Friday, April 29, 2011


The very, very, very instant I saw Kate Middleton's (now also known as the Duchess of Cambridge) wedding dress, I thought of the classic stylings of one of my all-time favorite actresses, Grace Kelly. Of course, nearly every single television commentator from here to Great Britain then proceeded to copy me and boldly declared the very same thing. (What copy cats.)
Duchess of Cambridge, nee Kate Middleton

Princess of Monaco, nee Grace Kelly

So lovely. So, so lovely and soooooooo dripping with class.

Eugenie and Beatrice, William's cousins

Your thoughts on the haute couture perched upon these two royal noggins? Just curious.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle--Bunny Style!

These two sweet little friends have been with our family for many years. A decade, at least. They joined our clan way back when we lived in Illinois, so they definitely are not your typical local-yokels. "Furahners," some Utahns might call them since they were not bred, born and raised here like all of the other good pioneer stock who hail from these here parts of our lovely deseret.

Henrietta Heffelflopper and Baby Binks have made their appearances in Dave's and my baskets on Easter morn so many times that they now call us by our first names. "Hey, Dave! Hey, Dee! Howz life treating ya? We're doing just dandy sitting in the back of that cupboard all year long, but it is mighty nice to get out and stretch a bit. Oh! In case you haven't noticed, we still have all of our ear parts intact, so let's just keep it that way, got it?!!!" These chocolate bunnies are so old that I think it's time for them to move on from the young single adult bunny ward to the single adult bunny ward, if you know what I mean.

Please take a moment to enjoy a stroll through our 2011 Easter Parade. The big poof thingys you'll see during your stroll prove that I really can do something Martha-ish! Who knew? Making them with my own two little hands was very addicting, if you really want to know the truth. And, I'm still hankerin' to make more for another special occasion. Maybe I will! Let's see . . . what special holiday do we have coming up in May? Think, think, think. Hmm. Ah! International Tuba Day on May 6? Nah. National Sea Monkey Day on May 16? Nope. Oh, I know! I know! This one is a peach: National Escargot Day on May 24. Okay dokey. Poof thingys for National Escargot Day it is. To find out how you too can be Martha-ish and decorate for National Escargot Day, go here.

By the by, there is a whole mess o' high fructose corn syrup over here at my house now that Easter Parade 2011 has wrapped up. All outstretched hands needing a sugar fix are welcome, you merely need to say, "gimme." (Henrietta Heffelflopper and Baby Binks are excluded from the deal; I must keep my word, you know.)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Friday, April 22, 2011

One of Life's Little Mysteries

Those of you who know me well know that I love pink. And, for the rest of you, please take my word for it when I say I loooooooove pink. I mean, just look at my new blog layout. And speaking of my new blog layout (isn't it so cute?), raise your hand very high in the air and wave it around a whole bunch if you were the one who scampered into my account and changed my blog layout from the black and white damask pattern that was there just yesterday to this adorable, new pink swishy-ness. Because, it sure as heck wasn't me!

Could I have a little Twilight Zone music, please?

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

And the Winner Is . . .

Ha! I finally won something! It was a while ago, but still. Yay for me!!! :D

I entered this contest, and, lo and behold, I am now the tickled-pink owner of a handy-dandy set of oven mitts and an apron which will be put to good use the next time I attempt to make a homemade version of Chili's Awesome Blossom. Truth be told, the apron and oven mitts probably won't be used so much in protecting me and my clothes from the splattering and blazing hot oil as for the dousing out of the humongo kitchen bon fire which is certain to ignite. Um, uh, again. (Man, that latest bon fire on my front burner was super scary. I kept checking my hair all night to make sure it was still on my head and not completely burned to a stinky crisp. And you should have seen the look on my son-in-law's face--horror personified.)

"Do you smell something burning?...
*GASP!* My spinach puffs!"

Name the movie, and perhaps you'll receive some of my stupendous spinach puffs! Or some facsimile thereof. Or nothin' at all. No promises from me; I'll probably be nursing some bald patches on my burned head . . . .

Sunday, April 17, 2011


I'm a complete goner for Eric Whitacre. If you're not, you should be. His latest project is so spectacular on so many levels that I can hardly stand it, and I feel compelled to drag you into my own personal obsession and make you love this too. (Whether you like it or not!) You'll see what I mean when you watch the following video:
Many, many thanks to my awesome and beautiful niece, Lindsay, for sniffing out this video!

Hey you! Yeah, you! Now, don't leave me yet! I've got lots more to say and another video to show and much, much more swooning to do. So, onward we go!

Mr. Whitacre originally composed "Sleep" to mesh perfectly with the words of Robert Frost's famous poem, "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" (words below). Unfortunately the heirs of Robert Frost's estate would not consent to the use of the poem, and the copyright of the poem will not expire until 2038, leaving Mr. Whitacre with beautiful music and no rights to use Frost's lyrics. What's an extraordinarily talented composer to do? Mr. Whitacre called upon his friend, Charles Anthony Sylvestri to compose a poem of the exact same rhythm and syllables and whatnot (whatnot? whatev) as Frost's poem, and the collaboration of Whitacre and Sylvestri resulted in the unearthly piece of gorgeousness, "Sleep." Here it is in its entirety:

Oh my goodness gracious.

Oh, how can you not love this? I think I have died and gone to straight to heaven. And many argue that is exactly what is implied in both Mr. Frost's and Mr. Sylvestri's poems. The beauty of it all is that you get to be the judge of that.

I stumbled upon a video on YouTube which contains a recording of Mr. Whitacre's music sung to the actual words of Robert Frost's poem--the words for which the music was originally written. So cool! I must assume this recording has to be some sort of a copyright infringement-throw-them-in-the-pokey-a-lawsuit-just-waiting-to-happen-and-somebody's-going-to-be-in-big-trouble situation, and since I try my doggone hardest (although often failing) to live a life of integrity, I will not post it here. But it is out there (ahem), and it's oh so very, very lovely.

I find the study of the two poems to be absolutely fascinating. I wonder what was going through Mr. Frost's head as he put pen to paper! I wonder what was going through Mr. Sylvestri's head as he did the same! Perhaps Mr. Sylvestri had the more difficult of the two challenges in writing his poem since he was intentionally mimicking a very beloved original piece; perhaps Mr. Frost had the harder portion of the labor because of the supreme effort that is required when attempting to create a work of art by drawing solely upon one's own inspiration. Whichever may be the case, all I know is that I certainly couldn't do either but I have an almost uncontainable appreciation for both. I could get lost in every bit of this.


The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened dune
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon

Upon my pillow, safe in bed
A thousand pictures fill my head
I cannot sleep my minds a flight
And yet my limbs seem made of lead

If there are noises in the night
A frightening shadow, flickering light
Then I surrender unto sleep
Where clouds of dreams give second sight

What dreams may come both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

It's Becoming an Epidemic!

(Click here to see an update on the Applebee's story below.)

First I gave you this.

Now, merely two weeks later, and from the same location, I give you this:
Somebody's gotta keep an eye on these imbibing toddlers! (Parents, I'm looking at you!) OD-ing on Similac CANNOT be pleasant. Just sayin'.

The latest in this tawdry toddler trend is shown in the video below. I'm giving this little guy a pass though; he really didn't have a choice in the matter and never knew what hit him:

Monday, April 11, 2011

Optimism At Its Finest

The person who placed this ad must certainly have a bright and hopeful outlook on life, no? I'm going to try to be more like that. Just so you know.
Provo Daily Herald, April 10, 2011

Thursday, April 07, 2011

A Tutorial on Proper Wedding Attire

Oooh look! Our names are up in bright lights!

When this little piece of correspondence finally arrives in our mailbox, there's going to be Trouble with a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for Pre-dic-a-dic-a-dic-a-dic-a-ment for me. (And just where is that royal invite, anyway? I just KNOW it is on it's way, but the waiting, waiting, waiting can be such a nuisance.) Anyway, as I was saying, according to the invitation (which is certain to be in my mailbox aaaaaaany day now, ANY DAY NOW!!! ANY! DAY! NOW! petite foot stamp, stamp, stamp), the dress for the event is listed as: "Uniform, Morning Coat or Lounge Suit." SAY WHAT NOW? Lounge suit? Did I just read, lounge suit? Please say no. Please say no. Please say no. Because if lounge suiters are allowed at the royal gala, this is where Trouble with a capital "T" starts to hit the fan. I'll warn you right here and now that once that invitation arrives and Dave reads the dress code, he's going to dust off his favorite lounge suit, don his platform shoes, cue the Bee Gees with a wink and a nod, and bust a vein breaking out his moves. Oh me. I can just kiss my royal social life good-bye right this moment. Ta ta. {royal pout}

A lounge suit? Really? I think Kate and I need to have a little afternoon tet-a-tet and rethink this whole lounge suit idea. I mean, think about it. She'll have a bunch of upper-crust swav-ish types sporting the "Morning Coat":

And a bunch of old geezers dripping with Euros and royal swords wearing the "Uniform":

And Dave wearing this little number, the "Lounge Suit":

Hey? Um, Kate? D-d-d-d-do you have anyone besides your little college roommate advising you here? Anyone? Anyone? Cuz, this royal wedding thing is kind of a big deal. Are you absolutely positive this is the type of outfit you want showing up at your multi-million dollar, eyes-of-the-entire-free-world-will-all-be-on-you affair? Oooookkkkkkaaaay. Don't blame me when your future father-in-law and his largish ears goes all ballistic when Dave shows up in . . . what's that now? Get out! Seriously? Seriously?

Wait a sec.

Blink, blink.

A lounge suit is NOT the same thing as a leisure suit?



Well then! Well, um, gee, um, in that case, nevermind.*

Alrighty then! See you at the wedding! Pip, pip! Cheerio! And all that rot! (Just remember to get that blasted invitation here post haste, Kate! I already fear that you have egregiously violated the hard and fast rules of proper wedding etiquette by being so tardy with our invitation. Your soon-to-be Grammy Liz is gonna be royally ticked off at you . . . . )

Speaking of the royal wedding (we'll be there! just as soon as we get our invite!), consider investing in this classy bit of memorabilia. Hey, give it a chance; you just may want to go for it. And if not that, then perhaps this? And, finally, what loyal royal watcher would ever want to be without this?

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

Please Decode Me

I cad smell. I cad breathe. I cad taste. I cad taste nothin', nothin' at all. *Hack, hack, cough, wheeze, sniff, sniff* Pardon me.

I usually like codes--codes like the one below, not like the code that has taken up residency in the top half of my head. In fact, I love puzzle codes so much that every day I decode the puzzle that appears in our local newspaper without using a pen. Or a pencil. Just by using my little noggin' (when there is space in my little noggin' that is, unlike NOW). But I hate this particularly obnoxious type of code. My head is about to explode through my ears and my eyeballs, and our one-year supply of Kleenex has dwindled down to tiny pieces of airborn lint, and that's certainly not going to do me a bit of good. Not to mention the fact that this code makes me talk like I'm about four years old. What is it going to take to drop-kick this code out the front door and send it on its merry way to North Da-CODE-a (yeah, so sorry) where it belongs? *Wheeze, sneeze, sniff!* Help.

Anyone who breaks this code and leaves the correct answer in my "comments" will find this in their mailbox. (No cheating.*) And, if you win, I hope your taster will be working better than mine is right now. Boo. C'mon everybody, and play along! What have you got to lose? Besides, I did half the work for you by giving you a bunch of those "special" letters--you know, those letters that show up EVERYWHERE and show up OFTEN. Yeah, politicians special letters. This should be easy! Ready, set, go!

*"No, we don't cheat. And, even if we did, I'd never tell you."
--Tommy Lasorda, American baseball player and coach

Sunday, April 03, 2011

A Sunday Drive

When I was a little stinker, my dad would load all six of us little stinkers, as well as my mom, into the family truckster almost every single Sunday and take us on the quintessential "Family Sunday Drive" up Lamb's Canyon in Salt Lake City. Never mind the fact that since I was the youngest stinker, and thus the easiest to push around, I was consistently relegated to the backward(!) facing seat of our family wagon inducing much kinetosis, otherwise known as, "Look out! She's gonna lose her cookies . . . again!" (My mother never left the house for one of those drives without "the bowl.") Regardless of THAT, this was a time of family togetherness and bonding. It was also a time of the 25 cent gallon of gas. One didn't have to actually budget for a family drive back in the day.

All this to say that today, after completely loving every minute of this, I loaded up two of my own little stinkers, Christian and Sean, and yes, that stinker Dave too, and we headed up American Fork Canyon for the quintessential "Family Sunday Drive," and this is what we saw:
This video was shot with my camera phone, hence the completely unintentional but completely appropriate (considering the nostalgic memories of it all) vintage look. And, no, nobody lost their lunch, but Christian was very, very happy to return home, um, if you get my drift. And I didn't even make him sit backward.

Friday, April 01, 2011

Hey, That Was Just the Pre-game Warm Up!

My introduction of Mrs. Latrodectus to you here was merely the pre-game hype to suck you into the madness and insanity of the Super Bowl of Spidermania at our blessed home sweet home. You guys just don't know what you are missing by not living at the Creepsmeout Institute's officially sanctioned "Spider and Snake House," also quite fondly known as my arachnid infested home. Lucky duck me.

"Hey, Troy! What does the competition look like for today's big Spidermania Super Bowl matchup?"

"Well, Howie, there's stiff competition this year with Mrs. Latrodectus leading her coffee klatch of widows sporting their spiffy black and red uniforms as they go up against the much larger (although still merely babies, believe it or not!) and furrier tarantula team led by their star quarterback, Bubba Theraphosidae. My, that name's a mouthful, Howie! Reports are in, however, that Bubba worked very hard this past off-season and has actually learned how to spell his name! His third grade teacher, Mrs. Orgill, must be so proud right now."

"Thanks, Troy! Okay! I think we're about to view the coin toss to see who receives first, but . . . oh my! . . . Oh, dear! So sorry, Troy, but the control booth just told me that Mrs. Latrodectus is not eligible to play in the Spidermania Super Bowl because, well, because, heh heh, can this be right?, well, Troy, I'm being told in my earpiece that Mrs. Latrodectus lost her eligibility to play when she was, ahem, unceremoniously flushed. That'll do it to you, I guess."

"No! Seriously? Howie, you're freakin' me out here! Seriously? Well, if that's the case, then Bubba and his hairy team of tarantula toddlers win by default! Woo hoo! Let the partyin' begin, cuz, guess what? It's Friday, Howie, and we gotta get down on Friday!"

It’s Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin’ down on Friday
Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend

*Go here if you want this song to be eternally stuck in your brain with no hope whatsoever of shaking it loose. You are forewarned. Don't blame me. You have your agency. (But check it out anyway {mischievous grin})

Personally, I have to say that I'm a little bit perturb-ED with that fuzzy and leggy Bubba Theraphosidae. When I first met him, he didn't even have the common courtesy to rap on my door with his little sticky foot. He just up and cha-cha-ed right across my threshold and straight! into! my! mud! room! Just like he owned the joint! Sheesh. Spiders these days!

I have half a mind to send my silver-tongued friend, Ssssir Thamnophis, over to give Bubba a good tongue lashing about proper manners! Woopsy. Well, I guess that's just not going to happen. Uh, I kinda forgot that Ssssir Thamnophis is without a silver tongue due to the fact that he is without a mouth due to the fact that he is without a head due to the fact that Christian accidentally decapitated him with our Snapper Standard Mulching RP217019BV 7.00 hp Briggs & Stratton Mower out near my chrysanthemums.

Bubba Theraphosidae saying "howdy-do" to Christian's hand

Bubba Theraphosidae patiently waiting for the coin toss

Ssssir Thamnophis poses for the camera before the
unfortunate decapitation

Raise your hand high if you're suddenly all itchy and twitchy. I'm sure I'll have to do penance for that. I guess I won't go on to tell you about the six rattlesnakes that my merely-half-a-block-away neighbor introduced to the sharp blade of her shovel last summer. No, I won't do that. I think we're good here, right?

It's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday . . .