Why does my house smell like dog poo? I've come back from Salt Lake and plunked myself on the sofa and slowly that dog smell seeps up. I don't have a dog. Although, my ex-dog, Alice, comes to visit occasionally, and she was here for a week not too far back, but far enough back that all dog smells should be long gone.
I don't like any products that eliminate odor like Febreze or that ghastly pot pourri stuff that clutches your nostrils with a cloying fist. (Why do all gift shops think that is a good smell)?
I need lemons. Fresh lemons cut in half. Or one hyacinth would take care of it. Brownies in the oven is a good smell. Rosemary and Thyme.
It's in the slipcovers! The dog is in the slipcovers. I need to wash the slipcovers. Immediately.
Writing is so educational. Look how I've solved this domestic problem by asking a question. Life is like composition class.
Ask, and you shall receive. God is within you. And so on.
On Monday, I will continue with people's happy house pictures. If you want to get in on it, there's still time.
Have a joyous weekend!
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Things I have done but will never do again:
--eat at Chuckie Cheeses
--ride a ferris wheel
--take a bus cross-country
--dye my hair
--buy a dog
--have a baby
--have a period
--eat a Twinkie
--go on a blind date or any date, for that matter
--buy an American car
--read Nicholas Sparks or Danielle Steele
--hitchhike or pick up hitchhikers
--pee in my car
--get up at 5 a.m. to do anything
--smoke a cigarette/cigar
--watch Somewhere in Time
Things I shouldn’t do but probably will anyway:
--cut my own hair
--let the grandchildren guzzle Dr. Peppers
--tell a Polish joke
--scratch until it bleeds
--wear Tom’s underwear when I run out of my own
--look at myself in a magnified mirror
--stay up past midnight
--skip the sunscreen
--leave clothes on the floor
--mix whites and colors
--dance in my undies on the back porch
--take a sleeping pill
--ask Tom who he’ll marry when I die
Posted by Louise Plummer at 5:21 PM
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the space and the lake and the perks of Daybreak, but when I'm here, listening to the traffic, skateboarders, ambulances and the horse and buggies clopping by, I'm in my element. More than anything, I love a city. This particular city has gardens I call OZ with an abundance of bulb flowers popping up today. The air was rife with hyacinths inside the green iron fence of The Lion House. I ate my dinner there before meeting Tom at art class.
In my old age, I sometimes think I would like to move back to the Netherlands and finish out my life there. Tom is willing. We'd find an apartment in Delft, a small city, easy for two old people to maneuver and do what we do now--lie around with our computers and try to look up once in awhile.
Ann and I will meet on Friday to work out the organization of our book. Or perhaps we will agree upon a gentle disorganization for the book. We'll work it out. We seem to live in a space where things fall together the way they need to. There is nothing so happy/sad as finishing a book.
Don't forget to sign up for the Solstice Writing Retreat. It could be the beginning of your book!
Posted by Louise Plummer at 8:44 PM
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Okay, it's that time of year again: the Solstice Writing Retreat. Ann Cannon and I will be teaching together about personal writing.
Who should come? YOU should. All my sisters should come. Kathy Woolley should come. Trish should come from Kansas. Anne Beach should come. Peggy should come. Marva! The Calgary women should come. The Iowa women, the NYC women, the Provo women, my nieces, Donna from Holland. Syl Carson should come and read my chart. Evelyn should come. She needs a good laugh. Samara should drive up from Texas. Marie should come. And so should Marci Stringham.
Men can come too, but so far we haven't had any. All that estrogen loose in one room might be frightening.
We will write about ourselves. Who doesn't know that subject? And we will write fast. Who can write well when they're writing fast? No one. We will write imperfectly and read to each other.
We write, we read, we laugh and cry. It's a party. Sign up today!
Posted by Louise Plummer at 8:29 AM
Monday, March 23, 2015
Trish Armstrong sent me her happy space over the weekend. The cello and the piano are good enough for me. But I love that large bouquet in the window and the cat on the carpet. I know Trish only from her blog http://twebsterarmstrong.blogspot.com/ She is optimistic and living a life of full activity. She cooks, she rides her bike, she gardens, she writes haikus and keeps track of the ducks on her property. She is the one who taught me that the twelve days of Christmas begin on Christmas Day, not the twelve days before Christmas. She calls her other half "that spouse o' mine." And she lives in Kansas. Isn't the internet wonderful?
Yesterday we went to hear Sarah, who spoke in church; she is an eloquent story teller, and talks poignantly of her belief. When she finished, the soon to be 3-year old Sally, piped up from the congregation, "Good job, Mom!"
I found I could watch To the Manor Born in full episodes on YouTube late last night. Penelope Keith
as the snobbish Audrey Forbes-Hamilton makes me laugh out loud. I highly recommend it.
It's eleven in the morning and already a good week.
Posted by Louise Plummer at 10:02 AM
Friday, March 20, 2015
|This is Erica Plummer's IKEA hat rack painted red. A little paint can change the world.|
|This is Krystle Wahnschaffe's beloved Chicago apartment. I think she is missing it now that she's moved to Dallas.|
|Melissa Lindeman writes "This part of my living room is my piece of happiness." Love the plates!|
|Thelma Davis's fireplace. She writes that she spends an inordinate amount of time decorating for each new season. I love the birds clipped to the twine.|
Posted by Louise Plummer at 10:21 PM
Thursday, March 19, 2015
How about sending me one or two of yours. Send it to louiseplummer@gmail and I'll post as many as I can. It doesn't have to be a whole room even. It may just be a table in a hallway, or the couch and the picture above it, or your bed.
Brag a little.
Posted by Louise Plummer at 10:05 PM