Lastest Project

I found this plain wood photo frame at Goodwill. I don't know what Ikea sold it for but my guess is that its original price was a bit more than $.99 I paid.

I painted it with a flat red paint. Added glitter glue and some fun stickers.

Final touch is the photo of our grandbaby. Isn't he cute?

rita

Scentless Spring

I inherited my grandmother's nose. Or rather I should say that I inherited the ability of her nose to smell. She could smell odors that no one else around her could. She could sniff out a baby needing a change blocks away.
She could tell when a cake in the oven was done just from the amount of vanilla in the air.
One of the joys in life for me is going to bed in the evening and smelling the lilacs blooming outside the bedroom window. The fragrance in so strong and intoxicating to me I can hardly go to sleep. It's one of my favorite moments of spring.

This spring has been different. I've have been entertaining a cold virus for three weeks now -- the exact same three weeks that the lilacs have been blooming. I CAN'T SMELL THEM!


Along with the ability to smell this cold has robbed me of the ability to taste. I can only taste salty and sour foods. I've discovered that I can live contently without being able to smell food cooking on the stove or the sweet taste of a piece of chocolate cake. It makes it easy to eat just a couple of bites and leaving the rest.

But, I do miss the lilacs and am disappointed that I'll have to wait until next year to enjoy their full beauty -- sight and smell.
rita

I'm so spoiled

We've had some very welcomed sunshine at Quirky Cottage. It's not only nice on the outside but the sun shining through the windows and sky lights makes me happy, too.

As I walked around the inside of the cottage I began to notice cobwebs and dust bunnies that I swear were not there a day ago.


Spring cleaning has begun BUT not until I treated myself to this fun multi-pack of cheap cotton cloths.

Yes, I have enough rags to clean my house but these made the job fun (if that's possible).

I'd show you "Before" and "After" photos but my pride will not allow it. I'll just tell you that my bucket of water and new cloths have seen dirty baseboards and the vacuum has sucked up dust from under furniture.

You're suppose to move the furniture once-in-awhile, you know, to clean under it. I opt for once a year. Any more often and I would have to join a 12-step program!!!!
rita

Two ways to look at family

Mom took up the hobby of genealogy when I was a bratty teenager not interested in anything unless it directly impacted my immediate life. I was polite when listening to her excited stories of finding a "new" cousin but I really was thinking about that darling blue dress I was hoping to buy with my next babysitting job money.

The Cottage Master became interested in his family tree a few years ago and takes great delight in logging in names and dates of people who are such distant relatives that one needs a magnifying glass to see the connection.

I've accused him of being so thorough only in the hopes of eventually detecting that we are somehow related beyond the marriage bond and therefore nullify his vows.

Mom made copies of all her genealogy findings so that each of my brothers and I now have the information, stories and photos that she was able to collect.

I have recently become interested in looking at these items and mining the Internet for more pieces of the puzzle. My goal is to take the names, dates and stories and write about them. I would love to be able to weave them together and paint a verbal picture of these adventurous North American pioneers that make up our family history.

Dad had been an orphan since the age of 10 and raised by relatives. Mom was not able to get beyond the name of his grandfather in her research of that side of the family. But thanks to the Internet I've stumbled onto additional data.

After reading and tracking the comings and goings of a particular patriarch it became clear to me that he was not the usual strong, hard-working family man that all my other forefathers had been. That has caused me to think and wonder about how best to write about this gentleman.

The Cottage Master assures me that there is at least one black sheep in every family. It's one thing to laugh about a distant uncle whose life was cut short at the end of a rope after a cattle rustling episode and another when that relative's branch of the tree is much closer to your own.

rita

Monday, Monday

For those who have a life and can't be watching the bald eagles all the time here are a couple of places to go to watch some recorded action. Siblings doing what they do best. And here's lunch.

My father enjoyed playing cards and sitting at the kitchen table playing card games with the family on a Sunday afternoon is a fond memory of mine.

Dad had an expression, "Don't poop in your nest!" It would be said when he had the feeling that the card player was about to play the wrong card and loose the hand. Especially if he was your partner and he was counting on you having the cards that would save the round.

I have to admit to being very surprised by the amount of waste material that has accumulated along the edges of the eagles nest. I can hear my father's warning and it has taken on a new dimension.


My cold virus has settled in my chest and my breathing sounds like the rattling of two dozen maracas. It is so loud that I'm having difficulty sleeping so I go looking for something to do on the Internet.

I found a game of cribbage that I could play with a guy named Jake. After loosing several games to Jake I decided it was time to get serious. I thought if I just concentrated more I could beat him -- and I did -- once.

I swear Jake knows ahead of time what cards are where. I'd rather believe that than the other obvious conclusion -- I'm a lousy card player!

rita

Entertaining . . .

I'm entertaining a cold virus. For the few hours that I'm vertical I checked up on all my favorite bloggers. If you love to see "Before" and "After" photos of great home improvement projects take a look at Restyled Home for an amazing example.

Later, dude

rita

How to kill a mouse

How to kill a mouse . . . bounce it on a tiled floor five or six times. I've killed two this way so far.

No, no, no. Not that kind of mouse . . . this kind of mouse.


The first mouse we had attached to the laptop computer dropped onto the hard floor several times before it stopped working.

With the second mouse I tied the cord so that it was shorter but alas, it still hit the hard floor once-in-awhile and eventually stopped working.

Why don't they make a mouse with a retractable cord? I should invent that -- I'll bet lots of people would like that.

And as if the mouse factory read my mind there was exactly that at my favorite office supply store.

Hopefully this one will have a nice long happy life.

rita