Tag Archives: Tea

Ten on Tuesday

  1.  Screw the US media.  From now on I’m getting all my news from BBC.
  2. I haven’t knit in a week and I’m getting cranky.
  3. The current state of our politics doesn’t make me embarrassed to be an American, it makes me embarrassed that we have the political system we do that allows this to happen.
  4. The President-Elect is acting like a nasty little boy who runs into his mother’s dinner party and takes great joy in overturning everybody’s drinks and smashing all the dishes knowing that nobody will reprimand him.
  5. Thanksgiving was absolutely wonderful and I’m taking my time decorating for Christmas.
  6. Turkey croquettes made with leftover stuffing is an amazing thing.
  7. This was the first time we’ve ever had leftover stuffing.
  8. The turkey soup was damn good, too.
  9. Why does putting on a pair of black tights make me feel like I weight 20 pounds less?
  10. If I didn’t have tea, I think I would be a much more unstable person.  And that is saying a lot right there.





This was my living room at 7:30 this morning.  Kind of how I feel.


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Breathe, and Breathe Again

It’s a gorgeous Wednesday afternoon, about 2:00 EDT.  I actually sat down at my desk at 11:45 and fell down several rabbit holes of bill paying, checkbook wrangling, list making, and calendar updating, while simultaneously answering emails and phone calls.  And I’m not even a busy person!  I actually sat down to draw, but now I’m writing so instead I’ll show you the thing I drew last week:

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I have no idea what those lines are all around it, because they’re not on the photo I’m looking at!  Ah, well…..they say imperfection is its own kind of perfection.

And I’ve also completed the shawl that I’m just tickled with, and she’s here right now being America’s next top shawl:

It’s interesting to me how much weather plays a factor in my mood.  I like rainy days, I like the cool weather, I hate humidity (which I’m sure comes as a shock to you, gentle reader, as I’ve certainly never mentioned it before) and glaring sun, but give me a sunny day with the gentlest of breezes and I feel like SuperWoman.  I actually pulled some weeds and threw down some mulch!  Never mind that I’ll need a few hours to recuperate from that, it feels darn good.

I remember how much my mother enjoyed sitting outside, looking at her very small plot of garden and dreaming of what she could accomplish with more time and more energy.  She had some lovely roses that didn’t resemble any kind of prize-winner being as tall and spindly as they were, but the aroma was beyond heavenly and when she brought one into the house to sit in a tiny glass vase, she carried it like the precious treasure it was.  When she died I planted a rose bush, and I was devastated when it, too, died.  What has lived on, however, is a cutting from her philodendron plant (which she bought about 30 years ago) which is now four transplanted pots and three cuttings in water.  That’s kind of how I stay connected to her.  That, and watching old movies.

I think I hear a cup of tea calling my name…..


steve sentence

Steve is my spirit animal.



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10 Random Things on Tuesday

  1.  One day after discussing with my neighbor that I don’t get seasonal allergies, that I’m susceptible to allergy attacks all year, I get a whopper of one.  I woke up sneezing at 5:45 a.m.  Who does that?  How does that even happen?  How do you go from being sound asleep in a delicious cycle and then suddenly “achoo!”-ing loud enough to scare the birds?  And what’s with the sneezing straight for 10 minutes?  I thought I was going to have a heart attack mid-sneeze.  Can that even happen?
  2. I’m so glad the New York primaries are today.  That means tomorrow there won’t be the stupid commercials.
  3. I’ve never met anyone that didn’t like chicken.
  4. One of the reasons why I like my home so much is that I feel utterly at home.  That may seem like an obvious statement, but there have been places in my life that made me positively ITCH to get going somewhere else and feel settled.  This has now become that place, and I’m okay with spending time just enjoying my surroundings.  Of course, I do that by not looking too closely at the dog hair that wants sweeping up or the gentle layer of dust on the mantle.
  5. There’s an interesting state of affairs in the name of supporting local businesses.  There are neighborhood groups on Facebook (and some spelling program just capitalized that for me; why, I don’t know, since the actual masthead is lowercase.) and lots of requests for recommended plumbers, electricians, landscapers, nannies, places to eat, caterers, car sales, etc.  Helpful folks chime in with their favorites, and everyone gets a fuzzy glow from being good neighbors.  So tell me why NONE of them call you back?  “Hello, Neighborhood Business Owner?  Yes, I’d like to give you money.  Can you call me and tell me when you can perform your tasks so I may give you said money?  Thanks.  Here’s every number in the universe you’ll need to reach me.”  Radio silence for two weeks.  “Hello, Neighborhood Business Owner?  Yes, I called two weeks ago trying to give you some of my money.  In the meantime, my pet llama has disappeared down the pit that is my backyard waiting for someone to fill in the hole, preferably after extracting said llama.  Could you call me, please?  My numbers again are…”  Another week goes by.  Hopping onto Facebook I see the group praising the Neighborhood Business Owners again, and one small voice (not mine, yet) saying “they won’t return my calls.”  Angry friends and neighbors of said Neighborhood Business Owners rush to their defense, claiming they are “great people, coaching local softball, dynamite work, wouldn’t go anywhere else, why are you publicly disparaging him and attempting to ruin his business?”  It’s a conundrum.
  6. I just sneezed six times between paragraph five and six.  It’s a SIGN.
  7. I’m knitting a shawl that I want to use on vacation.  It’s Dream In Color Starry which means it has little silvery bits of shiny in it and I am completely amused, except the name of the color is “starless sky” which would indicate to me that it shouldn’t have the starry bits in it, am I right?  Or is it another conundrum and I have unwittingly stumbled across an actual theme in my life?
  8. I’ll soon be going to a convention with my Hubby which involves us going to a hotel.  We will be invited to a breakfast buffet at 8:30; he departs for a 9:15 meeting, and I go upstairs to change for an 11:00 brunch; after that, I change into casual clothes for afternoon shopping or walking about, leaving enough time to change clothes again for a formal banquet in the evening; after the formal part, folks change into casual clothes to roam the corridors and visit everyone else’s room for a drink as if we were back in college crashing dorm parties.  It is the silliest thing ever, but I like the people I get to see so I put up with it.  Plus two days with no home responsibilities so I won’t hear the dust calling my name.
  9. I saw my former students in a play at the local high school and while I had some anxiety ahead of time, it turned out to be a wonderfully therapeutic night.  All my kids were so happy to see me and I got many many hugs and enthusiastic “you were the best teacher ever!” and I may have cried.  Okay, I definitely cried.  My heart felt like the Grinch’s when it burst out of its cartoon x-ray frame.
  10. Sometimes when I want to blog I think about what would interest people, and then I chuckle to myself because what is interesting about a suburban middle-aged former music teacher who likes to knit?  Then I think about blogging my artwork and I chuckle again, mostly because I call it “art” when it’s really more like illustration, and people come to blogs for the reading.  I think my sarcasm bone must be getting brittle, because I haven’t been sarcastic in a while and you really can’t force sarcasm. I don’t talk about food that much because I don’t cook or bake that much lately (and really, you can get that content just about anywhere else) and I don’t eat out enough to be a picture-snapping foodie (again, find that just about anywhere on instagram).  Then I realize that this blog is for me and the outpourings of my mind, and just like my house, I feel at home here.  When I don’t write for a while, it’s just like a room in my house that I look forward to sitting in for a while and it’s where I feel comfortable just being me.  If you’re a reader of this blog, thanks for coming by.  I’d offer you some cookies but I’m afraid I’m pretty selfish about sharing them because cookies.  I will offer you tea, though, and if the conversation really gets going, the sarcasm may follow.  Or not.

I leave you with this thought-provoking idea from my spirit animal, the Dowager:



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My View

2016-02-05 09.19.05

That’s a lot of powdered sugar

This is my perfect kind of morning.  Everybody else in the house has left for work, and I get to look at this beautiful view while I sip my tea at my desk.  I have tons of knitting, tons of tea, and streaming Netflix.  It is a perfectly satisfying way to spend my Friday.


I do remember, however, when I was in my early twenties and living in upstate New York.  It snows there.  A lot.  Like, several times a day.  And there are lots of hills there, too.  So it wasn’t as charming as this little scene outside my window, although I really did love snow.  But when you clean it off your car to drive to school, then clean it off again to drive to your part-time job, then clean it off again to drive to your OTHER part-time job, then clean it off again to go home and realize you get to do it all again tomorrow, then it gets a little less charming.  It was beautiful, however, and except for the time that my engine froze and I couldn’t get to work (and got yelled at for it, because apparently I should have walked seven miles in windy, 12-below weather) and I hadn’t laid in the requisite bread and milk (that was a scary time) I really didn’t mind it all that much.  Of course, that was before my knees betrayed me and decided to only work part-time now.


But now I’m in a different phase of my life.  So I get to look at this gentle view, sip my tea, and remember just how lucky I am.  Hopefully I’ll have the good sense to re-read this post when I inevitably get into one of my crabby moods and fantasize about running away for a while.  Hmmm…….

good day otter

That otter has sass.


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Squishing Day 10, 11, and 12: I Must Be Mad!

Day 10: I do not drink coffee.  Readers of Tea and Sarcasm will understand why.  So, if we were having a cup of tea together, I’d be offering you a mug and a various assortment of different teas.  NOT TISANES, NOT HERBALS, NOT MUDDLED FLOWERS.  Tea.  I would boil the kettle, offer you milk, sugar, honey, or one last packet of artificial sweetener left over from the days we used to hold mammoth backyard barbecues which hasn’t happened in over ten years, so accept the packet at your own risk.  I’d pour, then ask you how long you’d like it to brew.  Understandably, you’d look puzzled.  Many of our friends take the mug, give the tea bag or the infuser a quick dunk like it’s a carnival dunk tank, and drink from there.  If I weren’t such a polite hostess, I’d give you a major stinkeye because why are you wasting my yummy tea when all you really wanted was tea-scented water?  I used to brew my tea for 10 minutes but now it’s six.  After I’d settled down with you and our mugs and offered some cookies to go with, I’d chat about whatever we wanted and there’d be no holds barred, no judgement, no off-topic topics.  If you say something I violently disagree with, I may or may not push back, but I will eventually and ever so subtly change the subject.  Tea is just that good, and it should be shared in good company with amiable feelings.  Now, if we were drinking wine, that’s a different saga.

Day 11: What do I do when I’m not blogging?  Um, life?  Yesterday was Monday and I was my usual organized self with the added bonus of celebrating a family birthday.  My email notifications were adding up a bit, but I kept telling myself I’d get to those writing assignments really really soon.  Like, soon.  And another day ended and it was all filled with life stuff and people and places and things and I’d think that for sure tomorrow I’d write something.  I’d have cut myself some slack if I’d known the assignment was not to write!  But this reaching out to someone for an interview or collaboration is making my gears not mesh comfortably.  Yes, I know, get out of your comfort zone in order to write about more things, but if I’m not comfortable writing, why would I do it?  As far as someone whose work I admire, that would be Jenny Lawson, Susan Branch, Mary Engelbreit, or Alicia Paulson.  Those are the folks who create and make my heartstrings tug a bit, simply by how their words, pictures, art, blogs, settings, and place resonate within me, that I can’t put words to.  Check them out.  Maybe when the writing assignment comes I’ll do a fake interview.

Day 12: Word count?  Really?  If I’m too long, make it succinct, and if I’m too short, make it longer.  That’s my assignment for today.  I am gobsmacked.  I just…. what?  I don’t pay attention to word count.  Am I supposed to?  Is that what a writer does?  All I can think of is that scene from the movie Amadeus where the Count is trying to sum up his objections to Mozart’s latest piece:  “There it is.  Too many notes.”  Mozart is flabbergasted.  He has written just as many notes as the piece required, no more, no less, and perhaps his majesty would like to suggest which notes he should keep and which he should discard?  (Not that I am in any way comparing my rantings over the interwebz on par with Mozart’s genius, believe me.  That would be mad.  Although my title does say I must be mad, so…..)  I am not really liking this assignment either, but since I’ve blathered on about it, I guess I had something to say.  And that’s all I have to say about that.

Now, to dig out my knitting, cue up Netflix, and find out what’s happening on Midsomer Murders.  I know it’s Tuesday and I alluded to tags, but I’m not there yet.  Soon.  Maybe.  I don’t know.  Perhaps.  In the meantime…..

Which is why I don't invite squirrels over.

Which is why I don’t invite squirrels over.


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Stitch Me a Sampler

I’ve been thinking a lot about home lately and what it means to me.  When Hubby told me his job was over and he was worried about the mortgage, I chirped “no problem, if we have to sell the house we will!”  (I bet you didn’t know that in addition to the unlimited sarcasm, I have an annoying habit of being VERY perky to cheer everyone up.  Can’t do it for myself, but boy howdy can I irritate a room with my upbeat-ness.)  After all, I thought, it’s just different walls so no big deal, right?

Or is it?  I’ve often said I love my house but I wish I could move it to a different place.  What is “place?”  Is it the physical location of your actual dwelling, or is it defined by the view you behold when you look out your window?  What about reaching said home?  Do you need to travel by highways or rutted roads?  Are there conveniences nearby, or do you need to schedule a 45-minute trip just to get a quart of milk?  Is your address easily found for deliveries of packages and mail, or is a Sherpa needed for a monthly provision drop-off?

I live in a small town surrounded by a larger town in the middle of a technically suburban area, but not overrun with housing developments.  I can easily walk to two separate towns with post offices, convenience stores, butchers, drugstores, bakeries, pizza parlors, libraries, and transportation into The Big City and surrounding environs.  While I despise the traffic issues of the nearby highway, I am pretty much in a quiet area.  A horn honking or a siren wailing is still something that makes us stop and look out the window.  When I lived in a city, that was just like your white noise machine playing in the background.

Granted, I live on a county road that sees rush hour in the morning and evening, but I have a huge backyard that attracts lots of wildlife (not the partying kind, although really how do I know what the squirrels and chipmunks are up to at 2 a.m.?) and has big trees and views of amazing sunsets.  There are no rude or noisy neighbors, it’s mostly just families that might have a loud party on a Saturday in the summer and who really cares about that?  I’m grateful I don’t have a neighbor who fancies himself a mechanic, feeling the need to rev every engine he works on super loud just to see how loud it can get and ignoring the belching exhaust out of the tailpipe (and yes, I used to have such a neighbor when I lived in the city parts; he was a prince, I tell you).

And while all these things add up to a pretty calm and serene existence instead of the jangling irritating climate I used to have, I’ve realized these are just the perks.  The real part of home is the feeling it evokes.

There are currently four adults living in this house, two of which I gave birth to.  We each have our little zones that we drift to when we come home, and one of us will always put the kettle on for tea.  The reassuring sound of the gas stove lighting and the cups clinking and the anticipation of the warmth of the tea (even if it’s July and a bazillion degrees, tradition and routine is important) and the comfort of familiar surroundings nurtures us.  We may read or play games on our devices or zone out with television, but we’re never truly disconnected from each other and we share those tidbits we find amusing or thought-provoking.  We also need space from each other and that’s good, too, because we can go into another room away from it all and not feel ostracized or insulted.  It’s called being human.  Would we have this shared connection if we were in a small, two-bedroom apartment with almost no privacy?

I hope I never have to find out, but if I do I am sure to have a kettle on at all times while we work to figure things out.  And that’s probably the essence of home for me.

Bring it.

Bring it.

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Random Tuesday (Election Day Issue)

1.  Tuesdays have become all about running the errands, while Mondays have become more domestic in nature.  I don’t know why it has evolved that way, but there it is.  A routine, if you will.

2.  NaNoWriMo is not only annoying to type out, it’s a great way to feel guilty and inadequate.  So much promise in a little package!

3.  I have issues with Election Day, not the least of which is the sheer amount of robocop phone calls I got all day yesterday while I was being domestic.  Nothing harshes the mellow of a divine apple cake baking like a recorded voice asking me to press one if I’m very excited about this year’s election.

4.  I am officially unemployed.  Still exploring how I feel about that.  

5.  Very thankful I have the option to explore how I feel about that, instead of scrambling to find a replacement job right away.  Thank you, Hubby.

6.  The flip side of that means I’m back to being frugal and perusing ads and clipping coupons.  I get a strange thrill when something goes on sale AND I have a coupon for it.

7.  I also hate Election Day because of the folks who work our polls.  The average age of the worker is 257, and while I’ve been voting in every election in the same place for twenty-four years you’d think I was a stranger who just flew in from some unpronounceable country.  “Who?”  “How do you spell that?”  “What?”  My last name begins with an “M”, and apparently you can’t find “M” in the book unless you start at “A.”  No, you can’t open the book halfway through and go from there, you must start at the very beginning and turn every page one by one.  Then, even though I can clearly see my name on the page and say “There it is, on the bottom,” the worker has to page past my name to make sure it’s really the right name.  No wonder people stay home on Election Day.

8.  I am having lunch with a friend today.  My frugality is still in check, as we are going for half-price sushi.

9.  I don’t really eat sushi.  I get the scaredy-cat California roll and tempura roll.

10. I watched a chipmunk terrorize a mourning dove at the bird feeder this morning.  It was quite amusing, until the sassy-pants squirrel came along and decided to shimmy up the pole to munch at the feeder.  It was even more amusing when I banged on the window and sassy-pants squirrel went flying twenty feet. 

11. Last words on Election Day: the only good thing about Election Day is that it really makes me appreciate the day after, when everybody shuts up and we can get on with all the good things about November.

12.  Time for more tea.  I’ve broken up with Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea because $2.79 for a box of 20 teabags, no matter how delightful they are, is no match for Tetley British Blend, which is $3.29 for a box of 80 teabags.  See #6 above.

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Who Knew that Monday Would Rock?

After a really crabby day yesterday, imagine my surprise that I was able to get up at 6:15, be downstairs and breakfasted by 7:00, and have my daily word count completed by 8:30.  Who am I?  This is the routine I used to have as an employed person, and Hubby was shocked that I was up and dressed and making him tea before he even got up and wondered if I was feeling okay.  Maybe a crabby day is the precursor to an accomplished day?  

My crabbiness stemmed from so many sources and they were all illogical.  Why should an unsatisfying dream cause a mood?  It’s not real, for heaven’s sake, so why did it affect me?  Should I call my sister-in-law and demand an explanation for her last-minute change in plans for our cookie business?  For the record, we have no plans for a cookie business, but she left me high and dry in that dream and dag nab it, that was not a good thing.  It left me ripe for a confrontation which I had with my mirror.  (Please tell me you do that, too.  Makes for a cathartic venting of emotions, if a somewhat crazy-looking scene.)  I had my principal and my administrator and my superintendent in front of me (well, in the mirror in front of me)  and I gave them what for.  Clearly I am still carrying many conflicting emotions about this situation and a unresolved cookie business simply broke the camel’s straw or something like that.

Then I rolled the dice even more and went grocery shopping.  On a Sunday afternoon.  Every slow driver in the area must have decided that it was a perfect time to go for a sight-seeing drive, and never mind that the sight-seeing occurred at green lights, crosswalks, stop signs, and the middle of the road.  Really?  You’re actually stopping mid-turn to point to something of interest?  Got your license from a Cracker Jack box, did you?  (Yoda?  Am I channelling Yoda?)  And what’s up with the parking lot of the supermarket?  Do you really have to stay in the middle of the lane, blinker flashing desperately as you wait for the elderly couple to unload their cart?  Couldn’t you drive a bit further and find a different spot?  Oh, that’s good, blast your horn when you perceive someone is trying to cut you off and grab the spot you’re waiting for and in the process give the elderly couple a heart attack.  It’s a spot in a parking lot, not Mecca.  Your giant EscNaviBoat probably won’t fit in the spot, anyway.

Oh, Lord, help me.  I just want to get in, get out, and go home, but They are conspiring against me.  I’ll spare you the descriptive commentary of the Peering shopper, the Drifting shopper, the Just-Off-The-Mothership shopper, the Won’t-Pay-Attention-to-her-Screaming-Baby shopper, the Abandon-the-Cart shopper, the I-Forgot-Something-Be-Back-Quick line hog shopper who comes back carrying nine different items and is scanning the end caps for more stuff to add, and the Let-Me-Examine-Every-Item-Again-As-I-Put-It-On-The-Belt-And-Wait-For-The-Price-To-Show-Up shopper, who you know is going to wait until the total is announced before she dives into her overstuffed handbag to find her checkbook and pen.  My blood pressure is approaching the sort of comparisons you find on hot sauce bottles (Caution! Sizzling! Hell’s Gate!).

To make it a truly gripping tale for you, I’ll just throw out there that I had to go to THREE separate stores to find lard.  Why is this a thing?  Where else would I buy lard?  It’s not like there’s a plethora of pig farms out in the suburbs that I can pull up to a grab a bucketful.  Why do I need lard?  (Boy, is that a loaded question!  For that reason, I did not ask store personnel “where can I find lard?’ in case they answered “Why, I believe you can just look at your hips and buttocks, madam,” and instead asked the more direct “Do you sell lard?”)  Because Hubby is making apple pie and it has been drummed into our collective brains by my late father that lard is the only acceptable fat for a pie crust.  I’ve heard of butter, vegetable shortening, even vodka (and isn’t that an intriguing experiment to think about?) but I’m sure we’d be haunted severely if we ever deviated from using lard.  For the curious among you, this is the New York Times Cookbook recipe for pie crust.  

Reaching the safe haven of home did not improve my mood, and my poor Hubby was knocking himself out.  He had cleared three items off the To-Do List, fixed a sign that I broke because I was too impatient to slowly sink it into the ground, cleared off the counter in preparation for apple pie magic, and was going to be in charge of dinner.  He is Superman, and I was just a big old crab.  Hugs didn’t even uncrab me.


I think the real kicker on the crabbiness was the fact I saw two of my colleagues (excuse me, former colleagues) in the supermarket and I avoided them.  I just didn’t want to get into anything, even though I knew they would have been super supportive and caring and genuine and offered lots of hugs, but I avoided them anyway.  And that did not feel good.  It was way worse than the usual reaction of seeing someone you want to avoid because you don’t want to be sucked into that conversation where you relive the last year of your lives minute by minute and irritated shoppers want to get something off the shelf exactly where you’re standing.  This was inexcusable and it sealed the crabbiness for the day.

I will say, however, that a cup of hot tea with Bailey’s Irish Cream is a remarkable cure.



Tell me how you uncrab.


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Oh What a Feeling

I am the recipient of a lovely gift today.


Because I am no longer working (and really, can I just take a moment for a huge thank you to Hubby for easing my guilt about not finding another job right away and understanding that a mental/nervous/emotional breakdown takes different spans of recovery and for being the best supportive and all-around awesome dude? Thanks.) and because my Younger Daughter is away at the Institute of Secondary Knowledge and Social Hilarity, and because my Older Daughter has taken flight and is now in the Land of the Wearing of the Green and the Guinness and because Hubby has a meeting tonight, I will be all by myself this day, until roughly 10:30 this evening.  You can’t see it, but I’m kind of squirming in my chair with delight.

It’s also raining.  It’s a cold October rain which is the forerunner of a project nor’easter for today and tomorrow, and the skies are leaden and there’s soggy leaves all about the lawn and I don’t need to go anywhere.  There’s a huge gift right there.  I didn’t have to get up at Dark O’Clock and struggle with gloom and soggy and wild hair and grumpy commuters and I didn’t have to throw an apple and a cheesestick into my bag and secretly wish for mac and cheese instead.

Today my gift is a precious day of freedom.  I am free to do what I want, when I want it, because nobody has requirements of me today.  (Well, apart from the obvious of please not burning the house down, but I’m reasonably sure that’s safely on the list of things not to do today.)  I will write, I will sip endless cups of tea, I will knit gifts for the gift-giving season soon upon us, I will watch Netflix and television and catch up on shows I have missed.  I will eat what I want, when I want, and there just might be popcorn for dinner.  

Although, part of me does feel a wee bit guilty.  But I’m working on that, too.


And I’m going to build a blanket fort, too!

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Name the Other Six


Another spectacular iPhone picture with equally spectacular lighting!

How in the world do we wake up in moods?  

Why today am I feeling like my favorite mug up there?  Did my pillow attack me in the night and cause me discomfort?  Did I have a fight with the sheets?  Did my quilt call me names?  Did my husband elbow me in the nose?

I don’t know – I was asleep.

There has to be an explanation.  Mornings that I leap out of bed (nobody leaps out of bed, ever; that there is a descriptive phrase with no basis in reality) I am light-hearted, ready for the day, happy to see what’s in store and happy to tackle my tasks.  Mornings that it takes me twenty minutes just to figure out why I exist are destined to be heavy-hearted, resentful of what’s already happened (I woke up) and not ready to even think about tasks without a gallon very strong tea but that means I have to go downstairs and make it for pete’s sake and dag nab it.

Is it the dreams I have?  I don’t think so.  I’ve had many dreams and I can usually recall them in great detail and they’re usually bizarre.  In fact, when I recount them to my family, they listen with increasingly disturbed looks on their faces and shake their heads when I finish, agreeing “yeah, you have weird dreams.”  Nobody ever offers to interpret them for me, which would put me in a bad mood normally but the fact that I got the dream out of my head kind of helped, so yay me.  But the dream itself doesn’t seem to affect my mood.  Have you ever woken up after a dream where you were flying (not in an airplane, that’s very important) and been really really happy because now you can fly?   I haven’t.  I’ve known, even during the dream, that I was actually watching some sort of movie even though it felt sooooo reeeeal, gosh darn it, and I would lose this miraculous ability once I pried my eyes open.  But opening my eyes and facing reality didn’t put me in a bad mood.  

So what is it?  Today is Friday and tonight I am going out to dinner with my husband.  I should be very happy.  My kitchen is nice and clean because we went crazy on it and it feels good.  The sock that I’m knitting is going well and it looks pretty and I’m enjoying it.  I’m not walking today because of the four (four!) thunderstorms we had yesterday which created sweat soup outside, but I’m good with that.  I’ve got my big mug of tea and I have plans, baby.  (Not baby plans.  Big difference.)


Here’s another “mug” shot to define my mood, just in case it wasn’t clear.


Pretty script and diamonds don’t change the story, sister!

I guess my to-do list today is to un-grump myself before I go out.  Bring on the tea and the knitting, and maybe an audiobook.  Or a movie.  Or both.  

How do you kick out the grumpies?

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