Caution! Sharp objects

Our real estate agent, who Mr. G good-naturedly refers to as Easy Money, came to our new front door last week with a thank-you gift.
It's a hand-crafted wooden bowl with an unusual handle. Could it be that he did a quick survey of the roof-lines before making his gift selection? Or maybe it was just Sara Dipity.

I'm sure my good friend and USC alum, Claudia, is gloating today over the outcome of the Rose Bowl game. Mr. G, an alum of Penn State, is understandably down-in-the-mouth, although I was able to cheer him up with a Cadbury chocolate bar, which I very thoughtfully shared with him so he wouldn't be alone in his grief.

So today I'm celebrating my 3rd blogiversary. Unfortunately, life has been so busy lately I wasn't able to create a festive cake like last year.

Since I always include my blog address in our annual Christmas letter, I should probably do a quick review for any new visitors. Mr. Gadget is my hubby and a lover of gadgets, especially if they have remotes and mail-in rebates. Tech Guy is our son. He's almost 27 and works in the computer tech field. Big City Girl is our daughter. She will soon be 25, and lives and works in NYC. We no longer have pets.......other than a large assortment of dust bunnies.

I like to write, which is why this blog has gone on so long. I especially like to write funny stuff. Occasionally I draw a very elementary picture to illustrate a point. I do think blog posts are more entertaining with pictures. Sometimes I'll notice something funny that will prompt a blog idea. I'm very observant of the world around me, with the exception of dirt on the windowsills and dust on the ceiling fans. Most creative folks I know own a pair of blinders.

Every now and then I get the itch to start a new project. It's been a while, what with this moving business that's gone on for so long. Maybe I'll take a look around the Lighthouse and see what I've unpacked and if there's a table without stuff piled high. Meanwhile, I'm repairing a jacket for BCG. I know it would be cheaper to mail it back to her than to hand-deliver it. But there's nothing like a nice train ride into the big city where the aroma of diesel fuel and all that horn honking are enough to make a gal forget the scent of cardboard and the brutal song of the box cutters.