No, no, no, no, NO

A few days ago I found this ad in a Womans Day magazine. I'm familiar with these "collectible" ads designed to rope in retired ladies with shelves and shelves of tchotchke, but this one really disturbed me.

 

 Not only is it one of the most disturbing renderings of a monkey Ive ever seen, but its covered in mohair. HAIR!!!! Its a figurine........with hair.

I can never, ever un-see this.

Heloise All Around the House....1965 tips to make your housework fun!

I have a passion for vintage books. Cookbooks are a particular favorite because the recipes are so honest in vintage books. So many recipes I come across in vintage cookbooks are recipes Ive never heard of. These books are so worthy of being collected and used a daily reference.

It's no surprise that my love of cookbooks would naturally guide me to collect vintage books on tips and advice to housewives. (I have an 1892 book called "Mans Strength, Womans Beauty" that is advice for young brides how to conduct themselves as wives, and what to expect of their husbands. Fascinating stuff!!)

Todays find is a 1965 book, "Heloise Around the House." (Later, this lovely tipster turned columnist in a weekly newspaper column Hints from Heloise. Remember that? I LOVED that column!
I digress....)

I found so many laughable solutions and several practical ones. Today I decided to share with you a tip from 1965. Be sure to check back again....I'll be posting more!



"For good measure!"

"For those who can never find their measuring tape, make yourself a sewing apron!
I find this one of the most useful things in my home. Just sew a measuring tape upside down across the bottom of the apron....This is for good measure!
It's handy when you are sitting at your sewing machine. You can lift the bottom edge of your apron and check the width of any seam or hem you happen to be stitching. These aprons sell well at church bazaars."


This actually seems to be a very practical application! I hope to see you skilled seamstresses selling these aprons on Etsy!

My Marco. Life will never be the same.

I adopted Marco in October of 2008. He was the cat my ex had adopted from PetSmart to entertain his part-time children. (He only had weekend custody...and knowing what I know now, he should be banned from having access to anything with cells.)It was several months in to the relationship before I was invited to his "studio" apartment. (If "studio" means one room sewage plant with central AC.)He hadn't cleaned his toilet in the 2 years he lived there. He had a shower in the same space he prepared food, and did his dishes in a bathroom sink that was infested with ants no matter the weather. He also had Marco.
Marco was an emaciated, dehydrated gray long haired cat who, no matter how much the ex abused him, would still return for a hopeful scratch behind the ears. (90% of the time, the ex would take this trusting and hopeful nature to abuse Marco even further.) He would pin Marco to the floor under his boot heel and poke objects in the cats face. He would pick Marco up by the tail and hold him just an inch above the ground and laugh as the cat struggled to grab the carpet for footing. The poor cat would writhe in pain and anger and the ex took this as a signal to torment the cat even more intensely. Because the ex was such an upstanding fellow and concerned with setting an example for his children, his two sons would also torment and torture Marco. (Two little Jeffrey Dahmers in the making, I'm afraid.) And poor Marco, having been subjected to this torment for 4 years yet still having to rely on the sadistic fuck for food was suffering a feline case of Stockholm Syndrome.
The ex wouldn't actually provide food for the cat, but rather would set a bowl of Fruity Pebbles on the floor next to the toilet. Sometimes if he was lucky, a package a bologna would spoil in the rot infested refrigerator and Marco would get to indulge in the shreds of rotten meat. The only water available was the filthy toilet water, or water left on the floor after a shower.
I was determined to get the cat. I was going to take him.
After discovering the appalling life the ex chose to lead, I was anxious to exit the relationship. But not before I got the cat.
One day the d-bag called to tell me he had to leave town on "business" (if business means to have an illicit weekend in an Arizona hotel with a woman he had met only on the phone....) He said he was leaving the key under the mat could I check on his cat.
Gladly.
I purchased a one-time cat carrier and went to the hovel. I coaxed Marco out of hiding and fought him to get inside the box. I still have scars on my hands from where he scratched and bit repeatedly. Poor cat was terrified. He wailed all the way home. I brought him to my place and set up my bedroom for him. Brand new and CLEAN cat box, fresh water, all the cat food he could ever eat, and a big bed to hide under.
After about 2 weeks he started to tentatively come out of the room. He would sit in the doorway and glare at me, then bolt back to safety if I so much as blinked.
After 4 weeks, he would sit apprehensively on the opposite end of the couch, again very skittish.
By week 8, he was sleeping curled next to me at night and taking treats from my hand.
He became my ultimate love. My entire life revolved around making him happy. I bought him a water fountain that would trickle fresh water tantalizingly 24 hours a day. I chose expensive, holistic foods to nourish him. And there wasn't a flat surface in my house that didn't have a bag of his favorite Good Life Recipe treats. After about a year of my nurturing and indulgences, Marco was roughly twice his original weight and deemed "healthy and very content" by our veterinarian.
Marco got used to a pet carrier eventually as I had to take him for vaccinations, checkups and groomings. He got attached to his brand new, soft-side carrier and would take naps inside, peeking slyly through the mesh screened windows.
Marco would greet me every time I unlocked the door or would sit in a favorite perch in whichever room I was in, but always had to have me in view.

He liked just being near me. He would curl up behind my keyboard while I typed. He would nip at my ankle if I was crafting for too long and hadn't acknowledged him. He would bring me a fuzzy toy at least once a day as his "gift" (a pleasant alternative to the giant Japanese Beetles he so loved.)There were a thousand ways he showed me every day how grateful he was.



Marco softened me. Marco gave me a reason to love. Marco was an unconditional recipient of everything I had to offer. No bullshit. No games.
Marco was my life.

On Saturday, July 24th, Marco left my world after having been let out accidentally while I was away, he got into the street and was struck by a car. I have grieved this loss possibly harder than I have grieved the loss of any human. I am in shock that whatever higher powers there are would subject him to such a horrific life for four years, and snatch him away after less than two years of happiness. Marco deserved better from this world.
Whatever higher powers there are have played a nasty little game with me.
My life will not be the same without Marco.


PS:
If you see my ex,(hard to miss; blond hair he wears in a faux 1950's gelled pomp, weighs no more than a bicycle, and a total wimp) do me a favor, tell him karma's looking for him.
And karma can't be evaded.

Letting the 6 year old inside have her day

Today I went to COSTCO with my brother and his 2 adorable kids, ages 3 and 6. This particular store catered to individuals who have food vending machines, and rather than sell an entire case of sweet treats, they offer them for sale individually. There was an entire row dedicated to Hostess baked goods. A rainbow variety of fried dough and sugar glazed fruit pies, Ho Ho's, Zingers, Ding Dongs, and holiest of holy… Sno Balls.

Packages of twin day-glo pink mounds of soft marshmallow covered with coconut flakes, enrobing a cream filled chocolate cup cake. I suggested letting the kids pick one treat each for later (a clever guise for an excuse for me to make my own selection MWAHAHAHAH!)
See, I haven’t eaten one of these things in at least a decade, if not longer. Giving up Hostess baked goods is something all adults eventually do when they reach a certain age. Its like a mid-life Lent sacrifice for all eternity. Well, today I decided it was my mid-life Easter Sunday and I would break fast on my baked goods ban! Happily I placed my package of pink, fluffy Sno Balls in the cart next to Raspberry Zingers (niece,) Ho Ho’s (nephew,) and Ding Dongs (brother.)
Once we returned home, I was left alone with my delicious cello-packaged mini Grand Tetons the color representing NOTHING I’ve ever seen in nature. I noted the ingredients list of no less than 50 ingredients (maybe more if you count all the multi-ingredient ingredients….) the first on the list; sugar. Ohhhh, this can’t be good.


Just one bite, I thought. Before dinner. What could it hurt?

I peeled back the marshmallow robe and heard it make that pleasant crackling sound it made even when I was a kid. There it was. The chocolate cupcake.


One bite of the cupcake sent dopamine rushing through my veins to alert my nerve endings of the joyous event. Then the marshmallow. Teeth sinking in to the sticky, spongy layer while bits of pink coconut landed like snowflakes on my lips. The six year old girl in me said “Squeeeeeeeeel!!!”



It may not be something we can have everyday, but every now and again, take your inner 6 year old to the sweets counter and let her pick out anything she wants. Hasn’t she been a very good girl?