express yourself...halloween style

Welcome....off with your head


traditional


whimsical


spooky


tacky


quaint


homey


red neck


countryish


pumpkiny


elegant


creative


ghostly


ho-hum


Martha Stewarty


clueless

mmmm.......brains

my friend chip

Chip atop the lion's head on the patio

Chip and I share some common interests besides the place we call home. We both like the outdoors and embellished clothing. We are both camera shy (hence the barely visible Chip in the pictures); he doesn't like to sit for a close-up. We both like to sit on the patio. And Chip has also been busy putting food by for the winter.


look closely to see Chip in the very center of the picture

wishin' and hopin'

and dreamin' bout my dreamhouse at the end of the Castle Creek cul-de-sac.


my house on Garrison Road

Now that I've put these two houses next to one another, I can see that my dream house kind of looks like my house squashed out flatter and in a more subdued shade. I love my house most from the outside. I've lived here twenty years and it still brings a thrill to drive by and see my house. But it is an older home and inside could use a facelift. So I dream about that modern kitchen, those huge walk-in closets and all that open space. Wishin' and hopin' and dreamin'.

a slap on the wrist

I wanted to take you on a tour of my favorite store. Being the naive girl that I am, I didn't know picture taking was not allowed inside the store. Armed with my camera I had taken two pictures of the outside of my store before stepping inside and snapping a pic of the produce department. Immediately an employee (or should I say associate) appeared before me. "Ma'am, you aren't allowed to take pictures in here. It's against our policy". Red-faced I replied " I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just wanted to take a few pictures of my favorite grocery store for my blog". "Well, you can ask the manager for special permission but I'm sure but she will say no" she told me. Emboldened by my new pursuit of blogging, I actually went to the service desk and asked to see the manager. She was called to the front of the store and told me "No. I'm sorry. It's just our policy". In the past this encounter would have left me scarred for days. As I shopped I did wonder if there were eyes on me who had witnessed my slap on the wrist and now thought less of me.




So I can't show you the coffee shop, the olive bar, the brick-oven bakery or the patisserie. You won't be able to see the Nature's Way section, the seasonal decorations or the very large kitchen shop that features china, cookbooks, linens and fine cookware. I can't show you the live music ensembles that entertain Friday evening shoppers from the balcony as they browse the prepared foods, meat shop, deli and fish market. You will have to imagine how the samples of the featured meal of the week from the quarterly store magazine, the cheese shop and Nature's Way taste. You won't be with me when I pick up my prescription, watch a mother drop off her child to play while she shops or select a movie from the Redbox. Being the law-abiding citizen that I am I won't show you that one picture I did take of the produce department.



That's OK, Wegman's. I forgive you because you are the one thing in WNY that I would miss the most if I were ever to move away. I know that you forgive me too. Didn't you select me as one of your top fifty customers three years ago and lavish gifts on me? A food gift basket, fifty dollar gift card and a bottle of your fine lemon olive oil. I know you love me as much as I love you. Doesn't Danny travel the world to bring me the best food products every country has to offer?

Do you know that there is a Wegman's in Rochester that has an entire Godiva chocolate shoppe inside of it? I can't show you that either.

yin and yang

aka Sam and Smudge

twilight

I have led a happy life. If you were to ask me though what some of the happiest moments have been, I wouldn't tell you about my wedding or the day my son was born. The day of my wedding I was terrified. Not of getting married. I wanted to be with B more than anything. But of the wedding itself. My terror shows in my face in our wedding pictures. I never dreamed of my special day when I was a teen, never sought the spotlight. Never had a high school graduation party, a college graduation party, a wedding shower. In my whole life up to that point I had only had one day where I was in the spotlight, where the focus was me. That was my eighth birthday party. I grew up in a very small town in central Illinois. There were maybe twenty children in my class. My mom had suggested that I bring a friend home from school on my birthday. After walking from the north end of town to the south end where I lived, I opened the door to shouts of "Surprise". All the girls in my class had been invited to my party. But that wasn't my happiest day either.

The day my son was born was miraculous. I remember every detail of that day vividly. I lay in the hospital bed that night, unable to sleep, bursting with the knowledge that I had just had I baby. I just had a baby. I just had a baby. The thought swirled in my head. Though nearly every day since his birth that child has filled my life with happiness, that still wasn't the happiest day of my life .

My favorite time of day is twilight. When I catch a glimpse of that golden light sneaking across my kitchen table through my west-facing window, I slow down. I am filled with a melancholy contentment. A peaceful, reflective feeling meanders through my veins. I am content for this moment. The sky deepens to a neon pink, then an orange glow. I begin to panic. A deep ache washes over me for the day that is drawing to close. I believe it is these fleeting moments of contentment that are my happiest times.

I have other moments like these that have etched themselves in my mind. When I was a teen I had a small cake baking business. Many of the inhabitants of my small town would order cakes for those special occasions from me, especially my animal-shaped birthday cakes. One evening I was home alone cleaning the kitchen after baking a turtle-shaped cake. I was standing at the sink with the window up, my hands in dishwater and a breeze caressing my face. "At the Zoo" was quietly playing from the tan and white transistor radio that was propped in the window. As the breeze lifted a lock of my hair that feeling washed over me. I am content. I am completely at peace this moment. That feeling has revisited me later in life. Once as I sat atop the roof of our garage pounding nails in shingles along with B. Again motoring along the highway through Nebraska in our racing green Triumph Spitfire, top down, B at my side, wind lashing my hair into my eyes. Sharing popcorn with toddler J on the rusty green front porch glider while thrilling to a sudden summer rainstorm. Crouched by the front yard flower bed pulling weeds with sunshine soaking into my skin.




I have found that I'm not my happiest when I am happy, but when I am content. I have always preferred tragedy to comedy, quirky to mundane. Maybe I prefer contentment to happiness. Tonight when those first rays of twilight make me squint, I'll stop my dinner preparations for just a moment. I'll stand in the light with a glass of wine and I'll think "I am content". "I am content."