Betty 'Boom-Boom' Boop and the Squash On My Counter

You may have noticed that it's been a few days since my promise to post regularly about the 250 exercises in the book, Caffeine for the Creative Mind by Mumaw and Oldfield. I'm only on the second assignment and I've already hit a speed bump. This time, the task is to "take 10 pictures of ten things in your environment that don't belong where they are." And to be honest, my friends, I had to clean my house first!

I no sooner finished vacuuming when my dear little Lucy made the mess you see in this first picture. By the way, that toy she is tearing apart is only a few hours old. I sewed her up a batch of them that morning. She's still in her destructive puppy phase, and I figured better a toy than my furniture. But she could have at least pretended to have some trouble demolishing my offerings!

Moving on to my desk, I found a couple of things that were not where they belong. Okay, more than a few. Notice the close-ups. That's so you can't see the entire messy office space. Yeah, huh? Dumb like a fox.

The first item is a bag full of brooches--some vintage, some not. I have been running a special in my Etsy shop: For every ruana purchased, the customer receives a free brooch. (Pretty good deal, if I do say so--and I do.) However, I have not sold a ruana since Christmas, yet these remain nestled in their resting place below the computer monitor.


The second misplaced item on my desk, is my thesaurus. It should be standing with the other books along the back wall, but I use it so often that I tend to leave it out. In fact, I used it just now to find another word for misplaced. There aren't that many that fit in this context. I haven't "forgotten the whereabouts" of these things that are "scattered" about, I simply "placed them wrongly" because I am a "disorganized," creative soul whose things are often "put in the wrong place."

I have a rather large kitchen with a u-shaped counter-top. When taking these photos, a butternut squash rested on one end of the shelf near the toaster oven. We feasted upon that a couple of days ago, and now the same space holds a sweeter variety of squash--the buttercup. These gourds really are the most visually unique and interesting vegetables, aren't they? You could spend a day at a farm just photographing the various types. Can you say, Fun?

The day I took these pictures the kitchen workspace also sported a lovely black stretchy woolen glove with the word "Spongebob" written across the index finger in red, and a squiggly pattern of blue and gray spread over the remainder of the fingers and palm. This lonely hand covering emerged from the laundry all by itself and it's waiting for us to find its missing partner. Hopefully, the wayward mate turns up before we have to break the news to a certain little someone.

Resting beside the rogue Spongebob glove, is a package of skinny, multi-colored headbands. I removed two of the less-desired colors to use in a special Christmas project for the Littles. I wrapped each with red satin ribbon. On the first, I attached a pretty green flower sewn from vintage, ruffled trim and topped it with a sparkly button.

Unfortunately, before I managed to complete the second one, our mischievous cat absconded with one of the half-finished headbands and it hasn't been seen since--the headband, not the cat. At the last minute, I whipped up another flower in red and sewed it to a shiny green ponytail holder, finishing just before we left for our trip to Lil Rhody. Whew!

The headbands now reside in a drawer in my sewing room until I decide what I'll do with them next--maybe something cute for Valentine's or St. Patrick's Day.

Sitting at the opposite end of the counter on the dining room side, is a vintage yellow and blue Czechoslovakian candy dish. That object is in its rightful spot, but the opened bag of chocolate-only Tootsie Roll Pops propped up against the dish are not. The truth is I didn't really want to share this bag of delectable delights so I didn't put them into the dish. Funny, lots of little fingers get into that bowl full of bounty, but they never seem to look beyond, at what to my taste buds, is the greater treat. But now that I'm exposing myself, I feel a bit ashamed that I haven't shared and that I've left them out where they don't belong. I guess I'll put them away--later.

Although Christmas and New Year's Day have passed, on picture day my bedecked tree still stood in my living room. And beaming out from underneath, a gorgeous gift from my daughter begged to be hung in a special spot somewhere in my house. We took the tree down yesterday, but the beautiful mirror still waits for a permanent home to send out its wise message of reflection. (Get it?)


On the table where the mirror now rests while I write this, is a neat wooden box with old-time games inside. The words "Authentic American Pastimes Collection" sprawl across the clear acrylic cover and it's easy to see the games: Jacks, Pickup Sticks, and Marbles. The set belongs on a shelf on the porch, but it contains lots of little pieces and had to be rescued from visiting two-year-old hands. When she grows enough to reach the top of the sideboard, I figure she'll be old enough to play with--rather than eat--the game parts.

And that brings us back to the aforementioned mischievous cat. We adopted Betty 'Boom-Boom' Boop the day before her third birthday after falling in love with all of her gorgeous black beauty. Boom-Boom Betty is big-boned, for sure, but there aren't any bones in the stomach, right? Hers--stomach, not bones--waddles freely whenever she walks to her food dish. And she walks there often, checking to see whether we've come to our senses and decided to feed her more than twice daily. We haven't.

When the search for food and interfering with my belongings bores her, the Boopster loves to lounge. She has claimed the bed in the sewing/guest room as her own and though she'd deny it, the truth is she sheds. And yes, she's the queen and all that, but I still don't want to have to wash the embroidered linen duvet cover any more than necessary. So we've come to a compromise, I keep an old woolen blanket on the bed and she...well, she doesn't do anything. I guess the only give here was really on my part.

So there you have it, folks. The second creative exercise is finally completed and reported to you. Stay tuned for number three. Here's a hint: It has something to do with a Swiss Army knife!              

Perspective

Many people might consider us unlucky.

The other morning, my husband called to tell me he had been in an accident. A thin layer of ice and snow unexpectedly blanketed the ground in Freeport and as he slowly approached his job site, he lost control and veered off the the road. As he coasted onto the shoulder, he held his breath while his carpool buddy turned his head and closed his eyes. When they finally stopped--inches away from a telephone pole, a tire had blown out on its bent rim and the right front fender was crushed. Poor guy spent his morning looking for a junkyard that had his rims in stock.

Later in the afternoon, I corraled the dogs into the back of the car and headed off on dry roads to get my hair done. As I sat in my hairdresser's chair, I noticed large, wet flakes begin to fall. By the time I left, the white stuff started sticking to the grass in the surrounding yards, but nothing covered the roads.

I stopped for some retail therapy, not concerned about the weather at all. When I emerged from the store an hour later, I tucked my head down to avoid the soggy flakes melting on my face. I was surprised to see that the parked cars had collected about an inch of slush, but felt reassured that the pavement was still clear.

"Let's go home!" I said to my waiting puppies, Jack and Lucy.

And I piled my treasures onto the floor in back of the driver's seat as they danced and whined in agreement. They love coming with me on my errands but coming back home is the best because they get to run around like maniacs for a few minutes when they jump out of the car.

After a few miles, the snow got heavier and I had a hard time seeing. I slowed the old Mitsubishi down, savoring the beauty of the sparkling, slush-covered trees.

Mere moments later, the road changed from dry, black pavement to a white-ladened path with tire tracks running through it. I slowed the vehicle even more, holding the steering wheel tighter and feeling a pang of nerves creep into my awe-inspired peace. Darkness snuffed out the day as I noticed a line of cars in the distance with their brake lights glowing. And I decelerated to just a bit more than a crawl.

Within seconds, the SUV began to drift into the opposite lane. I removed my foot from the accelerator and tried to regain control of the vehicle, but it was no use. As the rear of the Mits started to pull, it felt like we were on an amusement ride--minus all the fun, of course. Feeling a lurch in my stomach I yelled to the pups, "Hang on, guys!" And we spun like the car of a Tilt-a-Whirl.

We went around twice and I think I may have closed my eyes while I braced for impact. I had visions of sailing through the woods, hitting trees on the way, and I wondered if this was it. Would the dogs and I be hurt--or worse? Then I heard and felt an explosive noise and as quickly as it started, it was over. We stopped spinning.

The car landed in a ditch by a telephone pole in someone's front yard. My first thought was that I was alive. Then I looked back and saw that my back window--the one next to my precious canine babies--had smashed to pieces and disappeared. My youngest pup, Lucy, immediately jumped over the seats and into my lap. Six-year-old Jack stayed put. He seemed stunned and I had to coax him to get away from the broken glass and into the safety of the front seats.

Since we were on a highway, I did not feel safe getting the dogs out to see if they were okay. And with high-heeled mules on my feet, I didn't think getting out onto the sloped, icy ground was a good idea either. In the darkness, my hands searched the dogs for injuries. They were dry and didn't cry, so I guessed they were unhurt. Then I looked around from the shelter of my broken automobile and saw that the back of my car had ripped out and rearranged someone's mailbox.

Next, I called my husband. I knew he couldn't help me because he was still on his way home from work. But I needed to hear his voice to feel comforted. A policeman arrived soon after, asking if I was alright and if I was the one who had called. I hadn't, and he quickly figured out that the call was for the accident further up the road. After making sure I was really okay, the officer told me to sit tight until he could return from the more serious mishap a few hundred yards away.

The man whose yard I landed in came out then and tried to help me get my car out of the ditch. But I was such a nervous wreck, I couldn't follow his simple directions. He finally took pity on me and maneuvered my car out of the ditch on his own. He refused to give me his name or phone number, and he said he didn't want my money or insurance information. He smiled and said that by wrecking his mailbox I'd given him something to do that night.

So yes, some people may think we are unlucky, but I disagree. Yes, we smashed our cars on the same day and had to pay for costly repairs out of our ever-dwindling bank account. But neither of us hit the telephone poles we'd headed toward, no one was hurt in either of our accidents, and we both were able to drive our cars home that day.

I say we are fortunate--very fortunate, indeed.