Hi, and thanks for visiting Shoes & Pie! I apologize for the forest of odd characters which are now scattered throughout the blog. They are a side-effect of a recent server migration, and I don’t understand it, either. Try to think of it as a Jumble puzzle as you read.
Some of you know that I’ve been working on updating (ahem, upgrading) tiddleywink.com—which has historically been my business-only site—as part of this server switch. A segment of the site update has been moving Shoes & Pie over there to simplify things for everyone. As of last night, all of the Shoes & Pie content (weird characters and all) have been duplicated over there, and while shoesandpie.com will remain online for the foreseeable future, I will no longer be posting at this address.
::era ends, Taps plays::
I invite you to re-direct your feed subscriptions to tiddleywink.com so you don’t miss any future posts, and I apologize in advance because I’m still very much messing around with finessing the layout over there so the actual RSS address may be in flux.
I look forward to seeing you at the new address!
I was going to post some highlights from 2013, and don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a “bad” year, but when I thought about the moments that really left an impression on me, it turned out that many were, well, not what you’d call highlights. And the happier moments seemed a little wan, comparatively, in the shadows. So, on to 2014. Ad astra per aspera.
Resolutions: I’m not a fan. Oh sure, let’s set lofty goals. Through fault of our own or not, we falter. And we feel bad. I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it. If the dawn of a new year is what it takes for you to stop smoking, then go for it. I know a number of people who have, through hard work and determination, lost those extra pounds (and kept it off, which is really the hardest part and makes dieting look easy). But I haven’t made any resolutions in years. Tell people that, though, and they think you’re a party pooper or a slacker. So here. Here are my reasonable-utions for 2014:
I will re-think—and complete—one particular home decor project. See this canvas? It’s 36×48 and it’s one half of a project that I started in 2005. And by “started,” I mean I bought the pair of canvases, printed one sheet of inkjet decal paper, realized how much ink it ate up, and set the project aside. For eight years.
I will reclaim our basement. See all that junk* behind the canvas? The basement is overrun with stuff. In part because this condo has a lot of square footage, but almost none of it is storage space. And in part because I run a business out of the house wherein I sell stuff. And that stuff takes up what little storage space there is. So in 2014, and I’m aiming for January with this, I will try to pare down the excess stuff. I’d say “we,” but this is pretty much my stuff and my responsibility. Craigslist, thrift store donations, private sales via a new, as-yet-to-be-created Instagram account, whatever it takes. I just want it gone.
I will finish refinishing our TV trays. 2013 was unofficially the year of Keeping The Dining Table Clean, and we’ve been successful, but we’re still in the habit of eating weeknight dinners off of TV trays while sitting on the sofa and watching an episode of White Collar. However, our trays have been undergoing The World’s Slowest Makeover. What should have taken a few afternoons has actually been on hold for months because I ran into some trouble with the paint I was using and its utter lack of adhesion to the base coat. I’ve since determined that spray paint is really the way to go with this, but as January isn’t really ideal weather for painting outdoors, this project will have to wait a bit longer. However, it will get done.
I will not buy any more sewing patterns for my own collection, unless I sew at least 2 things from patterns that I already have. HAhahahahaha. That’s funny.
We, collectively with the aid of our almost-too-laid-back vet, will “fix” our darling Ghrey Kitteh’s rather horrifying bouts of atopic dermatitis (eczema). I am determined that she will not feel discomfort any longer than is necessary for us to make adjustments to her care. I realize that we don’t really have much control over this, but I can pretend.
I will say “please” and “thank you” when appropriate. I will not return a personal compliment with, “Oh, no, my hair is a mess and this shirt is a terrible color and… blah, blah, blah.
I will not feel guilty about blogging five times a year instead of the old five times a week. If you’re that interested in what I’m up to, you’re probably following me on Instagram anyway.
There are probably a whole lot of other things that could/should go on this list, but I’m trying to keep expectations low. So, how about you? Resolutions or not?
*Not technically junk. But seriously, when you own eight dining chairs but only keep four of them around the table on a daily basis—because if I wanted a dining table that sat eight people all of the time, I wouldn’t have bought a table with an extension leaf—where do you store the other four chairs?!
Backstory: Every weekday morning, I pack The Boyfriend’s lunch. Also, as referenced in an earlier post, it’s one of my household tasks to plan the weekly dinner menu. To make this a little easier on myself, a few days of the week are always assigned a theme. Relevant to this story: Meatless Mondays (self explanatory) and WABAC* Wednesdays (wherein I choose a main dish recipe from one of my approximately eight gazillion vintage cookbooks).
Still MoreÂ Backstory: When we eat at the dining table, The Boyfriend always waits until the I’m served and seated before taking his first bite. More often than not, however, we eat from trays while watching something on the TV. In those cases, he starts eating while I’m fiddling with the DVD player or streaming device. Such was the case last night, so he was a few silent bites into his portion of Layered Casserole before I had my first taste. My first taste, which resulted in my visceral exclamation of “It’s like paste!” One look over at him and his face indicated that he was in full agreement. I removed our laden plates to the kitchen and ordered Chinese delivery. While watching our evening’s movie and eating our replacement dinner, The Boyfriend leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’d have eaten the whole thing and not said a word.” That’s love.
Further Backstory: Every weekday morning, our iPhone alarms go off at the same time. We turn them off simultaneously and wordlessly stay in bed a few minutes longer. I’ll shift my leg closer to him, and he’ll move his hand over to mine. A cat or two will wander over and sit on top of us. All silently.
The Actual Story: This morning, our alarms rang. We turned them off. We shifted. A cat came over and sat on top of me. After a moment, The Boyfriend whispered, “Please don’t pack me paste for lunch.”
* TheÂ WABAC MachineÂ refers to a fictional machine from the cartoon segmentÂ Peabody’s Improbable History,Â a recurring feature of the 1960sÂ cartoonÂ seriesÂ The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show.Â The WABAC Machine is aÂ plot deviceÂ used to transport the charactersÂ Mr. PeabodyÂ and ShermanÂ back in timeÂ to visit important events in human history.Â The precise meaning of theÂ acronymÂ WABAC is unknown, but the term is obviously aÂ playÂ on “way back”, as in “way back in time,” and the names of mid-century, large-sized computers that often ended in “AC” (generally for “Automatic Computer” or similar), such asÂ ENIACÂ orÂ UNIVAC. Indeed, according toÂ Gerard Baldwin, one of the show’s directors, the name “WABAC” is a reference to theÂ UNIVAC I.