Frog recycling project

Soon after Mr. Gadget and I decided to sell the old house and move on, I started a frog recycling project. As I worked my way through eons of layers at the Macaroni dig site, I unearthed frogs of every sort. And I just decided (without checking with them first) that maybe they'd like to move on with their lives too.

Just down the road, in the neighboring town, lives a special friend who's getting up in years and isn't able to get out much. She loves frogs. She collects them. She might even be a frog fanatic. So whenever I go to visit her, I take along my recent finds and she's always tickled green. Yesterday I delivered the flower pot frog and the appliqued frog tote bag. She loves to knit so the bag will hold her knitting projects. At the moment she's knitting baby hats for charity.

So I've been thinking of starting a new doll project. I need a little diversion from the Groundhog-Day life I've been living for the last few weeks--over at the old house, day after day, painting, cleaning, sprucing. After today's session, I noticed a twinge in my lower back, and I tried to convince Mr. G. that I needed to go on the disabled list. He didn't hear me. He probably had just turned on his noisy shop vac or he was cursing about the lamp he'd just broken.

Oops....I guess I got diverted from my diversion. Anyway, I want to design a new cloth doll pattern-- something a little different from the beanbag style dolls I've been making, but a basic pattern that could be adapted to all of my crazy characters. It might be fun to write about this whole process here on the blog. Anyone want to doll along with me? No? Well OK then. Lurking along is fine too. But before I jump into this new creative adventure, there's one more thing I want to mention.

It's just as I suspected. These hardworking construction men next door are really just little boys playing in the sandbox. Look at this, will ya? It's King of the Hill.

Bottomless pit of despair

In our new condo there is a basement closet that can eventually accommodate an elevator. Hopefully by the time we need one, we will not have cruised away our elevator money. In the meantime, we are using the closet to stash stuff--winter coats, craft supplies, and boxes of who-knows-what.

One day we began to notice an unpleasant odor each time we walked by the closet. I was pretty sure it was my bag of sheep's wool, even though, I have to say, I couldn't really detect the aroma of pasture.

Before alerting the authorities, we thought it best to empty the closet and give it some time to air out. A month went by and the aroma lingered.

The construction foreman paid us a visit to check out the mysterious mustiness but could not offer an answer. As is usually the case with unusual malfunctions, no one else had ever complained of such a thing. Water proof cement was placed all around the pit (for the elevator mechanism) and kitty litter was poured in to absorb any moisture. A week later the kitty litter was vacuumed out, and still the aroma lingers. The foreman has now gone to a higher authority for further instructions.

Mr. Gadget and I have been speculating. Is it possible we live on the site of an ancient....or recent....burial ground? Or maybe years ago a farmer buried his dead chickens or his sick pigs....or even his mother-in-law.....under our closet? And maybe this explains those weird noises we hear in the night. A bump here. A clack there. Sometimes a twack or a bonk. Maybe I should burn some incense....

I miss Dr. Seuss

And sometimes I miss my old peach-colored countertop with the cracked tiles and the grout wearing thin. I know I'm a lucky woman to have a brand new shiny granite countertop. But honestly? I don't care much for its camouflaging trickery. Ketchup drips, mayonnaise smears, chopped olive splatterings and overflowing BBQ sauce just disappear into its God-given variegation. It's a little embarrassing when a friend happens to discover a spill with an ill-placed elbow.

So today I attended a creative writing workshop at my new local library. I say "new" only because it's new to me. It's actually an old library with a musty aroma. It has the proper library aroma as far as I'm concerned. It's the scent of well-loved books. The town is currently raising money to build a new library, and when it's finally completed I hope they move the aroma along with the books.

So the writing group meets once a month, and the moderator gives us writing "prompts," about which we write, non-stop, for 20 minutes or so. Today she arrived without her list of prompts, so she picked one out of the air. Dr. Seuss.

I had no trouble writing about Dr. Seuss. He's always been a favorite of mine and I read lots of his books to Tech Guy and Big City Girl when they were little. I'm a big fan of silly rhymes. In fact, I wish I could write some of my own. But, unfortunately, I don't have a rhyming brain. I'm pretty sure it's an inborn trait.

Several of the group members shared that they find Dr. Seuss books boring. I couldn't understand that, and I mentioned it to Mr. Gadget after I got home. He agreed that Dr. Seuss is indeed a boring read.

"Don't you remember all those green eggs and ham, green eggs and ham, green eggs and ham?" he asked me.

"I guess I just remember the colorful characters and the rhyming," I said.

Did I ever mention that Mr. Gadget walks on the treadmill--for an hour sometimes--and while he treads he watches the weather channel? Now that's boring. I like to walk outside where there's interesting stuff to look at. But if I were to walk on the treadmill, like if it was raining and I had an overwhelming desire to exercise, I'd need some much more stimulating entertainment than the weather channel. Maybe the audio edition of The Cat in the Hat.

The chips are down

My neighbor across the street....the one with the festive front porch....seems to be egging me on to join her in a game of front-porch poker. It's not what you're thinkin' either. Not one of those sit-down-at-the-table kinda games. You may remember this earlier photo. She's obviously a high roller.

I'm sure she could taste victory after glancing across the street and noticing the lousy hand I was dealt.But little did she know I had a few aces up my sleeve. I raised her a colorful doormat and a friendly sheep.

I couldn't help but wonder if, after seeing my surprise move, she'd fold. She did not. Instead, she countered with a couple of sneaky maneuvers. She moved her swan over behind her frog, then raised me a large boxy white planter.

Could she be scheming to plant even more festive foliage--perhaps a small decorative tree--or is she just trying to bluff? I can sense some big-game excitement building. Will we be sharing cigars soon?

I took a chance and raised her again--a cute little pot of red impatiens.

I'm feeling very confident now. I'm almost sure I can beat her, although she's shown herself to be pretty cagey. She may be a seasoned player with some tricky moves in store. On the other hand, I'm in a superior position with lots more space on my porch. I've also got a treehouse and a basement well stocked with crafty porch fixins'. I'm going to hang in. I think it's just a matter of time before she's goin' down.

Get thee to a rookery

Mr. Gadget thinks I'm being sacrilegious with my talk about flocks and gaggles of nuns. Other Marcia has suggested that maybe I should call them congregations. I suppose she's right.

But don't they look a little like penguins?

When I googled gaggle, that led me on one of those wild google chases and I found out that a congregation of penguins is sometimes called a waddle. Could there be a waddle of nuns? Oh no! Here comes Mr. Gadget with his ruler. Forget everything I said.

So now it's back to witches. Here is my witch du jour.

The process of making these dolls is easy for me now because I've had a lot of practice. The challenge is making decisions about accessories: hair color, boot fabric, hat decorations, etc. Sometimes they just have to sit on the shelf and wait for me to make up my mind. And sometimes I have to take a cruise just to clear the cobwebs....

Who says my porch isn't festive?

I was feeling like an outsider here at the new place with my naked porch, so I sprung into action. Well, maybe slogged into action is a better way to put it. I found a doormat with a little pizazz....not one of those boring ones with "Welcome" on it, or "A spoiling grandma lives here." You know. You've seen those kind. You may have one, in which case....my apologies.

The black sheep doll is my latest project. I knitted his red scarf last night during Jeopardy and a few innings of the Yankees game. I really should measure one of these scarves so I wouldn't have to run upstairs to the treehouse to try it on each member of the flock....if I were to actually make a flock. But that would be called planning ahead or being organized and that is foreign to my nature.

It's a good thing I wasn't planning a nap today, since the construction crews are hard at work on the new building next door and today they've decided to move big, giant boulders.

And here are just a few more pictures from our trip. Barcelona!

Now, I'm wondering......If I make a few nun dolls (I've had requests! Who woulda thought!) would that be called a flock? Or would it be a gaggle? I've definitely got to google....

Bob drops by

Today I drove over to the old house to speed-paint the kitchen cupboards. My intent was to just get the job done because the new owners....whoever they might be....will, no doubt, just rip everything out and throw it in one of those big ol' dumpsters. One of the good things about speed-painting is that it doesn't matter if you happen to paint right over some dried-on strawberry jelly or a piece of old Scotch tape. Here's a little friendly advice. If you ever have a need to do some speed-painting, buy good quality paint.

Anyway, there I was...painting at warp speed and getting into a nice zen-like state....when who should appear on the back deck. Good ol' Bob.

It was Tech Guy who came up with the name Bob. I would have chosen a more whimsical name, like Chippy, or maybe Cheeky. I'm not absolutely convinced it was the real Bob. It may have been one of his relatives. But he obviously remembered our house as a place to get a tasty treat. I immediately put my paint brush down and served him up some good home cookin', I mean a hefty helping of sunflower seeds, and then watched him stuff his cheeks. This never fails to amuse me. It's kinda like watching people in a cruise ship buffet.Since I'd already moved the good china, poor Bob had to eat right off the floor. He managed to hide his disappointment.

And now, a few pretty pictures from our trip:

Is less more?

Things are greening up nicely here at the new condo complex. However, several residents are in a snit about the work the groundskeeper is, or isn't, doing. The flow of correspondence about this issue is hard to follow. Maybe we should have just stayed out to sea till the matter was resolved.

I did look out my front window this morning and noticed how festive my neighbor's front porch has become. New items seem to be appearing daily.

There's a wreath, a chair, a vase full of artificial flowers on a decorative pedestal, a little ceramic man, a swan and a frog. Will she put something in the chair I wonder? I will wait to see with great anticipation.

Take a look at my front porch.

Zilch.

I guess I'd better take myself down to the garden center....

Expedition findings

I learned that in early Roman times, sardine fishing was a major industry in Sardinia. In fact, at one time Sardinia was known as the Isle of Sardines.

I observed the tower at Pisa and confirmed that it's still leaning.

I was informed that the chocolate buffet did not migrate. It became an endangered species and now, sadly, it is extinct.

Here are a few funny photos....some blog filler till I'm out of my jet-lag fog.

A large sealife mural on a building in Cadiz, Spain.
I'm no longer concerned about my walls with complexion issues. Come to find out, they have a special Mediterranean panache.

Roman tourists. More panache.

Staying out of the way of Roman drivers requires some fancy footwork. But if they do run over you, their cars are so small it doesn't hurt much.

Ferry art.

Those folks in Barcelona really know how to do siestas.

Shop sheep.

A street entertainer along Las Ramblas, the colorful pedestrian walkway in Barcelona. When I tossed a coin in his chamber pot he blew me a raspberry.

And now the laundry.....