when it rains...

…it pours.

Well, not literal “rain.” We’re desperately needing that in North Central Texas. It’s not good. (As usual.) And nothing coming in the next several days. July and August? Probably will be their BRUTAL selves.

The pouring rain I’m talkin’ about?  Prospective buyers for our country casa! We went over eight weeks without one “looker.” We’ll have had four showings in eight days as of this coming Sunday!

One down (It happened last Thursday and we’re, supposedly, still at the “top” of their list!). Three to go/do by Sunday afternoon.

Meanwhile, TLC has been a “teacher” at her church’s Vacation Bible School this week. It began on Monday. The last day is tomorrow. It starts every morning at 9:00 and ends at noon.

She. Is. EXHAUSTED. With 25 kids in her class (There are two other “teachers” and three “assistants”—junior high-ish-aged precious young ladies.), she has sent me no less than ten text messages in three days that all say this (basically—this is the gist—I wouldn’t be able to quote exactly some of those texts don'tchaunderstand—teeheehee…):

HOW DO TEACHERS DO THEIR JOBS? Every day? For months and months? YEAR AFTER YEAR? HOW? GOD BLESS THEM ALL!

The Good News about TLC’s VBS experience? Little Leighton has been in her class and she has been…get ready…drumroll…this is HUGE:

“A Saint!”

According to Her Mama. Grammy ELC is so very proud. (Baby Elle? Who's been in the nursery for the teachers/assistants/helpers? Out of her routine of long naps and going to bed at precisely 6:45 every evening? Then sleeping for 11 hours? For a total of about 12 1/2 hours each day? She's been hangin' in there...God bless her. Hangin'. In.)

With the certainty that TLC will be incognito (or, more likely, incapacitated)—i.e. on her couch or in her bed—until at least next Monday—trying to recover from her twelve hours in four days of “teaching” kindergarten and first graders —and the fact that I’ll be unavailable until Monday, as I’ll be doing my job as “housekeeper," “garden waterer," etc. for our upcoming showings, I’m going to tell Y’all this a bit early:

HAPPY JULY!

Can Y’all even believe it will be the SEVENTH month of 2018 in less than three days? I simply cannot wrap that around my old brain.

Hope Y’all are excited about our Return of the Yummies and Yeehaws!

I’ve got ideas for some of My Favourite Things to share! (TLC: This is your WARNING. Get 'em together, Sister.)

Be kind. Be happy. BE HEALTHY. Be sweet. BE YOU! Have a Fabulous Rest-of-the-Week and Wonderful Weekend, Dearest Friends...

Hugs,

ELC

butter me up!

I love it. Butter. I sometimes crave it. I don’t eat a lot of it. Never truly have—even at my most heaviest weight. But achieving Weight Watchers' Lifetime Membership causes me to be as wise as possible when it comes to butter. I have about ½ of a tablespoon 2-3 times a week. (On Sara Lee 45 toast. It is DELISH for 45 calories per slice. One point per slice for Weight Watchers. That is AWESOME.)

I was thinking about butter as I spread it on said toast this morn. (Warning: Bigtime Confession Forthcoming: After I spread it, I lick our plastic green butter knife. It’s actually My Sweet Husband’s—aka MSH—butter knife. He doesn’t like me to use it. He bought me two more of my own. So I wouldn’t use his. Mostly he doesn’t like to see me lick it after I’ve spread butter on my toast. Or a biscuit. Or some cornbread. It matters not to him that I then pour some Dawn dishwashing liquid all over the knife and run it under very hot water. He thinks I just do that when he’s there—observing my upsetting behavior. Nope. I do it every time. EVERY. TIME. Pinky swear, MSH.)

Anyway, growing up I loved butter. Real butter. On toast. On the homemade dinner rolls my mother made. Then the most horrid thing happened: Margarine. Flavorless. Annoying. NOT-REAL Butter Margarine. At that point, my mother would let us have the real butter on Sundays. For special occasions—when she made her mouth-watering crescent dinner rolls. (Heck—who am I kidding? We loved, loved, LOVED the canned bisquits and rolls. Even if they weren't Pillsbury. Store brands were okay, too. They were delicious enough for me. They still are, if I were to be quite honest.)

Then there came the ASTROCIOUSLY hideous tasting margarine/faux butter that was very low in cholesterol and fat and whatever else is so fabulously fabulous in the real thing. MSH had me buy several different kinds of those awful tubs over the years. We stopped about 18 years ago. None of them were worth the price you paid for them—which was quite a bit more, I’m thinking, than even buying real butter! Most ended up in our trash can. Not even half empty.

Land O’ Lakes. I adore them. I need them. I treasure them. I seriously should send them an email once a month and thank them for existing. They are THE BEST.

As you begin your new week—wherever in this world Y’all are—have some real butter! It’s good for your soul. (Maybe not your heart—but most definitely for your soul. Simply keep it in moderation. Everything in moderation is the key, right? Yep. You're welcome. From Dr. ELC.)

Buttery Smooches and Hugs,

ELC

summer snaps...

TGIF, Friends!

Fri-YAY!

I wanted to share seven snapshots with y'all that summarize our summer, thus far.

Sea World!

San Antonio! More specifically: Lick Honest Ice Cream in San Antonio! They have lots of YUMMY gluten-free options!

Popsicles on the front porch! CHEERS.

Splashing and swimming. In our inflatable "mermaid" pool or our community pool. We have logged lots of time in the water.

Ranger-riding. FroYo eating. Barn-browsing. In the country. With ELC and My Sweet Dad. It's so good for our souls.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend, wherever you are!

HAPPY SUMMER!

oscars and oscarettes...

So yesterday morn, I had to go to town for groceries and to pick up some packages from the business we have everything shipped to. (Living out in the country—and being a half-mile from our gate—we don’t have a mailbox or any way to keep packages from being affected by the weather/elements or people who might like to pick them up and see what they are. Which wouldn't be neighborly. Winky Wink. Therefore—we have a box at our CUTE little Post Office that’s less than three miles from our casa. And we have everything else—that can’t be sent to a Post Office box—delivered to a shipping/independent post office business that’s about twenty miles from our casa. Not terribly convenient. But when we go out of town? We know everything is going to be safe and there when we return. And we love the owner and her staff. They ROCK. Plus they have lots of fun little gifts that are sometimes hard to resist.)

Hellmart was especially challenging. I think I’ve mentioned in the past that I prefer to get there by 8:00 on Saturday mornings. It’s quiet. Easy to check out. Not a lot of people competing for a cashier. I wasn’t able to arrive until almost 10:00. Sheesh. The wait to check out was almost excruciating.

And then there are The Grouches of this World. (I refer to them as The Oscars and/or Oscarettes—re: Sesame Street Oscar. These people can be any age and often are too young to be so miserably rude. Or The Geezers and/or Geezerettes. If they appear to be 62 or older. Yes, that could be considered mean of me. Anti-Senior Citizen. Nope. I give them these titles with love. Trust me. Plus I'm 64. I feel like I'm being pretty fair.) You know them! They’re driving cars/trucks around you—everywhere you go. They’re blocking your need to get to the bread or Coke Zeroes or diapers in grocery aisles. Sometimes they're the employees of said grocery stores—the people that are stocking. You—needing to get where they are? They don't like it. One bit. They also work in doctor offices or at the gas station/convenience store. They’re possibly having a bad day. Or you’ve somehow—unknowingly—offended them.

My Sweet Hubby (MSH) and I talk about The Grouches every time we go anywhere together in our vehicle. Road rage is real and beyond frightening. People are driving ENTIRELY too fast. Yes, Man in the Black Truck: I realize you and your life and schedule are much more important than ours or the rest of the peeps in your way. Go ahead: Endanger MSH’s and my life. Endanger all of us. Why not?

I’ve said this before and I'll say it again: I will never ever EVER claim to be perfect. In any way. And at anything. Driving. Shopping. Existing. I’m not. I make my share of mistakes. More than my share, actually.When I do, I truly try not to even look angry at the people I’ve annoyed. Not just out of fear. Out of remorse. Out of respect. Out of the deepest regret.

When I’m in Hellmart or other stores? Restaurants? Anywhere? I do my utmost best to SMILE at everyone. Even the people who positively REFUSE to smile back at me. It’s okay. Maybe I’ll catch you in a better mood next time.

On this Sweet Sunday—and Wherever in this World Y’all are: PLEASE BE KIND. Patient. Polite. PATIENT. Wise. Smart. KIND. I truly believe you’ll be glad you made that choice. God and Jesus will be proud of you, too.

Hugs,

ELC

P.S.: Tomorrow TLC and The Little Princesses will be here! Yippee and Woo Hoo! TLC hasn’t been able to come for a visit for several months. MSH and I are super psyched! I’m cooking and baking and cleaning and getting everything ready. Because these visits are The Meaning of Life to MSH and me. Seriously critical to our mental health. It helps us try to avoid being Oscars and Oscarettes.