.  As I sat there watching J. perform this beautiful braiding miracle and chatting with her, I felt myself thinking ... "could this work??"  We talked about her rates and, while a bit more than my normal quickie cut, they were definitely more budget worthy than some "nicer" salons I had recently tried.  

So, I made an appointment.  Over two years later and I am still as happy as when I left that first time and reveled in the cut and the compliments that followed, something that never happened previously.   It is a wonderful feeling to know that not only can she relax me but that I can then trust that my hair will be cut in a style that works for me, is able to be managed quick and easy by me, and doesn't bust my single woman budget every 4 to 6 weeks.    

The only downside being that it looks so awesome when I leave her and for the two days afterward ... but then I must wash it and do it myself and it ... well ... it looks okay but definitely not awesome.  

And so it is that we circle back to the reason for this post, this photo challenge of "hair".  A selfie would be fine if it was just cut and styled by J. but it isn't.  I washed and did it myself this morning.  Perhaps if I had taken the photo first thing this morning, that would have worked.  Yet I didn't.  I waited until now ... after a beautiful day of being outside, driving the countryside with my little angelpup co-pilot, with the windows down and the sunroof open.  Let's just say my hair is not particularly photo worthy at the moment.  

LOL ... I thought about taking a picture of a single strand of hair but ... well ... that seemed weird.  

So here is my photo challenge picture for the word "hair":

The hair in this photo is on the head and body of my little angelpup as he lays snuggled next to me on our comfy couch after a long day of being outside.  Some would say that a dog's hair isn't really "hair" but in the case of the Maltese (which is angelpup's breed) that isn't true.  One of the reason's I chose to get a Maltese pupper is because they don't have fur or the pet dander that comes with fur, but actual hair.  Tis silky hair without an undercoat which means we are careful about him outside as he can actually get sunburn.  Another reason I chose my little Maltese is the fact that since they have hair and not fur, they also do not shed like other dogs.  I love puppers but I'm not a big fan of the shedding on clothing and furniture.  He does neither.  Unless I am in a less than brilliant frame of mind and decide to brush/comb him while wearing all black.  *sigh*  Which is usually most of the time.  Just as a human sheds hair into their hairbrush with a good brushing, so does the Maltese breed ... so does my little white-haired angelpup.  

Hair ... just not human hair.  ;)

Day 6 - The word is "what I wore"

I'm done.

Finished.

Kaput.

I realize that we have not had to endure the the insanity of snow and cold that other places such as Minneapolis or Boston have struggled through this winter.   I also recall that while it seems that we have been in a never ending cycle of gray skies, cold winds, icy rains, and layers of snow, it was just a few weeks ago when we were hitting record highs for the month of January.  So there is really no justification for my rant.  The weather is something that we must accept because it is one of those things that we cannot change. We can adapt.  We can wear layers of clothing to keep away the cold.  We can carry umbrellas to help stay dry.  We can stay safely inside when there is ice everywhere.  But there is no changing the actual weather.  No Cassadine Weather Machine to change our sunny days to snow and vice versa.

Yet March is supposed to be when spring arrives, when the weather turns warmer and milder, where the rain soaks into the ground and awakens all things green ... not freezing on the sidewalks and causing people to slip and slide and attempt to stay vertical.

So it is that, even though it is still a bit chilly and I will still possibly need long sleeves and/or a jacket, I am retiring my coats, scarf and gloves.  The time has come.  Come next fall, I will once again be ready to pull them out and cuddle within their soft warmth.  But right now ... they are going away in the back room closet.

They are not what I am wearing.  They are "what I wore".

Psst ... If you are wondering what is a "Cassadine Weather Machine", then you are not a child of the 80's nor a watcher of General Hospital.  This is the stuff that had me and my friends glued to daytime television during my college years.  We would have to try to schedule our classes around the 2 to 3pm hour because this was before DVRS, VCRS, or any kind of re-watch capability.  If you missed it, you missed it.  Catching up on it meant seeing pictures and reading synopsis' in Soap Opera Digest.  If you Google it and watch a few YouTube clips, you will not only find out what it is, you will also recognize the leaps and bounds that have been made when it comes to television and computers.  LOL!

Day 5 - The word is "sharp"

Sharp ... angles, needles, scissors, dressers, etc. etc. etc.

Since life was busy today and my brain was busy multi-tasking in several different directions, I couldn't seem to land on anything that inspired both picture and words.

So I am going with the picture and just a few words today.

This is my bread knife.

It's deceptive ... blunted at the end and scalloped edge, it doesn't seem as though it would be so sharp.  Yet it is one of the sharpest knives I have ever owned and must always be handled with care.  

Many things in life are deceptive ... giving us the false lull of security that we won't be hurt.  So it is that we, ourselves, must remain sharp and handle life with care.  :)

Day 4 - The word is "where I sat"

I wasn't quite sure what to do with this prompt.

"Where I sat"

First inclination was to simply stand up, turn around and take a picture.  Obvious.

Then I thought of doing a collage picture of all the places I sit in one day.  Tedious.

I had a fleeting thought of wishing I still had my big green comfy Lazy-Boy.  Now THERE'S a story!  But it died in my fire, I have it no more and this is not the time for that story.

I thought about an outside shot but ... well ... there is ice and snow falling from the sky and I'm not going out.

So I pondered.  

And I realized in my typical fashion that I was trying too hard to do something simple, creating the proverbial mountain from the mole hill.  

Sometimes it simply is what it is.  No huge story.  No long memory or idea.

Just something basic.

So this is it.

Today we had a "snow day".  I had gotten up and ready for work but in the 20 minutes that passed between the time I had originally taken angelpup out for his morning bush inspection and going out to take his morning walk, the sidewalk had coated with the slippery clear stuff and more was spitting from the sky.  A call from the manager and we made the executive decision to have a "bad weather" day.  So, back to the bedroom and out of the work clothes - into the comfy clothes, thus profoundly confusing the angelpup.  Yet with a clean house and, since I have company coming tomorrow night, no desire to make a mess, I had nothing really exciting to do.  So I gathered my Kindle, pulled up a new book, made a pot of tea and, with fresh cuppa and cuddles from angelpup, I opted to spend the day sitting and reading.  It was comfortable and soothing, quiet and refreshing.  

Some days you have long stories.  Some days you have excitement.  And some days it's about being still and gathering the peace into your soul. 

Today was that day ... "where I sat"

Day 3 - The word is "kitchen"

The saying goes that the heart of the home is the kitchen.  

I've always imagined this to be true. 

In my mind's eye I can remember the kitchens of both my nanny and my grandma.  Places where family gathered and good food was enjoyed by one and all.  Places where conversation and laughter and quiet discussions took place.  Interestingly, both kitchens were also the places of entry into the houses.  In order to get to the rest of the house, you had to pass through/by the kitchen.  The kitchen was the place where two of the strongest women I knew seemed to rule, with a spatula and a fry pan ... and so much more.  

As a child we moved several times over the years.  In each house, it seemed that the kitchen is the room that stands out.  By moving so many times, it became ingrained that that was the room to get set up first.  Living rooms, bedrooms, studies, etc ... they all had a place in the priority of packing and unpacking but the kitchen came both last and first.  It was the last thing packed up and the first thing unpacked.  In doing so there was a refuge, a place where food and strength could be found to continue.  A place where we could gather, to take a break from the chaos of boxes and scattered belongings made each move a tedious, tiresome chore.  The warm heart of the kitchen that would become the gathering place for evening dinners, Saturday breakfast, Sunday lunch ... the gathering place for family.

As I moved out and on my own, I will admit that in each place I have lived ... apartment, duplex, condo, even dorm room (cause with a tiny crockpot & hotpot, you CAN create a tiny kitchen area in your room) ... I have attempted to continue the tradition of making the kitchen a central point.  I enjoy cooking and sharing, particularly for family and friends.  I love to indulge in my delight of small appliances.  I try new recipes and recycle old ones.  In each home I made, I tried to emulate the lessons I had learned in turning my kitchen from just another room into a place of welcoming warmth where family and friends could gather for good food and company, where little girlies could learn the art of cooking, where I could just be me.  

While I have comfy spots throughout my home and while I find myself always busy when I am in the kitchen, I find that it also is the room that can relax me the best.  

If I am frustrated or angry, I can soothe and lose myself in the blending of spices and ingredients, in the creating of something good.  I can relax myself in the monotony of washing the dishes by hand.  I can tickle myself silly by finding a new appliance in my favorite color.  I can delight in talking with my small pup, who is ever vigilant lest I let a tidbit hit the floor.  

My little kitchen has always seemed to be true to the saying ... it is the heart of my home.

Yet.

In October 2013, I had a fire that ended up taking my home and the life of my pupper.  While both the Fire Marshal and the insurance investigator couldn't 100% guarantee the originating source, it was thought to be an electrical outlet in the kitchen, which was a total loss.  While we were able to several things throughout the house, the kitchen was a different matter.  

My heart was a different matter.  

My heart was damaged, seemingly irreparable. 

I was at a loss of where to start ... of what to do ... of where to go.

God blesses us in times of need and through the generosity of kind friends and unfailing family, I began to put my world back together.  

Starting with a new home ... a new puppy ... and a new kitchen.  

Some few things I was able to salvage.  Some things I was able to replace.  Some things are gone forever but new things have taken their place.  But I have learned that these are just that ... things.  It's not the items in the kitchen that make it the heart of the home.  It's the people and the love that make their way in and out, stopping for a meal, passing through and grabbing a snack.  

It is God's blessing of the room to provide sustenance, to provide warmth, to provide a safe respite for family and friends.

I give thanks for my new little home and for the kitchen that is at it's heart.  

      

Day 2 - The word is "morning"

Today's photo challenge word is "morning".

Doesn't have an adjective giving me a hint as to where this should lead ... just the one word ... morning.

Okay.  

I can do that.  Easy, peasy ... right? 

Wrong.

Mornings at my house are anything but simple.  How hard would it have been to just turn the alarm off on my phone, switch it to camera, and take a selfie before getting up?  Probably not too hard if I had been the least bit coherent.  And let's face it ... breaking the camera was not something I wanted on my agenda.  Waking selfie?  Um.  No.

So that leaves the rest of the morning routine to try and take a pic.  

But what?

The sunrise?  

Nope.  All we have are clouds.  And cold.  And ice still on the sidewalk making the morning walks to inspect the bushes already treacherous, never mind adding trying to navigate taking a photo while angelpup pulls the leash as he slides around and I am trying to keep him from re-injuring that popped kneecap.  Too bad I was unsuccessful on THAT account.  Stupid ice, but that is another story for another day. 

Back to the morning photo and our morning routine which is always chaotic.  You would think living alone, it would be just that - routine ... easy ... smooth. 

Never.  Not ever.  Even when I think it's going smooth ... it slams and isn't.  

And this particular morning is a Monday.  Those are lethal at any point.  So ... no photos as I race through washing my hair, dressing, or brushing teeth.  Sorry.  There are some parts of a private life that are going to stay private.

Photo of packing lunch?  That could work but running late and needing both hands.  Thought crosses my mind that it would be awesome if I could blink and my mind sends the transmission to my camera for processing.  Then my sleepy brain thinks that maybe I have been watching to much science fiction ... or Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory.  Maybe I should quit reading science fiction before bed?

Then there is the moment when I get to sit and relax and have my breakfast, enjoying my second cuppa.  But then again ... it is Monday ... I am running late ... and well ... what have I got to make a decent picture?  A slice of cheese toast, a couple of vitamins, a glass of water and a cup of tea ... not to mention an over zealous angelpup begging and attempting to steal any part of that (except the tea - he hates my tea) for himself.

I did try to capture a couple of shots of him during our morning routine but, like his momma, he has difficulty facing the morning and kept hiding.

So then I'm faced with the drive to work.  That could have had some possibilities if not for the fact that I a) was wearing my gloves because my steering wheel was freezing due to this freaky weather and b) don't do the phone thing while driving.  Am trying to be responsible.

So that leaves the morning at work.  I knew I had to get the photo fast after arriving because Monday mornings are never EVER calm and usually before I know it, it is lunch time and the morning is past.

Because I truly am a creature of habit, my morning routine at the office, much like my routine at home, is just that ... routine.  Seldom varies.  I can be flexible when the need arises but for the most part I come in, open my blinds and window, hang up my coat, put my purse and lunch bag away, get my glass of water, take the phone off the answering service, turn on my computer and start my day.

My computer is also a routine.  Pull up my inside cameras ... pull up my outside cameras ... open my work program ... and then, before checking my email, I open up my window for my home camera.  Since losing my first pup in our house fire 16 months ago while I was at work, I was a bit (whole freaking lot) paranoid about leaving my new little pupper home alone.  My relief came in the form of the idea of a "nanny-cam".  I can turn it on when I leave & turn it on when I get home.  And in the meantime, I am able to keep an eye/ear out for my angelpup, thus insuring he is safe and I am sane. It also allows me to take a photo shot if I find him doing something insane, silly or cute

So today's photo depicting "morning" is this:

This is my first glance of my angelpup this morning after I got to work.  This is the way I normally find him each morning that I open up the link.  Him, on the corner of the bed, simply waiting for his momma to return.  

That describes morning for us ... me checking on him ... him waiting for me.  

Morning.  

    

Final Words for Ms. N

Sometimes I just need to write in order to settle my feelings. This is one of those times. It's rather long but my feelings are running deep today. Thank you for letting me share.

My human heart aches and my eyes won’t seem to stop leaking.  Heaven gained another stalwart soul last night when God gathered up Ms. N and took her Home.  It kinda seems appropriate that He came for her on His Day.  There were two books Ms. N lived by – her bible and her copy of our Resident House Rules.  Even though health and independence fled, forcing her away from her beloved home here and into a nursing home, she never stopped caring or trying to “get well enough” to come back.  She called often and it was with delight that I would hear her voice say “Hi, Ms. Cindy” and I could stop and take a minute to chat.  

Ms. N was an original … in more ways than one.  She was one of the original residents when our building opened in 1982 and she was the last original resident to leave.  She knew this building better than any of our maintenance men and kept an eye out for any problem, reporting any and everything to the office – always in person, except when she was under the weather.   Then she would call.  And she would keep calling and reporting until whatever was broken was fixed.   

Ms. N was one of those special people who I like to call a “hedgehog”.  So very prickly on the outside yet that’s just a covering to protect the softness inside.  Ms. N was a softy with a sometimes harsh voice and a huge heart.  She loved fiercely and delighted in sharing and taking care of others.  She just believed that rules were made to be obeyed and had no trouble speaking her mind about those that did not follow them.  She was often misunderstood by those who refused to take a step back and listen to her point of view, those who seem to believe that our house rules don’t apply to them.  This was often hard to watch as one who DID understand her ways and her beliefs and couldn’t help but see her feelings get hurt and her opinions trampled by others who couldn’t/wouldn’t see. 

Up until her last days here, before she had to move, Ms. N never stopped cooking and taking meals to those who were shut in.  She never stopped checking on this building she loved or these residents whose lives she cared.    She loved to argue her point but she also loved to sit quietly with a friend, to watch over them if they ailed or keep them company in their sorrow.   Over the years, Ms. N knit caps for newborns, provided Saturday morning breakfast for any resident that wanted it, maintained changing the flower arrangements and decorations around our common areas during the change of seasons and holidays, and sent birthday, get well, and sympathy cards to any and all residents, based on their need.  Yet since these things were often done behind the scenes, she was often tagged as selfish, rude, and unbending by people who were too self-involved to actually SEE her.  It was hard for Ms. N when our residents evolved from the originals who had pride in the new building to our “new breed” of resident that seems only capable of asking the question “what’s in it for me?” and her feelings were often trampled to the point that she ultimately withdrew from the social activities and kept to herself, caring only for those in her hall or that she knew personally.

Her husband having passed over 30 years ago, Ms. N was used to making her own decisions and doing her own thing.    This included making the decision at 92 that her reflexes weren’t the same as they once were and it was time to give up the keys to her car.  I believe she also determined it was time for the Lord to come get her.  A couple of weeks ago Ms. N’s great-grandaughter gave birth to a healthy little boy.  This great-great grandson’s arrival was what had kept her going.  While she did not get to see him in person as she did his 3 year old sister, she knew that he was here.  She knew that his momma was okay.  She knew that it was time for her to let go.  She was 98 and she was ready.

It hurts my humanly heart that Ms. N is gone.  Over the months since she has moved out, not a day has gone by where I’m not reminded of her.  Her memories still live in this building she loved, this place she called home for 32 years.  Yet she is happy and alive and baking the best bread pudding anyone ever tasted for the Lord. 

Bye, Ms. N!  You blessed my life and taught me much.  I loved you dearly.  

Day One: Challenge accepted

Here I go again.

I keep wanting ... trying ... to do one of these, but always seem to either start late or end early.  Yet here I go again.

This time, I happened upon a list specific to March.  Granted it is specific to March 2013 and this is now March 2015, soooooo I guess that fills my "start late" portion of my predictability.  Gonna work hard on not achieving the "ending early" part.

Anyhow, I found this list.

It is basic and simple and I believe I'm in a place where I can achieve it.

Also, I want to one day actually let people know this little blog is out here.  If I intend on doing that, then I need to be able to stick to my plan of writing at least a bit each day.  I want to make it a habit ... a good habit.

So, even if I don't have any other blog to post this month, I will each day post a designated picture and write a little something about it.  

Today, I accept the challenge.

Of course, I have to do it my way.  The challenge today was a clock photo.  I couldn't decide which of my clocks I wanted to photograph, so I took one of all four and made a single photo collage with them.  It's too cold and icky outside to wander the town and photograph something unique.  I'll save that for another day. :)

And since I have some other things to put to paper today, I'm going to finish here for now.

Challenge Accepted:

Day One - Clock

It's Not Like I'm Watching The Clock

or even counting the minutes.

Really.

I'm not.

10 hours and 13 minutes just happens to be a random count of time that just happens to coincide with the return of Supernatural at 8 pm (CST) this evening.

Honest.

You believe me, right?

*sigh*  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Okay.  I'm a fan.  Dedicated and true - that's me for the last nine years, four months and seven days, since it's premiere September 13, 2005.  Again ... not that I'm counting.  ;)

One thing I love about television is that, given the particular show, you can take an adventure into another world, another time, another place, another person's life.  It is an temporary escape for me.  I'm not one for a lot of 30 minute comedies with canned laughter, caricatures of characters, and talking directly to the camera.  The same goes for reality shows and game shows.  I just don't like spending my time with them.  That's not to say that I don't have some occasional exceptions, but for the majority of my viewing, I prefer the well written, character driven, thought provoking and entertaining drama.  The ones that have banter & conversation, a bit of plot and overall storyline, and don't always rely on tricky, glitzy, time consuming camera shots & posing (CSI:Miami, anyone?).

Now in it's tenth season, Supernatural continues to provide that for me.  Sure it has had it's ups and it's downs.   What show does not?  Yet over the years, I still find each episode provides me with something that makes it worth watching.

Nine hours and 56 minutes.

If you have lived under a rock and are still, after all this time, unaware of this little show with a BIG fan base, then Google "Supernatural - the television show".   Don't be scared by the number of results.  And don't be led astray into all the facets of the Supernatural Fandom until you take the opportunity to actually watch the show and judge it's merits for yourself.  The fandom can get a bit crazy for a new person.  (FYI: If you really aren't aware of this show and you are curious, previous seasons 1 thru 9 are currently available on Netflix.  That is, if you are able to get internet under your rock.)

The bottom line for me is, and always has been, that Supernatural is about family.  The monsters of the week are secondary.  Family is what drives this show.  The story of the two Winchester brothers is the basis, the foundation of the series, however the building blocks continue in ways that only family can - through the closeness, the fractures, the laughter, the anger, the heartache ... and the fact that family isn't just biology.  As Bobby Singer tells Dean Winchester in episode 3.16 (No Rest for the Wicked), "Family don't end in blood, boy!"  The cast of characters in this show is small, and yet vast, with a revolving set of fan favorites, and even not-so-favorites, that continue to crop up from time to time, season to season ... some even after they are dead.  It seems everyone becomes a part of the dysfunctional Winchester family in some fashion.  Even the demon Crowley, King of Hell, thorn in the Winchester side, is yet still familiar and loved after his debut as King of the Crossroads in season 5 (although he was actually mentioned a couple of times in season 3).  Well, maybe not loved by Dean & Sam Winchester, but definitely by the fans.

And family doesn't end with characters on the show.

Nine hours and 12 minutes.

I won't go into the complexity of the characters and the rich tapestry of woven lore and storytelling that Supernatural has created.  I also won't go into the talents of the cast and crew that have allowed the characters to become "real" to it's viewers.  That would take too long and I only have nine hours and 4 minutes.

Yet the characters can't become "real" without the actors involved.  And the actors involved with the making of this television series are unique and inspiring in their ability to be "stars" and to be grounded, down-to-earth people who share their lives with their fans in positive and entertaining ways.  Not to mention the fans, themselves, who join together and become family.

Tabloids and fan magazines used to be the way fans could keep up with the comings and goings, loves and lives of their favorite actors.  By the time an actress announced in a magazine she was pregnant and the magazine was distributed, the baby was born.  Now the internet and social media keep everyone instantly informed and fandoms can join together at one time, in one place, from around the world.  When I first started watching Supernatural, blogging was new and limited but I ventured in and made friends with like-minded people that also enjoyed watching Supernatural.  We became a little group of "virtual family", several of whom I have continued contact - even these 9 years later - celebrating and discussing, not just Supernatural, but all facets of our lives.  

Then came the conventions.  A place where fans can come together, to meet in person, to meet the actors, to simply celebrate the opportunity to put real life faces with online and television personalities.  I attended my first and only convention in Chicago 6 years ago.  Memories of that time are still as fresh as they were the week after, such an impression was made.  Meeting the "stars" of the show, hearing them laugh and talk and tell stories of episodes & personal snippets, made it become so real - in a positive way.  Yes it was/is still simply a television program, but the feel of it had changed.  My imagination was caught by the characters, Dean & Sam Winchester.  My inner fangirl was caught by the actors that portrayed them, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki.  The friends I had made in the fandom became more than virtual, they became real.

Over the years the conventions have evolved, they've increased in number and locations, reaching fans literally around the world.  And with the use of the internet and YouTube, not to mention Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter, (plus the world of Tumbler which I've still not fallen into but may have to one day explore), a fan doesn't even have to attend a convention in person in order to experience the laughter and fun as Jensen and Jared, as well as a host of other regular fan favorites, sing, laugh, tell stories, answer questions, and share their lives with the lives of their fans and, in a sense, becoming family - in a virtual, fandom, reality.  They are who they are, just folks working a job that results in entertaining the rest of us.

Eight hours, 38 minutes.

And just like family relatives that can only visit occasionally, Supernatural, due to the nature of the business, is not able to visit our televisions each and every single week, 52 weeks a year.  As much as we would like the favorite uncle, or cousin, or brother to be with us as often as possible all year long, it just can not be done.  Rationally we the fans understand that a show must go on hiatus.  Doesn't mean we have to like it.

So, we count the hours from the last time we met until the next.

Last night I sent a text to a friend with the exclamation of "TWENTY-TWO HOURS!!!!"  Being a fan, and also being tolerant of me, she knew right what I was talking about and replied, "Really?  That was faster than expected."  I, of course, disagreed with the every polite "Thppt" response.  My friend said that it "seems like just last week you were saying how long the wait was".  Since the last new episode was on December 9, 2014. and it had been 41 days since last the Winchesters came to my house to visit, I made known my feelings with a text of "It has been sooooooooooo loooooooooong!"

Her response was "You're going to be a joy this summer".  *insert snort of laughter here*

This hiatus I have contented myself with real life and all it entails daily, with repeat episodes from the current and previous seasons, and with snips and snaps from Twitter and Instagram.  I am blindly disregarding the fact that there will be a summer.  I have been imagining for 41 days where the story will go since last we left Dean and Sam.  It is time for them to visit my house again.

And they will ... tonight ... in eight hours and 3 minutes.

But who's counting.  Right?

Car Smiles

Our local Nissan dealership currently has a fun advertising relationship with my favorite morning radio program.  In the advertisement, the radio personality talks about having a car that looks good in your driveway.  A car that makes you smile when you see it each morning.  Of course, they are trying to sell me a new Nissan.

Yet, here's the thing.

My sweet little red Baby is 7 years old now (technically 8 because she came out the end of 2006 and was a dealer lease car for a year before I got her) and, in my opinion, she still looks good and, without a doubt, she still makes me smile when I see her each morning.  Personally speaking, I believe 2007 was a very good year for the Pontiac Grand Prix and the color of red paint they used that year wavers between bright maraschino cherry in the sunshine and dark pitted cherry shiny in the twilight.   Yes, she has been dinged and scraped in a few places over the years but she is a beauty and continues to get her share of compliments.  And so, yes, she makes me smile when I see her each morning.

Especially during the winter when I come out of the house in my bright red coat with the big black buttons.  I'm not saying I purposefully dress to match my car, but seriously, my wardrobe, especially in the fall and winter, is 70% black and of my colored shirts, a good 50% of them are either red or red/black.  So chances run high that I'm going to match my clothing and my car.  Do I do it on purpose?  No.  Red has always been a favorite color and black/red have always been a staple in my closet.  Does anyone notice my clothes/coats tend to match my car?  I have no idea, nor do I care.  It makes me smile and a smile at the start of the day is a good thing, in my opinion.  Besides, how many of you taupe colored car drivers come out and greet the day with a giggle because your clothing matches your car?

Nope.  I don't need a new car - Nissan or other model - to start my day with a smile.  She may be older.  She may be an irreplaceable make/model - thank you so very not much GM for discontinuing my beloved Pontiac brand.  She may have some mileage - we're fixing to roll over to 100K, I think we'll have a party!

Yep, even with all her dings, her quirks, her coloring, and her age ... when I slide into her seat, turn over the engine, open up the sunroof, and turn on the radio ... I smile.

Dressing Up is Hard To Do

According to the morning news program I watch/listen to while hustling through my morning routine, today is National Dress Up Your Pet Day.  I was sitting on the side of the bed, putting on my socks and shoes when this was announced.  I have to admit I gave a chuckle of laughter as I looked over at my angelpup, poised to jump from the corner of the bed, watching me intently as I tied my last shoe, knowing that as soon as that foot hit the ground it would be time to head outside for our morning walk.

My chuckle of laughter came from the fact that I knew once my foot hit the ground, while he might be ready for his walk, I would be facing our morning battle ... putting on his heavy sweater.

Forget "dressing up" my little pup, when the simple act of putting on a sweater is a matter of seeing whose will is stronger.

It goes like this ...

My foot goes down and Castiel leaps from the bed to the doorway, watching me and dancing in place.

I reach for my glasses on the bedside table, to clean and put on for the day.

Castiel dances in circles between the bed and the doorway, excited yips breaking out, trying to get my attention, tail wagging like a rear-end propeller getting ready for take off.

I stand up and ask if he's ready to go.  (Redundant, I know, but I do it anyway.  Every. Single. Morning.)

He runs to the front door.

I reach for my coat.  It is 20-something degrees outside.  A quick bush inspection outside the door is one thing, a walk down the street is another.  There WILL be a coat on.

Cas sits by the front door, watching me put on my coat.

He knows what come next.

I go to the entry and gather his leash and his heavy sweater from his basket.

He ... BOLTS.

Never the same way.  Sometimes he heads back to the bedroom, sometimes he runs to the living room and jumps on my chair, sometimes he hovers, dancing just out of reach beyond the gate that separates the entry to the living room.

I stand there and tell him to come.  I refuse to chase.  I did in the beginning.  I regret that.  Now he thinks he knows who is in charge.  Yet I hold my ground.  I do not give in.  I tell him to come.

He slinks forward.  No longer dancing.  Head low, tail lower, he comes.

I reach down to put on the dreaded sweater.

He backs away, tilting his head, looking at me with the eyes that seem to beg "No, mom!  Not the sweater".

I tell him if he wants to go outside, to come and get his sweater on.

*** I should interject here that Castiel is little Maltese pup.  While he does hover around 10/11 pounds, which is a bit bigger than what is considered "normal" for the Maltese, he is still small and his hair is thin and fine.  When it is below freezing, as it has been every single one of the last month of mornings, I am one that believes he needs a bit of extra protection, even if he is a dog, if we spend more than a few seconds outside.  Even if he doesn't seem to think so. ***

He slinks forward again and rolls to his back.

I manhandle him into his sweater.  He resists the entire way, limp of body, stiff of legs ... unyielding and unbending ... letting me know the entire time that this is not what he wants.

Then I attach the leash and head to the door and he jumps up, dancing renewed, all is forgiven, ready to bound out the door to see if there is anyone out to play with, any new scent to be found on the ground, any new leaf to be tasted, etc.

As we walked this morning, I watched him with thoughts of the types of pet clothing I had seen in the pictures on the news.  Some were cute, some were funny, some were ... well ... embarrassing for the poor little animal.  I watched as Cas was racing around, to and fro, checking the sights, sniffing the grass and the fence and the light pole and the tree, tail wagging back and forth.  Cheeky little bugger sashaying down the street with his little blue sweater on.

Yeah.

Getting that sweater on for just the time it takes to walk down the street and back was enough "dressing up" for us today.

  

Scratching An Itch

I have had an itch.

It needs to be scratched.

Unfortunately, there is only one person who can do said scratching.

Me.  

*sigh*

Yep.  Me, myself and nobody else.  

See the dilemma?  No?  

Okay.  Let me see if I can explain.

It's not an easy living with an itch like this one.  It creeps up on you at the oddest, and sometimes most awkward, of times: driving to work ... eating lunch with co-workers ... standing in the produce section of the supermarket ... walking the dog ... even in the middle of the night when waking up and needing to visit the ... um ... well ... you get my drift.  At any moment of any day (or night), the itch can tickle, taunt, make a person crazy with need to scratch it.  Just a mere mention of "coulda/woulda/shoulda" causes this itch to flair and the need for satisfaction is unbearable. 

However, it's not always that easy to relieve.  

Certainly, it can not be done while driving or walking, let alone while standing in the produce section.  That would not only be inappropriate, it would/could also be intensely dangerous.  Then there is the rudeness factor while eating lunch with other people.  I suppose it could be taken care of in the middle of the night, but there is a coherency factor that needs to be taken into account.

So I have lived with this itch, finding relief in occasional snatches, brief respites.  Not every day and not completely satisfying, but I thought it was enough.  I thought that I could live with momentary appeasement.  

I was wrong.

As time passed, I knew it wasn't really enough.  I knew I had to have more.  So I plotted and planned the best way to derive the most pleasure.  Yet the decisions on the time and place to scratch my itch suddenly consuming and the plotting and the planning began to take on more importance than the actual act.  Pressure began to mount.  I began to procrastinate and ignore both the planning AND the need to scratch my itch.

And trust me when I say ... I could be the Queen of the Land of Procrastinators.  Especially when I am faced with an internal struggle of the personal type such as the one taking place in my brain.

My plan was to scratch my itch on New Year's Day.  It seemed appropriate to find the relief I sought at the beginning of a new year.  But then, well, I already noted my descent into pressure and procrastination.  

So, it is that it has taken twelve days for me to move forward, to put aside the plotting and the planning, and to simply ... scratch my itch.

Scratch out these words ... on this proverbial "paper" ... thereby alleviating my itch, my desire, my need to write down my thoughts where they can be read by people other than me.  To take the scribbles that have collected on the backs of napkins, on grocery receipts, in the notes column of my work calendar, on the back burner of my brain and put them together in a cohesive manner on a regular, or at least semi-regular, basis.  

I used to enjoy writing my scribbles and sharing my thoughts.  Sometimes we blame "real life" taking over as the reason we stop doing something we love, when in actuality it is we ourselves who have given up for whatever reason.   I gave up.

Now I'm taking back what I enjoy and scratching my itch ... this is just the beginning.