Untitled and undone…

I ran out of titles. I do that sometimes. When I do, I like to do what they do in the art galleries. You know. You’re shuffling along the perimeter of the floor, peering at the frames on the wall, and to the left or the right you’ll see a little plaque that says something like untitled crayon on construction paper, series II.

That’s what I’ve got here today — untitled post on WordPress blog, series II.

Moving on.

Mama Weather pulled a nutty this weekend and dropped the temperature and snow flurries on my neck of Canadaland. She’s trying to make amends by pushing it up to 40 something today, but my socks and hoodie aren’t buying it.

Gracie Allen Squirrel Buster doesn’t care about the state of Mama Weather’s mental health. She’s totally focused on one thing, and one thing only — squirrel-busting. My perennial borders may not survive her squirrel-bustin’ ways.

I misspoke. She has another focus. A deep, on-the-genetic-code focus. A reptilian brain urge to roll in the dead grass-cum-mud like a horse in pasture. She only does the full body shake once she hits the indoors. My central vac is terminal.

I’m still organizing the pantry. I found these cracker jars by Anchor Hocking, made in the USA. They have a lovely ribbed-glass pattern which you probably can’t see, brilliant photographer that I am.

I live for shiny, red lids.

I’m going back to get a dozen more. The only thing better is if the one on the right was filled with Cadbury Mini Eggs.

In other breaking news: My iPod died. Somebody drove a stake through its little undead battery. Wah. If you’re following me on Twitter, this is old news.

Indoors or out, no one relaxes in March, that month of wind and taxes, the wind will presently disappear, the taxes last us all the year. ~Ogden Nash

Hello Monday!

Elen

Four weeks later…

I can’t believe it’s been four weeks since the shiner fiasco. I’m so get-lost-shiner-I’m-done-with-you! By the second week, I was putting some major spin on it. Calling it a facial tattoo — my stream of consciousness tattoo. Now, it’s a mere shadow of its former self. Looks like I haven’t washed my face for a month, but that’s better than the puke-green of last week. Just enough swelling left on the brow bone to keep me from having any threading, waxing or tinting done. Moving on.

It was 65 degrees yesterday here in my neck of Canadaland, so Mr. G, honey and I zipped downtown to play. I bought a couple of books. One was The Spice and Herb Bible (Ian Hemphill with Kate Hemphill, 2nd ed.) I wanted to make my own dry rub. I wanted to know what purslane was and what to do with fennel. I’m going to get to do that with this book, and probably a few bicep curls, too.

I bought these beauties –

They’re glass confiture jars from France. I could and I might put jam in them, but I bought them for storage. I’m cleaning my pantry likes it’s never been cleaned before. It’s all about the storage.

I live for lids.

Pumpkin seeds. Yum.

Paprika, baby.

One of these is waiting for dry rub. I love the wide mouth on this jar. Ever tried getting the herbs out of those little jars? Plus, I buy a lot of stuff in bulk. I’m going back for a dozen more. Come the sizzling summer heat, I’m thinking fresh lemonade. That’s how I roll.

Let’s get this last Friday of winter started.

Elen