saints and scabs

Tuesday was my day off.... from work.  The one where they pay me.   This Tuesday, with my granddaughter attempting to play with the pins, scissors, anything else she could impale herself with, I began a sewing project to help out my neighbor. She had to make a Saint. Yup, Saint….as in Patrick, Francis and Nick. She chose Saint Lucy. Good thing she had a statue of St. Lucy because I personally had never heard of her and honestly, if there was no St. Ethel to go along with her it hardly seemed relevant at all. She had two days for this task although I rather suspect she had sat on the whole ’let’s build a saint’ project far longer. The saints were going to be part of a holiday celebration to impress the holy higher ups. St. Lucy had traditional blue and white robes that looked very much like the ones worn by the manger residents that hung out under my Christmas tree. She carried palm and a tray. The tray held her…. eyes. I never thought to question my neighbor why she chose a saint who carried her eyes in a tray, but I suppose as saints go, they must have had to give up something pretty important to become a saint in the first place. The saint on a stick had to be of normal height. Luckily our St Lucy was an Italian woman who stood maybe five feet. We could use a shorter stick than most.

While I gathered the fabric, eyes and other saint building necessities my neighbor set out to find something to use as a head. It was rather tempting to use the skulls my house is currently adorned with, being Halloween week and all. We opted for Styrofoam. I found canvas work gloves in the basement that need to ‘tan’ up a bit, so I made a pot of strong tea and laid the gloves in them overnight to dye them. (very ‘green’ don’t ya think?) I also left a note for my husband just in case he poured himself a cup of tea without noticing the floating gloves. (it could happen, trust me!) I sewed and stuffed, I glued and pinned and St. Lucy began to take shape. It felt a little sacrilegious as I impaled her with the stick that would serve as her lower half and feet. I asked her forgiveness and them jammed that sucker as far up into the foam body as it could possibly go. Lucy was looking good, headless of course, but her robes were well pleated and adorned with gold piping. The tea infused work gloves left a little too long in the Orange Pekoe and now a little too tan were dry, stuffed and attached. Her right hand held the palm which we had to substitute with some kind of ivy since craft stores just don’t carry fake palm. Her left hand carried the eye tray which was from my granddaughter’s Barbie tea set.   Only something didn’t look right. I had dyed two right hand gloves. Yup, Lucy had two right hands. (hey look, her eyes were in a tray ya know, she could certainly deal with two right hands) I stitched the glove on in a way that hid the fact that Lucy was deformed and so instead of having two right hands, she had one hand with no thumb.  She looked like a muppet.  Who said life is fair? 

My neighbor came with the Styrofoam head, complete with queen size panty hose to give her a skin tone color that did not match her two right hands at all, but at least she wasn’t foam white. A perfect nose protruded out from behind the stocking and her lips were pinned on. Lucy was seriously sporting her ‘hooker red’ lipstick. She had eyes which I had thought were already glued into the Barbie plate but I guess being a saint she was allowed two sets. One to see, and one as an offering or something. Her hair was the remainder of the pantyhose knotted atop her head in a Snooki-do and then cut in strips down the sides. Lucy was looking good. Sort of. Maybe. Ok not so much, but two days to make a life size saint is pushing the envelope…I’d like to see them do that on Project Runway. Lucy done and safely packed away in my neighbors car for the ride to the church, I turned my attentions to the rest of my fun filled day.

It was time to take the dog to the vet to get his allergy shots. The $150 allergy shots that last, at best, two weeks. But in those two weeks his stench ebbs a bit and it makes the cost a little more palatable. My dog, the free adopted mutt that I have had for the past 8 years, has something called doggy seborrhea dermatitis. Basically, dry skin. Having said that, on you and me a nice slathering of Oil of Olay would do the trick, on Stinky, not so much. This trip he was getting a bath, his ears cleaned, a cortisone shot and his nails clipped. I left to pick him up some five hours after being dropped off. I left with a bag of antibiotics for some fungal infection he got from the dermatitis, fish oil tablets he has to take twice a day to keep his skin supple, an astronomical bill and a dog that still stunk….maybe worse. Oh and they shaved him where a dog just shouldn’t be shaved. He looked like he had just escaped from Three Mile Island‘s nuclear site. If someone broke into my house now they would feel so bad for this dog they would crawl back out the window just not to get him in any trouble. I take one pill a day, two if you count the  'over 45'  one-a-day vitamins I take. And I forget. This dog has six pills a day, and I'm the one that has to remember to trick him into taking them. Lord knows how I am gonna do this….maybe I should just pray to Saint Lucy.  She owes me!

apples, and pumpkins and bees......oh my!

Ahhh Fall….a time to enjoy the fall foliage, the brisk weather, packing away the flip flops and of course the dreaded  apple picking with the grandkids.

The plan was simple….our families would all drive to New Jersey enjoying the aforementioned foliage, to an orchard where we would pick the apples right off the vine, umm I mean tree. Take 200 pictures of the kids climbing in the trees that are clearly marked NO CLIMBING and arrive home to start slicing and baking. The reality is that Route 9 has no foliage, Fall or otherwise, and besides isn’t New York called the Big Apple for a reason? And while the intention is always there, most of the hand picked apples remain in a bowl on the dining room table waiting to be transformed into pies as they rot and ferment.

The orchard had rows and rows of trees marked with white, yellow and green tags designating what tree held what apples. Obviously not a fruit connoissuer, I don’t know a Winesap from a Rome, a Delicious from a Granny Smith…what I do know is that yellow-jacks love them all. If I wasn’t stepping on rotten, yellow-jack infested apple, I was picking a rotten yellow-jack infested apple off the trees. Of course I had to taste one from every kind of tree (freebies!) and by the time we had finished ravishing the orchard I never wanted to see, let alone eat another apple. And yes, it is true…apples are definitely a diuretic! I peed six times in two hours. Although the trees were smaller than any tree in Brooklyn, the best apples (of course) were way on top, I am supposing where the yellow-jacks are afraid to fly. We rented a pole. An apple picking pole…which looked more like a bag on a stick, than the bag on a stick it actually was. By the time you got the apple positioned above the bag, pulled back the pole to knock the apple off its branch, you whacked two people behind you and the apple fell mindlessly to the ground where it was immediately covered with…yup, yellow-jacks! We took more pictures in the trees, in front of the trees, group shots, family shots, and me sitting in various places trying to rest my bad knee. I sat on a felled branch, inside a Winesap tree, and my personal favorite the inverted apple bucket. My knee well rested, my ass numb from the bucket handle, we moved on to pumpkins. With an upcoming family pumpkin carving contest, that has taken on a life of it’s own complete with voting rules and a trophy, we needed to get big pumpkins. The buckets filled with what felt like a ton of apples didn’t leave much strength for carrying pumpkins. Large pumpkins. Pumpkin carving pumpkins. Trophy winning large pumpkin carving pumpkins. So we shifted things around in a wagon someone had the insight to bring and loaded it up like a pack mule navigating the Grand Canyon. We carefully chose the ones we wanted, good shape, no rot, strong stem…however I had my own criteria….not more than 3 feet from where I stood and if I bent to pick it up I was taking it home. Luckily I chose well and my pumpkin was perfect.

The lines to pay for the apples/pumpkins looked as if they were giving them away….ten deep with people struggling to carry their apples and pumpkins, swatting yellow-jacks and screaming at their now tired and cranky kids. Not us of course, our kids were perfect. After we got our produce to the cars we decided to meet up at the store conveniently located on the way out of the orchard. Their claim to fame was their hot apple cider donuts which was evident in the line snaking around the store. Not a donut in the world could get me on that line, if Mr. Dunkin’ himself was serving me….but as I went in the store, my son in law got on the line for a bag of the coveted donuts. The store was absolutely packed…apples were cheaper than they were in the orchard which led me to believe we had just paid for the pleasure of yellow-jack swatting and our photo op sessions. They had apple flavored everything which made sense and chocolate covered everything which made less sense but got my vote. I bought a cup of much needed coffee and forgot to get one for my husband, I bought an apple muffin and forgot to buy one for my husband. (see a pattern here) I gave up both when we met up outside because I am an amazing wife….that and the fact that I had a bag full of chocolate covered things I was not prepared to share. Having not moved an inch on the cider donut line my son in law threw in the towel and settled for something apple flavored that my daughter bought him. Our cars were all loaded with the apples designed to become pies but destined to be left in a bowl on the dining room table as proof that we went apple picking. That and the 200 pictures.

burgandy...and I don't mean wine

I am an impromptu shopper.   If I see what I want I buy it. I don’t plan any part of a purchase because the few times I did, disaster. Example…It was time to get a dog. My beloved Sasha had to be put to sleep and my husband and I were ridiculously upset.  I didn't want to make a rush decision since the commitment to owning a dog is a lifetime....at least that of the dog's.  I made a list of things I wanted in a dog including getting her through a private adoption. My list included,  female, really big breed, and not a lot of shedding. I got a male (with balls that I eventually had loped off), smaller than pretty much any dog I have ever had since I was 5, and the hairiest, sheddiest dog in the world. The only thing on my list was that we adopted him from a private breeder who but for the grace of God still walks the earth. I was told that his mother was a German Shephard and the father was a Chocolate Lab. We conveniently couldn’t see the parents because they would be ‘upset’ seeing their pup being taken away. (OK what was I thinking?)  Liar!  The vet said there is no Lab in him at all and wasn’t even sure about the Shephard part. He has an inherited skin condition that requires more attention than a leper, but we love him even though he sheds and stinks….not necessarily in that order.   So much for planning.

I bring up the disaster that is my dog, because yet again I chose to make a decision based on planning rather than spontaneous logic. I need a new couch. I have needed a new couch for about 4 years. I bought my current couch many years ago in Levitz. I paid a small fortune for a couch, three tables and this huge club chair which the dog, yes the same one from the lying adoptee, ate three weeks after getting it delivered. He was a puppy back then and still cute and not yet stinky so I forgave him and threw out the chair….I did however have him fixed shortly after that….revenge is sweet! He never chewed another thing in the house!

The couch which was what I perceived to be a regal shade of Burgandy was recently described to me by my grandson as being….purple. Purple???? Not gonna make that mistake again…..first on the list, no Burgandy! I bought a fabric that seemed like it would wear well and repel stains….not so much when you have a husband that sits on the couch with clothes he has just changed the car oil in. We tried the whole ‘cover it with a sheet’ routine but that faded fast and I simply gave up. Purple Burgandy hides a lot and is the only reason it wasn’t out in the garbage shortly after the club chair….(and besides he wouldn’t have sat still for that whole revenge thing like the dog did) Fabric choice made it to the list….leather could work well and clean up easily too.

One Father’s Day a few years ago we bought my husband a big, comfortable, leather swiveling recliner. (yup, in….Burgandy) He never sat in it. Finally he admitted that the swiveling feature wasn’t his favorite and he creatively placed wooden blocks into the mechanics to stop the swivel. Unfortunately it also stopped the recline. Oh well, another piece of useless furniture in the living room. Looks good, just not functional. One Mother’s Day my kids bought me a chaise lounge (need I tell you what color?) which is in the room as well. It sits beneath my picture window so in case I decide to make a cup of tea, grab a book and sit by the window with sunlight streaming on my face as I relax…..ok I’ll stop lying….no one is allowed to sit on it except maybe the baby since I don’t want yet another piece of furniture screwed up by our fat, Jiffy Lube asses. Add to the list….nothing that rocks, reclines or swivels.

The tables that came with the set were perfect. Light wood with glass inserts and table tops. The middle glass on the three panel coffee table broke and we replaced it with Plexiglas which was fine until it got scratched moving a centerpiece back and forth out of the line of the remote. It has been replaced many times since the original breakage and probably cost more in plexi than it would have been to buy a new table. The glass tops were also not such a great idea once the grandkids came.  So....no glass!

I went shopping…list in hand. (it was actually in my head, I am not that big a geek) The first store they had nothing in all leather…it was ‘leather where you touch’….what the hell? What if I wanted to ‘touch' the back of the couch?   The second and third store had salesmen that knew very little about the furniture and had to ‘check’ on everything I asked. “Does this come in black?” Let me check “How long is the couch?” Let me check. “Can I get this delivered before the end of the month?”   Let me check. By the time they came back I had checked...out! I re-visited the first store contemplating the crazy leather scenario, left again and finally found a store I hadn’t previously explored. The salesman, a handsome man with a clipboard followed me around the store just far enough away so as not to annoy me, close enough to not lose me to another salesperson.  I walked around the store, possibly more times than I needed to, fantasizing that the handsome salesman following me was trying to work up the nerve to ask me to meet him for a drink and not simply stalking me for a commissioned sale, and suddenly I found the perfect couch.  It was leather (even the back), it had no moving parts, the tables (cleverly called ottomans) had no glass and it most definitely was not purple burgundy. It was Ivory.   Ivory???   See what I mean?   I planned.   I listed. And I still went and bought a friggin’ white couch.