One Hundred And Eighteen Shades of Grey

Do you own one of those handy dandy color wheels? You know, the ones decorators use?

We do.

Don’t ask me why. Neither my husband or I can claim any talent in the decorating department. Although, we do watch a lot of HGTV together.

Have you ever noticed the crazy color names? Forceful Orange. Hyper Blue. Gusto Gold. Heartthrob. Lime Rickey. (Sure, set me up, barkeep!)

Well, after watching a lot of HGTV over the past year or so, my husband has decided to jump on the grey wagon. It seems everyone out there is painting their rooms shades of gray. And no, I don’t think it has anything to do with the popularity of that racy novel, although, I wonder if that racy novelist has been watching as much HGTV as we have.

We grabbed the color wheel and starting ticking through the colors.

Charcoal. Nope. Too dark.

Nuance. Too light.

Solitude. Too lonely.

There were the smart greys: Analytical Gray, Intuitive, Worldly Grey, Imagine, Balanced Gray. Even Intellectual Grey.

There were the dull grays: Mild Grey, Polite Gray, Reticence, Useful Grey, Proper Gray, Essential. And Modest Grey.

“What about Passive Gray?” my husband asked, holding the color swatch to the wall.

“Hmmmm. I don’t know. What do you think?” I replied.

“Aloof?”

“Eh,” I shrugged.

“What about Ponder?”

“I’ll have to think about that one,” I said.

“Agreeable Gray?”

“Of course!” I chimed.

Finally, he gets it and we’re in a fit of giggles.

After one hundred and eighteen shades of grey, which color did we finally go with?

Hinting Blue.

Guess we’re not as trendy as we thought we were.

(To accommodate my outside America readers, I’ve evenly distributed equal spellings of grey and gray. Interesting note: “In the U.K., grey appears about twenty times for every instance of gray. In the U.S. the ratio is reversed.” I have to admit. After writing this post, both spellings look wrong to me now.)

 

 

Cheers To Simplicity This Holiday Season!

I am choosing simplicity this holiday season.

No elaborate Christmas light display this year for us. – Which means we didn’t spend the $1000 (?!?) to have our home professionally lit by off-season landscapers. Who does that? (Sadly, quite a few in our neighborhood.) Except for our two tasteful mini-lit trees flanking our door and the traditional candles in each window, I’ve convinced my husband to skip his traditional fling-up-to-see-what-branches-the-Christmas-lights-hit approach to decorating our yard. Seriously. One thousand dollars? You could feed a small village for that amount.

No lugging every single Christmas decoration box up from the basement. After a day of decorating, I called it quits. The tree is up. The stockings are hung by the chimney with care. I have my favorite advent calendar, a homemade advent wreath, a creche, a few favorite Santas and snowmen. But that’s about it. I looked around and thought, this looks festive enough. Key word = enough. Less clutter. More time for baking. Sounds good to me. And to my kids.

No guests to entertain for the first time………well, ever. The Jane household will be empty-ish. Just us. Me. Husband. Three adorable children. It will be quiet. It will be sane. It will be easy. Compared to years past, when we’ve entertained 3-4 weeks straight, of various out-of-town relatives and friends, this holiday season will be a breeze!

No laundry list of gifts to purchase. After working two food drives and our typical Salvation Army bell ringing stint the boys have decided they have too many toys! Well, that and the fact that they would love a pricey handheld gadget this year and knew they’d have a better chance of receiving it if it was the only thing on their list. I don’t care. Less shopping for me, less wrapping for my husband. Win-win-win.

No menus to create. I’m gonna stick with the standbys. Honeybaked ham, scalloped potatoes and bacon brussel spouts for Christmas Eve. Turkey, turkey fixin’s, green beans and lemon cranberry jello salad for Christmas Day. My famous-I-can-make-it-in-my-sleep-cranberry-relish will grace both meals. Come to think of it, all the above recipes I can make in my sleep. Holiday cooking this year will be a piece of pie! Probably apple. I haven’t decided yet.

No jam packed weekends for the month of December. My husband and I sat down and actually said no to a few invitations this year. It felt naughty but now our weekends look nice. Relaxing even. We’re actually looking forward to the few things we have penciled in. What a concept.

No blogging schedule to follow. For a few weeks, anyway. I’m taking a break to enjoy the season, enjoy my family and enjoy the peace and quiet we are actually going to be able to enjoy during this frightfully busy time of the year. I haven’t left. I promise not to disappear. But I’m taking a bit of a long winter’s nap to recharge.

Wishing you all a very Merry, Happy, Joyful, Restful, Relaxing, Healthy, Peaceful, Simple Holiday Season and New Year!

(And provided the doomsday prophets aren’t right and we find the Mayan’s new calendar, I’ll see you next year!)

My Daughter Calls It Barf. But In A Good Way.

We all have go-to recipes we can make in our sleep. Even if it’s just to pop our favorite Stouffer’s meal in the microwave.

I came across this Creamy Tomato Sausage pasta recipe years and years ago. My daughter loves it. She requested it weekly. Now that she’s in college, it’s the first thing she asks for when she comes home.

It’s easy. It’s yummy. And it looks like this:

(Not my picture. This photo is all over the internet so I figured it was safe to use. Although, not accurate. I don’t put fancy garnishes on my home-cooked meals. I can’t make a fresh loaf of bread to save my life. And I serve straight out of the pot off the stove. A little imagination is always necessary when reading my posts.)

I have no name for my creamy, tomato pasta creation that happens to have sausage in it. For years it was just called “That Creamy Pasta Dish.” That is, until my daughter got sick on an outing with her father.

“Hey, Mom! I frew up! And it looked just like that dinner you make!” said my 6-year-old with glee.

I knew exactly what she was talking about and my stomach turned.

But time passed and I had forgotten about her not so flattering reference to my go-to dish.

Until I made it again.

“See Mom?” she said, holding up her plate, “It looks just like BARF!” And she put her plate down and dug in with gusto as only a 6-year-old can.

I was mortified. My husband, amused.

But as I looked over my plate and saw the pinkish sauce with chunks of tomato and little blobs of gray matter I realized, she was right.

I pushed my plate away.

Yet, despite the disgusting observation, it’s still a family favorite. I’m over my squeamishness now, and it’s back on the menu.

And it’s been re-named, “Barf.”

Privately.

And in a good way.

(I am not a foodie or a food blogger. So please take that information with a grain of salt as I try to share the recipe with you now. Try it. If you dare.

Brown a tube of breakfast sausage or ground Italian sausage squeezed out of the casings. Drain a bit of the fat. Add two 14 oz. cans of diced tomatoes with oregano and garlic. Heat through. Add a bit of dried basil and more oregano if you’re an oregano fan. If you’re on a diet stop here and throw the mixture over some pasta. (But if you do this you haven’t made the recipe right and frankly, it’s just not worth eating. You have been warned.) Add heavy cream until it becomes a pale pink color. Taste. Season. And if it’s summer and your basil is going wild, do a rough chop and add some fresh basil now. Pour sauce over wagon wheels or rotini or any other bumpy pasta that will catch all the delicious sauce. Top with freshly shaved Parmigiano Reggiano. Dig in!)

(This post was gratefully inspired by a writing prompt at Mama Kat’s. Please visit and check out more inspired posts!)

The Greatest Lie Ever Told (And I’m 99.9% Sure You Are Guilty)

“I have read the terms and conditions…..”

Check. Or click.

Whatever.

That’s about as far as I get. I read those first seven words and I click away. Without ever reading said terms and conditions. I just cross my fingers and hope for the best.

Every once in a great while it won’t let you click the handy terms and conditions box unless you at least scroll through said terms and conditions.

So I do.

“The legal agreements set out below….blah, blah, blah,……Neither issuer nor BlahCorp. is responsible for….blah, blah, blah,……Your use of the Services includes the ability to….blah, blah, blah….”

But does anyone really ever get that far? Don’t you just scroll as quickly as you can and then click?

I admit it. I do.

Don’t they all say basically the same thing?

“We (BlahBlah Corp.) own your finger clicking if you use our service. And you (the user) are responsible for all the clicks you click on our site. We (BlahBlah Corp.) have our butts covered and you (the user) are on your own.”

(Oh. I feel so used.)

They spell it all out. Everything they will and will not provide. There is nothing left to chance or good faith or sound moral character.

And we blindly click. Annoyed with the legal jargon and irrelevant circumstances and idiot proofing.

Why can’t there be an easy to read, concise and precise terms and conditions agreement?

Something like this:

“We, BlahBlah Corp., own every finger click on this site. If you don’t trust our site, don’t click here.”

End of story.

Simple. Concise. And true.

In our litigious society, putting blind faith and trust into a company or website is dangerous. And unfortunately, the companies can’t trust us, either. So we are stuck with a silly step where we click a box saying we’ve read something when we haven’t.

Admit it.

When was the last time you read, completely and fully, a terms and conditions document?

I know.

Me either.

At least we are all lying together.

But not in bed.

Because I’m married.

And that bed would get pretty crowded.

 

What Will You Do To Spread Some Magic Today?

I saw this story awhile ago.

It warmed my heart then.

It warms my heart now.

Freddie Wieczorek works part-time at Walt Disney World, checking the bags of the guests who flock to Magic Kingdom. Encouraged to spread the magic, as all Disney employees are encouraged to do, he bought an autograph book and began asking the children who came through the gates dressed in costume for their autograph.

In his 4+ years at Disney he’s collected over 1,400 signatures (sometimes scribbles, depending on the age.) To see their faces light up when they’ve been “mistaken for the real thing” brings him such joy. And he is spreading joy to the child, the parents and those who witness the scene.

It’s no secret I love Walt Disney and the empire he began. I love the magic. I love the joy. I love the many, many employees like Mr. Wieczorek who embrace the Disney philosophy and take it that extra step.

Seeing this photo again reminded me that I don’t have to wait to go to Disney World to experience the magic. I can make my own right here, right now.

What will you do to spread some magic today?

When Have A Great Day Doesn’t Really Mean Have A Great Day.

My mother-in-law takes issue with people here in the south. I especially notice her discomfort in the grocery store.

“Why was he talking to you? ” she says, speaking of the bagger, “Was he one of your former students?”

“Ewwww. They’re so syrupy sweet here. You know they don’t really mean it, don’t you?”

(Disclaimer: These are my mother-in-law’s stereotypes. Not mine.)

My Mother-in-law’s Theory: People in the north may be rude and keep to themselves but you can trust what comes out of their mouths. People in the south are phony and fake and have ulterior motives when they speak to you.

Of course, I disagree. I love the friendliness here. I find it real and reassuring that there are people trying to spread cheer in the world. I love the smiling hello greetings and the “thank-yews” when I leave the store. I take the friendliness at face value. Maybe because I’m right. Maybe because I’m just happier that way. But quite honestly? I don’t care. I’ll take my theory over hers any day of the week.

I’ve lived in both places, north and south. In the north for 21 years and the south for 27 years. And I’ve found phoniness in both parts of the country.

Our neighborhood has a Facebook page. And on this page, fellow residents (we have over 500) post their comments about upcoming activities, a heads-up about school fundraisers or about neighborhood amenities. My friend was fed up with some complaints about issues with the pool. So, she provided a disgruntled resident with a very fact based response, hoping to calm the resident down with what could be a highly charged issue.

It didn’t help. The resident responded with a snotty, juvenile comment and then concluded it with “Have a Great Day!”

Okay. We all know she didn’t really mean for anyone to have a great day. She was putting on her best syrupy, sweet, phony, sing-songy voice to say something she didn’t mean. She wanted to say, at best, “screw you” and at worst, “f-off.”

Throwing a “Have a nice/good/great day” at the end of a response when it’s clear you don’t mean it? So unnecessary. You aren’t fooling anyone. When you insist you really meant “Have a great day!”? No one believes you. We can see the snot through your sing-songy voice no matter if we’re from the north or the south.

Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Or…..

How about say nothing at all?

I Need A Pinterest Intervention. STAT.

Hi.

I’m Jane.

And I’m a Pinterest addict.

They say, recognizing your addiction is the first step. So, I suppose I’m on my way to recovering. But what if I don’t want to recover? What if I like this Pinterest mania that I’m drowning in?

Pinterest is my latest obsession. Kind of like the way blogging was in the beginning. My daughter tried to get me interested in Pinterest about 8 months ago. But I was like, what’s the big deal? Ooooo. Pretty pictures. I don’t need pictures of things I like or things I want to remember. Bookmarking pages is fine for me. And I have a full and active imagination. The pictures I need are stored in my head.

But one lazy afternoon I was bored. And had a bit of writer’s block. I decided to check Pinterest out, hoping for a little inspiration.

A new obsession was born. I was hit, square between the eyes, with a full-blown Pinterest addiction.

Pretty pictures? It’s more than just pretty pictures. There are links to the pretty pictures. To other pretty blogs. To items I must have in my home or closet. Recipes. Yummy, mouthwatering, drool-worthy recipes. Cute hair styles. DIY crafts and projects that I’m all thumbs to be able to do but I pin them anyway, hoping I will one day confront my crafty fears. There are pithy quotes. Dreamy photos of exotic, far-away places. Clothes that beg to jump into my closet. Images of adorable puppies, kittens and kissable babies.

Funny pics. Silly pics. Pics that bring a tear.

Pretty pics. Goofy pics. Pics I think are weird.

But I pin them. All of them. In my cleverly titled categories. And I search for more and more and more. Filling my boards with projects and recipes and shopping vows that no one in their right mind would have enough time or money to fulfill.

“This Pinterest is a major time suck,” I lament to my daughter.

She just smiles.

And as if I already don’t have enough time to read all of your wonderful blogs and the blogs you recommend, I’m finding more and more and (oh-my-God!) more blogs to follow. It’s like I’m Dorothy and I’m not in Kansas (my little Blogland) anymore. There’s a huge, massive, enormous Blog World out there that I didn’t even know existed. My Blogland is a mere tiny little unincorporated village compared to what is really out there.

Yes.

I am a Pinterest addict.

I need help.

I need an intervention.

STAT.

 

Jane Jonesing Jeans. Suffers Sticker Shock.

I enjoy a good episode of Extreme Couponing to get my saving juices flowing. I’ve read a Dave Ramsey book, watched Suze Orman a few times and listen to Clark Howard’s advice regularly.

I enjoy a good sale but I don’t plan my week around them. I clip a few coupons, as long as we already enjoy the product. I have a list of when “Kids Eat Free”at local restaurants on my phone so if we’re out and about we can take advantage.

I think of myself as your run-of-the-mill bargain hunter.

I hate clothes shopping so it’s a good thing I prefer classic styles that take a while to become outdated. For example, the jeans I’m wearing at this very minute are almost 10 years old. Ralph Lauren. Talbots. L. L. Bean. Gap. Just a few of my favorites. Since the fashion police aren’t knocking on my door and my 19-year-old daughter hasn’t said anything (yet) it’s probably safe to assume that I look OK.

I’m also a very patient person. With a fairly organized closet. It doesn’t bother me in the least to wait until the end of the season, buy clothes at least 50% off and store in my closet until next season. Which is what I do. Often.

So often, in fact, that I can’t believe anyone actually buys clothes at full price. And the full price usually shocks me.

Like this article, seen on Yahoo, about the best jeans to flatter different body types. Great tips. Before and after pics I can relate to.  But the prices? Are you kidding me?

NYDJ (Not Your Daughter’s Jeans) $120

Earnest Sewn Classic Boot Cut $198

White House Black Market $78

Even the Gap $70 and Lee Jeans $54 surprised me.

I buy Gap and Lee jeans. I’ve never paid more than $40.

I’m in shock. I had no idea this was the going rate. After seeing the flattering styles and great before and after pics I actually started considering updating my wardrobe.

After seeing the prices?

No way.

Besides.

There’s no need.

My readers just see me from the waist up.

I Think My Neighbors Are Stalking Me. And This Time, They Have Just Cause.

Or at least they’ve found me out.

You know my obsession with clean trash cans? (No? Read about it here. It’s ok. We’ll wait.)

And you’re well aware of my fascination with Google search terms. (Here and here. Again, take your time. We’re a patient bunch.)

Well, apparently, people are still finding my blog when they search for: random acts of kindness (A number of posts on this topic as it is near and dear to my heart), burka (Just one post on this topic, I promise), traffic signals, josef albers, joy suckers (Hey! That’s just mean!), wrinkled boobs (Even meaner!), hornyteens (Written just like that, all one word — and I’ll say it again. Ewwwwww!) and now……..

Wait for it……

wait for it…..

OCD About Trash Cans.

Wait! I can explain.

It’s just that we recently had another incident. And this time, it was my husband’s fault.

You see, I’ve turned #1son into an OCDer. Fingers crossed that he’s come by it honestly. He’s my son through adoption so I’m hoping it’s nature, not nurture. Because I know how debilitating OCD can be. And I shudder to think that I’m the cause. And I don’t want to see him on Dr. Phil in 20 years, shouting to the world that it’s all my fault. But I digress….

We, meaning my #1son and I, had just cleaned the trash cans last week. He was helping me pull them to the house and he said, ever so sweetly, “Mom? These cans are stinky. Maybe we should clean them out?”

Ahhhh. He warms the cockles of my heart.

So, we got to it. Spraying. Lysoling. Spraying some more. Air drying. It was heaven.

Sparkling clean trash and recycling cans tucked safely away in the garage.

Check.

This week, I went to the curb and grabbed the trash can handle.

Ouch!

Something bit me.

I look down and the handle, the ridge of the can and inside the can is covered with red ants. Upon further discovery, the bottom of the can is swimming with sweet, sticky liquid. Could it be……beer?

I don’t drink beer. My kids don’t drink beer. My husband. He drinks beer. And he broke rule # 173: Do not put loose trash in the trash can and rule #92: Put recyclables in the recycling bin. (Duh!)

So, two weeks in a row, I’m outside, cleaning the trash bin. And my neighbors saw me.

And the very next morning, in my WordPress Site Stats, I find that someone has found my blog by searching: OCD about trash cans.

Oh. I am so busted.

I’m Not An Extreme Couponer. Just A Wannabee.

A desperate wannabee.

That’s me.

It all started last fall when we participated in 3 canned food drives. Ok. Wait. That’s a lie. It started back in my college days when I was too proud to ask my parents for money to eat (because there’d be strings attached). I was working two jobs and trying to live on my own because I couldn’t handle the craziness that was home. I’d hunt the paper for coupons and stock up on soups and the prepared food stuff that I wrinkle my nose at now. Or coupons for fast food places. Wendy’s was my best friend back in college. I remember days when I’d clip a coupon for the all-you-can-eat salad bar and then bring my backpack filled with text books. I’d camp out and eat a late lunch at about 2pm, study while I ate and then eat an early dinner at 4pm. I can’t believe no one ever kicked me out. Not a proud time for me, for sure.

But I digress.

I’ve couponed on and off in my life but I got bitten by the bug again last fall. As I mentioned, we participated in 3 canned food drives, all within weeks of each other. By the second one, my pantry was bare. I don’t purchase many canned goods. I’m a buy-fresh-and-local (when I can) kind of cook. I prefer not to cook from a can if I can help it. Oh sure, I cheat with canned tomatoes or cream of mushroom soup or canned beans from time to time. But again, I’m digressing. (Stick to the story, Jane. Too much caffeine this morning? Jeez.)

I clipped some coupons from the paper and purchased a boatload of canned goods for the 2nd drive. Wow. It wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be.

The next drive? I was prepared. I clipped coupons AND checked out the three major grocery chains near me for sales. I had to go to two stores to make it happen but since they were both on my way home from the boy’s school it wasn’t hard to navigate. I easily saved about 50% on my grocery bill. I was intrigued.

Since then, I’ve watched Extreme Couponers a handful of times. Many of the women are like me – got into couponing out of necessity. This recession (that’s over but isn’t) has hit many of us so hard. And while we’re doing OK, there are some things I just don’t want to give up. Like baseball and swim team for the kids or my favorite shampoo. We’ve trimmed our budget in every way we can think of. Watching the extreme couponers has shown me we could trim a little bit more.

But I still can’t seem to get the results they seem to achieve.

There are three things stopping me.

1. Time. I don’t spend 35+ hours a week clipping coupons, studying sale circulars and taking that 7 hour trip to one store.

2. I’m not going to purchase the 50 newspapers a week I’d need to collect a substantial amount of coupons and I refuse to dumpster dive like one featured woman does. (And she brings her kids with her when she does it!)

3. I don’t use many of the products that coupons advertise. I’m happy with my favorite dishwashing detergent or glass cleaner. I allow a little wiggle room but quite honestly, I’m a little set in my ways.

Taking advantage of Publix Buy-One-Get-One specials has helped quite a bit. I have about $80 worth of extra virgin olive oil that I paid about $30 for (with the help of coupons, of course.) My stock pile is building. Everything you see in the picture below was at least 50% off or free. Most of it, free. My daughter claims I’m preparing for the apocalypse. I don’t mind. Call me crazy, if you dare, but I’m saving us quite a bit at the grocery store. I’ve been able to purchase new baseball cleats, a new team swim suit and a fancy graduation dress with the savings.

But I want one of those big payouts. You know the ones. Where the bill is $1029 and they end up paying $6.82 for it. Or, even better, the bill comes to $534 and the grocery store pays you $1.13 to take it off their hands.

So far….

1. I have my baseball card notebook with coupons filed in categories according to the layout of my favorite grocery store.

2. I buy two, maybe three, Sunday papers a week and spend about 2-3 hours clipping, filing, scanning and planning a shopping trip or two.

3. Employing these methods, I save, on average, around 40%.

And that’s enough for now.

Baby steps.

I just have to keep reminding myself.

Baby steps.