The weather’s here, wish you were wonderful!

It’s Scenic Sunday, boys and girls.



Heeeyyy, good-lookin’, whaaatcha’ got cookin’ …?


Okay, boys and girls, I just made this cake again for the first time in about eight years… and it’s ah-mazing. If possible, eat it warm, straight out of the oven. (After you frost it.) Yeah, it’s good.

Honey Bun Cake

1 yellow cake mix

1 cup brown sugar

2 cups powdered sugar

3/4 cup oil

1 Tablespoon cinnamon

4 Tablespoons milk

4 eggs

1 Tablespoon vanilla extract

8 oz sour cream

Mix cake mix, oil, eggs, and sour cream by hand, about 50 strokes.
Put half the batter in 9 x 13 pan.
Combine brown sugar and cinnamon and spread over entire cake. Spread the rest of the batter on top of this.
Use a knife to make swirls in the cake.
Bake at 325 degrees for about 40 minutes.
Blend powdered sugar, milk and vanilla extract and spread on warm cake.



A blast from the recent past …

Today’s blog piece is still in the barrel doing a bit of necessary aging.  Here’s one from September of last year that spoke to me again this morning.  Click the link for my San Francisco story …





Throwing it back on a Thursday …

The story of a poor abandoned farm girl, her pet chicken, and the endless Kansas sky.  You lose, Joad family.  You lose.



HumpDay Humor …

If you don’t yet know Stephan Pastis, creator of Pearls Before Swine … my sympathy.  

Check him out at if you’re ON Facebook.  No?  Then Google is your friend.






stupid people



Living in a state called Thankfulness …

Good morning!  It’s Tuesday, and time to consider being thankful.  Oddly enough, it’s no struggle to be severely grateful for this guy every day of the week.  The dude loves me.  Saved my life.  Keeps me absurdly happy.  If I told you more he’d have to kill you.  I call him … Guido.




What is this “feminism” you speak of?

If you say feminism is every woman having the built-in right to be herself, we’re already on the same page.  If you think it’s women hating on and disrespecting men, we need to tawk.  I’ve been a card-carrying evolving feminist for years now, do I hate men?  Oh HELL no.  I married Kim because he is OTHER, la différence exquise … the exquisite difference.  My SON is a man.  I’ve been rubbing shoulders with male-types all my life — I LOVE me some MEN!

First online definition I see says this:  feminism is the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.

End of story.

But now there are crazy little women telling me and others that if we’re feminists there are things we can’t do or like or believe.  That’s messed up, are you kidding me?  In light of spousal and girlfriendal abuse by ‘roided-up football players, I’m being slut-shamed into surrendering my Femme Card for following pro football.  I AM NOT ASHAMED!  Plus who needs a label?

I love watching PGA tournaments — I didn’t boycott when Tiger Woods’s shenanigans hit the tabloids.  Okay, he did exceptionally skunky stuff, but the guy didn’t have a childhood, or a junior-high-hood, or a high-school-hood, let him suffer in peace.

I like soccer, and baseball, and tennis.  And college basketball.  And most Olympic sports.  And BOXING — so sue me!

SPORTS.  It’s all a dance, often lyrically beautiful.  A never-ending Greek Tragedy on the human condition.  Conflict neatly and efficiently resolved, not always without bloodshed.  It’s hope and ego and the wonder of homo sapiens.  Determination, conditioning, passion, winning and losing, risk to life and limb.  Ugly attitudes, joyful celebrations, friends and enemies.  It’s life boiled down, in every match-up.

There are scum-sucking cowards in all of existence, so why discard the theatre-of-the-psyche that is Sports?  Each athlete has been trained by life, the good and the bad, the heroes and the zeroes.  Humans.  Cheap therapy in every direction, and the popcorn’s free.

I don’t for a flat second pardon the criminal stupidity of any competitor, anywhere, or that the NFL has skirted the IRS since 1966 .  But I’m not closing my heart to all the people who work hard for the money, sometimes ’til they die, and stay honorable.  Also CUDDLING.  Kim, a natural athlete, makes any sports event — except cage fighting, I lose my SHIT over that — more interesting because he KNOWS stuff.  A lot of it.  It’s fun and cozy to snuggle up with him, iPad at my side, and watch whatever’s on.  There’s always food and good wine, and a little fluff ball curled up in the warmth.

Keeping my card, MFs*.  Don’t take it too hard.

*Militant Feminists




A feast for the eyes and heart …

Be at peace and enjoy another Scenic Sunday …



Tortellini Soup on a chilly fall Saturday? Yes, please …

tortellini soup


What I really want …

Rescued this one from the archives today for Friday Facts.  Constant Reader* knows that family history is kind of a big freakin’ deal with me.

What I really want ….


*  Thanks, UncaPhil

Rose Among Thorns

The week wouldn’t be complete without a touch of Throwback Thursday.  Innocent little me with some delinquent cousins.  Upon closer examination, I strongly resemble Bride of Chucky.  



Wednesday’s child is full of woe …

Just watched Madison throw a tantrum of epic proportions, all without a sound. My usual mid-morning snack  is a handful of nuts and for whatever reason she decided she wanted one today. She’s been trained not to beg, and at any rate nuts are a big no-no, so I ignored her. She flounced into her bed next to my desk, frantically attempted to dig the fully-attached mattress out of it, then failing that burrowed her nose into each of the four corners, still scrabbling away with her feet. When nothing worked, she flopped disgustedly on her side, arched her back, and kicked her legs like she was having a nightmare. Lather, rinse, repeat on the other side. Big sigh. Stood up, shot me killer side-eye, and marched into the other room to sulk, with every hair on her head standing straight up and her frilly tail in a big frazzle. Total nutcase. See what I did there?

Kim has renamed her Badison.




And this brings us to Tuesday Thankfulness …

… for this little girl who entered our lives so unexpectedly and brings us such happiness!  Madison, you’re a pip.


Maddie at window


Monday, Monday …

Mondays carry a melancholy feel.  Why is that?  Even now, willfully unemployed, I’m sorry to see the weekend, well, END.  Because my friends head back to work for five whole days and I wouldn’t think of annoying them in the middle of all that.  And it’s likely some sort of latent psychosis — a Monday maladjustment.  Predictably, by Tuesday morning the psyche is once again in harmony with the turning of the earth, and the blue mood slips away.  Must.Make.Changes.  Adopting a new attitude about Mondays, starting in 4 … 3 … 2 …







Say hey to Scenic Sundays …



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