Lessons from the circulation desk...

Until I started working at the library, I had no idea what a huge variety of people live in Cumberland County. That isn't to suggest, of course, that I had ever espoused the redneck generalizations and stereotypes of small, southern towns; I knew we weren't a bunch of uneducated hicks who all drove big trucks and had field parties well into our 30s and 40s. Those people exist primarily, if not only, in Luke Bryan songs. Do we have dumb people? And racists? And homophobes? And moochers? And jackasses? Well, sure. ... just like every other small town and big city in America.

On the other hand, we also have some of the most genuine, hard-working, and kind people I will ever know.  If I were going to run out of gas, I'd want it to be in Cumberland County. If I needed help moving furniture, or assistance at the barn, or advice on some random piddle project of choice, I could turn to any number of neighbors and friends.  In my moments of arrogant exhaustion, I regain perspective by looking around at all those people who are getting up earlier than me/working longer and harder/coming home later.  If I want to see goodness personified, I only have to drive three minutes and spend less than that with my grandmother.

Obviously, this is not some profound conclusion. Just as some seem inclined to promote the barefoot and pregnant nonsense, an equal, if not greater, number consistently play-up the "aww, shucks" nature of small-town life. Laced with oft-unintentional condescension, descriptions of the compassion, pride, and revered naivete of areas like Cumberland County sometimes seem like back-handed compliments in a "bless their hearts" sort of way. Intelligence is neither assumed, nor acknowledged. Political awareness is overlooked. Reading, music, and art affinities get lost in discussions of smiles, waves, and general hospitality.

My point is simply that in addition to all the things I mentioned in the second paragraph, Cumberland County is also home to some of the most multifaceted, interesting, and intelligent people I know. And working at the public library reminds me of this nearly every day.  For every one rude person who comes in trying to scam us in an attempt to check out movies under an alias, there are four who give me book suggestions or talk about something they saw on the news or invite me to a play or ballgame or fundraiser in which their child is participating. Local authors come in and do book signings.  A huge variety of people stop by to pick up farmers market applications. PhDs, retired doctors, renowned artists, decorated military servicemen/women, teachers, skilled craftsmen/women, jack-of-all-trades pseudo engineers and farmers with more knowledge than nearly every professor I've ever had, and successful business owners frequent the library just as much as those to whom many assume the public library caters: the unemployed, the poor, the shiftless, the outcast, the loner.

We also have people who take ten years to reach the crux of their argument. Sorry. ...

I say all of this to highlight one particular comment from one particular patron on one particular Saturday morning. She said something I found so profound that it has stuck with me for 15 days and literally been on my mind every one of those. Offering a review of Elizabeth Gilbert's The Signature of All Things, a book
she knew I had read and enjoyed a few weeks prior, she applauded the way it came full circle at the end, describing how the tragic heroine finally acknowledges that "the most monumental thing we ever have to face is the betrayal of ourselves, the betrayal of our common sense."

Now, as I said, I've read that book. And I consider myself a fairly analytical and introspective person...BUT, I would have NEVER come up with something so articulate and eloquent.  I would have been incapable of reducing a 500-page novel to something so accurately poignant. I'm not sure I have ever had an original thought so replete with tragic depth and truth.  And, I think it important to note that as much as I initially was, and have remained, impressed by her conclusion, I have been equally haunted by it for two weeks now. I have looked at her words, the quote I quickly scribbled down on the little yellow post-it notes we keep by the circulation desk and have kept it affixed to the cover of Gilbert's book that I'm currently reading, Committed: A skeptic makes peace with marriage.  But these are glances, despite their frequency, unsustainable by choice. To linger would be to question. Focus would breed regret. Simply put, if I took the time to really think about this statement, to consider the times I have betrayed my gut, my heart, my mind, it would be painful. Trying to rationalize those times to myself or to anyone else will be emotionally and descriptively difficult. I know I have been there though. I know she is right to call it the most monumental of tasks.

I don't feel ready this morning to go into any details. As I've said since I started this blog around four years ago, when I write stuff down, I'm more inclined to do it.  I just thought putting it out there would be impetus for me to take the time to really evaluate choices that I would rather hide in the confines of a mind purposely overflowing with projects, recipes, and chores.

Plus, it gave me a chance to brag on my patrons and the area that I do so love.
Thank you for keeping me inspired. Thank you for encouraging me to think.  Thank you for being so much more than Luke Bryan songs suggest, Cumberland County.
***
I haven't posted much this winter, so I thought I would share a few of my favorite moments from the past few months...

A little TV won’t make your kids crack heads. Oh yeah, and a little about fall festivals too…

*As published in the Autumn issue of FOLK Magazine

You know those people who say things like, “Well, I don’t ‘get’ that pop culture reference that every other person in the world understands because I really don’t watch much TV.”?; the people who are too busy reading Tolstoy…or staging their all-white house or hand-carved dining room table for an upcoming Pinterest shot…or taking their unreasonably well-dressed child to some obscure musical instrument lesson? Yeah, I despise them, too (despite currently tackling War and Peace, snapping pictures of my dinner plates on a weekly basis, having had piano lessons myself and being fairly certain that if I have kids who want to play the didgeridoo, I will find the best didgeridoo player in a tri-state area). 

Now, don’t get me wrong; I readily acknowledge that television is a ginormous time-waster.  There typically is very little of substance on.  I can be as pretentious as the next person when frustratingly discussing the History’s Channel complete lack of history-related programming. Constant news coverage transforms minutia into seemingly groundbreaking features daily.  Does this mean, however, that I have been immune to the lure of America’s Next Top Model marathons? Certainly not.  Have I fallen victim to back-to-back Maury, “Who’s the Daddy?” episodes? You better believe it.  Not my finest hours I will admit.

Occasionally, however, I do allow myself to indulge in a series completely guilt-free, one I watch with reckless abandon to notions of “should be doing.”  Growing up (not that I worried about responsibilities too much anyway), it was The Cosby Show; most recently, The Office and New Girl.  And, in a few of those formative years in between, it was the masterfully witty Gilmore Girls.

The premise of the show is as follows: young girl from a wealthy New England family gets pregnant and subsequently shunned by said overprotective family when she refuses to get married and pursue the “respectable” life.  She works hard, raises her daughter (who becomes her best friend), works at an inn in a small town that seems perfectly artsy and “down-homey” at the same time, and spends her days having dry, but irrefutably smart and hilarious, banter with everyone she meets, banter that showcases a knowledge of books, and pop culture, and small town quirks and culture.  Oh, yeah, and did I mention it seems to perpetually be a gorgeous fall day every time I watch an episode?

Want to know why I own every season on DVD and still love this show – and the fictitious town of Stars Hollow – so very much?  It makes me want to own a bed and breakfast.  It makes me wish the coffee shop owner who refuses to let me use my cell phone or eat French fries at 10:00 pm (in the old hardware store he has converted into an eclectic, but cozy, diner) had a crush on me. It makes me long for “Bid on a Basket” fundraisers, town hall meetings, festivals to celebrate seasonal changes, and battling troubadours on various street corners.  I want the sense of community so fundamental to a series also replete with fantastic character development and general charm, the sense of community so valued by those on this staff, the sense of community integral to the entire FOLK philosophy, the sense of community to which many of you are contributing in your own towns across the country.   

And, if I want to live in a place where these things – like county fairs, and local theaters, and town decorating committees – are valued, then I figure I need to participate.  In fact, when I first moved back to my hometown, I honestly thought, “What can I do to make it more like Stars Hollow?” Well, let me tell you what I did:  I put on my father’s overalls and took some old whiskey jugs and hay bales to the town park on a Sunday afternoon in October. 

***

“Fall festival” just might be my very favorite two-word combination.  The mere mention of fall, the only season sane people could ever really love, is a three-month period I look forward to all year.  I love the apple cider I drink from my favorite mug at my mother’s outdoor fireplace.  I love stepping outside and thinking, “I believe I need a hoodie today.” I love taking drives on Saturday afternoons, drives that invariably provoke conversations about how much the leaves have changed in only a week.  I love that people in my hometown still have hayrides.  I love that I vividly remember how much fun hayrides are.  I love orchards, particularly those that haven’t become commercialized to the point that a mechanized pumpkin launcher is the main attraction.  I love carving pumpkins rescued from said contraption.  So, yes, basically I love every stereotypical thing about this most noble of seasons. 

And, “festival”? That just sounds fun, doesn’t it?  First and foremost, it reminds me of festivus on Seinfeld (a show I have love/hate relationship with...but I enjoy this episode), which makes me giggle. Secondly, the word itself, derivative of “fest” in Middle English or “festivus” in Latin (which I naturally knew off-hand), implies all things Gilmore Girlish: food, celebration of a locale’s uniqueness, celebration, sense of belonging, religious and/or cultural significance, commemoration. Who wouldn’t like all that?  Only crazy people who say summer is their favorite season.

And thus, for the past two years, I have eagerly looked forward to my town’s fall festival, the earlier of which was actually a four day bicentennial celebration.  Despite foolishly volunteering to help organize food and craft vendors (NEVER EVER do this. Trust me.), I was proud to be a part of the committee, a medley of community members, local officials, and business owners. However, it was last year’s celebration that provided both the fondest memories and the funniest photo opportunities.  There was the sock hop on Friday night (I may or may not have won the hula hoop competition…while wearing a poodle skirt and a bandanna around my neck); car show, singing extravaganza, craft booths, and delicious crap food so fundamental to any small-town festival on Saturday; and, a community picnic on Sunday. 

As most of you already know, I am a library director by day, a job that I love and with a staff I adore.  We decided that the library should attend this community picnic, but in a manner that required a little more effort than simply throwing down a quilt and making an apple pie.  On the heels of our county-renowned murder mystery fundraiser, we decided that we needed a theme, one that would inspire costumes, alter egos, and a whole bunch of unnecessary foolishness.  For, if “public library” doesn’t scream “unnecessary foolishness,” I don’t know what does. 

So, Terry, my dear friend and our beloved bookmobile driver, and I brainstormed for days (and by “days” I do mean a few minutes in the back office) and decided that we should go with a cliché hillbilly theme.  Why? Well, we all had stereotypical hillbilly clothes.  We all had an assortment of “props” that would fit well with the theme.  We understand that using and/or playing with stereotypes makes them neither true nor self-indicting.  We simply thought it would be fun. 

And thus, the library staff and our various family members and friends showed up at the city park with hay bales, whiskey jugs, wagon wheels, traditional southern picnic foods, and a whole lot of denim and flannel.  Were we the only picnic group with a theme? You betcha.  Did we also win 1^st place? You betcha. 

Here are a few things I learned and/or was reminded of throughout that perfectly lovely fall weekend in October:

*Feeling invested in a community will lead you to raise your hands in triumph…on a stage… in the middle of downtown… while wearing a borrowed skirt that has two poodles emblazoned across the front. 

*People notice, and appreciate, extra effort. Pictures of the library staff picnic still hang on the bulletin board at the local radio station.

*If we had just said, “come eat with us on Sunday,” our turnout would have been much lower.  Themes are always a fun idea.  People are more inclined to be involved if they feel like they are attending something unique.  Plus, themes allow funny personalities to really shine.

*City parks are not utilized nearly enough. 

*Getting kids involved in the community early in their life will help build a sense of commitment and investment.  Investment can prevent both brain drain and apathy. 

*Everyone loves my mother’s mini fried apple pies.

*Creating photo opportunities doesn’t always have to be pure “showboat-y” in nature.  When I look back on the pictures from that festival, I remember how proud I was of the library staff and of my little town. 

Thus, it is in activities like this that I am reminded that I can contribute to my own Stars Hollow, just as you can do in your own respective towns. If we want to espouse lofty notions of community, small-town camaraderie, and citizenship, sometime we simply need to show up.  If we do so in our dad’s overalls, which we’ve stuffed with a pillow to make ourselves look pregnant, even better.

Oh, and a little TV doesn’t make you a bad person.

*To see the full article/pictures, stop by the Library and pick up an issue of FOLK!

***

On this dreary first day of October, the month I anxiously look forward to all year, I figured caramel apples would brighten my day.

Play along. No really, do it.

Who wants to play a game?!!

Object: Guess the many reasons why Liza hates this commercial so very, very much.

Prize: An autographed picture of me holding a half watermelon in front of my mouth as I prance around a dinner party at a house I would never be invited to...while onlookers give each other piggyback rides and marvel at how hilarious we all are.

**I'm not giving you the answers. Provide your guesses in the comment section.

One of the reasons I enjoy Dinner: A Love Story so much is that Rosenstrach masterfully keeps one foot in a very cosmopolitan magazine/food culture/intellectual world and yet also dangles the other in the suburban daily grind where most of us actually live. She never suggests that missing family dinners every now and then will lead to crackhead kids.  She admits weaknesses, whether it is mediocre grilling skills or moments of kitchen trickery. She would not laugh if her two daughters ran cupcakes across her shirt.

A couple of passages to demonstrate the "realness" I appreciate...
"Disclaimer: You may catch me referring to certain family dinner scenarios, such as having two working parents and two kids under two, as not merely problematic but also 'soul crushing' and 'harrowing.'"
***
"We made the mistake of sending out invitations to our Eighth Annual Holiday Party (in 2004) with 'Kids Are Welcome!' across the bottom of the card.  It was our second holiday party in our new house, but the year before, we kept the guest list manageable and Abby was only two months old so it was easy to pass her around like a football to anyone who would take her.  The next year, though, we thought it would be 'fun' to invite families. ... There was, of course, one small problem with this theory: Abby had just celebrated her first birthday and her idea of hanging out with friends was to hang around my neck and cry if I tried to have a conversation with my friends.  Not that this was even a possibility considering that my friends who had brought their kids looked just as relaxed and festive as I felt.

That was the first time I learned the rule that when entertaining, one kid under five counts for five times as many adults in terms of volume and energy - and I couldn't hack it. It was our Eighth and Final Holiday Party."
$.02: I hope all you parents out there (who I'm confident are wonderful parents) don't waste time guilting yourself for occasionally leaving the kids out.
***
One of my favorite ideas and pictures in the book is found a mere 21 pages in and captures a glimpse of a cabinet door in Rosenstrach's own kitchen. She used the space to hand-write some of the recipes that hold special significance to her family, recipes that they frequently cook, recipes that remind her of funny moments in their lives. 

Because I'm renting my house, I opted for an improvised version of this strategy.  I went through my favorite recipe box and pulled those cards that do the very same things for me: recipes that make me smile because they remind me of particular people, events, or moments in my life and/or recipes that show up on my menus on a fairly regular basis.  I also decided to put one new one up there each week as an encouraging push to try something "out of the box." Yes, that was a horrible pun.

*Visit Jenny Rosenstrach's blog here for more kitchen/dinner ideas.

 

Basic Vinaigrette (p. 163)

1 tbsp. Dijon mustard
4 tbsp. red or white wine vinegar
Squeeze of honey
Squeeze of fresh lemon
Salt and pepper
Chopped fresh herbs (I used golden oregano, rosemary, and basil)
1/2 c. good-quality olive oil

Whisk together and refrigerate.

Butternut Squash Pie (via Southern Food/About.com)

1 unbaked and chilled 9-inch pie shell

1 large butternut squash, cooked and pureed, about 1 1/2 cups pureed squash

1 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed

3 large eggs

3/4 cup evaporated milk or half-and-half

1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon melted butter

1 teaspoon vanilla

 

To cook squash:
Cut the squash in half lengthwise; remove stem and scoop out the seeds. Place the squash, cut side down, on a foil-lined oiled baking pan; add about 1/2 cup of water to the pan. Cover loosely with foil and bake at 400° for 45 to 55 minutes, or until the squash is tender and can be easily pierced with a fork. Let cool completely then peel and mash or puree the squash or put it through a food mill. Measure 1 1/2 cups of the squash and set aside.

 

Reduce oven to 350° F and position an oven rack in the center of the oven. In a mixing bowl with electric mixer, beat the squash with the brown sugar. Add eggs, evaporated milk, spices salt, flour, butter, and vanilla. Beat until well blended. Pour the filling into the chilled pie and place on the center oven rack. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes, or until set. Check after about 35 minutes and loosely set a ring of foil or a pie crust protector over the browned crust so it won't get too dark. When the filling is set, transfer the pie to a rack to cool. Serve just warm or at room temperature with a dollop of whipped topping or whipped cream.

Easier said than done.

"I don't think you have to be in your heart's song.  I think you just have to be where you are."

***

This will be the last time I mention Writing Down the Bones for a while. After spending months reading and rereading passages that resonate with me, I'm finally ready to loan it out (to one of the best writers I know by the way), to get it out of my sight.  For the longer it sits on my nightstand, the more I feel like it weighs on me, pulling me into an analytical world from which I need to be jarred from time to time.  I am invariably a ponderer, a wayward wonderer who is constantly battling the "why"s and "how"s of the "what"s. Sometimes, though, I just need to act.  Instead of reading about writing habits, practices, and motivations, I need to just pick up the damn pen. 
...
But not without first sharing a passage with you from the Afterword ("An Interview with the Author").

Q: Do you think there's a connection between place and the inspiration to write?
I think land and environment are very important. ...But I don't think you have to be in a gorgeous place to write.  I don't think you have to be in your heart's song.  I think you just have to be where you are.  In other words, if you're in Cincinnati, if you can really eat Cincinnati, know the streets and the weather, the trees, how the light looks at the end of your workday, that's what's important.  Now, for me, I had a great love for Taos. ... And it was actually painful because I couldn't always be there....And yet, Taos was my passion.  But once I got to live there full-time, as I do now, then I remembered...when you know a place well, it's a place.  You might love it deeply, but it's a place that has good and bad things.  But having this place gives you a freedom to go anyplace and appreciate and love other places. Which wasn't true for me before, because I was always fighting where I was, because I wanted to be in Taos. 

Don't do that to yourself - "I am here, but I should be there." It was torture for me. Wherever you are is the place to be writing from.  Don't use the excuse that you are not in the right place. There is no perfect place. Just pick up your pen, record the details of where you are."

This is exactly how I feel about Cumberland County (or, at least today it is).  I'm not sure I've ever allowed myself to really "be" in another city in my adult life, because I was constantly romanticizing what it would be like to live in the place where the rest of my family shared impromptu weekday suppers, where I could drive Dad's truck on familiar backroads, where people knew my name when I checked out at the grocery store. Now that I am here full-time, though, I battle frustrations that rarely crossed my mind when I envisioned the quaint, whimsically-charming, cedar shake house I would build on Turner Farm. Sometimes I long for anonymity rather than first-name-basis Houchens encounters. I miss having opportunities to take any random skill-based class that has piqued my interest. I wish I knew more left-leaning, Kerouac-reading, hippish spirits.

Yet, even in those moments when my wandering urge is the strongest, I know, without fail, that I have a profound love for this place, a place I embrace and a place I push against daily.  And, that sense of place is something for which I am grateful, something that will hopefully allow me to "be" wherever I may ultimately find myself. And, you know what?  "Where I find myself" might be exactly three miles east of Marrowbone, seven miles west of Burkesville.  Maybe that cedar shake house will go up next year. I honestly have no idea.

If it's not, however, at least it won't be something that I am constantly fighting against, something to which I'm comparing everything else.  Having a genuine love of a particular place may help me find a home somewhere completely foreign to me, somewhere completely foreign to that fundamental place, but where I know how the light looks at the end of the workday. It is a understanding that grounds this not-really-purposive, not-really-accidental drifter, the one who dreams of writing and a cafe and freedom and finishing the dissertation and figuring out her passions of priority.

I truly wish for all of you the ability to "be" where you are. Trust me, I know it's easier said than done.

***

What I'm currently reading and loving...

***

Coconut Cream Pie (via Epicurious.com)

Filling

• 1/2 cup sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1 large egg yolk
• 3 tablespoons all purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups whole milk
• 1 1/2 cups sweetened flaked coconut
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/8 teaspoon coconut extract

Topping

• 2/3 cup sweetened flaked coconut
• 1 1/4 cups chilled whipping cream
• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1/8 teaspoon coconut extract

For filling:
Whisk 1/2 cup sugar, eggs, egg yolk, and flour in medium bowl. Bring milk and coconut to simmer in medium saucepan over medium heat. Gradually add hot milk mixture to egg mixture, whisking constantly. Return to same saucepan; cook until pastry cream thickens and boils, stirring constantly, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat. Mix in vanilla and coconut extracts. Transfer pastry cream to medium bowl. Press plastic wrap directly onto surface to prevent formation of skin. Chill until cold, at least 2 hours and up to 1 day. Transfer filling to crust. Cover; chill overnight.

 

For topping:
Toast coconut in heavy small skillet over medium heat until lightly browned, stirring occasionally, about 3 minutes. Cool completely. Using electric mixer, beat cream, sugar, and coconut extract in medium bowl until peaks form. Spread whipped cream all over top of filling. Sprinkle evenly with toasted coconut. (Can be prepared 4 hours ahead. Cover and refrigerate.) Serve cold.

Yard tasks that have "wicky wacky" written all over them

It's amazing what one can get accomplished when they wake up at 3:30 am raring to go.
...
Started with some super important Facebooking and Lucy/Willie visiting. Made it to Mom's by 5:00 (both because I needed to feed & clean stalls and because I had no breakfast food in my house...and I'm one of those people who likes to eat when they wake up, not after coffee/stretching/shower). After a gigantic bowl of oatmeal, I did barn duty and returned home to get ready for work. Library from 9-12. Tompkinsville Wal-Mart (where I once again saw Debbie Messenger - she likes to follow me around sometimes). In between, did a few little projects...
I ordered a umbrella-style clothesline off Ebay. It shipped within 2 days. I decided today was the day to tackle it.
Got a little worried at this point.
The instructions said I needed a hole 8-10" in diameter and 20" deep. I grabbed Dad's post hole digger from the barn and my trusty hand shovel. And for the record, the instructions also said I should pour concrete, a step I chose to ignore.
Looked about 20" to me.
Since I didn't pour the concrete, I decided not to add the extension pole (it actually can stand about 3' higher than this), but I may try it out tomorrow to see how much "wiggle room" exists when the wind blows. I put gravel at the bottom of the hole, put the plastic tube in, filled around it with dirt, compacted it, added the actual rod, and then added more dirt and rocks around the base.
Hung my new flag (Ebay).
Finally took down the Christmas wreath and put up this one (borrowed from Mom).
Already had my compost pile and part of one raised bed done. Did a second bed (using landscape timbers from Browns) and finished the first one.
Plan to put down old feed sacks before filling with compost.
Took the Christmas light strands out of the front yard tree using this genius Billy Key creation (they have been up for two Christmases I think - they were here when I moved in in early December...and they were in the awfulest tangles and knots. I know, awfulest isn't a word).
I'm telling ya, genius.
Decided a bird feeder would be a good replacement.
...
Instead of making a rain barrel, I decided to reserve one from PRIDE (Personal Responsibility In a Desirable Environment). PRIDE is a nonprofit organization that encourages sustainable ecological, agricultural, and buying practices throughout 38 southern and eastern Kentucky counties. As stated on the website, www.kypride.org, it "links citizens with the resources of local, state, and federal agencies to improve the region's water quality, clean up solid waste problems, and advance environmental education."

Each year, PRIDE partners with local school districts to make, paint, and sell rain barrels. Although they will not be ready until April 15, you can call 888-577-4339 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting 888-577-4339 end_of_the_skype_highlighting to reserve one. Not only will the painting/design be really cute, but the barrels will come fully assembled, have a faucet, and be ready to attach to the gutter. I honestly can't wait to see the students' vision of PRIDE initiatives.

*Just so you know: watering lawns and gardens accounts for nearly 40% of total household water use during the summer. Rain barrels can thus save you money in addition to reducing rainwater runoff.
*Thanks Gina Shaye for bringing the latest PRIDE newsletter to the library!

Cause It's Simple

Losing someone you love - whether by death, circumstance, or choice - is always harder than enduring any kind of physical pain. It's difficult to figure out how to just "be," when that part of your life that made the everyday so "normal" is gone. What I've learned over the past few months, though, is that despite the questions, regardless of the hurt, and overlooking the need for explanation that can likely never exist, there can be a sense of peace at any end. When you know that you, without a single doubt, loved completely everyday, you realize that it simply is what it is. There's no desire to let go, but there is an ability. The pain doesn't inspire second guessing or "what if"s; it reminds you that that person or that life was worth it. Love completely.

And, if that doesn't work, occupy yourself with things that make you laugh, stuff that interests you, or side projects that allow you to get in completely over your head. My weekend plans: constructing and painting a rain barrel, finish building my raised beds, buy starter plants for the garden, clean out window boxes and flower pots, drink coffee with lots of flavored coffeemate, drink lots of DDP, play "come over here and give me a hug" with Isabella, take Lucy and Willie hiking, hang new pictures, eat pancakes.
And...
Do a lot of front porch sitting, too. Maybe Brad Garner will call me and sing "Just a Swingin." - Oh, Leigh Ann, she had 'em wrapped around her finger even in Kindergarten.
May watch a few of the DVDs we were going to sell at the Library. As you can see, my interests are varied. Vickie: "Do you really want the egg one?" Liza: "I love stuff like that."