I always chuckle at the ads for mattress sales that abound on Presidents’ Day.  Really, why?  Wouldn’t it be better to offer reduced pricing on flags, or maybe apple pie?  But however you celebrate, it’s wise to remember how the whole day started, by George. Well, not by him, but for him.  Since he was the most revered at the time (after all, he helped put that other crown wearing George in his place), the good citizens of this nation bequeathed him a day, at least in the District of Columbia, and paid homage to his greatness. January 22nd used to be his big day, and as a small kid, I remember learning about him on those slates I used in grade school.   Abraham Lincoln was more to my liking, however. I think it was George’s wig that bothered me.  And the photo of him in that boat, standing so straight, made me nervous.  Abe seemed more genuine, what with the book return and all.  So I think I enjoyed that day off even more.  But by the time my kids were in school, and the slates were replaced by real books, it was decided that the third Monday in February be reserved for a Presidents’ Day celebration.  It was done due to something called the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, which created special, three-day weekends for our nation’s workforce.  At least most of them (doctors, nurses, EMTs, firemen, farmers and the coast guard need to report to the office). This, I suppose, led to the idea of big sales. After all, people weren’t working, so they must be encouraged to go shopping.  Still, the mattress concept escaped me.  Until I did some research on a few of our country’s top leaders.  Now, it’s quite clear.

Lots of bedroom action for some of these guys.  Even George, our first leader, was not exempt.  Apparently, his feelings for Martha weren’t all that romantic. She had a whole lot of money in her purse, while George had little to offer outside his wig. He had been in love, for real, with a certain Sally Fairfax, who he left behind once he started creating our country. Word has it that he sent a love note to Sally, on his honeymoon, no less, admitting his affection for her, rather than for Martha.  Whoops! Martha was not pleased. And neither was Sally’s husband. George’s life with Martha went on, but I bet she checked his mailbox frequently.  Good thing he didn’t have twitter.

Others, who could certainly be considered cads were:

Thomas Jefferson, who fathered five children with Sally Hemmings, a slave that he brought back from France.  He did recognize her, and the children.  His wife, not so much.

Warren Harding, preferred being liked over being respected, and had a penchant for weak women.  His great love was purported to be his best friend’s wife, Carrie. Having extra executive time, he was caught having sex with an aide in the Oval Office closet and fathered at least two children, one with one of his campaign workers. Visits to New Orleans might find him in a house of prostitution, and he bragged once about his two chorus girl conquests, named Maize and Blossom.

Woodrow Wilson, one of the architects of the United Nations (and terrible racist),  blamed his need for extra marital affairs on his wife’s chronic depression.  He soon bedded a woman named Mary, and did little to hide their connection.   That relationship lasted until  he found pleasure in the arms of another woman, a widow named Edith.  Rumors about his extra marital affairs were abundant and upon his wife’s death, his eagerness to connect with Edith was unrestrained. A common joke about town was “What did Edith do when the President proposed?”  Answer: “She fell out of bed.”

James Garfield gets a double “cad.”  Thought to be obsessed with all things sexual,  it was rumored that he engaged in cold showers to stifle his urges.  He chose an asexual wallflower for a wife, hoping that would also help him behave.  Unsuccessful at being virtuous, he carried on with a number of women, including college students and young reporters.  His unfaithfulness wilted his wallflower wife, and she became reclusive and sad.

Another James, this one Buchanan, was the first and last bachelor president.  His one and only fiancé died shortly after he called off the engagement, and her family blamed him for her youthful death.  Broken hearted syndrome. Womanless, he took in Senator William King, and the two of them were together for 23 years.  His staff referred to the couple as Buchanan and his wife, and to King separately as “Aunt Fancy Pants.”  After William left the US for France, the letters exchanged were said to be very affectionate, but all were destroyed by Buchanan’s family, in hopes of curtailing any rumors of his sexual orientation.

Grover Cleveland goes beyond “cad” and into “disgusting.”  One of three presidents married in office,  his wife was 27 years his junior. And to make matters worse, she had been his “ward” since age 9.  Apparently he bought her baby carriage. Talk about creepy!  His history was pretty awful as well. At age 17, he raped a young woman and then threatened to ruin her further if she told anyone.  The assault left her pregnant and he arranged, upon the child’s birth, to have her admitted to an insane asylum and put the baby in an orphanage.  Lucky for her, the asylum director realized what was going on and released her. She never did see her baby however.

FDR and Eleanor had a “working partnership”, rather than a “working marriage.”  Eleanor’s very own social secretary was her husband’s mistress.  Their own daughter Alice was complicit, often arranging time for the two lovers to be alone.  Franklin wanted to be free to marry his paramour, but his mother, who controlled his wealth, threatened to pull all his funding should he leave Eleanor. So, they stayed together, but separate.  Eleanor, who claimed that the whole ordeal made her stronger, took on a companion, and she and a female reporter named Lorena lived together in her half of the Whitehouse.  FDR didn’t mind, as he was busy getting in and out of bed with his new assistant, Missy.

Dwight Eisenhower, who helped defeat the Nazis, gave us our interstate system and put “In God We Trust” on our money in response to those heathen communists, was not too busy to fool around in the bedroom. His long time affair with his secretary Kay Summersby is well documented.  When the war ended, he asked General Marshall to relieve him of his military duties so he could divorce wife Mamie and marry Kay.  Marshall refused, and Ike and Mamie stayed together, in name only.  I suspect she tossed all the “I Like Ike” buttons from her collection.

JFK’s escapades are well known.  He was probably the most prolific in the bedroom – back problems and all, of any president. His conquests included female Whitehouse staff members, wives of gangsters, women reporters and movie stars – among them Angie Dickinson, Kim Novak and of course, Marilyn Monroe.  In his short term he did a lot for this country.  And quite a few in the country did a lot for him.

Lyndon Johnson, a Civil Rights champion and one of the homeliest presidents we’ve had, must have had other things going for him in the boudoir.  One of his lovers was married to one of his major supporters, and he fathered a child, named Steven, by another woman. He refused to support the woman, or the child, and refused to ever recognize his son.  So prolific and daring in his sexual conquests that, after Lady Bird interrupted a tryst on the Oval Office sofa, his staff installed a buzzer system so he could be warned of her arrivals.  He was quoted as saying “I’ve had more women by accident than Kennedy had on purpose.” Nice guy. Not.

Rumors of affairs surrounding George Herbert Walker Bush have been written up in various newspapers and are chronicled in a book called The Powerhouse. Political aides have stated that he was “served” in many capacities by a political aide named Jennifer.  The family vehemently denies any of these rumors and call the book pure fiction.  I personally think he loved his son’s second in command and ruling brain, Dick Cheney, more than anyone. But, I digress.

William Jefferson Clinton’s escapades are legend and are brought to the surface frequently.  Probably one of the most skilled diplomats we’ve had, he can certainly get a couple of “cads” as well. Jennifer, Monica, etc., etc. still keep the tabloids full. As with FDR and Eleanor, he and wife Hillary seem to make it work somehow.  Your heart’s not good, Bill. Be careful.

The current resident in the Whitehouse has a history that, to me, combines many of the antics of his predecessors.  Garfield and Buchanan quickly come to mind.  He is precedent setting, however. Except for Reagan, who was divorced once, the new guy has a trail of ex wives, porn stars, beauty contest contestants,  news reporters and models who all have stories to tell.  Pay offs, hidden tapes and tell all books and magazine articles abound. And televised bragging rights to sexual assault is easily found on you tube. Too many “cads” here to list. Creepy. Bigly creepy. Biggest ever.

So, if you’re in the market for a new mattress, there are many places that have what you need.  Whether you want firm, soft, heated, padded, single, double, queen, king or super king, they are available. And all at a reduced price.  Just don’t accept any trade ins from Pennsylvania Avenue…sorry, that’s really creepy…

The fourteenth of February will soon be here. A day for roses, chocolate, flowery greetings and boundless amour.  All because a valiant Bishop by the name of Valentinus bucked Emperor Claudius’ edict that soldiers were not to marry.  Apparently, the dastardly Claudius felt that too much lovemaking and such would weaken his army’s ability to fight the ruler’s many enemies.  Valentinus, however, thought the whole edict was hogwash, and married many a couples in secret.  He was subsequently arrested, jailed and executed on the fourteenth of February.  Prior to his death, the practicing romantic, sent a love note to his jailer’s daughter that closed with “from your Valentine.”  Hence, the start of a centuries-old romantic holiday.

During the Middle Ages, the day was linked to romance by the belief that birds look for a mate during this time. Hopeful suitors drew names from a “lot” for their sweetheart of the day, and pinned the notes on their sleeves, awaiting the chance to win the chosen lady’s affection. Hence, the term “wearing your heart on your sleeve” emerged.

In 1537, King Henry VIII, the oft married monarch made February 14th an official holiday.  Prior to that, while taking a break from his beheadings, he wrote notes to his mistress, Anne Bolyn, with one imploring her to obey the doctor during a serious illness. “I beseech you to be guided by his advice in your illness” he penned, adding “In so doing I hope soon to see you again, which will be to me a greater comfort than all the precious jewels in the world.” Interestingly, he shortened her life, and her height, via guillotine in 1536, just one year prior to making the holiday official.

Those outside the castle walls would often bestow lengths of cloth and gold trinkets to their sweethearts. This prompted both romance and the opportunity to inject a bit of fun into the dreary English winter,,  and all the beheadings.

Throughout Victorian times, most valentines were made of flat folded paper, with embossed edges and flowery illustrations.  Sometimes, printed sentiments were added, with cliched mottos of “Be Mine” and “Constant and True.” They often featured churches or church spires, signifying honorable intentions and fidelity.  It was considered bad luck to sign your valentine, making guess work part of the mystery.

We can thank the Greek mythology for the popularity of red roses on this day. It was believed that rose bushes grow from the ground when tears from Aphrodite, the Greek Goddess of Love, were mixed with the blood of her lover, Adonis. Another theory is that roses were originally dyed red using a chemical called cyanine, which was expensive and available only to the most generous of suitors. Aphroditie, renamed Venus by the Romans and her lover, Mars, are said to be the parents of Cupid, the arrow wielding cherub who is frequently depicted on valentines.

So popular are roses that over 189,000,000 are purchased during the holiday each year.  Be careful with your color choice, however. While red indicates love and passion, pink signifies a wish to be sweethearts and yellow signals “let’s just be friends.”  Choose wisely to avoid sending the wrong message with your bouquet.

Candy is another favorite Valentine’s Day offering.  It’s a billion-dollar business, with over 35,000,000 heart shaped boxes of chocolates purchased for the day.  Englishman (and Quaker), Richard Cadbury produced the first box of valentine chocolates in the late 1800’s, before he made his famous eggs.  Some say his business was prompted by the advice from doctors at this time, who prescribed chocolate to cure love sickness and melancholy. Cadbury’s beautifully decorated boxes served a dual purpose – candy for eating and a lovely box for storing mementoes when empty. Easy to see why he was successful.

Casanova favored chocolate, claiming it was a powerful aphrodisiac.  Today, over 40,000 people are employed in US chocolate factories.  And the episode of Lucy and Ethel at the chocolate wrapping assembly line is rated as one of the most viewed sit coms ever.

But it’s not always about the chocolate.  At the same time Cadbury was churning out his famous confections, Necco, Inc. was creating its own candy hearts here in the US.   Producing eight billion a year, with the original 45 sayings, bags of these delights are found in most candy jars in America. It’s been estimated that if you line up a year’s worth of these colored hearts, they will stretch from Arizona to Rome, and back again. And, with a shelf life of five years, they could keep love alive (and dentists busy) for many years to come.

Which brings us full circle to Bishop Valentinus’ message of love.  Valentine’s Day is second only to Christmas in money spent on paper greetings. One billion cards are purchased each season, pleasing the recipient and the US postal service.

The first patent for the valentine was given to a woman, Esther Howland, in 1844. Eventually, earning over $100,000 annually, she became one of the very few female entrepreneurs of the time. Most of her original employees were women, who worked from home, and were paid “liberally” for the times.  Known as the “Mother of the American Valentine” her cards were fanciful and often contained intricate designs.  Sadly, in spite of her amazing works, she never found true love and marriage.

Hallmark came later, in 1913.  The Hall brothers denied rumors that they invented Valentine’s Day as a way to increase their sales, always giving credit to Ms. Howland, and of course the infamous Bishop’s disrespect for Emperor Claudius. However, their company sells over 145,000,000 of the 150,000,000 valentines sold each year, making them the biggest producer of such love notes in the country. Procrastinating lovers need not worry. Fifty percent of all valentines are purchased with in the six days prior to February 14th.  And then, of course, there are the next-day, half-off sales…

The Victorian era of secrecy didn’t last long, and the majority of valentines are signed.  It’s believed that the X in XOXO, which stands for “kiss” came about in an age when most of the lower class were illiterate.  People signed documents with and X, and then kissed their mark to show their sincerity, and respect for the Christian Cross.  The O is believed to come from the Jewish custom of signing an O, rather than the sign of the cross, for the same reason.  Others believe that the O appears to reflect an image of two people hugging. In any event, “hugs and kisses” is a popular greeting year-round.

Note that responding to a valentine is not always possible.  Consider the city of Verona, Italy, the home of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  This town receives over 1,000 valentines every year, each addressed to Juliet.  To date, neither she, nor Romeo have cared to respond.

A few other bits of valentine trivia to contemplate:

• Teachers get the most valentines, followed by children, mothers, wives and pets,
• the average number of wedding proposals on this day?  220,000,
• the average number of weddings on this day? 6,000 (mainly in Nevada),
• Groundhog Day was originally celebrated on February 14th,
• both Bell’s patent for the telephone and Fleming’s for penicillin were introduced on this day,
• valentines and anything red are banned in Saudi Arabia,
• John Barrymore, Jack Benny, Hugh Downs, Frederick Douglass, Jimmy Hoffa (where is he?) and Florence Henderson were all born on valentine’s day,
• the League of Women Voters was created on this day in 1920, and
• Richard Nixon ordered the infamous wiretapping of Democratic headquarters on February 14, 1971.

Share the love my friends.  And remember, chocolate is good for the soul…Happy Valentine’s Day everyone.

For those of you who don’t remember Bud, he was the original host of To Tell The Truth, a 1960’s game show that kept America glued to the TV each Tuesday night. A celebrity panel was challenged to guess whether or not various contestants were telling the truth, or if they were spinning tall tales. We all guessed along with celebrities such as Orson Bean, Kitty Carlisle, Johnny Carson and Tom Poston while being entertained by their simple banter and enjoyable back stories. I suppose the success of such programs is to blame for the never-ending barrage of today’s strange reality shows where people dare each other to eat cockroaches in the middle of a studio jungle to emerge as the Survivor, injure themselves on dangerous obstacle courses to shouts of “big balls” on Wipe Out and court, marry and divorce strangers in record time on the Bachelorette/Bachelor phenomenon. And then there is the sing along venues where judges insult and/or cry over eager would be rock stars with a relentless display of cheesy, cloying mutual admiration.

But back to Bud. We need him. Or something like him. Desperately. Why? Two words. Presidential campaign. Yes, the scourge of reality TV has firmly entrenched itself into the political process. Candidates appear to fall in and out of love with their constituents, while claiming they have cornered the votes of women, minorities, unions, the Pope, Joe the plumber and the cast of Minions. They set off on dangerous courses by expounding on issues of female anatomy, scientific research and various forms of math, fuzzy and otherwise.  And, of course, foreign affairs, including all the wars for whom no one is responsible. These types of questions usually get bounced into the waters below.

But to tell the truth? Well, for that we have the Donald. Polls claim to show that he’s loved because he says it like it is. And the number of people who seem to enjoy his hate spewed diatribe seems more scary than the man himself. When I see them gathered in front of his podiums I’m thinking “these are the same people who went to Woodstock – who protested the Viet Nam War – who applauded the resignation of Nixon!” and am instantly sad.  And worried. What happened to these people?

To compete with the millionaire mogul, the other panelists are going to have to ramp up their display of dislike for women, minorities, veterans, the working poor, people who wear glasses, rape victims and each other. Perhaps they will even disavow any affection for the Minions. And while they are screaming out their tunes, they will have to make certain Putin actually loves them best while keeping their college records firmly out of reach.

With most of them spending their mostly inherited wealth, the main sponsor, Koch Industries and various PACs won’t need the seductive woman in the Viagra ads to get viewers to buy into all of this. All any of us have to do is check the Facebook posts that flash by every few minutes, claiming that Hillary is actually Amelia Earhart and that Huckabee is a Belgian born Jew. Who needs Charles Kuralt? We’ll soon have at least 9 new Fox News commentators once this circus ends to tell us what we should know and whose on the latest hate list.

Bud would be amazed, wouldn’t he?  I just hope that America comes out as the Survivor here.

As with many of us  media addicts, I’ve been following Bruce Jenner’s journey to become a woman since it began. I suspect I deduced it early on, when he appeared post Botox, with gently layered highlights in his hair. His inner struggles and pain at living in the wrong gender is something that doesn’t create any empathy on my part; but rather sympathy, and I can only imagine what he must have endured. At least he had his trophies.

Before I started this post, I looked up the definitions of “female” and “male” and didn’t find anything noteworthy, but found that the Oxford dictionary refers to the term “womanism” as relating to white women, while Merriam-Webster links it to black females. No wonder we get confused.

While I pride myself as being one of those liberal, cookie munching, tree hugging bleeding hearts, I gotta say that while this whole Bruce/Caitlin thing is great for transgendered, sadgendered and wronggendered people,  his new persona is a bit disturbing to me. Why? Because if he really wants to be a woman, why does he have to emulate a Barbie doll?  Haven’t we suffered enough from Barbie’s influences?  Hasn’t this tiny waisted, large busted glamour girl passed her anorexic, made up body into our society long enough? Isn’t there a serious image problem among our teens and Botox, tummy tucking adults? Why not resemble women who really made a difference in the world?  Why not fashion himself to look like Indira Ghandi? Barbara Jordan? Lucretia Mott? Juliet Gordon Low? Germaine Greer?  He’s obviously getting his fashion tips and ideas about womanism from his step-daughters. Now there’s a bunch to emulate..

On the other hand, I suspect that his close association with his step children has provided a safe haven of sorts. To their credit, they all seem to have embraced his struggle and showed steadfast support – as well as create more good press for themselves. Even the sound of his new name fits in with all the “K” kids in his expansive family.

Next month he is set to receive the Arthur Ashe Courage Award during the ESPY awards. Courageous he is, and this honor is well deserved. Courageous because being female is still difficult in many ways.  Wage discrepancies and civil and property rights are still an issue for women everywhere. For instance, we are still paid less than men for the same work, still pay more for our health insurance than men do, and continue to serve longer terms in prison than males for the same crimes. Even the politicians feel they should have a say in our sex lives.  In short, it’s not easy being female. Maybe Bruce’s willingness to come over to our side will put the very idea of gender into the forefront and lead us, finally, to gender equality. I, for one, think he’s one damn brave person. And I am cautiously hopeful that he won’t disappoint us.

As Caitlyn, I do hope Bruce has found happiness. But have to ask her:  Please, can you do something for the millions of women everywhere who can’t, or don’t want to emulate Barbie; who seek only a good, safe and fair world for themselves and their families? You have the the courage – and the trophies to prove it.

That, and maybe a little less blush…

I realize that to gain any success at blogging, it’s important to blog often. The blog police recommend once a week, usually on the same day. A weekly system, I’m told, is designed to keep you inspired and in some instances, to collect some followers. It also helps you remember your log in and password information – or at least where you wrote them down. You’ve been warned.

In going over some of my previous posts, hoping inspiration would spontaneously recur, I found my list of resolutions that were created last January. I kept them simple on purpose so that any feelings of failure would be short lived – or easily explained away. The outcome was a bit mixed. One resolve was to contact old friends, which I did (well one, anyway). Although it didn’t lead to any face to face encounters, it felt good to reconnect – even if it was just in print. Another promise was to see more movies at a real theatre. I failed there, seeing just one. Philomena. A real sob fest. Now I can’t enter a theatre for fear of having a host of angry nuns snatch children out from under me. Yet a third wish was my charm. It was to laugh more. I suspect that was my biggest success. That is, if you can count laughing at yourself.

This year, I’m ramping it up a bit. I resolve to blog at least twice a month (or fortnight as they say in the UK – thanks Acorn), floss every night and nap every afternoon. Then, if that works, I may try a short stint at the gym and increase my exercise from that of a South American hanging sloth to that of a pampered American house cat. That way, I can still nap. I also plan to read more, Facebook less and clean out one closet each season. And stay away from surgeons. Far away.

Looking back at 2014 I can count a new hip and a new kitchen as big events (the former not nearly as much fun to show off as the latter – nor as requested). I spent time with my wonderful children and grandchildren, my three “soul sisters” in sunny Arizona and traveled South to help my big sister celebrate her 80th birthday. I also added another room to my crafting emporium in the basement (often referred to as the underground tsunami) so I have more space for my ever burgeoning supply of paper and ink. I also lost a very dear friend. Too soon. He had a way with words like no one else. Thanks, John, for all your inspiration. We miss you.

Here’s to a happy, healthy, productive year for us all. And naps. And sloths, wherever they hang.

Lost an old friend today. Too soon. I knew it would happen this week, but still you are never prepared. We’ve been together for 57 years – ever since I was 12. It happened quickly, but the aftermath is painful. That empty space left behind is hard to see, but easy to feel. Our relationship erupted just as I was perched between childhood and adolescence. Yes, number 18 molar is gone.

The new dentist in town, who is a gem, said that due to significant bone loss, it had to go. Apparently, it was upsetting the rest of my lower left row of teeth and had been a problem for a long time. Other than those long-ago baby teeth that we pull out with the help of strings and constant wiggling, the only other time I experienced an “extraction” was when my four wisdom teeth were wrestled free from the corners of my jaw. That, too, was a long time ago, but unlike today’s pull, that experience was expected and part of young adulthood.

Today, however, the words “bone loss” was another reminder that young adulthood is long past. Baby teeth are barely a glimmer. I’ve already lost my brown hair pigment, one hip, part of my colon and my ability to recall where I put my car keys. I’m also short on patience, interest in doing housework and the desire for exercise. What’s next?

Growing up, our tooth fairy was likely part of the second-string team in tooth fairy land. Unable to coordinate reaching under our pillows to replace the small bit of enameled bone, she (or he) had a different system. This required that we deposit our tooth in a glass of water in the bathroom, whereupon she (or he) would zap it with the magic tooth wand and change it into a dime. And back in the 1950s, a dime was big money. That routine worked very well until one night when older sister Laura left her tooth for its transformation and went off to bed, dreaming of her soon to be financial windfall. Unfortunately, other older sister Judy got up in the night to get a drink of water. You guessed it.

I’m not certain what a 57-year-old tooth would bring in today’s market. It had its share of fillings and was sporting a relatively redone crown of porcelain when it was plucked from its socket. The good dentist and I discussed the financial worth of such teeth and he had no answer. Apparently, this was not part of his training. Instead, I paid him.

I now have a vigorous dental hygiene routine that will take me but an hour and a half, twice a day. It’s complete with some mouth wash that could probably do double duty as a floor cleaner along with various brushes and pastes. This was arranged by the cheery, but serious hygienist who “deep cleaned” my gums with a set of tools similar to the ones used in the Showtime series “Dexter.” I don’t think she believes in the tooth fairy.

In any event, I still plan to set out a glass of water when I go to bed tonight. You never know.

A good friend of mine recently moved to the Atlanta area and is experiencing a rare ice storm. She tells me that it’s raining ice and she’s amazed. She’s also trying to move her family to a new house. Something tells me she’s not happy.  The South has been hit with some terrible weather – something we hardy Northerners endure and discuss over coffee year after year. I haven’t worn regular shoes for nearly three months now and suspect they are gathering cobwebs under my bed. Instead, I don my huge heavy boots every day and have given up any hopes of being fashionable – not that I ever have been.

As a kid, weather like we’ve had lately seemed to be a common occurrence.  Gathering snow drifts gave us all hope that school would be closed. We eagerly listened to the local radio station for such good news – and once we knew we were free for the day, our plans were set. It was a time without video games, computers and reality TV. Rather, it was a world full of the great outdoors. Snow castles, snow men, snow tunnels and glorious sledding!  Some of us had mothers who didn’t work outside the house, but for those that did, there were grandmothers, aunts and willing neighbors to keep kids in line when Mother Nature set us free.  Bundled up, often in our older siblings hand me downs, we’d set out for our winter adventures with the zeal and expectations of the hardiest polar explorer.  It was if some great force knew we needed a break, and we embraced it with abandon.  It was an unexpected holiday – designed just for children.

I still watch for school closings, and carefully watch the names that crawl across the bottom of the TV screen.  Seeing my town on the list still gives me a lift – and gives me a reason to linger a little longer over my coffee.  A little bit of unexpected holiday perhaps?

Retired, I don’t have to brave the effects of what’s been called the Polar Vortex.  My hat and gloves off to the postal service, police department, city, county and state workers and our brave and hardy business owners. But special kudos to the bus drivers, teachers and school personnel who keep our schools open.  A snow day is tough for many families. The list of available grandparents, aunts and neighbors is small these days. Kids can’t stay home alone any longer. Many don’t have warm coats and boots, or a parent to take them sledding.  It’s a new world.

I fear that winter is no longer designed for children.

I tried my hand with some things called gesso and embossing paste. Made such a mess. But I had such a good time. Still trying to create better pictures. And, better subjects.

I wanted some kind of Valentine decoration to replace my worn out Christmas wreath. I found the wreath and flowers at Michaels’s and with a little luck and some fishing line, I had some fun. Hope it stays together. The card is one I made the othe day. I love the craft cardstock.