Penny Sanford Designs

First Snow Melts as Fast as Life

The first snow of the winter. Here in north central Mississippi.
Gordon shot these photos last night as the snow began to fall. He did not like the shots, but I personally love the edgy, grainy, raw, in-the-moment feel of them.

There was just enough snow to make everything white by this Saturday morning. I peeped out the window to see the splendor, but I did not dress and go outside to capture the magic. Instead I burrowed under the down comforter and quilts for some more delicious sleep.

The snow is gone now. I wish I had braved the cold to capture those fleeting hours of beauty.

Life is like that.

We look back at the fleeting magical times we might have captured if we had not been bogged down living life. How much did I miss because I wanted to "sleep" in the moment?

One of my favorite moments from a favorite movie, Blackhawk Down:

Hoot: See, you're thinking. Don't. Because, Sergeant, you can't control who gets hit or who doesn't. Who falls out of a chopper, or why. It ain't up to you. It's just war.

Eversmann: Yeah, well, Smith's still dead. If Blackburn hadn't fallen, none of this would've happened.

Hoot: Would have, could have, should have - it don't matter. You'll have plenty of time to think about that later. Believe me.

Well, it's just Life. We can't control the bad stuff that happens to us. We can't control the bad done to us by other people. We can't control the consequences of the bad choices we make in life. We can't control the consequences of the choices made by those around us.

It's just Life, and I'm in a season of thinking about all those split second decisions that have put me in this moment at this place in this time.

Regrets? No.
Sadness? Some. No children with whom to share a first snow. No little ones to delight with the joys of snow ice cream. No tykes to whom to pass down the story of special Christmas ornaments. No one to inherit this family farm of six generations.

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda.

Like this first magical snow, that fleeting moment in life, that opportunity is past.

Like the little paw prints already being erased from the slight dusting of snow on the steps last night, the footprint of this Hamer line will be gone when I die. All the stories of all the generations who have lived, sweated, bled and died here will fade. Even my footprint on this life has begun to fade from previous decades of work.

This has been a year of shedding those things that are not necessary. It has been a very painful year, but it has also been the best year of my life.

"Vanity of vanities! All is vanity."   Ecclesiastes 1:1-11

Reconnecting with the nuances

Nuances is just one of my favorite words. Don't know why. Kinda weird to have a favorite word, huh?

In this case, I mean little things, simple things, tiny moments, memories of simple elements from my life that bring me peace. Calm moments and feelings. Remembered smells, sounds and tastes.

Those memories one would put in that Jim Croce bottle from his song, "Time in a Bottle".

"If I could save time in a bottle..."  The rest of the lyrics don't quite fit what I'm trying to express, but the mood of the song does.

Whenever I've experienced something very special...a moment with Gordon, a moment of creativity, one of those frequent experience that demonstrates God's protection...I've thought about the Jim Croce song.

I've purposely saved that moment, those emotions, those visual images, smells or tastes and have put them in my figurative Time Bottle to be able to play again like a video clip...a video clip with the added senses of taste, touch, smell and emotion..

This year has been all about reconnecting with those saved moments. These pictures represent just two of hundreds of tiny moments that fill the Time Bottle of my life.

This jar of gardenia cuttings that have sprouted roots in our kitchen windowsill brings back the many times I looked at Grandma's array of cuttings rooting in the two windows of her bathroom.

I remember vividly that the sun shone through the yellowed water, illuminating the white roots. I was fascinated as a child by her green thumb, and I tried to absorb every trick she told me about rooting cuttings.

I can just pull out of my Time Bottle the saved nuances of taking a bath in Grandma's huge cast iron tub, looking up at the dozen or so pint jars of rooting flowering shrubs. I can feel the texture of the worn tub, smell the towels and the Ivory soap, hear the water from the pipes that sang and the faucets that squeaked. I can even feel the sunshine on my back from one of those windows.

Grandma died in 1979, and the family and our life changed forever. Now she is with me every time I use one of her cast iron skillets or look at the two pint jars of gardenia cuttings rooting in the kitchen windowsill. My memories of her are as integral and penetrating to who I am today as these roots that will burrow into soil and feed a future gardenia plant, nourishing it to bloom.

The second picture is of Unc. He and I started a jigsaw puzzle last week. He saw me playing with a computerized jigsaw puzzle, and I realized that he was missing the time we have shared over the years, putting together jigsaw puzzles.

Another memory in my bottle. I can feel the heat of the wood fireplace at Grandma's house while Unc and I put together a jigsaw puzzle on a folding card table in the living room. Grandma was in her chair by the fireplace watching us, laughing quietly at our prattle.

Then when I moved back to the family farm in 1991, Unc and I started a new jigsaw puzzle just before Christmas each year, after all my porcelain orders had been filled. This time it was Mama sitting in her comfy chair laughing at our prattle.

Last week, as we opened the box of a puzzle we had put together before, this Noah's Ark puzzle, Unc used the same phrases he has used for every puzzle we have assembled together.

"Don't pick out one with too many pieces."
"I think you put two puzzles in this box! There are too many pieces for just this puzzle."
"Don't take it apart...we need all the help we can get!"
"I found a corner!"

Our methods remain the same, after 40-plus years of assembling jigsaw puzzles together. I pull out the edge pieces first. Unc turns over the pieces and pulls out the edge pieces as he goes. Then the daily search for pieces that fall onto the floor or get picked up or chewed on by a pet. Sharing the box top to reference the photo as we work on our respective areas of assembly.

"I need HELP on this puzzle," his lure to get me to come work on the puzzle.
"I'm putting together more of this puzzle than you are," another lure to get me to come work on the jigsaw.

Unc is 83 years old. I must save these moments in my Time Bottle, because this may be the last jigsaw puzzle we ever put together...together. Unc is in fantastic health for a man 20 years younger, but none of us is promised tomorrow.

So every day, I try to save a good memory in my bottle. This entire year has been about appreciating, revisiting, reconnecting with the nuances that comprise the happy memories in my Time Bottle.

Twittering, Flickring, Facebooking and Blogging along

I found these yellow heart buttons not long ago. Nope, I have no particular project planned for them. What do you think are the odds that they will end up on a dog collar slipcover?

Of course, there must be more, more, more, more heart buttons in my future. I almost bought a yellow heart glass trinket dish on eBay, but then I resisted. One of these days, I want to learn how to do glass sagging in my kilns. Then I can make oodles of yellow glass hearts (plates, chargers, bowls, etc...)

The new things for me this week is Facebook and Twitter. According to the news, Facebook turned five years old today, with 150 Million members. Gee, I am way behind the curve on this one.

Finally last night, with Gordon's help, I managed to network my Twitter, Facebook, Flickr and Blog. You can see my Twitter comments through the day over to the right under "Fly on the Wall". Giving you little updates as if you were a fly on my wall.

As you can see over there with the Fly Updates, tonight Gordon and I are enjoying a freshy cleaned bedroom, a B-I-G "green" back stick on the fire which will help it burn throughout the night, contented and snuggly clean dogs, and contentment from a full, productive day.

I did not anticipate the delightful eye candy of watching Gordon power lift a huge backstick and carry it way across the room to the fireplace. My private beefcake show! Thank you, Lord!

Tonight on Facebook, I have been finding former classmates and other friends. That is unexpected and especially fun!

If you are on Twitter or Facebook or Flickr, by all means, Tweet me... or Friend me or Flicker me or whatever is the appropriate phrase.

Nattering Nabobs of Political Negativism

Where does my mind get this stuff?

It is now 4:36 a.m. I was finally sleeping soundly when my "back teeth started crying out for life preservers". (Thank you, Lord, for healthy, overachieving kidneys.)

As I shuffled to the lower level of the studio to the powder room, my mind was running an audio loop :

Nattering Nabobs of Nepotism
Nattering Nabobs of Negativism
Nattering Nabobs of Nepotism
Nattering Nabobs of Negativism

Over and over. Thinking the words in a rhythmic cadence, faster and faster.

HUH? Am I having a Rainman moment or something?

Googled it. I barely remember Spiro Agnew.

Agnew was known for his tough criticisms of political opponents, especially journalists and anti-Vietnam War activists. He was known for attacking his opponents with unusual, often alliterative epithets, some of which were coined by White House speech-writers William Safire and Pat Buchanan, including "nattering nabobs of negativism" (written by Safire), "pusillanimous pussyfooters", and "hopeless, hysterical hypochondriacs of history".^[5] He once described a group of opponents as "an effete corps of impudent snobs who characterize themselves as intellectuals."

To my knowledge, I have not heard either of these phrases lately. My weird mind dredged up this brain bubble and was giving my dream a speech exercise, practicing annunciation.

Now, I admire a good wordsmith, but, gee, it's the middle of the night? Do I need professional help?

"I'm gonna ask you to do something..."

Cary Grant: "I'm gonna ask you to do something...and you can turn it down if you want..."

Are you kidding? Looking into those bedroom eyes and following that delicious cleft in his chin as he talks, I'd not be able to refuse Cary Grant anything...well, almost anything...and I'm sure he was too much of a gentleman to ask for anything I would be unwilling to do.

That straight nose and chiseled jaw: a man who knows where he is going and does not wander around aimlessly.

Those intense, focused, intelligent, dangerous eyes that also sparkle of playfulness and a deep capacity for emotion.

We need more strong jaw lines, straight noses and passionate eyes in our country.

That cleft is like the mark of a man who has run up against numerous extremes and has tested his metal, leaving a permanent dent in his strong jaw. We definitely need more cleft chins in this country.

I'm lost this afternoon with four of my favorite things in life. Hubby, Westies, Submarine movies and Cary Grant.

"Destination Tokyo" from 1943. The father of the captain on Gilligan's island, Alan Hale, Sr., is in this movie.

If Hollywood made a proud- to-be- American- pro-military movie like this today, it would be so good for us as a country.

Maybe a World War II movie is best shown in black and white. Our country's mindset was more focused in those days, busy developing The Greatest Generation that took America to her supreme standing in the world. The issues and our focus as a country was crisp and sharp... black and white.

These days, we have allowed so many foggy gray layers of political agendas, misinformation and political correctness to shroud our goals in a deadly haze of confusion.  May God protect our military in the years ahead!

Gordon is bustling around with his computers. His three desktop computers have each developed a problem, so he is engrossed and won't mind my enjoyment of Cary Grant. The Westies are all sleeping around me. I've folded clothes and am awaiting more to fold.

We got in some new dog tags without individual names. Our Westies were so adept at losing their name tags that I am putting these on each collar with double rings. I also ordered a little green tag with cautions about handing a rescued dog.

If media savvy Barney, the White House Scottie, can snap under pressure and bite a reporter (who was probably asking for it), then even our little cuddlebunnies who have survived harrowing treatment before they were rescued, can be pushed to bite.

Oh good grief! Cary Grant's neck and Adam's apple is to die for! Gordon's neck and Adam's apple melts me every time! Gordon has great dimples, but no cleft.

Can a plastic surgeon put in a chin cleft?  I can just imagine Gordon's reaction if I asked him to go under the knife for a fake cleft in his chin! ROFLOL  He is facing dental surgery soon, and he is not excited about it!

Cary is showing lots of chest in this movie. I've never been a fan of men with unbuttoned shirts, and it seems inappropriate or out of character in this movie for a sub captain as commanding and as meticulous as Grant. 

I'm trying to imagine how it was to see this movie in the theaters in 1943 during a full-blown World War II. The special effects would have been state of the art at the time, and the content of the movie would have been gritty and more realistic than.....hey, the silver fox from Dynasty is in this flix, John Forsythe....Very, very handsome at such an early age.

Another load of clothes to fold. Need more Airborne ...good stuff! Good Boy, Barney! Scotties reportedly are an extraordinary judge of character. We can testify that English Shepherds and Westies can read people flawlessly!

Red Naked Ladies

I've missed you! But apparently you have not exactly missed me! *wink*

When the big satellite orbiting our earth decided to FINALLY start talking to our little satellite dish here on the farm last night, I was stunned to discover that this blog's readership had actually increased in my absence!  That is a great thing, but it does make me wonder if it matters whether I am posting regularly or not. 

Just teasing you...but the stats did go up without any new posts. Maybe that means folks read previous posts while I could not post something fresh?  You've made me feel all warm and fuzzy that you are either re-reading the older posts or that you are just now discovering the older posts. Thank you!

Gee, do I have a ton of stuff I want to share with you! Where do I start? It cannot be tonight, though. I'm a Predominately Pooped Penny!

Last week and this week, I've been on the phone making big companies like AT&T and Regions Bank and HughesNet behave themselves with regards to the money we pay them every month.

Last night I talked with AT&T managers non-stop for 2.5 hours until we received the service for which we had paid. Today was another loooonng but successful day!

I plan to blog soon on some of the insight I gained from these many hours of standing up to the big companies who must be scared about the fallout of the economic situation in our country right now. If the last two weeks are any guide, we "little customers" can look forward to being nickled and dimed to death. I'd like to share with you some of the resources I've found that might help protect you from Customer Abuse.

Granted, protecting yourself from Customer Abuse is not on my usual blog menu of topics, but since my blog readership is larger per day than our county's weekly newspaper, maybe sharing information with you will help some of you prevent being a victim of Customer Abuse by the huge companies!

Thanks for reading the past posts while I was incommunicado and for staying in touch via email, comments, etc. It feels great to be back in your fun and uplifting Internet presence!

Exercising my Writer and my Pitt Bull muscles

Thank you for the comments from that last post. It moves me to read what moves you from my writing.

Transparency is scary, but when you, the readers, respond to a particularly transparent blog post, your thoughts always stir deep in my soul.

This is a quick post. The beautiful roses are grown by a beautiful lady in California.

We are connected because we are distantly related. You may remember the Memorial Day post that mentioned my ancestor Durham Kelly who was paid less than his horse in the War of 1812.That is our point of shared genealogy.

Miss LaNelle has been a treasure to get to know. These pictures she shares via email are as fresh as if she could hand her friends and family one of these beautiful bouquets of roses that she grows.

Would you believe Miss LaNelle is 80 years old, and she takes her own pictures, does her own email and surfs the Internet with the skill of a teenage geek? Inspiring!

To catch you up a bit, Miss LaNelle's rose pictures have had me looking through our old family pictures for some rose-related pictures to share at a later time with you along with some "once upon a time" family stories.

The antique pillowcase background for the ring pictures really stirred up a bubbling cauldron of a short fictional story that has been screaming for me to get it down on paper. Hopefully in a day or two I can share the rest of the pictures of that amazing pillowcase and the fictional story it has inspired.

The quilt fictional story was the first time I have written fiction, so I'm rather jazzed at exercising that muscle.

Also this weekend, a shop owner who has also become a friend via the Internet, asked me to write a little piece of fiction centered around a program she will be offering this fall. That is all that I can say on this subject at this time. Stay tuned.

Then porcelain, porcelain, porcelain, porcelain, porcelain, porcelain and more porcelain.

Penny the Pitt Bull was awakened Friday and again Monday by a employee at our doctor's office. She is not a LPN or a RN or a Nurse Practitioner or a Physicians Assistant. She is hired to make phone calls in the afternoons. 

The little gal was apparently having a bad hormone day last Friday, and she yanked pretty hard on my Pitt Bull collar. I got over that Friday episode, but then she called again Monday for more yanking on my Pitt Bull collar.

Both calls were dictatorial and condescending about how often I should drag my mother to the doctor's office to have blood drawn for routine blood tests. Since 2004, I have followed what the DOCTOR has told me to do, not what a non-medical-person thinks is a way to increase revenue.

When I explained to the woman that the doctor allowed us to come every two to three months to avoid exposing my mother to the many viruses, bacteria and diseases in a doctor's office.

The call woman said, "I don't care about that...You bring in your mother every month. Period."

Er, EXCUSE ME? You DON'T CARE if my 86 year old mother, post 2 strokes, picks up flu, pneumonia, cold, staph or who-knows-what just by sitting for several hours in the doctor's office?

It takes a good bit to awaken the Pitt Bull in me. The last time I got this mad was a good year and a half, maybe two years ago.

Well, I took Mama to that doctor's office yesterday morning for those routine blood tests. After expressing my concerns, briefly, to the office manager and the doctor, I don't think that particular woman will ever call us again.

The doctor repeated the "come back every two to three months" protocol for us to follow, not the "every month" dictate that the hormonal woman was badgering me about.

I promise I was nice and polite and controlled by the time I got to the doctor's office. Still ladylike, but I was mad enough to rip through flesh if I had to.

Phew, I do not like to get that mad. It creates quite a rush of adrenaline, and I discover strength and "thinking on my feet" skills that I did not know I had.  But, gee, it is exhausting!

Disclaimer:  I happen to love Pitt Bulls. Every Pitt Bull I have met and petted has been a sheer love. I think Pitt Bulls get a bad rap in the press, and I think that those Pitt Bulls who attack children, etc., may have been bred or trained for fighting. For the record, I ABHOR the brutal pseudo-sport of fighting dogs or game cocks. If there is another similar brutality, I can't think of it at the moment.

Who is the woman wearing my ring?

I lost my wedding band last night.

We were watching a Law and Order episode last night, and the husband of the victim was describing the one necklace that his wife always wore to help the police identify her body. It prompted one of those silly, "I'll never be in that situation, but...." self inspections.

I always wear my wedding band!

Mindlessly, I felt my ring finger to twirl my wedding band around my finger...a habit we all probably have.

My ring was missing. My wedding band was not in the place where it has been for almost five years! I don't take it off!

I shrieked, scaring Gordon and the dogs out of their skins, and we launched a frantic search. Well, I was frantic, chattering like a maniac. The dogs were helping look for something...they did not know what, but they were searching for it.

I was pulling quilts and sheets off of the bed, shaking and tossing pillows over my shoulder. Mentally I had already jumped ahead to wondering how much laxative we should give each of the dogs to be sure one of them had not swallowed it and how we could follow behind eight dogs everywhere outside to look for my ring.

Thankfully, Gordon nudged my little bedside cart with his knee, and there was my wedding band, peeking out from the edge. It was just a 15 minute drama, thankfully.

I have no recollection of the ring slipping off of my finger. My fingers are rarely dehydrated enough to let my ring just slide off.  The indentation in my skin was still visible, but I have no idea how long my ring had been off my finger. Probably all day.

Here goes another of my strange journeys of the mind. Hang on, a rabbit trail is a more apt description.

The lost-then-found ring led to photographing my ring today so that I could blog about what was quite a jolt to my emotional system. 

Kitty Dukakis has a book out about medical science's new approach to electroshock therapy. I've not read her book, but I could not help but think about it in the subsequent hours that adrenaline surged through my cells, making me feel more "alive" than any time since this current journey of stress and fatigue has drained my batteries dry, so to speak.

Recently, as I was unplugging one of the big kilns during a bad thunder storm, I was shocked by the 220 volt outlet. I very much doubt I received 220 volts, but that left hand was numb, and I could not make a fist for about an hour. What surprised me was the energy boost I had for a day or two...in the midst of a this journey of exhaustion.

A friend's daughter is involved in the research into whether smaller jolts of electricity can help people dealing with depression, chronic fatigue, etc. That is why I even knew Kitty Dukakis had written a book about her experiences. This is not like the large jolts of electric shock of the past that could wipe the mind for a while.

I'm not even remotely ready to get the book to read it...just mildly curious.

Now, at 45 years of age, I have apparently earned the life rewards of Adrenal Fatigue and Hypothyroidism, among other imbalances, probably because of years of overusing that Fight or Flight Adrenaline Rush mechanism. 

Push the envelope, pull another all-nighter, ignore the fatigue to get one more project finished or one more deadline met. I've always had an emergency supply of energy to draw on, at least until the last decade.

So then, this morning, I had an email from some dear friends in Denmark to whom I had grown very close in the mid to late 1980's. They were in Enterprise, AL, for the husband, Jorgen to teach military folk how to fly helicopters. It was a NATO exchange thing.

I was a volunteer local contact for some of the Danish wives. My job was to help them settle into the American lifestyle. I Made great friends. I consider them life-long friends, although I don't keep in touch as much as I would like to or as much as I should.

This morning, I emailed a few pictures back to Jorgen and Lene, remembering the good times we had all shared. It was quite bracing to be reminded how much I have changed in the last 18 years!

Trust me, you would not recognize me now based on this old picture! The people who know me now would not recognize me in this picture.

I no longer even know the person I was in my mid to late 20's in this picture. That's me on the right. I can't even remember how she thought and felt...her unlimited outlook on life.

Then, while taking the pictures of our wedding bands, I noticed the countless scratches and dents and scars from last five years of living real life.

Both Gordon's ring and my wedding band are etched with quite a busy map of our life together. Those scratches and dents are just a record of five years, not the whole 18 years since this picture  was taken.

Do we have to hit our mid 40's before we start to accumulate a bit of wisdom? Does anyone ever reclaim the pieces of themselves that they left behind in the journey of mere survival?

You could not pay me enough to go back to that age unless I could take back with me any wisdom I have gained in the past 18 years.

The scratches and dents on the rings can be buffed and polished away.

Can one reverse the scratches and dents life has left on our health and physical appearance? Too many wrinkles and too many pounds, too much wear and tear on my body and spirit, I fear.

No, all that God expects of me is to let Him make me the best me I can be at this moment in life. 
For the present, I only have the energy to rest and let Him recharge my batteries and restore my spirit.

I do trust God will restore my emotional and physical balance. Maybe part of what I am lamenting is that Gordon will never know the woman in this picture...before she started wearing my ring.

Ruminations on Red

Red tomatoes. Red watermelon. Red Bell Pepper. Red Hot Pepper. The contentment of seeing rows of red tomatoes canned in quart jars in the pantry and basement.

The smell of red bell peppers as we chop them up to freeze and later add to recipes year round.

Strings of hot red pepper drying in the kitchen. The sharp sting on the tongue or the burning sensation in the eye when I forget the red heat embedded in the skin on my fingers.

My favorite dresses of the past were vivid red. Linen. Soutach detailing.

So were my favorite shoes. Red patent leather pumps. That peak ripeness of my 20's.

Splashing in puddles in my little tyke red rain slicker, red hat and red boots. Age 2 or 3.

Putting a Kleenex and a few pennies in my little tyke red patent purse to go to the movies. Age 5 or 6.

Red as a color for parties. Happiness. In other cultures, the color of good fortune for the year ahead.

Red Roses. I can mentally smell the intoxicating fragrance well worth the pricks of hundreds of thorns through the years.

Happy Red in Christmas decorations. Santa's red suit. Christ's blood of sacrifice to come. Red holly berries, pepper berries and poinsettias.

The smell of salt air and horse flesh on a buggy tour of Charleston, South Carolina, at Christmas. Inspired by tangerine to red  pyracantha espaliered up a two story antebellum red brick chimney.

The Ruby-throated Hummingbird and the red flowers that attract them. Red food coloring in the sugar water in their hummingbird feeders. We have six hanging this summer.

Red fragile wisps floating down from tree branches, defrocking the trees in Fall.

Hearts of red in paper, plastic, fabric, food. Little paper bags taped to each elementary school desk to receive hoped-for Valentines from classmates.

Red-coat soldiers marching out to fight off infection at the site of a fresh cut. Paraphrased words from an unremembered author in a college literature class.

That enigmatic red passage into womanhood.

Nancy Reagan Red.
Power, pomp, presence, restored pride.

Learning that red glass and red glazes are made with real gold.

The reds of friendship.

These lacquered luncheon trays, ten of them, were a gift to my mother in the mid 1940's.

These tomatoes, so perfect and flawless, a gift from two friends. Their gardens started producing tomatoes before Unc's garden this year.

These friends shared the bounty of the earth. The way of farm-based country folk. The way of my family.

And then red as the whimsy of my husband who is adamant that red is unlucky. Apparently those who wore red on the first Star Trek series always died before the hour passed.

Red is the color of fun and humor.
Of happiness.
Of superstitions.
Of strength and power.
Of bounty and wealth, but not necessarily money.
Of creativity and inspiration.

Of loyalty and bravery and sacrifice over there. The ultimate gift so that I can enjoy all these reds safely...over here.

From Fire Extinguishers to Moisturized Toes

Don't you have a fire extinguisher mounted right at your front door?

Here in the studio, where Gordon and I have been living among molds and clays and kilns for going on five years now, there is a fire extinguisher and bold FIRE EXTINGUISHER sign at every external door (four) and the two doors leading from the upper level to the lower level (two).

Our temporary dresser has a big old mirror with ornate gilded frame (from Grandma), various small pictures of the two of us, each framed differently, and a big red fire extinguisher and sign peeping just beyond the edge of the mirror!

Anyway, this is what it looked outside of our door one early evening this week after a glorious, refreshing rain. Everything was so lush and washed and quenched and GREEN!

My day has been one big MOMMY day. Clipped Charlotte and Sunny, trimmed toenails on...I forget how many puppers. Why I even did a little shaping on my own toenails! WOW! Can you believe I had energy left over for that? Alas, there was not enough energy left over to paint the toenails, but that will come back in time.

You know, my toenails are probably a good barometer of how I feel about myself and life in general.  HA!  Painted toenails...happy, confident Penny. Plain toenails...Penny's rubber band has lost its elasticity and she is in need of some personal time to regenerate.

A couple of times in the past years, Gordon has offered to paint my tootsies, but being able to slap paint on a wall does not exactly qualify one to paint little piggies that want to look pretty and neat when they go to market and so forth.

Is that too perfectionist of me to want my toesies to be painted within the lines?  I mean, it is a very sweet gesture...but he's just done the toenail thing twice in the past almost five years, so I doubt I need to worry about hurting his feelings..

Now what I would really love is if he would put lotion on my feet and massage my feet. Just put lotion on my feet would be a thrill.

But, Alas, I think Gordon has a "thing" about applying lotion. He uses the tip of one finger to swirl lotion around on my foot or whatever.

By contrast, when he asks me to put lotion on his back and arms, I use both hands, warm the lotion and slather it on, massaging the lotion into his skin. Gordon is putty in my hands.

We give what we need, right?

I would be putty in Gordon's hands if he would do the same to my feet! Pout!

I've actually asked Gordon to promise me that if I am ever paralyzed that he will be sure and put lotion on my feet every day.  And lip balm on my lips. And hand cream. Or at least hire someone to do that!

I have this thing about having moisturized feet, hands and lips at all times. No, really, I can't go to sleep with dry feet, hands or lips. 

Now you can sleep soundly tonight just knowing these intimate details, can't you?

How did we get from fire extinguishers to my phobias of dry skin if I am ever paralyzed?

Oh, yes, the day spent being a Professional Helper. Helped Gordon hot stamp more boxes. Motivated those making home-made ice cream while I was clipping, brushing, treating booboos, washing, brushing and pampering the dogs. Listened. Listened. Listened.

It was a good day. I think I'll take the evening for just me. I'm watching "Must Love Dogs" at the moment. It has a Westie in it! Fun movie!

I'm hijacking the TV for the next movie, too, "Rumor Has It". Girly movies. I'm wiggling my moisturized toes at this very moment in anticipation.

I might even play with my fabric stash tonight, rearranging it...or just look at it if my energy does not rebound soon.