Crown this....

Two dental appointments in the past two weeks.... the dentist is working on two teeth... one was in need of a crown (after the removal of the last of my old silver fillings) and the other was in need of a new crown (the old crown having to be removed because of a spot of decay on the tooth underneath that crown).

I like the dental office we go to.... the dentist is a very nice soft-spoken woman, so unlike the older male dentist with the thick mustache that I saw as a kid. He might have been nice as well, but his huge presence and loud voice was enough to scare you as soon as you walked into the office.

What I hate are the sounds of the dental equipment. I wish they had earplugs or earphones, so at least you couldn't hear the whirring and the screeching and the blasting of whatever tools they're using to infiltrate your teeth. And last week's appointment, when the dentist was removing that old silver filling-- the aroma of that silver was enough to gag you. Why on earth did they ever use silver in the first place? Was there no other substance hard enough to withstand the chewing of Cracker Jack and cashew nuts and Baby Ruths?

So right now, I have two temporary crowns on the bottom right side of my mouth. The two new crowns will be ready in two weeks. The lab can get them both ready in just a week, but they would charge an extra fifty dollars. No thank you. No rush. I'll wait. I don't eat Baby Ruths anymore; I won't put cashews on top of my salad while the temporary crowns are in; and I won't eat Cracker Jack with the temporaries either.

I had tomato soup for lunch, a slice of warm bread-machine bread for dinner. My mouth is still sore now that the novacaine has worn off, and the last thing I want is something cold and/or crunchy. When I looked in the mirror, the first thing I noticed was the absence of that old silver filling. The last hurrah from that old dentist of the 1960s.

Between the stye on my bottom left eye-lid (which is now getting smaller each day), and the dental work on two teeth on the bottom right side of my mouth, it's been a rough week. This too shall pass. It could be worse. It could always be worse.

Assisted living.

When I've had extra time, I have been helping our friend J move from her house around the corner into an assisted living apartment a few miles away. She had a moving company come to the house, so all I really helped her with were some lamps and fragile boxes that she didn't want the movers to touch. I packed her car with those things, and off we went to her apartment.

She had downsized her household furniture and accessories when she moved here from Louisiana a few years ago, and now she has had to downsize once again, moving from the house to the apartment. J is our friend whose tiny Yorkie passed away recently, sending J's heart into a frenzy, which sent her to the local hospital for a few days a short while back.

The house J lived in belonged to her son, who had decided to sell it right about the time when J was beginning to feel that the house without her five-pound Yorkie in it was too big a house for just her. That little Yorkie was the most beautiful dog...... and such a wonderful loyal companion and friend for J, who is a five-star dog lover.

A few miles down one of our main roads here is a very nice assisted living complex. It looks more like a huge hotel than a compilation of apartments.... lush palm tree-lined landscape, intricate gated entrances, individual balconies on all the apartments, a putting green, a swimming pool, flower gardens. Plus they have maid service, a five-star restaurant, private van service to take you all over town.

Still... after years of independent living, settling down into an assisted living apartment has got to be a tough thing to do. And J is one independent lady. She doesn't mind company, but she doesn't want neighbors to always be at her front door. She paints, reads, gardens, shops... not your run-of-the-mill sedate senior citizen who wants to play Bridge and gossip over the coffee cups, and whisk away the aphids from the rose bushes. She is a lady with a capital L and I admire her very much.

I went to J's yesterday to help her hang up her paintings and rearrange some of the furniture. She kept all of her favorite antiques, but they look a bit different now in her smaller rooms... just as beautiful, but different. After tweaking some of the pieces here and there, by the time we were done it did look just a teeny bit more spacious--- especially after the paintings that were leaning up against the walls had been hung up on the walls. But it is what it is, and J's new address is now the very well-known assisted living complex at the other side of town.

Our corner neighbor S has already told J that when it comes to party time at our house, J shouldn't worry about having to drive herself back home after dark. S assured J that there would always be someone who could drive down there to pick her up and then take her back home after the party. (I have to laugh.... The parties are always at our house, mind you, and everyone takes it for granted that with each passing calendar page, the little Party Elves will come out and wave their magic wands. Poof! It's another party!)

When I left J's apartment yesterday afternoon, I knew that she was missing being here in this neighborhood. I also knew that she was missing her little Yorkie-- that didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out... the first pictures to go up on the walls were those that J herself painted of her beloved little Babe.

In the words of my Pennsylvania friend A, "Growing old is the pits."

I will miss knowing that J is just a few streets away. She doesn't live that far away, but a very short walk just seems different than having to get into the car to drive down the main road here to visit with her. I hope she will be happy there..... but I know that her small apartment must be just as lonely as the big house was, now that her little dog is no longer with her.

Cats. Dogs. All pets. You love them for years, for as long as they're with you.... and in the end, your heart just breaks into bits. And it doesn't matter if you're living in two rooms or ten-- the silence without them is just deafening.

The stye's the limit.

There was a tiny red dot at the center of my bottom left eye-lid yesterday. By bedtime last night, that tiny red dot grew into a larger red dot. Oh goodie. A stye. Haven't had one of those in so long I couldn't remember what to do for it. So I just left it alone.

The stye, however, had a mind of its own. It made its presense known, whether my eyes were open wide or shut tight. That little red dot became larger, and white, and nasty-looking. When I opened my eyes, it looked like I was holding a spoon up in front of my eye. When my eyes were closed, I could feel that angry white dot pressing up against my eye. Wonderful.

Of course, I couldn't sleep... open the eyes, close the eyes.... it didn't matter. My stye-filled eye was itching, and I was trying just to leave it alone. Kept trying to fall asleep... tried to think of everything under the sun except the stye under my eye-lid. And of course, when you try to think of everything else, then everything else is going round and round in your mind and then you really can't sleep. My husband was snoring, Gracie was snoring.... I was wide awake.

I swear I saw every hour change on the bedside clock all through the night. Around three o'clock in the morning I started to get hungry. I didn't get out of bed, though. If the cats had seen me in the kitchen at that hour, they would have all been ready for breakfast. So I just stayed right where I was. I thought of going into the TV room to read, but with the stye on my eye, I didn't think that would be too successful.

I must have fallen asleep sometime after 5:00.... because I do remember seeing 5:03 on the clock, but I don't remember any numbers after that. When I woke up after seven, my face was so deep into my pillow that it's a wonder I hadn't turned blue. My husband asked me how my eye was and I showed it to him before I looked at it myself in the mirror. I don't even know how to spell the sound that came out of him, but it would translate into something like "Good lord, get away from me with that thing because it's probably contagious."

I called my cousin L up in NY to ask her what to do.... she was a nurse for years and years and she still keeps a shelf filled with current medical textbooks. She told me to boil water and let it cool, then take plump cotton balls and bathe the stye with the water, as hot as I could stand it. "Don't touch your eye with your fingers. Don't burn your eye. Keep washing your hands. Don't put on your eye make-up." That last one made me flinch. I've been boiling hot water all day long.... the stye is still there.

No eye make-up this morning. Which means I haven't left the house all day, except to let Gracie into the backyard. My husband wanted to go out to dinner tonight. What?! I can't go out like this! He told me he had forgotten about the stye. I told him the stye wasn't the problem-- the lack of eye make-up was the issue.

As I type, my husband is on his way to the Chinese restaurant... he's bringing dinner back home. I wonder if hot Egg Drop Soup would work better on this stye than plain old hot water?

Global warming? Where?

It was 80 degrees yesterday. At some point in the middle of the night, the weather gods decided to see if we were all paying attention. When the sun broke this morning, it must have been 50 degrees outside. And the cats were on the screen-porch.... it's a wonder that Mickey Kitty wasn't meowing for all he was worth at the window. Or maybe he was and I just didn't hear him. When my husband opened the porch door this morning, the cats were jumping over one another trying to get into the house. Me first! No-- me first !! Watch out-- I'm coming through! AngelBoy ran into the breakfast room so fast that he slid on the floor and nearly smacked his blue-eyed face into the wall.

All three of them are now curled up in warm and cozy corners of the house and they've been sleeping since after breakfast. Note to self--- make sure a cold front isn't blasting through between the hours of midnight and dawn.

The weather has gone completely crazy.... floods up in the Dakotas, tornadoes in the south, hailstorms in east Texas, snowstorms in north Texas. We should be thanking our lucky stars that all we got here was some wind and rain and falling temperatures. 50 degrees--- I thought winter was over!

The first thing my husband said to me this morning after he let the cats in from the porch was G - W - M -A....... short for Global warming, my ass. He has a way with words.

Brenham and bluebonnets.

The more we drive up to Brenham, the more we love it. The bluebonnets are all in bloom now.... endless fields of them, tiny patches of them.... and wherever they bloom, they can't be cut down till they go to seed. Then the following year, they will multiply like rabbits. We lost count of how many cars had pulled off the road so people could take photos of their kids sitting in the middle of all that blue. A few little girls wore beautiful blue and white dresses as their parents took photos-- I told my husband that those pictures would end up being the photos on the family's Christmas cards.

There was one field covered in tiny yellow flowers, for as far as your eye could see. It reminded us of the butterbloom fields in Germany.... there were hundreds and hundreds of those fields all over Germany last year, as there have been every year for generations. Fields just set aside for a tiny yellow wildflower, to make the landscape pretty to look at.

While we were driving around the country roads the other day, we saw a turtle trying to cross one of the two-lane roads. Every time a car came by, the turtle pulled in his head and legs and he'd sit there. The cars either swerved around him, or the turtle happened to be in the middle of the road and away from the wheels. How long could his luck hold out? We stopped our car and I jumped out and carried the traffic-stunned turtle to the side of the road he was trying to get to. As I picked him up, I could have sworn I heard a low grumble coming from inside that shell. As soon as I put him down in the grass, he poked his head out of his shell, looked around at me, and then off he went. Destination unknown, but at least he got there safely.

During our travels, we saw a self-storage facility, this one named "Amazing Space." For the next half-mile after that one, my husband was humming the song Amazing Grace...

We had lunch again in the historic downtown section of Brenham.... reminds me of Galveston, with all of the shops and tiny cafes. (Except there isn't a bar tucked inbetween each of the shops.) The town has a Christmas parade every December, and every shop and store and street gets all decked out for the holidays because the tourists make Brenham a must-shop destination for antiques, especially during the holidays. (My kind of town.)

There are wooden benches all over the quaint historic downtown streets, and people just stroll around the streets, either shopping or window-shopping, and they sit on the benches and eat the Texas-famous Bluebell ice cream that's sold (and made) right in Brenham. We passed by the Bluebell Ice Cream Factory, but we didn't stop in this time. We've been to the factory before, and we will most likely go there again.

Two hours driving time, from here to Brenham...... and it's like being a world away. In fact, as soon as you drive past the downtown area of Houston, you can see the landscape on the side of the roadways turning from concrete to green. You get away from the concrete of the city and you're surrounded by the green fields and the bluebonnets and all those pecan trees...... Amazing Space indeed. I am ready to go back.

Rodeo food.

While the rodeo is in town, The Houston Chronicle is covering every last little detail of it-- from the events to the concerts, the competitions to the vendors, and the all-important, revenue-raising food. Every heart-wrenching, artery-clogging, blood-pressure-soaring type of fried food can be found at the rodeo. And every year, the food vendors come from all over the country to try and out-do (and out-sell) each other in sending your body into cholesterol and fat-studded overdrive.

This year's most talked-about addition--- Chicken Fried Bacon. From what I see in the Chronicle, thick slabs of country bacon have been dipped into a thick pancake-like batter, then deep-fried in oil. (Do not try this at home.) Also on the rodeo menu are deep-fried Oreo cookies-- same thing... Oreo cookies dipped into a batter, then fried up till they're crispy. (Do not try this at home either.)

And, if your heart and your conscience can stand it, there's always Cheesecake On a Stick-- thick slabs of cheesecake, thoroughly coated with melted dark chocolate, then frozen a bit. According to The Chronicle, you can also get slices of Key Lime Pie on a stick-- how did they do that? Even when frozen, a slice of Key Lime pie isn't as dense as cheesecake. And when the temperature gets past 80 degrees (which it is today) you'd better be eating that Key Lime as fast as you can or you'll be wearing it. You can also get Pizza On a Stick at the rodeo this year-- they describe this as looking like a thick, flat beaver-tail stuffed with cheese and studded with pepperoni. Well, doesn't that sound appetizing. Give me a blessed break.

If you'd like to be both patriotic and ethnic, then you can find the Texan Italian Ice vendor-- red, white, and blue Italian ice served in a styrofoam cup. I've had "Italian" ice in Texas-- it tastes like pureed fruit with lots of added sugar and an overload of ice crystals.... nothing Italian about it.

In general, whatever food can be skewered onto a stick can be found at the rodeo--- sausages, alligator meat, shrimp, pork and beef slices, and the southern-famous "Corn Dog" (a plain old hot dog smothered with a blanket of cornbread). I love good homemade cornbread, but I haven't eaten a hot dog since my 30th birthday.... I don't care what they wrap around that mystery meat.

The Hill Country.

We spent the last two days driving around part of the Hill Country. Tiny towns with less than two hundred people, bigger towns with more than fifteen thousand. Just about every town we drove through had either an Alamo St. or Rd. or Ave.

During our drives, we crossed over the Brazos River and the Colorado River, as well as countless creeks and "seasonal" paths (translation: if it rains, it's a creek, if it doesn't, it's a fish cemetery.)

I spent part of the drive reading the quaint country signs-- "Now serving livers and gizzards at Church's Fried Chicken." "Visit the Crazy Gorilla Resale Shop." There was a storage unit complex called "The Pack Rat," and another called "Extra Garage Space."

There were towns small enough to not have any restaurants at all, and some with just one restaurant that seemed to be "the place to be." One such town was Cat Spring, with a tiny restaurant that looked like it was a converted gas station-- the name above the door read "The Cat Spring Country Club." Its parking lot was filled with pick-up trucks, and the overflow of trucks just parked along the side of the road.

We stayed one night at La Quinta, and the morning breakfast buffet included hot waffles-- not just any waffles-- they were Texas state-shaped waffles. Yee-haawww.... pass me the syrup.

In the tiny town of Burton, there was a lovely drive winding through the hills called "Gay Hill." I imagine that name was given to the town more than a hundred years ago. I think the smallest town we saw was Carmine (pronounced Car-mean), with a population of 228. Took us less than five minutes to drive through it.

Tons of bluebonnets were blooming, and I would guess that with all the rain we had this weekend, there will be even more blooms within the next couple of weeks. We had planned to stay more days, but it rained every day, and it was cold and damp. The week before, we had sunny days and 80-degree temperatures here. Oh well... can't argue with the weather gods... we came home earlier than expected, with plans to go back.

Our favorite town was Brenham, population 14,237 according to the sign. The historic downtown streets of Brenham are filled with antique stores, gift shops, cafes and restaurants, and all things quaint and country, with a little Victorian sprinkled in for good measure. Even with the rain and the dampness, people were walking and shopping, lunching and smiling. We had lunch at a little cafe called "Must Be Heaven," and dinner at "The Ronde-vouz." The "Heaven" lunch cafe has been there for years and years, another family-run restaurant, and we've eaten there also during one of our other trips.

We drove through Schlumburger, Rosenberg, Beasley, Wharton, Wallis, Eagle Lake, Chesterville, Columbus, Cat Spring, Bellville, Brenham, Greenvine, Burton, Ledbetter, Carmine, and Chappell Hill. Our favorite spot was Highway 390... The Bluebonnet Trail, or The Scenic Trail, depending on who gives you directions. It's a two-lane road winding in and around the hills, with lots of two-acre to hundreds-of-acres properties with big and small homes, herds of cattle, sheep, deer, elk, goats, horses, and a host of other wildlife that waits till dark to come out.

We had lunch one day at Schobel's in Columbus-- a family owned restaurant featuring a piping-hot buffet table filled with country cooking, as well as an extensive menu. We have eaten there twice before, both during Hill Country drives.

We saw beautiful old Victorians (both restored and in the process of restoration), farm houses and country getaways. The Hill Country is beautiful on cool and cloudy days..... it only gets better when it's sunny and hot. Pass the biscuits, hold the gravy, and don't pick the bluebonnets.

Wildflowers and roadkill.

Here it is once again... that magic time of the year when it's not nearly hot enough to be Summer, but warmer than it would be for Spring. The wildflowers are blooming, and the critters in the woods are starting to explore.

Wildflowers are protected here..... you can't mow them down till they've gone to seed, not even (especially not even) on the highways of the state. So wherever you drive, you will see oceans of bluebonnets, red Indian paintbrushes, tiny pink five-petal desert roses, and lots of different yellow blooms and purple buds that I don't know the names of. And don't let anyone see you picking bluebonnets, no matter where they're planted. Take pictures if you must, but don't touch the state flower.

As for the critters.... now is the time to see them all-- dead in the middle of the roads. The only time I've seen a live armadillo has been at the Houston Zoo, where they have an entire family, and I once saw an armadillo walking (waddling) in a quiet corner on the grounds of the local university. All the other armadillos have been in the middle of a road, with their four little feet pointing towards the sky.

Raccoons and possums--- all over the roads. And it's twice as sad to see one or two baby raccoons dead in the road right behind their mama, who they had followed from one side of the road to the other. Possums (either dead or alive) don't make me sad... they are the ugliest things on this part of the planet.... long hair-less tails, pointed snouts that are white and pink, and black bloated bodies that don't match the rest of them. And they screech when they're confronted by a dog (such as ours, who once did just that)... the possum just stood there without moving as Gracie barked and barked and jumped up and down all around the possum, who didn't move so much as a whisker.

The raccoons are as cute as they can be, but the mama raccoons will fight you or your dog if you get too near to their babies. I don't think I will ever forget the mama raccoon who got into our attic a bunch of years ago and dropped one of her babies into a space between the outside wall and the inside wall of our kitchen. The mama raccoon left our attic and my husband closed up the little hole that she used to get in...... and then we heard the baby scratching behind the wall. That night, mama raccoon came back trying to get to her baby but she couldn't get into the attic anymore. She sat up on our roof and wouldn't leave, and we heard her pacing back and forth all night long up there.

In the morning, we had to pull out the dishwasher and make a hole in the wall to retrieve the little Beanie-baby-sized raccoon. Poor thing needed water so badly and I was feeding it with a doll bottle that we had borrowed from a neighbor's child. My husband kept telling me that it was a raccoon, not a pet, and we weren't going to add "Vinnie" (my name for the baby raccoon) to our family. We put Vinnie out on our backyard deck that night in a laundry basket, and his mama came out of the flowerbeds and took her baby and off they went into the night, with poor little Vinnie screaming all the way over the fence.

Wildflowers and roadkill.... we think of little Vinnie every year at this time.

The Greek Place.

We drove downtown today to meet friends K and B for lunch at the Greek Place, which is really "Niko Niko's." Actually, I drove downtown because on the way there, we dropped off my husband's car for the usual oil change and tire rotation thing, then drove on towards the downtown area.

My car doesn't usually go downtown. In fact, the last time I drove my car on the Gulf Freeway was before Hurricane Ike slammed into Galveston and Houston and we took both cars as we headed towards K and B's house.

Anyway...... we had lunch at The Greek Place. We've been going there for years and years, and the quality of the food has never ever changed. It's a family run business, which are always the best, and they're open seven days a week, every day of the year. The only time they closed their doors was when they renovated and enlarged the restaurant a couple of years ago. Compared to other downtown restaurants, Niko Niko's is still not a huge place even after the renovations, but they are always crowded, no matter what time of the day you go there.

This is a restaurant-loving city, filled with all kinds of ethnic places where you can get just about any food choices from around the world. Restaurants come and go, but only the best stay put for years and years, and Niko Niko's is one of them. I couldn't even begin to guess how many times we've eaten there over the years, and we haven't ever been disappointed.

The same thing applies to Skipper's, the little Greek restaurant in Kemah that filled up with seven feet of sea water from Galveston Bay, courtesy of Hurricane Ike. Skipper's is another family-owned restaurant that's been there for about twenty-five years..... the quality of the food is always the best, and they are always packed with customers. And other restaurants in the same area can't stay open for six months.

On the way home from downtown, we stopped at Hank's for ice cream. (Another first for my little car.) Hank's is Houston-famous... homemade ice cream, by a man named Hank, in a tiny shop on a street not far from the AstroDome and Reliant Stadium. We forgot about the Rodeo going on in town, and we were stuck in Rodeo traffic when we got near the AstroDome. Slow, slow, slow progress near the stadiums, but we made it through.

Hank's ice cream is, without a doubt, the best ice cream we've ever had. His ice cream flavors are all hand-made, home-made, from Hank's family recipe. He has just the one ice cream shop on that road near the stadiums, and I think a small shop in a nearby town sells his ice cream, and last I heard, his ice cream is served at Reliant Stadium-- and that's it. Hank always tells everyone that he keeps his business small, and keeps it good. Driving downtown without stopping at Hank's on the way back is just not done. When we had our Ice Cream Sundae Sunday party last year, my husband drove all the way to Hank's for the ice cream, and brought back six flavors packed in dry ice.

While we were in Hank's eating our ice cream, one of the rodeo clowns came in the door and waited on line. He was dressed all in denim, but wearing sneakers instead of boots, and had all sorts of bandannas hanging down from his belt so it nearly looked like he had a skirt on over his jeans. Added to that ensemble was a cowboy hat and clown make-up. Yee-haaaw........

Gorgeous day today.... sunny and warm, positively summer. The clocks get turned ahead tonight, and I've already re-set the clocks in the house. I plan to go to bed an hour earlier than usual, then maybe I won't be feeling the time-change in the morning. I'm so happy to be going back to Daylight Savings Time........ I like it better when the days are longer and brighter. This business about sunlight disappearing at 6:30 just isn't for me.

Birthday lunch for C.

We went out to the Thai restaurant for C's birthday lunch today. She drove here after school (just half a day on Fridays) and I surprised her with birthday balloons when she walked in the door.

We're still not using the dining room table (following the directions of our famous woodworker who just refinished the top of it), so I set up the smaller table in the living room with the gold-star decorated plates, tea cups and birthday napkins and place cards (Mardi Gras masks), and little baskets of chocolates. I found cute little candles that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY-- each candle was one of those letters, so the cake that C and I made yesterday was transformed from a pretty cream and fruit-topped cake into a picture-perfect birthday cake.

We went out to lunch first, though, then enjoyed the cake afterwards and C opened up her gifts. When C got here this afternoon, she was dressed up in a cute pink, red and white dress--- looked like something from the 1960s... very young, very trendy, and she looks great in all of that because she's so petite. C is the first to say that she's not a "girly-girl," so it's always a nice surprise when I see her in a dress or skirt. C's first choice is always going to be shorts and flip-flops or jeans and boots.... she is all about comfort.

The very first time that my husband and I took C out for a "grown-up" dinner was for her 13th birthday.... the three of us were going to our then-favorite Italian restaurant, which was on the fancy side. Whenever my husband and I went there for lunch or dinner, we always got dressed up-- no shorts, no jeans, nothing too casual.

On the night we picked up C for that 13th birthday celebration, my husband was wearing a jacket and tie, and I was wearing a black skirt and heels and a fancy-schmancy top with a jacket. We got to C's house and she was in jeans and sneakers. When C's dad saw how dressed up we were, he told C that she should go and change her clothes. Before he finished his sentence, I saw the smile on C's face starting to fade away, so I quickly said that C looked just fine the way she was and there was no need for her to change into anything else. "But you two are all dressed up!" I told her dad that we were wearing what we wanted to wear, and C should wear just what she wanted to wear. C's smile came back in a heart-beat.

And what did it matter? Our aim that night was to take C out for a nice dinner to celebrate her 13th birthday. And whether she had been wearing jeans or slacks, or a dress or a skirt-- C was still going to be C, still as cute and as bubbly as she could possibly be--- the contents were the same, the packaging really didn't matter.

When I look back on all our years with C, I firmly believe that she has grown closer and closer to us for just that reason-- because we haven't ever wanted her to be anything other than who she is. I find no fault with that child, ever, because she is always true to herself, always fair with everyone else.

"Can we please bake a cake?"

That was the question of the week from our young Miss C, who will be celebrating her 18th birthday this weekend. We made arrangements to take her out to one of her favorite restaurants to celebrate her birthday, and she asked me if we could bake a cake when we got back to our house, instead of having dessert there at the restaurant.

I told Miss C that it would take a good long while to bake and decorate a cake after we got back here, and I suggested that we stop at La Madeleine after dinner and each of us could pick out a special dessert there to bring back here to have with tea. She seemed fine with that, and she said she would start thinking of what to pick from their bakery shelves. (La Madeleine isn't a bakery like a "real" NY bakery, but it's the closest thing we have here to fresh bakery items. Their cakes, pies and pastries are always good, but if you go to a La Madeleine in Texas or in California, everything will look the same and taste the same.)

When I got off the phone with Miss C, I told my husband that she had asked about the cake, and told him my suggestion about going to the bakery after the restaurant. His take on all of this was totally different than mine..... "Don't you see what C really wanted? She wanted to come over here and spend time with you and bake a cake. Why don't you do it the day before or the day after when there will be extra time?"

I got on the phone and called C right back.... told her that of course we could bake a cake-- but just not on the day after we go to the restaurant. She said baking the cake was much better than picking something out from La Madeleine's, and she was jumping out of her shoes over the phone.

So that's what we did today.... C came over after school and we got to baking that cake for her. We made an angel food cake, which she loves because it's very light. C did it all-- I just gave her the instructions and stood there watching her. She mixed, we talked, she sprayed the counter with the batter and I laughed out loud at the mess. So what? We had a good time mixing, and we had a good time cleaning up.

When the cake was cooled, I gave C my favorite recipe for frosting--- fresh whipped cream mixed with a package of vanilla instant pudding mix and one large can of crushed pineapple. You combine the pudding mix with the pineapple and its juice, then blend that into the freshly whipped cream. The result is a smooth and sweet whipped frosting that's easy to spread. (Sugar-free pudding mix is perfect for this because the pineapple is sweet enough.)

We split the angel food cake into two layers, and C frosted the cake with the whipped cream mixture, and added blueberries and strawberries on each layer. Then she decorated the sides with alternating slices of strawberries and whole blueberries. Miss C was thrilled to pieces with her cake, especially since she did it all herself, just following what I told her to do. The cake is sitting in my fridge... we haven't sliced it yet, and won't till we come back from her birthday dinner. I found special birthday candles for the cake, which I didn't show her yet, and I've got big birthday balloons hiding in my closet for her, along with her gifts.

Eighteen years old. So hard to believe. I am so glad that we baked that cake together.

SteinMart & The Salvation Army.

What a great idea... a post card came in the mail from SteinMart last week-- their latest sales campaign asked everyone to bring in a "gently used" item of clothing and pick up a 20%-off coupon good for any item in one of their stores. Bringing in one clothing item got you one coupon, with a maximum of four coupons.

Sounded like a good idea to me. I always have a donation box of clothing items ready to be taken up to the local church for their "Free Clothes Closet," so I looked through that box and found three items that were hardly worn at all. (As I took all three of those things out of that box, my first thought was "Why on earth did I buy this in the first place?")

Up to SteinMart I went, and they had a representative from the Salvation Army thrift shop right inside the front door. He took the three pairs of slacks I brought in, and gave me three 20%-off coupons. My intention was to get three pairs of jeans. I had been in SteinMart last week and found a great pair of jeans. (After trying on 28 pairs, I had finally found one that fit well, looked great, and was comfortable enough to wear all day if I wanted to.)

When I got home from SteinMart last week, I was sorry that I hadn't bought at least one more pair of those jeans. So that was my mission today-- to find more of these great jeans. So there I was, with three coupons burning a hole in my purse, and all I could find was just one more identical pair of these great jeans. I asked one of the ladies there if they could get more of the size I needed from one of their other stores. The woman took off her glasses, looked me right in the eye, and whispered: "Honey child, you really don't want to do that. It just never works the way they say it will. We ask them to send us what y'all want and three weeks later, we're still waiting. Then we call them back to check on it and they can't find the paperwork. Save yourself the trouble, bless your heart, and just try on more jeans right here."

So that's just what I did-- tried on more jeans..... but didn't find any others as comfy and as perfectly fitting as these "Nine West" jeans. Finding one more pair today was great, so now I have two pairs of what I call "dress jeans." I will wear the other ones around the house, and when I go grocery shopping, and save the perfect ones for better places than the supermarket.

With the other two coupons, I found two great tops with three-quarter sleeves, which I love. I'm not comfortable in sleeveless tops anymore, and when it gets hot-hot-hot here, long sleeves are too stifling. Three-quarter sleeves are perfect-- you don't get chilled in the air-conditioning, and they always look nice... and these go great with the new jeans.

When I got home, I went through all my tops again, and pulled out two older tops to add to the donation box. I think everything in my closet now would be approved by Stacy and Clinton. (That's what started all these self-inspections of my clothes--- the "What Not To Wear" show.)

Don't touch the table....

..... for the next two weeks. Fourteen days? Are you serious?

Absofreakinlutely serious. So sayeth the master woodworker yesterday as he set up our newly refinished dining room table. It looks beautiful...... as pretty as it must have been on the day it was made, I'm sure. But not to use it? Not to protect it with a tablecloth? No fingerprints, no tablecloths, no kitties... no kidding.

How do you keep the cats (especially AngelBoy, who thinks he's a professional centerpiece) from jumping up on that table to watch the birds perching on the fence across the driveway... and the view from the top of that dining room table gives them the best seat in the house.

Oh well.... let it be a challenge. Actually, the cats haven't bothered with the dining room table since it came back. When you walk into the dining room, you can smell the aroma of the top-coat that B gave it..... and he gave it an extra top-coat because he knows we have cats, and he has cats of his own so he understands the kitty-mentality. We didn't have the table refinished because of cat-damage.... that table belonged to my husband's mom who had it for years and years, and along the way the table had gotten imprints of lace tablecloths left on too long, and spots with very little finish on them because of hot serving plates. Our friendly woodworker told me that lace tablecloths aren't the best thing for fine wood tables unless you have a plain cotton layer underneath the lace. I don't use lace, but my mother-in-law did, and that table had the impression of her very favorite one.

Anyway, so far so good in the dining room.... not a fingerprint nor a paw-print is on that table. Let's see how long this lasts.

Speaking of kitty-mentality.... AngelBoy has become very cling-y lately. He never was a lap-cat, but he always did like to be close. Not to everyone, but to me. The only other person that AngelBoy ever bonded with was my dad, when he was here with us twelve years ago and AngelBoy was just a tiny kitten. Daddy played with AngelBoy for hours on end, and to this day, my blue-eyed cat plays the same games with me that he did with my dad.

AngelBoy is now following me around the house, and he sits on the bookcase next to my desk when I type (which is where he is now), or he'll sit next to me on the sofa in the TV room. He won't sit on my lap (heaven forbid) but he will squeeze up so close to me that half of his body is on my leg and the other half of him is on the sofa, making him a bit lop-sided. The only time that AngelBoy sat on my lap was a few years ago when we had to evacuate for Hurricane Rita. This blue-eyed cat of mine stayed on my lap like a stuffed animal for hours on end because he did not want to be confined in the unfamiliar laundry room of the house of friends where we stayed till it was safe to come back to the Bay area.

I still keep AngelBoy sequestered (what a great word) in the screen-porch at night when it's warm enough, or in the laundry room if it's cold outside. He will wake me up between three and four o'clock in the morning, meowing and banging his paw against the laundry room door because he has used his litter box and won't stay in that room with a soiled box. So up I get, clean out the litter box (in my sleep, practically) and then AngelBoy follows me back to the bedroom and he curls up against my pillow. And that's just where he will be when I wake up in the morning. As soon I get up and put my feet into my slippers, AngelBoy jumps down and uses his litter box again. As if to say See, I really do know what those boxes are for.

AngelBoy is a strange little cat.... friendly and loving when he wants to be, but if I raise my voice to him with impatience, he will scrunch up his whiskers at me and if looks could kill, he would have already buried me in the backyard. But for right now, and for more months than I can count, my blue-eyed ball of lavender-tipped silver fluff has been a sweet cat.