Thursday, September 18, 2014

What's Wrong With My Brain?

I could have titled this, "More Randomness," because thats all I seem capable of right now. Is it menopause? Stress? I don't know, but I seem to bounce from one thing to another, never completing anything. I started taking photos of my vintage clothing for Etsy, and some how ended up going through a pile of vintage maps that ended up all over the floor. See that giant bolt of fabric next to the maps? It's thirty yards of white duck that I purchased over a year ago to make a slip cover for my sofa, only I don't have an uninterrupted block of time, or the space to work on a slip cover. My art journal has gone untouched for a year and a half, my cooking has been horrible, (though my baking skills are still pretty awesome,) and I have no idea what I'm doing with my days. Whew.


I made this recipe for scones yesterday - amazing! Buttermilk is magical. I ate two of them along with 3 buttermilk biscuits, straight out of the oven. Burp.

I have found the perfect skirt. It fits even when I aggravate my food allergies with gluten. I can go from looking 0-7 months pregnant in a matter of minutes, and skirt stretches with me. Time for more scones!

I love these two guys. Oliver is holding hands with his buddy Alex, who spends a few nights a week with us.


I find this magazine deeply disturbing. A high fashion magazine geared for women with kids. I say woman, because I don't think any real mother would buy this...just the Nanny Diaries, kind, which makes me wonder why it's in a Target in Asheville.


I made this for dinner, only mine looked nothing like this. Giada, you done me wrong. It was edible, but kind of weird. My loyalty still lies with Ina.


Anyone know what kind of tree this is? I've never seen anything like it before!

1 comment:

Vickie said...

Oh Wow! You sound like me in that first paragraph and I thought it was the drugs! I wonder if I could wear that skirt because that's the fit I need. It looks like your legs in the photo. That magazine looks disturbing.