nesting * geeking * critiquing

Posts tagged “new home


When I was a kid they represented your brain or, somehow, your brain on drugs. “Any questions?”
Later they were rebranded, because eggs need a marketing strategy, apparently?! Now the ad gods will tell you they’re incredible and edible.

Well, friends, I’m here to tell you that farm-fresh eggs are more than just incredible and edible—they’re powerful! I don’t mean like protein and nutrient powerful, I’m talking time-machine powerful. And I’m not yolking.

It doesn’t matter what my day has been like, a fresh egg instantly takes me back to my grandparents’ house.

Mama and Papa lived about 3 hours away so “going down home” meant driving on narrow 2-lane highways and crunchy gravel roads, traversing sweeping curves and nauseating hills. I grew to learn the nuances of the little towns we passed through, the countryside blurring past my window. Excitement swelled with each passing mile

The farm was a wonderland for this suburban girl. The majority of the acreage was wooded with pin oak trees; a rock-rimmed pond and big, open field anchored the space east of the house. It was that one big field that captivated my imagination.

During our visits, my mom and I slept in the bedroom with a little window that overlooked the far field. Papa used to tell me that he went out into the clearing late at night to smoke a peace pipe with the “Indians.” Naturally, I believed him. Night after night I planned to peek out and watch his ceremony. But night after night, my little body was tired from play and lulled to sleep by the sound of the fan, the softness of the bed and the “magic paintbrush” bedtime story. I never did manage to stay awake long enough to see the Indians for myself.

In the early days Mama and Papa kept pigs, rabbits and chickens. Each morning Papa took me out to the chicken house to gather eggs and spread feed. One half of the little red shanty was the chicken coop with storage in the other half. The feed—kept in a huge barrel, which seemed bigger than me—smelled of dried corn and grains, organic and sweet. I loved running my hands through the mixture, letting the little morsels fall between my fingers and back into the barrel. When the chore was complete my dusty hands proudly cradled the eggs, and my shoes glistened with the early morning dew…and the occasional bit of chicken poop.

Mama fixed eggs for breakfast, usually fried. We gobbled them up with buttered toast and cold milk served up in pastel-colored Tupperware cups. No matter how often they were washed, the thick plastic tumblers carried the faint stench of cigarette smoke and looked perpetually dirty from the hard water.

The best farm visits were when all of my aunts/uncles and cousins came, too—I’ll never know how we all fit in that little trailer. Back then I was the middle cousin, the only girl; 3 years separated each of us. No matter how hot and humid, we played outside with reckless abandon. There was a long, old platform trailer that made a nice (if only imagined) respite from the scratchy farm grass, chiggers and ticks. That trailer also served as the home base when my older cousin Dusty and I pretended to be Ghostbusters.

Things changed when I was 6 years old. The farm got a new double-wide trailer with plenty of room for all of us.  Sadly, Mama went to be with Jesus before she got to really enjoy it; she was just 5 days shy of her 56th birthday. April 21 marks 26 years past.

It’s amazing how something as mundane as an egg can bring back such a flood of memories, but that’s exactly what happens when I eat a farm-fresh egg. I know what’s for dinner tonight!

Chicks, Donuts & Dusty

Chicks, Donuts & Dusty

Note: elements of this were edited from a 2013 post; an earlier version of this piece was published on my now-defunct blog, The Road to Kilmarnock.

SW Room Closeup

As promised. Still plenty of stuff packed in the plastic tubs you see pictured. Very much a work in progress…

One Step Closer

Yesterday afternoon I had the opportunity to take a “free” half-day off from work as part of my company’s Creative Division Refuel campaign. Big kudos to the people who crafted this brilliant idea! We have little pop-up Refuel events on-site from time to time—popcorn and lemonade, a cookie buffet, root beer floats—but being able to rejuvenate in whatever way we saw fit…simply fantastic.

I chose to spend the extra time at home. After a quick power nap, I set out to conquer my Star Wars room. While I did not emerge the victor, I did make some decent progress. Everything was first moved to one side of the room so we could stabilize one of my three floating shelves. It would probably have been all right, but the wobble factor had me a little concerned.
In addition to the floating shelves, the remaining bookcase units were settled into place. Aside from the pegboard in the walk-in closet (on which I’ll mount the mid-90s carded figures), all of my display venues are installed; no more excuses for not getting things done.

The lowest of the floating shelves is almost in order. It’s the speeder bike shrine with my Gentle Giant statue, McQuarrie print/film cell,  DiBiase originals and a battalion of mounted troopers. Only a little tweaking needed before I’m satisfied with it.
The middle shelf is dedicated to Stormtroopers and Lord Vader. It remains a work in progress, as does the top shelf which honors other original trilogy characters.

I’ll be working on the room again this evening so will hopefully have more progress to show. For now, I leave you with this.

King of the Jungle

I have a brand-new indoor wading pool, and it’s a magical one! A mere 24 hours ago, it was an average basement. Oy.
Since I’m tending to the flood today, you’re stuck with a “This Day in History” entry that I journaled back on 5.31.11. Lest ye think working for a greeting card manufacturer is all glitz and glamor—you do think that, right?!—I offer the following from my time as a senior proofreader.

✻ ✻ ✻

Image from (you can buy them!)

Buy on

Imagine reviewing a Lion King thank-you card. First you look at the cover design and are immediately struck by the thought that you might have owned this exact same card some 17 years ago. Aww, little Simba’s still cute!

Then you flip to the inside and read the sentiment, carefully studying spelling and punctuation:

…a jungle-sized thank you!

Wait a second! you think. Lions don’t live in jungles, do they? Tigers live in jungles. Probably. But I know my Disney movies, and that was not set in a jungle…Tarzan and The Jungle Book, yes. The Lion King, no. I’m pretty sure they were in the Sahara. Hmmm, no,
that’s not right either. It was on the savanna.
Or was it the Serengeti? Are they the same thing?

Enter Google.

Lessons Learned
  1. It is possible to put entirely too much thought into proofreading a thank-you card. This sku has run before, it’s all spelled right, you don’t really want to argue this point with the other editors—just approve the card!
  2. Google is not especially helpful when you’ve entered the phrase, “Why is the lion the king of the jungle?”  It’s not helpful, but it is somewhat interesting. You’ll find people who think it’s a misnomer, people who think it’s referring to a figurative jungle, even some conspiracy theorists who think it’s all a ploy to steal attention away from the majestic tiger. {I agree with the misnomer notion, think the ‘figurative jungle’ people have too much time on their hands, and chant a rousing Rock Chalk Jayhawk in the face of the ‘tigers rule’ folks}
  3. I might want to become one of the trolling people who do nothing but opine on WikiAnswers and Yahoo!Answers all day. Providing amateur input for random people (like those searching for jungle-vs-savanna evidence) to read as fact? Yes, please! As long as you’re not afraid of taking some minimal “you idiot!” feedback, you’ve got nothing to lose. Heck of a deal.

SW Room Sneak Peek

Well, friends, I’m happy to announce that I’ve made some progress the Star Wars room. It’s not a lot, but it’s a start. Okay, actually it is a lot. Here’s a reminder of what it looked like before.

And now…