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a little of everything

A Quinkle Lift Isn’t The Answer

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Sometimes we just can’t explain what it is that makes us do the things we do.

bookworm

For instance, why have I always loved to read, even encyclopedias? And what makes me procrastinate when I hate doing it? From where does this chameleonism of mine come or my inability to make a decision? Why have I saved magazine recipes for years… and years… and years?

As I look around at family and friends, I wonder about their quinkles as well.  You know, those quirky things that make wrinkles in your personality that you would otherwise not have if it weren’t for the quirks, those things that keep you from being the terrific person you truly are. If only we could have a quinkle lift, then our lives would be made right and whole, and joy and tranquility would abound. A little smoothing out of those deep quinkles that affect our day-to-day progress, such as getting to work on time.

personality colors

But then… what about all that color in our personalities?

Those quinkles are what makes a person vivid, gives depth to our intrinsic differences, stretches our beliefs and endurance capacities.

In my family alone we have a cat quinkle, a fat quinkle, a run-around-in-circles quinkle; a regret quinkle, a forget quinkle, and a can-I-ever-get-it-right quinkle; a drama quinkle, a dilemna quinkle, and a let’s-get-‘er-done-right-now quinkle. As I think on it, we are so quinkled!

drama quinkle

So what kind of quinkles do you and your family have?

Our Little Import

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As I was heading off to bed, my computer yelled at me.  I swear it did.  It’s right across the hall from my bedroom, so I get the sweet glow from its little face after I tuck it in and say goodnight… only tonight I was tired and wasn’t planning on tucking it in for the evening.  But here we sit, looking at each other, good buddies that we are, and it (my computer needs a name) was telling me about all my friends and neighbors and acquaintances, via facebook.

One in particular is the little import to our town.  A few weeks ago, in January, I had seen our little import helping to wash the Christmas off the windows of some of the store fronts along our Main Streets.  We have two:  one-way streets that start on the east side of a grass and gravel mall going north then loop around the courthouse to go back to the south on the west side of the same “mall.”  Daren, my brother-in-law, who comes from the city (at least to we who live in a small, small town) had heard about the mall from his girlfriend at the time, my sis-in-law, and upon his maiden voyage to this little borough, was looking for the mall, planning on doing a little shopping, I guess.  To his amazement, the mall consisted of a bunch of grass and a nice, big, graveled parking area; three large sections to be exact with some beautiful tulip trees lining both sides of the southern section, a bandstand on the grassy northern section, and the parking lot in the middle.

So it was on the east side of the mall, up the street (being north) from the post office, that I noticed Karen cleaning windows.  And I was impressed.  She has come here from another big city (once again in relation to our town) (hardly what a true city dweller would actually call a city though) and has embraced our town and made it her own.  So tonight, my computer was telling me (via facebook) that she had attended a Valentine gathering at one of the local churches.  That girl is all over the place!  Just a few months ago she had dressed up and participated in a play to raise money for a good cause.

She has brought our little community together with a facebook page about our town.  Old and new pictures are posted, community events are listed along with where and when they are to take place, people looking for folks from the past are asking for help in the search, and history of the area is discussed and cherished.  We are actually reaching out and touching… without actually reaching out and touching.  And it’s been good.  Good for our town, and good for me.

My appreciation has grown over the past few months for these servants and lovers of our community.  I could name several, but Karen sticks out in my mind as an import turned homey, a gal that gives and cares.  Thanks, girlfriend.

Where’s a Chameleon Apron When You Need One?

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Chameleons should have little chameleon-sized aprons.  They’re always running into something that changes what they look like… or running away from something that changes what they look like.  I’m sure if they had little chameleon mirrors, they would wonder, “Who the heck is that?!”  With little aprons, they could just whip one out for whatever need or occasion arose; no need to go through a semi-metamorphosis.  I wonder if that hurts; always changing colors that way.

My son and I are chameleons.  I had hoped none of my children (three in total) would get my chameleonism.  But he did.  We are always bumping into something that makes us think, “Aha, this is who I am!”  And so this is who we then become.  Or we meet people, and as we socialize more and more with them, our attitudes change, our values change, our way of life changes.  And sometimes, as we’ve run away from bad news, bad events, bad relationships, we just catch the first lizard passing and change as quickly as we can.  Usually not a good thing.

I’ve been living with chameleonism for many moons now and have learned to cope, adjusting to my changing personage.  After much introspection, mistakes, joys, sadness, happiness, I’ve learned to surround myself with good things and good people, uplifting music, great books, good hobbies, fun activities, God… and to let go of those things that cause the dark colors of my life to manifest.  Seems those dark colors take so long to change into those light, bright, vivid colors.  The kind of colors that make life worth living

A Jewel In The Trash Heap

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Tonight I found a present.  I’ve been cleaning up my junky, filthy, messy office (with an apron that has huge pockets to stash stuff until I can figure out whether to toss it in the trash or reassign it a resting place till next time my office gets junky, filthy, and messy) (whew!!) and I found a brand new journal that I had bought back in my “grief-spending days.”  The great thing about this?  I’ve been thinking of journaling again.  I’ve always haphazardly journaled, but lately have been craving to write down my thoughts.  You know, the way you crave a big bowl of buttery popcorn with a crisp apple to eat with it.  Don’t tell me you’ve never had popcorn with a juicy apple?  You HAVE to try it!  It’s just too delicious.

Where was I?  My journal!  It’s beautiful!  Burgundy leather, gold-trimmed pages, a cool gold ribbon book mark.  I need to get me a new pen.  I love pens.  Good writing pens that glide across the paper.  A pen that will do this book justice, for it is inspired by a great man, Oswald Chambers, and his book, My Utmost For His Highest.  He died in 1917, but his words are as relevant today as they were those many years ago; and may even be more necessary to read in times like these.  Words to remind us to strive for “holiness of heart and life” as John Wesley has said.  Words to bring strength and direction in times of uncertainty.

Words that God wants me to read, and then write my own thoughts and words.  Maybe even say a few words to Him who woos, as the lover He is, to become more intimate with Him.  Now… I’m starving for Him.

All Because I Wanted A Baby Grand Piano

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Bob, the floor guy, will be here tomorrow to start the sanding.  He’s already got the raised platform that held the wood stove out and is ready to install connecting wood pieces to the wood floor.  My job is to get all the furniture out.  So today I am packing and moving and causing great discomfort to my back and other areas of my body.  I’m not as young as I once was.

getting ready to clear the room

the accomplishment of an aching back

All because I wanted a baby grand piano

ready for the new flooring

I measured and finagled and measured again, but, no, it just wasn’t going to work with that big, raised platform there in the corner of the room; the big, raised platform that had no purpose anymore since the stove was out.  So now it’s a bare spot with jutting hardwood planks… and a note.  There is nothing like tearing away the carpet or the old paneling or a wall and finding a treasure.  A treasure from yesteryear, something that gives you a little look into the past, lets you know a detail or two about the ones that came before you; even if it wasn’t so very long ago.

This treasure was a note telling me when the house was built and who built it.  Neat.  My sister-in-law will think so, too.

my treasure

All because I wanted a baby grand piano.

I am Officially a Gigi–I Have the Apron to Prove It

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My alter ego, my real life, my nomenclature is Gigi (pronounced geegee).  It all began with Little Jack, my greatnephew, one of the great loves of my life.  He was born on the first anniversary of my husband’s death; thus creating wonderfully exciting chaos in my life…  causing me to forget for a time my loss, bringing sweet relief  to my sadness.  But it wasn’t just that his birth was around that time.  Although the date was one day early, it was on the very day (a Monday) at the exact time my husband died that little Jack was born.

And that child loved me.  I mean loved me to the exclusion of even his Momma and his Mawmaw.  If I was around, he only wanted me.  Even on his first birthday, a grand day, he wanted Gigi.  Oh, I wasn’t Gigi then; I was Aunt Granny, a name picked out for myself after a visit to Dolly Parton’s Dollywood and a restaurant called Aunt Granny’s.  (Thank you, Ms. Parton, for your inspiration.)  It was only after Little Jack began to work on pronouncing words that it morphed into Gigi.

So now I am the proud Gigi of six little great-darlings and two precious granddaughters.  And for Christmas I got a red Gigi apron!!!  One of those delightfully gaudy grandma things:  a picture on the front of me and the grandgirls, bling that would blind a person if the sun caught it just right…  and my name:  Gigi.

Recipes or Renovations?

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Woohoo!!  I just got through washing my brand spanking new white plates and bowls.  You know what this means.  Now that I’ve proven my expertise with the mice recipe, it’s time to move on to bigger and better rodents… or dishes.  Especially since I have the dishes for the dishes.  Oh, that tastes good in my mouth, rolling off my tongue; got the dishes for the dishes.  That’s what I’m talkin’ about, girlfriends.  And boyfriends?  Are there any guys out there?

I love dishes:  the real china, ceramic, stoneware, plastic, crystal, silver, old, new, and if truth be told, even paper dishes.  Some of those paper things are just nice, now.   After working all day, come in and get something frozen from the freezer, throw it on a paper plate, and slap it into the microwave.  Pure beauty.  Even prettier when you throw away the paper plate and plastic fork.

But basically, and most often, I love to eat off of the kind of dishes that need washing.  Wish there was a dishwasher besides yours truly here.  I hate washing dishes.  Epiphany!!!  That’s what has taken me so long to start cooking those wonderful recipes I’ve been saving for decades.  A dishwasher is definitely a future prospective purchase, although it would have to be a smaller-than-normal size and would take up a lot of my limited cabinet space.

But, really, to get the most benefit from a dishwasher it needs to be a regular-sized one.  Wouldn’t you think?  My home is small,  so the new regular-size dishwasher would mean the kitchen would need to be enlarged.  After all, I do need the cabinet space if I’m going to be cooking all this food and having people over to eat it.

Alas!  This could mean I’ll have to postpone my cooking for another decade or two in order to plan my renovations!

Boaz and Ruth

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My husband and I many years ago got a beautiful gray cat from his sister.  The cat was small and had come to her house looking for food.  After some coaxing, she got it to a place where she could catch it, and we took it home.  And named him Boaz.

We thought Boaz should have a little companion and were delighted to hear about some kittens being born a couple of blocks over at a neighbor’s (that was before they became prolific; our little town  now has millions) (really) (I’m not exaggerating).  We were excited to choose Bo’s new companion kitty.  After careful consideration, my husband decided on a female that we were going to name Ruth for the wonderful love story in the Old Testament about Boaz and Ruth.  Off we went, Ruth in tow, to introduce the two.  And they got along well, although Ruth seemed to like to wonder a little more than she should (outside cats).

The big day came for Ruth to go to the vet for her big prespay check-up.  I, the proud cat mommy of Ruth, got her out of the carrier and put the little, well-behaved darling on the table.  (I found out later they are so well-behaved because they have been freaked out by the carrier.)  (Or so the vet said.)  After checking Ruth very well, and checking her a second time, he looked at Ruth and frowned.  I thought, “Oh, no.  Something’s wrong with Ruth.”

The vet looked at me, as he lovingly held Ruth, (I was sure by this time she was almost dead) then he looked back at Ruth and said, “What did you say you named your cat?”

“Ruth,” I said.

He looked at me and smiled and said, “Well, you better start calling him Babe Ruth.”

Just the beginning!

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Apronsandappetites came to fruition after years of saving recipes out of magazines.  It was first going to be called Magazine Menus.  I had big plans of inviting different friends over to sample all the different dishes (on my beautiful new white plates) (that I have yet to buy).  Sort of a small-town Julie/Julia:  Mommas/Magazines with iced tea.  But that just didn’t really encompass exactly what I wanted from a personal blog.  I wanted more than trying all the recipes.  I wanted… well, life.

For about ten years now my life has been in a sort of hiatus.  Lots of stuff that can wait for another time to tell.  I feel like a butterfly in a cocoon breaking out into light.  And I want to do everything!  My appetite is waaaaay bigger than just a meal made from magazine recipes.  Wala!!!  The Appetites.

What goes better with big appetites than a great apron?  I love aprons.  I love the stories behind aprons.  I love the way they feel, the way they look, their secrets.  They’re like a good book, one you stay up all night to read or loathe to have to put down till another day.  I want to share some of those great aprons and apron stories with you, and I want you to share yours with me.  Aprons aren’t just for keeping clothes protected… they’re all about personalities, life situations, and love.

My name is Brenda, and I have to tell you right up front:  I’m a little different.  Ellen Degeneres had a hilarious phone call from a little woman who said, “I love Jesus, but I still drink a little whiskey every now and then.”  Or words to that effect.  So if you love Jesus (I do) and you’re not afraid to be in touch with the earthy you (or offended by the earthy me) then please join me… and enjoy my journey.