Christmas

My six words, memorialized for my mother

The pirate is aware that it is Thanksgiving week, and not Christmas.

Not even December yet, as a matter of fact.

However.

Homemade pecan pie for Pastor Tony's family

My post is not as much about the beloved holiday, as it is about the word.

The word Christmas, that is.

Allow me to elaborate.

Spicy Cranberry Meatballs made from scratch

For the past two Friday nights, we have had guests over for dinner.

Last Friday, the seventeenth, it was to be a young family -- Eric and his wife Lauren, and their three-year-old daughter Alaina.

Except, at the last minute Eric was detained at work, and thought he might be able to get away in time to join us, but it turned out being only Lauren and Alaina who came for dinner.

On the seventeenth we had two special guests

But Audrey and Dagny were here, along with Chad and Erica and Rhett and Baby Elliot, and we had a great time even without Eric.

I served hamburgers and hot dogs that TG prepared on the grill. To dress those we had many toppings, including all the condiments and pickles and two kinds of cheese slices.

Our sides were apple pie baked beans, baked macaroni and cheese, an assortment of chips, creamy Southern slaw, and deviled eggs.

Apple Pie Baked Beans

For dessert we had homemade lemon brownies and pumpkin bread, plus a store-bought cookies and cream pie.

The beverage pail overflowed with ice-cold soft drinks and waters. And there was coffee.

What a marvelous visit it was, and we're so thankful that we were able to get together.

Dagny cradling Baby Elliot a/k/a Skippy

But a week ago last Friday night, on the tenth, we had a different bunch for dinner -- in addition to all of us.

It was Pastor Tony, co-pastor of our church, and his family.

Pastor Tony had recently returned from a ten-day trip to South Africa, where he went to encourage our missionaries there.

Tomatoes, onions, and mini cucumbers in a scratch-made vinaigrette

We wanted to hear all about his trip, so we invited them over.

Pastor Tony and his family have been at our church just since May of 2021, and they had never been to our house before.

For dinner that night I served spicy cranberry meatballs (meatballs made from scratch), slow-cooker baked potato casserole, classic green bean casserole, Crock Pot creamed corn, a fresh tomato-onion-mini cucumber salad, and scrumptious Brazi Bites (which I buy at Costco).

All the pumpkin-y stuff goes back into the bins this weekend

We also had three homemade desserts: vanilla pound cake with amaretto icing, pumpkin bread, and pecan pie.

Along with a large assortment of soft drinks, flavored waters, and plain water, both still and carbonated, surrounded by ice in the big pail. Plus coffee, of course.

It was a blast. We all ate, and Pastor Tony told us many stories about his trip, and showed us some pictures.

Pastor Tony sharing pictures with TG

Before supper, while I was showing the house to Pastor Tony's wife, Amanda, she commented on several framed cross stitch art pieces displayed on the wall in our TV room.

Some were made by my mother, some by me, and one by my friend Susan who passed away in 2011.

In that vein, and because it involved a recent happy discovery, I showed Amanda a bookmark that I cross-stitched for my mother about twenty years ago.

Pumpkin Bread

The story behind the bookmark is that when I was about four or five years old and just learning to write and spell, I became obsessed with writing the words CAT DOG RAT I LOVE YOU.

I have no memory of why those six words -- in that order -- resonated with me, but I wrote them constantly.

I've always liked putting pen or pencil to paper, but you have to believe me when I say that I think I may have written CAT DOG RAT I LOVE YOU five hundred times, on everything I could think to write it on.

With our burgers and dogs, we had plenty of chips

My odd scribblings became part of our family lore, and once in a while my mother would tell about it, and we would all laugh.

So it was that, back in 2003 or '04, I decided to make my mother a special gift by cross-stitching those words onto a pre-made Aida cloth bookmark that I got at the craft store. 

My project completed, I gave the bookmark to her in a card. Not for any special occasion that I remember, but just because.

Vanilla pounds cake with amaretto icing

And you'll have to take my word for it when I say, my mother's reaction to the gift was uncharacteristic and certainly not what I expected.

As in, you would have thought I'd given her something made of solid gold and set with precious stones.

Something with actual value other than sentimental. 

The wall of cross stitch pieces I showed to Amanda

She went on and on and on about that bookmark. She raved. She loved it. My mother was an avid reader and owned hundreds of books. In whatever book she was reading from the time I gave her that bookmark, the bookmark was in it.

When in her house over the years I would often see it lying on the table beside her chair, or peeking out from her latest read.

The last time I saw the bookmark (until recently), was not long before my mother died. 

For a crowd, we always make up the beverage bucket

She passed away on October 21, 2020, of pancreatic cancer. 

During the barely three months between the dire diagnosis and her death, I stayed with her and Henry at least half of the time. I'd be with them for a week, then go home for several days, then drive not quite two hours back to Greenville, to be with them for another week. 

Several weeks before her passing, Mom lost the strength to read. Her books were returned to their shelves.

Lemon Brownies

After she died and we had buried her and I went home, Henry began going through her things. I mentioned the bookmark and asked him to set it aside for me when he came across it.

Mom kept an immaculate house, so it should not have been difficult to locate the bookmark -- not least because it was almost sure to be found inside a book we had recently shelved.

But Henry couldn't find it. The next time we visited, a month or so after Mom's passing, I looked for it. I couldn't find it either.

Rhett is never here for long before he gets out the cars

Henry took apart the leather recliner Mom used, looking for it. No luck.

He finally told me that he really thought the bookmark had somehow been thrown away in the days either just before or just after Mom passed away.

I could hardly believe that, but I had to accept it. Still, every time I have been back in Mom's house over the last three years, I have looked for the bookmark (knowing I would not find it).

Deviled eggs are somewhat a specialty of mine

Until a few weeks ago, when Henry called me. As it happened, I did not pick up and he had to leave a voice mail.

He said, reading: Cat Dog Rat, I Love You, by Jenny.

Then he explained that my sister had returned several of my mother's Mitford books, which she had borrowed within the last couple of years.

For the hamburger supper we used melamine trays

And in flipping through the pages of one of those books, Henry came across my bookmark.

He put it into an envelope and mailed it to me, and it reached me safely.

Now, so that it will not be handled too much and my children will know where to find it when I'm gone, I keep the bookmark tucked inside my cherished book The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which I received as a gift from my late mother-in-law nearly forty years ago, and which is always on a small table beside my chair.

Store-bought cookies and cream pie

So I was showing the bookmark to Amanda -- Pastor Tony's wife -- and telling her about it, when she shared a story that I know will stay with me always.

It's quite simple: When her son Gideon -- who is now eighteen -- was four or five years old, he discovered, learned to spell, and subsequently became enamored of, the word Christmas.

And he wrote it everywhere.

In tiny letters, both printed and cursive, and very neatly, Gideon inscribed Christmas on everything he found -- random papers, napkins, note pads, what have you.

Gideon showing something to his big sister, Alexis

Amanda told me that she'd be going through the mail, or consulting her shopping list, or sorting a desk, and there it would be: Christmas. Christmas. Christmas.

He simply loved that lovely word, and was addicted to writing it.

I told Amanda later that out of all we talked about and rejoiced over and shared and laughed about during our visit that night, the thing I will never forget is that story about her Gideon loving to write the word Christmas.

Speaking of which: Cat Dog Rat I Love You, and -- hurrah! -- it almost IS Christmas.

In a few days we'll be stacking these plates up again

But first, we must all have a truly happy Thanksgiving.

One that we will always remember, and the memory of which we will treasure amongst all the other simple yet priceless things with which we have been blessed.

One in which we are found to be genuinely grateful. 

And that is all for now.

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Happy Thanksgiving Week

Monday Mirth :: unemployed

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Happy Monday

Monday Mirth :: finished

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Happy Monday

Time for a coffee break

I picked up this enameled cast-iron calf at Tractor Supply

Time for a little update as to what's going on around here.

Our electrician sent out a team to install the round back-lit bathroom mirror that was sent to replace the one that broke after five months.

The fake fall foliage is distributed for maximum effect

They were here for about fourteen minutes.

It's one of those things that's not the least bit complicated if you know what you're doing.

So we are in business again -- until we aren't. Forgive my skepticism but once burned ... you know the rest.

My salt and pepper shakers are for looks only

The extra-large battered-looking round green metal clock in the TV room is back on the wall. Up and running, as it were. So far, so good.

We are back to frothing heavy cream, too, for our coffee. Every day. Singularly satisfying, that froth on top of the Joe.

To celebrate, we're planning a party not only for this coming Friday night, but for the next Friday night too.

These wooden crates come out every year

And the week after that is Thanksgiving, and boy will we ever have a houseful.

For the first time in our married life, TG and I have had to make arrangements with one of our children and their family to stay in a hotel when they are here for the holiday.

My Thanksgiving table runner features pumpkins

There's just not enough room for everyone. Audrey hosts a few of her nieces, who love hanging with Dagny, and one of the subject family's children will stay here with us (in our room, on the floor), but that puts us full up.

Erica offered to keep some folks as Elliot is still sleeping in his bassinet in her room, meaning that she has a guest room until that room becomes Rhett's room. But we decided that with the new baby still less than two months old, we'd spare her the extra work.

This little fox was picked out by Dagny a few years ago

Not to worry. It will be fun for everyone.

The next two Friday-night dinner parties will be with church friends. We are looking forward to these fun-filled soirées and I am busy planning menus.

I'll give a full report after the fact.

Gnomes hanging out on the ledge

Meanwhile, at the end of last week I put all of the October decorations away and brought out simply every autumnal doodad and whatnot and layabout and knickknack and so forth, along with fake foliage, that I possess, and scattered thoughtfully placed everything around.

Mostly in the eat-in kitchen, but there are accents in the TV room too.

It's hard to believe that in a few weeks, I have to put all of that away for another ten months, and haul out the Christmas stuff.

If you come over, one of the first things you'll see is this little house

How can this year have evaporated in such a way? Ah. Just like every other year has done. That's how.

At any rate, there is another new addition to my kitchen: a coffee bar.

TG is rolling his eyes somewhere. He does not drink coffee so is not the least bit simpatico with those of us who do. However, he is sweet about the quiet clamor that tends to develop around this particular beverage.

These towels hang on the oven door

He endured my "having to have" a Keurig coffee maker -- since time out of mind I had used one of my collection of French presses to prepare my daily coffee, and a percolator when we had guests -- when, back in early September, I used my son's new Keurig and was red-pilled to the concept.

That necessitated me buying my own Keurig (which was on order before we even returned home from that trip), and my introduction to the world of K-cups, and all that goes along with that.

My cake stand is holding pumpkin trinkets until I make a cake

Side Note: I think I've asked you this before, but do y'all have a CostLess store? We do and we're all crazy about it. I really believe ours is the only one, though.

It's wildly successful. Becoming more crowded every time we go. And they have a rewards program!

Audrey told me the other day that at CostLess they have boxes of 72-count Donut Shop K-cups for twenty-one dollars. I haven't seen it with my own eyes but when I do, I will be buying some of those.

This turkey holds up his end of the table

Never mind that I just bought a box of 100 Donut Shop K-cups for thirty-nine dollars at Costco, thinking I was pretty smart for getting the price-per-cup down to thirty-nine cents.

If Audrey is correct (and I'm sure she is), the cost per cup of the box at CostLess is twenty-nine cents.

My coffee bar

And yes, I do realize that I am paying lots more for cups of coffee these days, than I did when I bought the ground coffee and brewed it in a French press, one cup at a time.

Or even in the percolator, ten cups at a time.

The backlit mirror was replaced and has been installed

But in my own defense I no longer order coffee in restaurants and certainly not in the popular coffee shops, where it costs anywhere from three to five dollars a cup.

It's all relative.

And soon, our relatives (and other guests) will be enjoying the latest addition I alluded to above: my new coffee bar.

We got beaucoup candy at our church's harvest dinner

How it came about was, one, as slim and space-saving as the five-inch-wide Keurig is, I was beginning to get nervous about the crowded-ness of the countertop (workbench, my late mother-in-law always called it) where said machine resided.

It was encroaching on a main Crock Pot location, which becomes pretty important this time of year.

Two, as a result of mental ruminations on that subject, a few Saturdays ago I decided to relocate the Keurig to the kitchen desk and make a coffee bar there.

The popcorn machine has gone around the corner into the front room

The desk features four cubbyholes attached to the cabinets above, which cubbies have traditionally held baskets, which held all sorts of things.

I cleaned out the cabinets and put the baskets up there out of sight, and moved many of my coffee mugs to the cubbyholes.

The mugs are in the desk cubbyholes

Put the Keurig on the desk (it had to be at an angle, which I did not like), and drove that arrangement around the block a few times.

It was imperfect in that, the kitchen desk is just that: a desk. It's not a coffee bar. There's a chair there.

I've had fun decorating the Origami coffee cart

The pirate was not happy.

I began searching on Amazon, and even went to a few stores, looking for some ideal (but inexpensive) piece of furniture to sit where our popcorn machine has been sitting for many years, to serve as a coffee bar.

Have you tried Donut Shop Snickers K-cups?

The popcorn machine was wheeled around the corner into the front room, which may sound offbeat to you but it's actually going to be fine. The room (intended as formal living/dining) is not used all that much by anyone but me.

And the popcorn machine can easily be wheeled right back into the kitchen when we make popcorn.

My friend Marsha gave me this little loaf pan and matching spatula

(Whenever I start rearranging things I often think, someone will think this is weird. Odd. Strange. Eccentric.

(And then I think: It's MY house. I'll put stuff where I want to put it.)

(I mean, if someone doesn't like it, they can always leave. But they will be missing out on a good time.)

Pumpkins are nestled everywhere

So that left the wall space to the right of the kitchen desk, for a coffee bar.

I summarily ordered a small baker's rack that would hold the Keurig without having to set it at an angle, and would also hold all of the other coffee stuff.

Minus the mugs, which I really liked in the cubbyholes above the desk.

My friend Marsha gave me this butter dish too

They look cute there and with a coffee bar a few feet away, it is a wise use of those spaces.

So the little baker's rack arrived and I attempted to put it together. I wanted to spare TG the hassle.

Owls and a squirrel and giant acorn

Only, one, I couldn't do it alone and two, I could tell that even all put together, it would look just like what it was: a piece of cheap Chinese junk.

Sorry but it was not up to my standards. I was just trying to save money but in the end, I had wasted money.

We'll be eating lots of pie on these plates

I boxed it all back up exactly the way it had come, and returned it.

Back to Amazon, where I located and purchased just what I needed: a sturdy, heavy, attractive rolling cart by Origami.

So named because it arrives already assembled and folded. I only had to unfold it, set a latch, and put the wheels on the bottom.

This is a mini gnome mug from Hobby Lobby

It's so heavy that the process proved slightly difficult, but I prevailed because I was determined, and have been rewarded with what I consider a primo coffee cart.

That did not have to be put together, piece by piece.

Y'all ... this cart is the bomb. I would say without hesitation, if you need a rolling cart for any reason, either decorative or utilitarian, or both, this is one you should consider.

More gnomes are nestled on the two-tiered tray centerpiece

It's solid -- both literally and figuratively.

This piece of furniture will be listed in my will. It's what I call an instant heirloom. Somebody is going to want it and I will specify who gets it.

So now the coffee bar is in place and I love approaching it every morning to make my coffee.

This little cow is cast iron and very heavy

Lots of counter space and cabinet space (where all the coffee mugs used to be) has been freed up, and I've been enjoying that too.

Then came the flurry of decorating for Thanksgiving, and acquiring of thematic paper dessert plates and napkins for the upcoming festive meals.

That was accomplished at Hobby Lobby, where all such supplies were fifty percent off.

This tiny gnome was a gift from a friend

I'm determined to have the tree up, and all of the Christmas decorations waiting in the wings, to be lit and placed the minute that Thanksgiving is over.

These days I have to get out in front of things.

Soon it will be time to say goodbye to fall

And since Thanksgiving is a tad bit earlier in November than usual, the Christmas season will be that much longer.

What a happy thought.

Tell me the stage of Thanksgiving planning where you are today, a little more than two weeks before the turkey goes into the oven.

May your holiday season hold many blessings

Will you be traveling for your pumpkin pie?

Is your Christmas tree up? And if so is it lit, or waiting to be lit?

I want to know your thoughts on the matter. Spill it.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Wednesday

Monday Mirth :: we've all been there

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Happy Monday

Monday Mirth :: an age-old problem

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Happy Monday

Rounding out the week

Baby Guy, chuffed that things are going so swimmingly around here

Thank you, all those who have commiserated with me on the loss of my bougie backlit mirror, my extra-large battered-looking round green metal clock, and most of all, my beloved Bodum milk frother.

One of the other things "they" say is, what a difference a day makes.

I think that's actually a song.

Anyway, the day after I posted my last post, I got to thinking. I thought, maybe there is something online about fixing a clock with the problem being experienced by mine.

I typed some relevant terms into the search line and almost immediately, the answer was provided.

It was in the form of a short video posted nine years ago by a lady named Pam Corwin, who assured all who may be watching that a clock problem like mine was easily fixed.

And it was. In fact, within less than five minutes of watching the video, I had fixed the clock.

First I took it down off the wall and carefully leaned it against the sofa. I removed the thing in the middle that held the hands on. 

Sure enough, just as Pam Corwin said, all I had to do was push the hour hand back down onto the post upon which the hands are mounted.

I put the minute hand back on, screwed the thing that holds them in place back on, and held my breath.

It worked. When TG got home, he put the clock back up on the wall for me.

Look at that! We exclaimed. A problem solved, without an extra one created!

But not so fast.

As in, the next morning (yesterday) I noticed that the clock had again stopped. At four-something in the morning.

Mamaw nooooo

I took it down from the wall again and repeated what I'd done the day before.

Then when I went to set it, I noticed -- again, as Pam Corwin cautioned -- that at one point the two hands scraped one another ever so slightly.

I carefully bent the minute hand out a tad bit and reset the clock using the wheel on the back provided for that purpose (because as Pam Corwin admonished, you should never change the time on such a clock by shoving the hands themselves around, and I had in fact been guilty of that).

And held my breath.

Now, more than twenty-four hours later, at this writing, my clock is still keeping accurate time.

And still sitting the floor, leaning against the sofa. I am contemplating changing the time to an hour earlier, just so that TG can put it in place and we won't have to take it back down a week from now, on fall-back day.

What say you to that? Isn't that special?

I'll tell you what else is special.

Last evening while I was preparing supper, TG went down to the mailbox and came back in with our mail.

He does that every day except Sunday. We are creatures of habit.

I noticed that there was a flat-ish medium-sized blue-and-white bubble mailer in the bundle.

The kind that comes from Amazon. Now, my TG is not prone to order anything from Amazon. That's my job.

Only, I had not ordered anything.

But he handed the package to me, and I saw that it was addressed to me.

The gift of friendship ... and frothed milk

I opened it. Guess what was inside? A Bodum milk frother.

Just like the one that our Stephanie gave me for Christmas several years ago, and on which I recently was obliged to perform last rites.

TG looked on without saying anything, and as he knew my frother had gone kaput, I realized that he thought I'd ordered a new one.

But: I didn't order this, I said.

He only lifted his eyebrows. I wasn't sure he believed me! I don't know why my credibility on such a matter would be in question!

So I repeated: I did not order this.

Okay, he said.

The kids and TG and I had been texting back and forth earlier in the day, when Andrew sent us the pictures of Baby Guy that you see in this post.

I picked up the thread. Which one of you birds sent me a new Bodum milk frother?

Andrew was the first to respond: Not it.

Audrey was next: Not I!

Erica: Not me either!

Stephanie: It wasn't me.

Brittany: It must have been a secret admirer!

So far so good

Audrey: Maybe it was Dad.

Andrew: Ordered it in your sleep.

Me: I did not, Andrew!

As surely as I knew it wasn't "Dad," I knew I had not ordered a milk frother in my sleep. Give me some credit for at least being awake when I spend money.

And then I was truly mystified.

I began a mental calculation of who, out of my not over-large but truly wonderful circle of dear friends and blogging buddies (or both), would be the most likely to do such a kind and generous thing.

A tick or two later, having intuited quickly with my steel trap of a mind who the guilty party must be, I issued an email to that rascal person.

Did you send me a Bodum milk frother from Amazon?????

Shortly thereafter, I received a reply in the affirmative. She admitted it!

A few minutes later I informed the kids via that same group text: It was Mari.

And I said to myself: Of course it was Mari. Not that any one of my other wonderful friends would not have done the very same thing, or something equally thoughtful.

But at such times, after weeding out family members, Mari tends to be the first one you think of.

Thanks again, my friend. I want to be more like you.

As I told Mari in a text this morning, after enjoying a delightful cup of coffee with heaps of frothy cream, I never knew how worn-out my old Bodum milk frother was until I used the new one.

It was time.

Baby Elliot registered his concern over current events

So the clock is ticking and the milk is frothing. If the odds are in our favor, maybe we'll get that replacement bougie backlit mirror on the wall tomorrow.

I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, have a lovely and peaceful -- and, I hope, relaxing -- autumn weekend.

Maybe even with a pleasant surprise or two.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Friday

Got your six

If you've got the time, I've got the timeless clock

They say that what goes around, comes around.

And that even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Whoever they are, they sure are full of clichés.

At any rate, many round things in my house seem to be breaking at the same -- or around the same -- time.

The first to go was actually a clock.

To be specific, my extra-large battered-looking round green metal clock that hangs over the fireplace hearth.

It runs on a single AA battery that will keep it ticking for several months.

But inevitably, enough time will pass that I'll look up to reference said oversized timepiece and notice that something is off.

So it was around a month ago. My clock had stopped and while I may be able to take it down and replace the battery all by me onesie, no way can I put it back up without assistance.

Cherica were over one night and I asked TG and Chad to take the clock off the wall. I trotted to the kitchen to get a AA battery.

The men complied and in no time, the clock was back on the wall and I set it to the correct time. 

Except, later, we noticed that while the minute hand was diligently working its way around the dial, the hour hand hung limply at the six.

I did a cursory inspection and found that the hour hand had somehow become disengaged from whatever gear controls it, and was attached to nothing that would enable it to make the trip around the clock's face once every twelve hours.

Since we have no idea what to do or how to fix it, our extra-large battered-looking round green metal clock now claims, whenever you consult its face, that the time of day is six something.

Which begs the question: Can this clock still be right twice a day? I have near about worn me pirate brain out trying to come up with the answer.

Would the real frother please come froth

I mean, I get it if the clock is STOPPED. Like, at six minutes after six, in the A.M. or the P.M. The correct time will roll around twice a day. Faithfully.

But what are the chances that, with only one of the hands moving, the correct time will ever correspond with the time registered on the clock, at any given moment? Even once? Surely not twice? Per day, I mean?

Your thoughts are welcome.

Oh and not for nothing but this was the second round clock to suffer a profound (but in this case, not permanent) disability during this calendar year.

The other is a much smaller wall-mounted timepiece (Have you noticed that I have a thing for circles, and circular things? No? Well I do.) that hangs in the kitchen, not far from the door leading out to the garage.

It came from Dollar General and thus was cheap but it was so attractive that I had to have it.

Only, last summer, TG -- while working on the aforementioned door leading out to the garage -- stumbled and, since he is so tall (six foot four), bumped the clock with his shoulder and knocked it to the floor.

I rushed to pick up my clock and noticed that the plastic rim was cracked, but not so as you would necessarily notice unless you already knew the crack was there.

Which no one is going to do because they won't know. I mean, you know now but if you were to come over, I would dazzle you with charm (and food) so that you'd forget all about looking for that crack in the clock.

And since the clock was still merrily ticking and keeping accurate time after I tenderly retrieved it from the hard floor, I carefully hung it back up on the wall.

And politely suggested to my beloved that he get a grip and take it easy on my stuff.

Whereupon he continued with the door project until its completion and as I recall, made no response to my timely recommendation.

Ah. Some things never change but love makes the world go 'round. So we're good.

That's it for the round clocks. Circling back, next to go was my round mirror.

Now, we have three baths and each has a round mirror on the wall. The half bath has a round mirror that's twenty-four inches in diameter and edged in black rubber.

This mirror was so bougie ... until it broke

The guest bath has a round mirror on the wall that is forty-eight inches in diameter. It's a whopper. Also framed in black.

And last spring, when we remodeled our master bath, I chose yet another round mirror -- thirty-six inches in diameter, and frameless, but with a special feature.

It's backlit.

This mirror is positively enchanting. In fact I was so taken with it, I'm not sure I would have cared what it cost, but in truth the price was reasonable for such a gorgeous thing.

Except, after the mirror had been on the wall and functioning as intended for less than six months, one day it simply did not work.

As in, when I touched the indicators at the bottom of the mirror to activate either the LED light or the defogger, or both, nothing happened.

And this was just from one day to the next. The classic now you see it, now you don't.

Ugh. I was so upset.

The maddening part was that the two circular indicators at the bottom of the round mirror were themselves still illuminated. But pressing them produced no result.

Since the mirror was hardwired by the installer, we got the bright idea to turn off the electricity to that room, effectively killing power to the mirror. We waited about a minute, then restored the power.

Then the indicators were no longer illuminated, but a creepy vague noncommittal glow now emanates from the back of the mirror. All the time. You can only see it in the dark.

I had bought the mirror on Amazon and it was long past the time when one could return it -- which I didn't want to do anyway, since the packaging was no doubt in a landfill and how does one wrap up and return such an unwieldy thing?

So I did all I could do, which was write a one-star review.

I said, the mirror is beautiful. All I hoped for and then some. But after less than six months of working, suddenly and with no warning, it no longer works.

After a few days, my review was published.

This one took the proverbial licking and ... you know the rest

And do you know what happened? The seller reached out to me via email to ask whether I wanted a refund, or a replacement.

I processed my amazement and answered forthwith that what I wanted was a replacement, since I was still thoroughly enamored with the mirror.

To be honest, I'm not sure I believed that they would send me a replacement mirror, just like that.

But they got around to it right away and a week later, a new mirror had been delivered to my door.

I amended my review to five stars simply on the strength of the seller's response to my one-star review.

And now it only remains for TG to install the replacement mirror, and we will be back in business.

Let us keep our collective fingers crossed that this mirror functions as intended for a good long time.

Especially since we can't say as much about my favorite milk frother.

It's a Bodum and even though it cost only ten dollars, it was a gift to me from our Stephanie many Christmases ago.

And it takes two AA batteries, and works beautifully to do its intended job, and has done so for all the time I've had it.

(I pour the heavy cream into my cup, heat it in the microwave, froth the warmed cream, then make or pour my hot coffee right over the top of that.)

But a few weeks ago, after I had fed the Bodum frother with two brand-new AA batteries because its vigor seemed to be flagging, it simply refused to work.

At all.

As in, I knew I had put the batteries in correctly because they go in the same way every time, and it's not like it's a difficult concept to begin with; you pop the old batteries out, pop the new ones in, replace the cap on the end, and froth away.

But not this time. No matter what I do or say, my Bodum frother is dead in the water.

No little circular wire frothering thing is going to go around and around any more, frothing anything.

Never underestimate the power of a backup frother

The pirate did, not, however, despair. 

That's because a few years ago, Andrew and Brittany gave me a gift of something I'd wanted for a long time: A stick immersion blender.

(I had never had one! I told you, I am usually the last woman in the Western Hemisphere to jump on the bandwagon of a trend. I didn't have a microwave oven until the late nineties.)

But oh how I loved that stick blender! It was so handy when I made my homemade French-style tomato soup:

In a medium-size heavy saucepan, to one large can of San Marzano whole peeled tomatoes add one-half of a stick of butter, one medium yellow onion cut into chunks, and two cups or so of chicken broth. Bring to a boil, then simmer with the lid on for forty-five minutes. Blend (either in a blender, or with a stick immersion blender) until smooth, and serve.

But one day about six months ago or so, I noticed that my stick immersion blender was no longer blending. As in, you'd immerse it in whatever you wanted to blend, and press the button, and there was sound but no action.

Turned out, there was a tiny plastic piece that had broken, and said piece fit somehow at the base of the blender's blades, and without it, the blades would not turn.

Ever again. As there was no way to repair the plastic piece, I threw it away but kept the stick blender because it came with clever attachments.

And one of those is a milk frother.

So, recent narrowly-averted disasters notwithstanding, we are once more in business when it comes to frothing milk for the morning coffee.

It's a minor annoyance that I have to haul the large stick blender out of the cabinet and plug it in -- as opposed to reaching for the small, lightweight Bodum frother -- but the good news is, it works.

Works exactly like the Bodum frother did, as a matter of fact. Six of one, half dozen of the other, type thing.

Let's unbox this bad boy and get it up on the wall

In a roundabout way, all really is well that ends well.

Except in the case of my extra-large battered-looking round green metal clock, which is still claiming that it's six-something at basically all times of every day.

Is there anyone around who's got my six on this thing?

If so, speak truth to power and help a pirate out of a jam. Not to mention a sinister time warp.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Tuesday