Vintage Binge

No 3-D glasses were involved. And we for sure weren't in a theater. Last time for that was probably Dances with Wolves.

But for the past several nights we've been enjoying some of my old favorites: A Fish Called Wanda, The In-Laws, The Big 

Leibowski, Raising Arizona, Monty Python's The Meaning of Life . . . movies, not films. And all capable of making me laugh.

Times like these . . . well, these are my equivalent of comfort reads. 

Now I need to find some Cheech and Chong. More Monty Python. And Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. And LA Story. And . . .

Do you have some favorites you'd like to rewatch for fun?

 

Springing Back

 

Dawning Hope?

 In this world and these times when so much seems hopeless, the magazines at the supermarket checkout line offer Incredible Optimism for Personal Betterment.

Lose weight! 40 pounds in 3o days! Nine waist inches in 21 days! Say goodbye to stress and tiredness! Ditto ringing ears, heartburn, and joint pain!

Cut diabetes risk in half!  Cure your worry! Eat for pennies! Improve your luck! And your hearing! Fix your hormones . . .

Heaven knows I'd benefit from all of these. Yet such is my cynicism that I somehow managed not to purchase either magazine.

Still, 4o pounds in 30 days . . . Hmmm . . .

Josie at Her Favorite Place in the World

On Tuesday Meema and I went to the library! I have not been there in Forever! There was Kith and Kin playgroup like I used to go to but there were lots of new kids I didn't know.

But my playdate friend was there, and we had fun with the big dollhouse.

Later we went out to the playground which is my Very Favorite.

I love climbing and sliding!

When we went back home, I got out all my dolls and stuffies and we had a fashion show. I put doll clothes on them and when there weren't enough doll clothes, I invented outfits with scarves and stuff. 

 

They all loved playing dress up and before I put them away, I had to promise we would do it again.

Later...

 Just after supper and getting ready to post and I've been hit with the jagged edge aura that tells me a migraine is in the offing . . . so it's off to bed for me.

No big deal--I'll be fine by morning. 

AM Update: No migraine--now for a day with the Josie!

After the Big Snow

 

Sleepover!

I had a sleepover at Meema and Grumpy's on Friday night so Mama and Dad could have a date and go to a restaurant. The bed was a little crowded with me and my two special blankets and Blue Elephant and Snuggle Puppy and Margo and Dolly and Meema and Corycat and Jenny, but it was nice and warm.

When we woke up, there was snow everywhere!

After breakfast (pancakes, of course,) Meema and I made snow ice cream. She got a bowl full of fresh, fluffy snow and added some sugar. I put in the vanilla and then Meema poured in heavy cream while I stirred.

It was Very Good! (And Very Cold!) I took Grumpy a bowl and he liked it and Meema and I had some and we liked it and Jenny and Bob licked the bowls and wished there was more. 

 

Josie is Working on Her Art

I have a new tutu but I take it off to paint.

I am getting good at staying in the lines.

Meema drew the dragon and I painted it. It is a rainbow dragon. The cactus picture is from a painting book and I made it a rainbow cactus.

I like lots of colors. Pink was my favorite color but now it's purple. Or rainbow. Meema says I am a colorist and so is she.

 

Before It Freezes . . .

Early daffodils, quince, swathes of forsythia, star magnolia . . . enjoy them now . . .

 

How Old Is Miss Birdie Anyway?

I got to thinking about this this other day--if Miss Birdie was eighty-four in Signs in the Blood, how old is she now? When I wrote Signs, I just pulled that number out of the air. Eighty-four seemed so very old, compared to Elizabeth's, what was it, fifty-four, I think.  (As I recall, I originally made Elizabeth my age--at the time, sixty-four--but decided to make her ten years younger, fearing to have the book branded as Matron Lit.)

Now, twenty-some years later and only a year away from eighty myself, I'm closer in age to the Birdie of Signs than I am to the Elizabeth. Funny how that happens. (But please don't call me Miss Vicki.)

There are several books I've read and re-read over the past seventy-odd years that have made me aware of my shifting empathy with various characters. As I've aged, the generic unhappy/angry/idealistic young daughter has become less interesting to me than the generic cranky mother whose unspoken past may explain her difficult personality.  

But I digress. 

How old is Birdie? I took a look at the opening of The Day of Small Things. Says right there Least/Birdie was born in 1922. Which makes her 100 this year. But the month isn't given. And there's no vegetation to hint at time of year, just those brooding dark hemlocks. The cabin door is open so it must be a warm time --May, June, July? 

I guess I'll have to talk to Birdie to find out the date. Or maybe someone versed in astrology could suggest a suitable birthdate for this redoubtable woman.

 

Speaking of Kittehs

 

Kittehs Have Something to Say

Remember me? I'm Angeline, the pretty one. I've decided this new dog is no threat so I'm reclaiming my spot on the bed.

Since I've been spending a lot of time in my upstairs lurkem, The Woman got all excited to see me here and went into full paparazzi mode.

I have to admit, this bed is pretty terrific--worth putting up with a howly little nitwit like the new dog they call Jenny. And if things get too intense, I have a nearby hideaway in the box springs . . .

Cory tells me that The Child--the one who usually gets all the paparazzi attention-- is well-behaved and respectful of feline space . . . maybe, but I'm not ready for interaction.

***

That's my sister Angeline--the pretty one. The nerve. And after I did all the hard work of ignoring the new dog till she realized I wasn't abandoning this bed. Oh, I had to growl and hiss a time or two but Jenny soon learned to ignore me back. And now Miss Angeline waltzes in and reclaims her spot on the bed. 

The nerve of some cats.