Thursday, July 28, 2011

Christmas Treat

If the closet door is shut, I'm in there on my little Rubbermaid stool eating Christmas.  Every year Dean gives each member of the fam a one-pound box of chocolates.

With all the other tasty delights that fill the season, that's a lot of chocolate in December.  The trick is to sample everyone's box, then with stealth, wrap my own gift-wrapped box in four layers of plastic and hide it in the deep freezer behind the chicken tenders.

Then comes goody deprivation in July.  

The home is silent and empty, so with great pomp and ceremony,  I shave the ice from the chicken tenders and pry out the treasured box.  Quietly stealing into the closet, I peel each layer of plastic wrap from the package and tear off the gift wrap and open the box.  Before me lies the glossy map of flavors and the single layer of bubble wrap.  Immediately both the map and the bubble wrap are included in the wrappings and tossed in the trash.

 Christmas is mine as I select a cherry walnut fondant with dark chocolate.  Double yum.  This will get me through until the goodies of Halloween are upon us.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Counting My Blessings

  • Wonderful view of the mountains out my front window.
  • Knees that work.
  • Organized and clean workplace.
  • Access to clean water.
  • One good eye.
  • Great parents and siblings.
  • Awesome children.
  • $ to buy Charmin and Q-Tips.
  • Amazing hubby.
  • Days off.
  • Perfect mattress.

Saturday, July 23, 2011


Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Good Dirt


This morning I encountered good dirt.  Only a true gardener knows the feel, the scent, the ease of digging in a spot of rich, dark, moist soil.  Scratching through it with my 3-pronged digger serves a couple of purposes I suppose:  oxygen is delivered to the roots of nearby plants and happiness fills my heart.  One doesn't want to leave the garden when such a discovery is made and my morning shower was postponed until 11.  

Good dirt in Utah is not easy to come by.  We do not have the advantage of centuries of decaying forest or plant materials to enrich our garden beds where we lovingly place tender roots.  A discovery of good dirt makes one recognize the hands that brought such soil into existence.  I've always been in awe of my mother's good dirt and am beginning to appreciate my own.