When I Grow Up I Want To Be…

… a quilter.

Those handmade quilts with the beautiful designs in them are awesome pieces of artwork.  I have some that are probably 100 years old.  And I love them!

Which is why I want to quilt.  Which is why I want to be just like these ladies.

hard at quilting

a quilt like mine

… a horticulturist.

When I become a horticulturist, I will know every plant by its Latin name.

cannabis sativa or cannabis indica

cannabis sativa or cannabis indica

See?  I have already learned there is a difference in the cannabis plant.

I can't even say it's name!!

I can’t even say it’s name!!

EEEEEEEEEK!!!  How did that thing get in this blog?  Am I going to have to deal with those to be a horticulturist?

The real story of my horticulture endeavor shall be growing plants that will have color names because I can’t even remember the common name for them; thus, I will have blues and yellows in my gardens.  Perhaps chartreuse or salmon or — well, the list is rather lengthy.  

my kind of plants

my kind of plant

… a traveler!

traveling down life's highway

traveling down life’s highway

From east to west in our little home on wheels (when we get it) we shall travel the country, meeting people and making friends, seeing all the sights, living in warm weather when it’s freezing-your-butt-off temperatures at home.

The plan is to have a little more horsepower than this RV with perhaps an added amenity or two or three.  Plusher pleasure is my goal.


… an actor at Universal!

Darla at Universal

Darla at Universal

Yes.  This is the plan for my sis and I.  We are going to drag our husbands down to Florida in the winter months so that she and I can work at Universal.

We can’t wait to see you all there!

… a sleeper.

(Yawn.)  A goal that’s been a lifelong goal is to sleep at night.  To just go to bed, lay  my head on the pillow, and start snoring.  I’ve seen people do this, and I’ve heard it’s quite common; however, my dear father passed the no-sleeping gene down to me. (Thanks, Dad.)

But while I wait to grow into that, I’m going to count all the things I have grown up to do so far.  Sort of like counting sheep.

garden… scrapbook… play piano…….. (yawn)……. bake… cook………(yawn)………….paint/maintain pools…..wire houses…………(yawn)(yawn)….nap in the car…………….zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Waiting-on-Summer Hor D’oeuvre

Camel Rock

It’s cold here in Southern Illinois, and my weather taste buds are all set for summer.  Garden of the Gods sits in the Shawnee National Forest, a perfect place for summer picnics, camping, hiking, and falling off steep cliffs and rock animals.  Parents pack up the kiddies and the hot dogs and then hold their breath until those parents get those kiddies back on to more secure footing; a place where hippies (yes, there still are some) come to fill the air with a certain sweet tobacco aroma and bask in nature; a spot to enjoy the beauty and quiet of God’s world.

As you can see from the photo, the glaciers all those millions of years ago made some rather interesting sculptures.  This one is called Camel Rock, but perhaps it should have been named Bull Rock because some young buck is always getting thrown from that camel’s back into the thick brush below.  Every summer some drunken fool (or not so drunken — just a fool) thinks he (don’t recall any females) can jump from the surrounding rocks to the camel’s head.  And every summer the police scanners around the rural countryside cackle with the call for ambulances and rescue teams.

My friends and I used to come to this garden, this Garden of the Gods, and make camp for the weekend.  We had hair down to our butts (even the guys) and threw tents up or just laid a blanket on the ground or in the back of a pickup truck.  We cooked food over a fire (best kind there is at that age) and drank cheap wine.  It seems as though it wasn’t so long ago my feet thought they could fly, too.