A few things I thought I’d share in the interest of full disclosure…..and looking for kindred spirits.
*I love grits. I do. The only thing is whenever I eat them, it never fails that I find a “grit” or two somewhere on my person later in the day. I’m not messy with them, and I honestly don’t know how it happens, but it does. Same thing with pancakes. No matter how careful I am, there will be a dot of syrup found on me somewhere later on. *sigh* Color me five years old.
*No matter how much money I might win in the lottery, which I do not play, I will never stop shopping at the GW Boutique. I love my bargains. They are really addictive. And I can buy things from there and the Hospice Thrift Shop without stressing over where they were made. I am supporting a whole different group from the ones who may or may not have been ethical making them. And that makes me glad.
*Granny squares make me ecstatically happy. I love them. All shapes and sizes and colors. I don’t know if it’s the name–reminding me of my Granny (would I love them as much if they were grumpy great-uncle squares?)–or if it’s the beauty and intriguing ways they can be put together. No matter, Granny square techniques dominate my Pinterest boards, and I have big dreams of making a fantastic Granny square blanket and bag and jacket for my very own self. I haven’t started yet, but one day…..
*Speaking of Granny squares, I have taken to rescuing handmade crocheted and knitted blankets and things from the GW Boutique. I found a beautiful crocheted stocking around Christmas at the Hospice Thrift Shop for 59 cents. Joy abounds. I cannot stand leaving them there when I KNOW how much time and energy and love went into making them. I suppose I was inspired by Lisa Leonard of Lisa Leonard Designs, who has shared pictures of her home and patio area with some gorgeous “found treasure” blankets thrown across a loveseat or porch swing. I love the whimsy. I made quite the haul about three weeks ago. I found a purple Granny square blanket and Every Single Square was from a different design. Gorgeous. The next one was mostly white with a different colored row or two in the middle of each square. Perhaps my favorite though is the off green and yellow one. It was owned by a sweet little old lady who had gold carpet and doilies on the back on her sofa. She poured tea promptly at four, and had soup and crackers for supper every night. She wore a housecoat and slippers around her house, and she read poetry in the morning with her toast and homemade peach jam and her parakeet on her shoulder. Oops, sorry. I got lost in my imagination there. All of that story came from the smell of the blanket. Even after I washed it well, it still has a hint of mothballs and “old” smell. And I adore it.
*That’s a another thing. I love “old” smells. I love the smell of liniment and mothballs and cedar. They all bring back such memories. As a matter of fact, I love the smell of the liniment so much that I have to work to remember not everyone does and not use it when I’m going to be out. in. public.
*I love “ugly” pillowcases. I would prefer for none of mine to match actually. I don’t know when this love started, but when my great Aunt passed on almost four years ago, I acquired some of her old pillowcases. One in particular is a 70’s looking floral print. Oh my stars. But it brings me such happiness to see it. Strange, I know. Moving on.
*The quickest way to my heart is to love my children. The fastest way to get “off my birthday list” is to hurt one of my young’uns. That’s pretty much it. Hurt one of them and we are through. Be kind or help one of them, I’ll love you for life.
*I wash my kitchen towels separately. From everything. I do not want them comingling with anything else. (And yes, I’m pretty much OCD, I think we’ve already established that.) It’s just how I do.
*I smell my books. I love the old book smell. I am in hog heaven at an old book sale. I worked in a small 1 1/2 room library all through high school and oh, the smells of all those books! Such happiness. This is probably why it is rare for me to purchase a book on Kindle. You can’t sniff a tablet. Well, you can, but folks would look at you funny. Because they don’t when you sniff books. Ahem. Ah well.
*I get Pre-Grocery Shopping Tension Syndrome. I worry I will get the squeaky buggy. Or have something stuck to its tire causing it to thump all through the store. Inevitably, my worry is usually founded, and I’m stuck. For the entire length of the shopping trip.
*Socks are the bane of my existence. If I could invent disposable socks without adversely affecting the environment, I so would. TOMORROW. I don’t know what happens here–I guess the same thing that happens in a majority of homes–somehow one loses its way between the dirty clothes pile and exiting the dryer. What on earth. And here’s the thing–I’m afraid to throw the survivor out because I JUST KNOW the lost one will return or be found inside a pair of pants long forgotten on the floor of a closet (ahem) and then it will be alone. Not that this has happened at any point in my sock-washing career–well maybe once or twice–but still. The odds are against it. And still I collect lost socks in a basket. A big basket. *sigh*
*I cannot go to bed at night with dirty feet. I usually shower at night, but on the odd occasion when I cannot–feet must be washed somehow. Don’t know where that came from, just is.
*Growing up I could not go to sleep without some light on. Now I can’t sleep if there is a light on at all. Not an interesting fact or anything, just something I felt like sharing.
*I am the reason there is that question in italics underneath where you sign in to your different accounts on-line. Forgot your password? Why yes, yes I have. Thank you for not phrasing it “Forgot your password AGAIN?” Here is my e-mail. Yes thank you. Now I will create another one that I will promptly forget as well. I like to keep myself guessing. It’s fun. Or not. I have good intentions about writing them all down somewhere, but well, no. Hasn’t happened yet.
*My Mama and Daddy gave me nicknames that it is likely I am the only one who remembers. This makes me glad and sad at the same time.
*I am not a pretty crier. No, I do not watch myself in the mirror as I cry. I just take the horrified looks on the faces of those around me as a sign that perhaps it’s not a good look for me.
*I have strong opinions and views on certain things in this world. Others I don’t know enough to form an educated let alone strong opinion about. Here’s the thing. On those situations about which I have a strong opinion, I feel like my thoughts are well-founded and that I can back them up. But I don’t always express them. I’m getting better but still I frustrate myself with this. It’s that whole “not wanting to hurt anyone’s feelings” thing, and so I sit and do not argue with someone whose short-sighted and narrow-minded (in my own opinion) views are randomly attacking groups and populations and interest groups left and right. I look forward to the day when we can all express our thoughts in an environment of mutual respect and consideration.
*I write for two reasons (other than my Mama told me to). First, so my children will know who I am. Second, so they can read and know who our people were. It means a lot when others read it, and I am overjoyed to hear thoughts shared about something or other that I have written. But bottom line, I’m writing for my little people. So our stories will last. I only wish I’d been able to get more of Mama and Daddy’s stories written down.
*I wish I’d taken more pictures of me with my folks. If you are lucky enough to still have those you love with you, step out from behind the camera every now and then and take a picture of yourself with them. Don’t always be the photographer. Don’t use the excuse that you don’t like the way you look in pictures. It doesn’t help your feelings once they are gone.
*You can never have too many books. Or yarn. Or people to care about. Or hugs. Just in case you were wondering. Nope. Uh huh. Doesn’t matter. You just can’t.
Thanks for letting me share my innermost “stuff” and if you find we have something in common, I’d love to hear about it. If not, it’s okay. That’s another thing life has taught me. We don’t have to be alike to be friends.
Love to all.