Sep 302015
 

This summer, my daughter, Tori, and I had a garage sale. The way things make the rounds is really something, because I was selling a few items that I had purchased at a garage sale the summer before!

A lady in her early seventies stopped by our sale and picked up an assortment of stuff. As she was paying, she explained what would become of the items. She said she lived with her son and daughter-in-law, and she was going to hurry, “before they get home . . . and store this stuff in a building at the back of their property.”

Tori and I exchanged glances, because it was funny, and the woman knew it was funny, but who wants to laugh at a customer buying your junk?

Maybe we’ll see our stuff at her garage sale someday down the road and want to buy it back, you know, for nostalgia’s sake.

While we are talking about our stuff . . .

Someone told me about the man who made his wife swear to bury him with all his money. When he died, she slipped a small box into the casket before they closed the lid. Later, a close friend asked her what was in the box. The woman said  he made her promise that she would bury his money with him when he died. She decided that the best way to do that was to write a check, made out to him.

Things are meant to be used, shared, and given away. These things can make life easier, but they aren’t going with us when we die. Clean out, clear out, donate, or have a garage sale and spread some love. Someone might just want what you are getting rid of, and store it in a building at the back of their property. 🙂

Love my readers,

Nealie

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sep 242015
 

spools of threadI was looking back through one of my forty-plus diaries today, and never cease to be amused at all the stuff I recorded. The memories rush back, and I wonder how this or that could have been forgotten.

Today I read that at eight, Lilly would play on one side of the basement, while I exercised on the other side for about forty-five minutes every day. I had more energy back then. When it was time for my shower, I would put her in her room, shut the door, and then place a spool of thread on top of the outside doorknob.

If Lilly tried to leave her room, the spool of thread would drop, and I’d know that she had sneaked out to  “roam and pillage.” It happened many times before the thread idea.

Of course, if I was in the shower, what could I have done to stop her? But she seemed afraid of the spool dropping, (as if I had set a grenade on her doorknob), so it worked for me.

So, parents of little kids, get out the mighty spool of thread, and let those kids gaze at it while you explain its power. Then go take a shower.  🙂 Nealie

Sep 202015
 

I was at the grocery store yesterday, pushing my cart down a congested canned-goods lane. I happened to see an older gentleman who was trapped by all the carts that women were trying to squeeze past him. I felt bad for him and apologized as I, too, maneuvered by.

He turned around cautiously, probably to see if he was free from danger, when I noticed the T-shirt that he had on. The front of it said, “Old Guys Rule.”

Not this time. He would have had better luck with, “FBI” or “I Can Bark Like A Dog.”

Tonight, I took four young grandchildren to church -a major accomplishment for anyone. Four clean, well-dressed children. I felt pretty good about it.

It was only on the way out that I saw that little Travis was wearing a pair of adult flip-flops.  🙂 Nealie

 

Sep 152015
 

In Chasing Lilly, our foster daughter, Lilly, innocently told us not to sell the house, because she wanted to live in it after we died.

Well, I had a recent conversation with Travis, my mathematical seven-year-old grandson.

He said, “If you come to see me when I’m 37, I’ll be putting on our new roof.”

“What?”

“Yes, our new roof is going to last for thirty years. Then I’ll be 37, and I can help put on the new one.”

“Okay, I’ll come watch you do it,” I said with enthusiasm.

Then he said, “And when I’m that old, if you’re not, like dead or anything, I’ll come live with you, too.”

So, Lilly wants the house after we die, and Travis wants to live with us when he’s 37 –if we aren’t like . . .dead.

Bruce and I and our house seem rather popular. 😯 -Nealie

 

Sep 102015
 

I must have missed my calling. Over the years, I have become the hair-cutter in the family.

I started out practicing on Bruce many years ago, but he was not a happy customer. I was disappointed that my plans to save barbershop costs were not going as I had wanted. After one exceptionally bad hair-cut, he decided he’d wear a ball cap until his hair grew out.

The only problem with that plan, was that he couldn’t wear the hat at work. He came home that day and said he would never allow me to cut his hair again.

“Why? It saves a ton of money.”

Bruce fumed, “Do you know what happened today? I owed this guy at work a dollar, and when I gave it to him, he handed it back and said that I looked like I had the mange, and to keep the dollar for a good haircut!”

“Oh.” I was dejected. How could I argue with that?

Fast-forward to today. I have been practicing on little Tommy for four years now. When I first started, he didn’t know a good haircut from a bad one. My kind of customer!

He has been through a lot with me, but has become accustomed to my artistic ways with the electric hair cutter. Nowadays, he puts on the black hair-cut cape and giggles, “Welcome to the Hotel Transylvania.”

😀 -Nealie

 

Sep 052015
 

zucchiniI’ve made 24 loaves of zucchini bread, because my garden kept spitting out zucchini, and you don’t want to waste it, you know? (I have always said that one zucchini plant would feed the world.)

But I have other thoughts, along with not wanting to waste food. Like, why do I allow a brainless zucchini to tell me how I’m going to spend my day? It says, “Here I am, and you need to make me into something, because I am here.”

When Bruce brought in yet another giant, green beast that needed made into something, I told him that I was DONE with the zucchini bread.

He looked at me with shock. (I know, such a rebel. 🙂 )

I don’t always answer the phone when it rings, because why should that order me to stop reading to a grandchild, right in the middle of a book?

When I hear the mailman drop mail into my box, I resist the urge to jump up and get it. (Who hasn’t visited with people who stop conversations to go get their mail?)

You buy a new pair of tennis shoes, or Nike’s, because the old ones are worn out, and your feet hurt. But, you don’t want to wear them to mow the lawn, because they will get messed up. So, your feet ache as you mow in your old shoes.

There will always be another pair of tennis shoes. Why do we allow “things” to dictate our lives, whether it be tennis shoes or vegetables?

I’m done. 😉 Love my readers, Nealie