eastery goodness

Easter in my family means food. (Lots of food.) And Peeps. (Lots of peeps.) I put one in my coffee this morning and it was kind of gory. First the skin melted off, so I had a naked white duck floating sideways in my steamy coffee. Then its eye melted off, which was pretty gross. And then it just sort of dissolved into the coffee itself. I took the last spoonful of marshmallowy goodness and popped it into my mouth. Peeptastic!


(On my second cup, mom ran out of milk so I put ice cream in instead! Gooood morning!)
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My father and I cleaned out the attic today and I finally got rid of the two boxes of fabric that he’s been pestering me about for the last seven years. (I was a bit of a quilter many years ago and these were the last remnants (literally) of that time of my life.) The first box was full of plastic bags of big swaths of fabrics, which wasn’t even exciting to me, really. But the second box?


Awesome.


So, years ago, my sister worked at Dunkin Donuts. And that Christmas, she brought home tons of donut boxes, which we used as gift boxes for years afterwards. When I opened the second fabric box, it was full of inside-out donut boxes, each labeled with a color. And inside each box were perfectly organized scraps of fabric that I had, at some point in my life, enough time to anally arrange like this.


It was astonishing, the amount of care and precision I had put into that hobby. I imagined some other quilter or crafter coming across this box at a white elephant sale somewhere and falling in love and gratitude with me. Because that’s what I would have done, years ago, if I had come across something like this.


Godspeed, fabric!
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I’ve discovered yet another unusual habit of mine -- answering the phone as if I’m not me. When I know who’s calling, I’ll say, "Joe’s Pizza" in a really low voice and see if I can throw the caller. It used to confuse my boss to no end.


Also, I’ll call someone and pretend to be someone else. Often I’m an association. Like the Association of People Who Call Their Friends in California While Walking Home Late at Night or the Association of People Who Have Eaten Too Many Peeps Today. And then I’ll ask the person I’ve called if they know anyone who would be considered for membership.
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My sister emailed me the other day and said, "What does it mean when you lose your teeth in a dream?"


I responded, "It means you feel out of control."


"I hate it when my dreams are right."


"So," I replied, "what does it mean when you dream that you are Jack Nicholson and you get pinned in the back seat of a Chevette in your high school parking lot by two other movie stars who threaten to skin your face, but end up cutting your foot instead?"


I’m still waiting for her response.
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This awesome photo is of my neighbor’s crazy front yard. I call it "Noah’s Yark."


Please note Godzilla and the strange green space man on the right. Missing from the picture is the porcelain statuette of the woman with two children. They’re in the upper right hand corner, watching as all the animals are drawn to the meager plant-like thing in the center.


I love my neighbors!