damn good jam

I was in Target with all my kids. You'd think I'd learn. But I don't.

So I was in Target and harried and trying to get out as fast as possible but I needed to get some pectin to make the strawberries into jam.

The strawberries had been sitting on my counter, ripening for two days.  Strawberries rot all too quickly if you ask me. I always feel it's me against the time clock of rotting berries.  Waste not, want not. Or whatever.

The berries were picked mostly by yours truly. I learned that taking two seven-year-old boys as cheap labor to the berry fields does not yield good results.   I think they picked a combined total of thirteen measly little green berries.  Jokers.

Anywho, the berries were ripening and I was under the gun and by damn I needed some pectin stat, along with other miscellaneous sundries.  And the babies were causing a ruckus in Target even after popcorn peace offerings were made. So I resorted to asking an employee.

"Hey do you carry pectin?"

"I'm sorry, what do you need?"

"Pectin"

"Um. How do you spell that?"

"P-E-C-T-I-N."

"Hum. One minute. (Gets on her walkie-talky.) I have a guest here who is asking for pec-tin."

Here's where Birdie lets out her trademark pterodactyl screech because someone has touched her bag of popcorn. And the Boy has found a box of latex rubber gloves he can't live without.

And the employee on the other end of the conversation appears to help the first employee figure out how to type on her little handheld gadget.

"Pectin? What is pectin?" employee #2 says to me as if I were asking for uranium.

"It's used to make jam. It would be in the canning section if you have one."

"Oh. Let me see. (And now she's back on her walkie-talky asking someone named Shayla if she knows anything about pectin.)

At this point the popcorn has been dumped. Frankie's got his mouth on the handle of the cart getting all kinds of diseases and the Boy is mad because there are no rubber gloves in his future.

And here comes Shayla. And she looks promising. Like she is in charge and knows stuff.

"What is it? Pec-tin?"

And now she has the handheld gadget and she's typing away.

"Yes," I say, "it's used in canning."

"It's used in canning." Says employee #1 as if she knew all along.

"Oh yes. We do have that. Just a moment though. Just let me show these girls what I did here..."

I'm dying now. I'm so ready to pull out the ugly witch scream and let all my children have it. But you know, I'm in Target.

So finally Shayla leads me to the other side of the store, down the baking aisle.

And she hands me a box of gelatin.

Now. People. It took all I had to nicely say that isn't what I need and walk away.

As I drove home to the market I was thinking to myself, who doesn't know what pectin is? I mean really? Who are these people? 

But then I realized something. I'm lucky.  I know what pectin is because my mother taught me to make jam. I have never bought jam or jelly from the store. And maybe that's one of the many, many ordinary amazing things about my life.

And P.S. I make damn good jam.

Oh and P.P.S. Target does not carry pectin.

surfing, shopping, dreaming

Just doing a little web surfing. Looking at all the goodies out there to be had. Dreaming of having them. Just for fun.

Click on the photo for source.

please check your stress at the door

I've been running from stress this week. In my mind stress looks like my third grade teacher, Mrs. Nexdorf. Backcombed beehive and polyester slacks. Liver spots and rigid spine. Oh, how I despised that woman.

She's dead now, but she still haunts me in times of stress. She digs her pointy fingernails into my shoulders and stands on my chest when I try to sleep. These past few days she has had me firmly by the hair. She is pulling, and I am trying to run, and it is causing a terrific headache.

I sat, criss-cross applesauce, on the floor of the nursery. The morning sun shone in. and I tried some deep breathing. I starred at the sharp shadow the shutters cast on the wall. Finn sat by my side, eyebrows twitching, tail waging, expecting something to happen. And, after a time, I knew what had to be done.

Mrs. Nexdorf isn't allowed in Anthropologie. The beauty of it makes her burst into flames.

And I needed a new hat.

shop girl

Shop Girl by Heidschoetter

One little vice never hurt anyone. Mine just happens to be shopping. I'm not neurotic about it. I don't have closets stashed full of bags of unopened, unworn items. I don't run up credits cards or buy things way out of my price range. I don't shop everyday. It's not an issue. I have it under control.

I think.

But the fact of the matter is that it does make me feel happy. I love to browse the sprawling make-up counters at Nordies. I sniff the perfumes while I nonchalantly gawk at the eccentric Mac employees. I run my fingers over each item that catches my eye. I try on hats and shoes that I would never buy.

For me, shopping is like eating ice cream. It's so much nicer with a friend. I am a social shopper. It's kindof like a social drinker only better. Instead of a designated driver, I need someone reel me in when my "eclectic" sense of style gets a little over board for church on Sunday.


I have never owned a pair of spectators. I think now is the time.

I will own this gorgeous gauzy tunic. If I have to sew and embroider it myself, I will have it.


Hummm, if only I could sew. I guess I just need to do some shopping around. I'm quite positive I can find something very similar. Shopping is one thing I'm pretty good at.

just the girls

Once a year, my group of really good friends undertake a project so big it rivals the filming of Titanic. All five of us arrange our lives to get together for Girl's Weekend. There are many obstacles to over come. Namely: scouts, soccer, piano, tutor, church groups, birthday parties, nursing schedules and bedtimes. We must butter up our hubbies and save up our pennies. All this before we even decide when and where to go. One thing's for sure though. Shopping will be involved.

This year everyone came to my house. The plan was to get up early on Saturday morning and hit the shops, but that plan went to hell in a hand basket when we stayed up talking until 2 am and didn't even eat breakfast until 10 the next morning. We ended up spending our time together eating and talking and laughing and diagnosing and eating and laughing and eating. We didn't shop at all. And you know what? It was great.

Thanks girls. Let's start planning for next year.

Don't forget, you have until Friday to enter to win Secondsister jewelry!

on the way. . .

Photo taken at Tlaquepaque.

Today I am on the road, headed home. Sedona has been wonderful. The boy has spent quality time with his Grandad, communing with nature. We shopped all the best jewelry places. We ate pizza in Flagstaff. My work here is done.

On the road to Flagstaff

Don't forget, you still have today to leave a comment on the previous post and enter to win the drawing! The winner will be announced tomorrow morning.

retail therapy

Here's the deal. Retail therapy works. For me, it works. This is why, if for no other reason, the internet is a fabulous thing. When you feel like crap and need a little therapy, you don't even have to remove the mascara from under your eyes before you start the healing. I love, LOVE, much to Sugar Daddy's chagrin, to shop on the web. I love to fill my shopping cart with every little thing I fancy even though I seldom actually buy anything. I use the word "seldom" liberally.

So after an entire week of bemoaning the fact that my womb is a barren waste land, I picked myself up by my Ralph Lauren boot straps and shopped. I was under strict orders to buy something fun with the money my parents sent me for my birthday, so what can I say? I obliged.

No, I didn't get everthing here. Just the lantern vase that I had been coveting for a few weeks. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

www.flickr.com

design sunday

Xenia Taler

Partners Xenia Taler and Steven Koblinsky work from their Toronto studio to create these great tiles. Xenia designs the tiles while Steven crafts the clay and glazes. They have been working together since 1996. The tiles are pressed in molds made of wood, or extruded. Glazes are mixed from scratch. All the tiles are decorated by hand.

I love how these tiles almost have a Scandinavian look to them. I have been looking around my house for the perfect place to hang one.

"We hope that one day, a long, long time from now, your children fight mercilessly over the wonderful tiles you had so wisely purchased."

-Xenia Taler

easter sunday

On the way home from church today, we asked Thomas what he had learned in Sunday school about Easter. He said, "I learned that the wicked people stapled Jesus to the cross."

As for design Sunday, I would like to plug my new favorite t-shirt company. Sugar Daddy doesn't know this yet, but the Easter Bunny brought me one.

Gypsy 05 is a Los Angeles based clothing company owned and run by a brother and sister. They do a lot of tie dye and grunge type designs.

design sunday

When I was a little girl, my family had a tradition of going out for an ice cream cone from Kirt's. Kirt's was a old fashion drive-in diner, where girls on roller skates waited on you while you sat in your car. This must have been an ideal set-up for my parents. Other than the inevitable spills on the seats (we had tan vinyl that our thighs suck to), and fighting over elbow room, my mom must have loved the fact that she didn't have to load four kids in and out of the car. I have many fond memories of these family trips.

Kirt's made their ice cream cones irresistible to kids by simply adding a cocktail drink animal to the top of the swirl of cold yummy goodness. I always requested a pink monkey, but I usually ended up with a yellow giraffe. It is because of this that I must, must, must own this cocktail monkey charm by Live Wire. Check out the shop, her jack necklace is also a favorite.