Wednesday, January 4, 2017


Shortly after 6:00 AM our daughter sent a text message to her dad saying that it was very icy outside and that he should be sure I had creepers on my boots.  For those of you who do not live where ice and snow cover the earth, let me tell you that creepers are marvelous things that fit over the sole of your boot on rubbery webbing.  The bottom part of the creepers has strong metal teeth that make walking feel very funny, but give one an amazing amount of traction when walking on ice.  Chris had made a special trip to buy me some exceptionally good quality, expensive, sturdy creepers because we learned this spring that none of us likes it when I fall and hurt myself.  The problem was that my creepers kept popping off my boots.  I'd go a few steps then see Bravo fly by shaking one gleefully in his teeth after he had found it laying in the snow.  It was maddening.  And dangerous, because I didn't always notice that one or both had come off, and was acting as if I did have creepers even though sometimes I didn't.

Above you will see a photo of my oh-so-fashionable muck boot, a shot of the boot with the creepers installed, and a close up of the metal grips.  I hope whoever invented them made a lot of money, because they are nifty as heck.

Shortly after the text warning about the ice arrived I was down stairs rustling up breakfast.  I heard the pitter patter of my husbands feet coming down, too.  This was a clear break in routine. Normally I get up, let the dogs out, and cook.  He showers, listens to NPR at top volume, and dresses for work.  I peered around the corner to see what was up.  He stood before me, in au naturel glory, holding this:

A very serious staple gun.  He had a mischievous grin on his face.  He grabbed my boots and the creepers and stapled those suckers firmly on.  I stood with my mouth agape. Staples. In my good boots.  But the beauty of the plan was not lost on me. I realized that the creepers were going no where.  With the satisfied look of a man who has done a job well, he marched back upstairs to complete his morning rituals.  I fried two eggs and cooked some sausage, smiling all the time.  What a guy.

The second laugh-worthy item I wanted to share with you happened a while back, and I keep forgetting to mention it.  But I smile every time I think about it, and hope someday to solve the mystery of who it is behind all these smiles.  We have a funny little room in our house that we turned into a very useful pantry.  There is an extra refrigerator in there to store drinks and overflow food when we entertain, a huge chest freezer and several lovely shelving units.  I keep things like big roasters and my Crock Pot, ice cream maker and other bulky kitchen items that take up prime cabinet real estate.  Extra glass and dishware are stashed here, too, and some bulk food items.  We store many things in large, 2 quart Mason jars. Sugar, confectionery sugar, rice, pasta, salt, all tucked into the jars and stored neatly. Interestingly, many of the things stored in these jars is white.  We have most of them neatly labeled with canning labels, but a few have sticky notes slapped on to them instead.

Shortly after Thanksgiving I was looking for something in the pantry and noticed this:
Some very clever (and tall) soul had taken the sticky note off of a big old jar of baking soda and turned it around.  In red ink they wrote, "Cocaine."  I am wryly delighted with this whimsical, comical, mystery. So, if whoever did it will please fess up, that would be great.

I cherish moments that make the corners of my mouth turn up.  Luckily they happen often.

(Note: to those, such as my sisters, who will be appalled to think that we have so much baking soda, please know it is fed to goats to prevent upset tummies.)

No comments: