Swiss Chocolate



The bar snaps between my teeth;

my mouth waters with anticipation, as decadent morsels assault my tongue.

Luscious cocoa cream melts, swirling, coating my mouth with velvety richness.

I savor the moment, as the sweetness dissipates, slowly slipping away.

I reach for another piece, the promise of sumptuous pleasure at my fingertips,

but with horror, I realize there is no more.







Pinterest…Success! with a few Hiccups

table before

In the beginning…lots of brown…

So my weekend project turned into a week. Not because it was difficult, I just added to it…and had a little bit of a learning experience as well. My original plan did not include the four ladder-back chairs. I was going to purchase long, canvas slip covers  instead of painting; however, after a day of de-furring my living room furniture, I decided against it. I’ve had cats my entire life, but these two shed more than any. It’s crazy and the last thing I need is something else to vacuum.

As I mentioned in my post Creative Blah, I did quite a bit of  reading of how-to’s and what to use when entering into a chalk paint project. I’m forever searching for the most efficient (easy) and most economical (cheap) ways to do things. In my research, I discovered the Rustoleum brand of chalk paint received very good reviews; some people even preferring it over the expensive boutique brand, Annie Sloan. Also, Rustoleum has a chalk top coat in clear that comes in a SPRAY CAN! No wax needed!!! I was excited – less expensive paint, no prep or sanding and no waxing. I would be done in a snap.

Day 1, First hiccup. I left work on Friday and headed to Home Depot to make my purchase. After scouring the shelves, I only found two colors of the Rustoleum chalk paint: off white and light gray. Boring. I asked the paint clerk about this. “Yes,” she said, “that is all we carry in the store.” Half the fun of chalk paint are the great colors. Slightly disgruntled, I bought the Rustoleum top coat in the spray can, my paint brush, rags and plastic drop cloth and begrudgingly headed to the boutique shop to invest in the Annie Sloan Chalk Paint.

chalk paint

Two quarts (Provence and Old White) and $84 dollars later, I was home and ready to set-up. My living and dining room is one quaint area; I cleared everything from around the table and spread the plastic drop cloth under the table and chairs, not easy to do by oneself, and gave the table a good wipe-down. I painted the base of the table first in Provence (turquoise). Two coats. I liked it and almost stopped here, but I moved forward. Old White (off-white) would go on the top.

table base

Day 2. My table opens to a large round so it was a little tricky getting everything covered that shows when folded down to a square. I also found chalk paint dries quickly, so work fast. This also took two coats.

Hiccup Two. While the top dried, I decided to remove the seats from the chairs. First one, no problem; chairs two, three and four however, did not want to part with their seats. The screws were stripped. I struggled for over an hour before I finally had them all off.

Hiccup Three. Returning to the table, I reviewed my work. Chalk paint has a dull, matte finish – chalkie if you will. My table looked flat. Something was needed. Yep, I decided to go with the distressed look. Again, not in my original plan and this also meant I would have to sand after all. I worked the base first and then attacked the top. Dust was everywhere. A plastic drop cloth does little to prevent this and two cats tracking through it does not help. It is also not good to inhale when you suffer from allergies.

Hiccup Four. This is big… please learn from this. After thoroughly removing all the dust from the table, I was ready to use the handy spray can CLEAR chalk top coat. I sprayed the Provence base first. It was a little tricky. There were some drips but all in all, it was fine and FAST! Now for the table top. As directed, I did a sweeping motion across the Old White painted top. Finished, I stepped back to check out my work. It was not good. There were splotches and a YELLOW tinge to my Old White top. “Oh no, no,” I mumbled to myself. I waited. It dried the exact same way. Oh the frustration. I was going to have to go back and buy the expensive wax top coat. I was not happy. A third coat of Old White was applied and another round of distressing and dust clean up ensued. I took a nap and drank wine the rest of the evening.

table top botch


Sunday, Day 3. The chairs. With a lot of Provence left, I decided two chairs would be in Provence and the other two in Old White. Ladder back chairs are not easy to paint. I did two.

Monday, I wanted nothing to do with a paintbrush or sanding.

Tuesday, Day 4. Hiccup Five. I came down stairs to little kitty cat paw prints in blue on my floor. All I can say is I’m thankful for soap and water cleanup. I painted the last two chairs and distressed all four… more dust cleanup.

Wednesday, Day 5. I purchased the wax top coat, which resembles a small can of Crisco and about the same consistency but with an obnoxious chemical smell. You need a ton of lint-free rags for this process. You literally wax on, wax off, small sections at a time. It’s tiring and a bit tedious. One coat was applied to the table.

Thursday and Friday. Nope, not touching that stuff.

Saturday, Day 6. Head pounding from a sinus infection, a second coat of wax was applied to the top of the table for extra protection and wax applied to the chairs. The wax deepens the color a bit and if buffed, adds a slight sheen to your finish.

Sunday, Day 7. The wax was dry, the seats were put back in their proper place on the chairs (I may recover at some point…) and the mess I’d been living in for a week was cleaned up. My head was still killing me, but I was actually quite pleased with my table and chairs. That side of the room, with no windows, now looks a little more cheerful, not brown on brown and I can say, “I did that.” That is a good feeling.

I still have Provence and Old White left and I don’t intend on letting that expensive stuff dry up, so I’m sure something else will be painted soon.  I am calling this a Pinterest Success!

table finsih1

table finish2


Bucket List Trip



As we await the outcome of my chalk paint project, thought I would catch you guys up on my summer.  I took a bucket list trip.  I had not intended on doing anything like that this year.  My friend and I were just going to take a short, non-extravagant trip to get away.  Well, a couple of bottles of wine later on a cold February evening, we ended up planning a trip to Greece. And not just any trip, we were going to board a tall sailing ship and sail around the Greek Islands.  And that’s just what we did.

A little history.  Several years ago, I began perusing the internet for group travel; specifically, travel designed for solo or single travelers.  Came across one that intrigued me but was more than I was willing to spend at the time.  Ever since, I’ve stalked this site.  Three or four glasses of wine into the conversation, I brought up this site and mentioned this little Greece trip they had listed and things went from there…

So, yes, we went with a group of 32 single travelers to Greece. Our trip began in Athens and we sailed to Rhodes, Bodrum-Turkey, Daylan River-Turkey, Santorini, and Hydra.  Check out some of my pictures under Adventure Pics on the top menu. It was exhilarating, exhausting, exciting and everything in between.  If you every have the opportunity to go on a trip with a group of strangers, Do It!  You meet some wonderfully interesting people.  For me, that’s half the fun.

A few interesting things from my trip (FB friends – old stuff for you!):

  1. Bright orange “singles” sign at the airport is a source of laughter for Greek teenagers.
  2. I got pooped on by a pigeon in Athens.
  3. Greek tour guides like to share copious amounts of details. Info overload ..
  4. The scale of some of these monuments i.e. Parthenon, Temple of Zeus, are unbelievable.
  5. I shed a few tears when the sails went up on our first night .. could have been the champagne…
  6. Of the 70ish crew members there were 10 nationalities represented. Of the 178 passengers, there were 10.
  7. You most definitely feel a tall sailing ship moving and rocking. If you get motion sickness – not for you.
  8. Amazing how you can misplace things in a tiny cabin…
  9. Amazing that it can be ridiculously hard to find your cabin on a small ship.. again, could have been the champagne… and ouzo.
  10. I heard more disco music in 10 days than I’ve heard in 10 years.
  11. “Entrees” on our menu were starters. “Les Plats” were the main course. Yep, a French themed menu on a Greek cruise…
  12. “Sea Episodes” on land are real.
  13. New York cabbies got nothin’ on Turkish cabbies 😳
  14. The Swedish family on board most definitely looked, well… Swedish.
  15. Our nurse on the ship was also a waiter … lots of multitasking.
  16. Apostle Paul visited Rhodes.
  17. Watch the swinging doors on a sailing ship… they can be deadly.
  18. Santorini was inhabited before 2000 BC.
  19. You most definitely do not want to get stuck in a dungeon in a castle.
  20. We had a waiter named Titot.
  21. I rode a camel in Turkey named Arab.
  22. Portholes in swimming pools can entertain adults for at least an hour.
  23. A sulfur warm water bath followed with mud does make your skin feel great, if not stinky.
  24. Grilled octopus is yummy.
  25. Group travel is truly amazing.

Creative Blah



My creative mojo has been lost, or at the very least, in hiding for over a year now.  No writing, as evident from my blog, no drawing, no DIY’ing.  The last is a bit mystifying considering I bought a townhouse a year in a half ago that does need some TLC and some DIY’ing.

When I purchased my first house way back in 1999, I could not wait to get a paint brush in one hand and a hammer in the other.  And it was a brand new house!  I spent hour’s faux painting an entire wall – with vaulted ceilings.  I painted every room in the house, even did some stencil work in the kitchen and put in a glass tile back splash.  I was nonstop.

This go round has been different.  I’ve done good getting the carpeting replaced with new flooring downstairs.  That was brought on by a peeing, not so happy cat.  And then there was the replacement of the HVAC system.  Not fun stuff, not cheap stuff and definitely not creative stuff.  I’m lucky to have a few pictures on the walls.  There have been no urges to do anything else.  It’s just been a place to be.  Such a creative blah rut.

I got a little kick in the pants Labor Day weekend.  I traveled south to a friend of a friend’s condo in Georgetown, SC.  When I walked into the condo, I immediately loved it.  It was not decorated in your typical beachy theme with muted, pastel tones and wicker furniture.  Instead, it was very eclectic with rich, warm colors and tons of art work and pictures hung about.  It felt inviting and reflected the personalities of the owners.  It felt like a home.  In fact, I felt more at home there than in my own little piece of real estate.

When I arrived back at my place of ownership, I sat on my couch and looked around.  Things felt a bit cold with not much on the walls, an old dining table and chest.  There was nothing reflecting my joys in life, like traveling, friends and family.  There are still unpacked boxes in the closet; in fact they have not been unpacked since I sold my house and moved to an apartment.  I sorted through them and found some of my treasures: tons of photographs and picture frames and artwork I had purchased on trips.  That was the beginning.

Now it’s time I truly settle in and make my townhouse my home and not just a place to rest my head. The gears in my head have finally loosened up and now I need to do something.  I’m starting with my dining room table.  I don’t like it anymore.  It’s dark and heavy and looks dated (sort of how I’ve been feeling lately).  It needs freshening up so I rekindled my relationship with Pinterest.  The past week in half, I’ve researched chalk paint, looked at color pallets and combinations and how-to’s. Of course as things go with Pinterest, other things caught my eye: painted dressers, dressers turned into entertainment centers, painted kitchen cabinets etc.  If I’m not careful and the cats sit too long, they may get painted too. It’s time for a face lift for my stuff and a mood lift for myself.

I’m off to the store to trap my mojo and bring it home along with lots of paint. It’s time to get busy!  I feel better just planning to do it. Updates to follow… hopefully it will be a Pinterest Success and not a Pinterest Failure.

Long Time Coming


I have not looked at my blog in almost a year. I’ve thought off and on about it, but words just weren’t coming to me anymore.  So why now?  A few weeks ago, I received an unexpected email.  The subject line: Angel Gowns. It took me a minute, but when I opened it, I was so surprised and happy; I became a bit emotional.  It was from the seamstress I had mailed my wedding dress to over a year ago.  My gown was sent to her for the purpose of making Angel Gowns, gowns for still-born babies or babies that never make it home. It was an idea prompted by a friend who had lost a baby at birth. Sending that gown off was a very emotional process. My post,  The Gown, will shed more light on that.  Donna, the seamstress, said it would take several months for her to make the gowns, but she would send pictures when they were complete.  I waited all summer and fall. The pictures never came. To say the least, I was disappointed.  I came to the conclusion I would not see any pictures and not know what truly became of my gown. Life got busy and I stopped thinking about it.

When I read her email and saw the pictures, I remembered how much I had looked forward to sharing the pictures with everyone. It’s been a long time coming and I’m a little rusty, but here I am, back to my blog.

Below is the email and some of the Angel Gowns.


angel gown1       angel gown3                                       angel gown2       angel gown4





15 years



The other day, the little house I bought when I was a single 29-year-old popped into my mind. It wasn’t anything extravagant;  a little 3-bedroom ranch, in an ok part of town. But it was mine. Where it was didn’t  seem too important. I never expected to be in it all that long. “The long drive to work will be ok,” I thought to myself,  “I don’t need to go out so much anyway. I will  be fine for a few years.” Just seemed like the thing to do.  I ended up being there for 15 years.

A lot happened during those 15 years in that little house; tons of miles on my car, new job, lots of dates, marriage, baby showers for friends, weddings. There were Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings, going away parties, new friendships, and then separation, divorce and losing my dad … Yes .. A lot happened. Made me think about my recent townhouse purchase. This time, if I stay for 15 years, I will be 63.  63 … I have repeated that number in my head now for a few days. Does not sound possible.

Those 15 years in my little house felt so short, yet a lifetime seemed to happen there. Staying here in my townhouse isn’t mandatory, but if I do, what will these walls witness?  Will I be happy here? Things are so very different now.  Twelve years ago, a life with someone and having a family was a possibility; that, or at least part of that, has slipped away.  What else and who else will slip away? Who might enter my life?  Will the years fly by so quickly again?  Will I spend them alone? These are things I never put much thought into in the past, but time has become more insistent; it’s telling me it waits for no one or anything.

I have no real plan on how to proceed with my future.  I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.  Plans can go terribly wrong and leave you disappointed or worse yet, heartbroken.  No plan, and I may drift aimlessly about or become a hermit and binge watch Netflix.  Neither sounds appealing. So for now, I’m going to plan to at least not let either happen.  I may need some company on this journey so please leave any comments or thoughts you have on dealing with the inevitable process of aging.

***Note – this little 63 moment I had freaked me out so much, I spent an hour in a half on the phone with a financial advisor. I must at least have a plan to support my cats ….

Don’t woo me with words and leave me hanging



Today’s dating world is miles apart from the dating days of my youth. And I say that with a smirk.  I never dated until I was in college. Maybe I missed out on the basics 101 of dating?  Still though, it was a time before cell phones, Facebook, texting and online dating.  People met through friends, at school or out somewhere; a conversation ensued and numbers were exchanged.  A date was arranged and the guy would pick up the girl and out they would go for drinks or dinner or a movie.  Time was spent together along with long chats on the phone. Oh how things have changed.  Now, your fate depends on a left or right swipe and a short paragraph that’s supposed to grab someone’s attention. Introductions are made through text or emails. To think about how many texts I’ve received over the past five years is mind boggling.  Conversations have been diminished  to short little texts with an emoji that’s supposed to express the mood of the words… which aren’t even words anymore… BFF, BRB, LOL, WRUD…. And sexting. Really???  I’ve never felt less sexy.  And for someone to push that in my face when they don’t even know me, well… it’s a bit degrading.  How are you supposed to get to know someone that way?  You can’t.  Relationships aren’t built on emojis and dirty one-liners from pornos. Does anyone have basic conversation skills anymore?  Men and women have enough communication problems without this mess.

I could fill pages ranting on texting in the dating arena and dating in general. I admit, I rely heavily on texting concerning my friends.  But in dating, no.. It should not be the main mode of communication when trying to get to know someone. When that becomes the case,  I’ve learned to pay attention to actions. “Actions speak louder than words.” It’s a saying we’ve all heard but pay little attention.  Words are easy.  Made even easier by the impersonal text, which is also very one-dimensional.  With text, you have no references: was there a joking smile with a comment or a wink of an eye?  Was their tone of voice serious?  Did the person look away or make eye contact?  There’s no touch of a hand for reassurance.  It’s not a good vehicle to share and express emotions and feelings. We read into them what we want.   I was seeing someone who knew exactly what to say to me.  He flattered me with  sweet little texts every morning and throughout the day and I fell for it.   Who doesn’t want to hear they are beautiful?  Isn’t it wonderful to read that someone’s thinking of you and wants to see you?  It was short-lived bliss.  When confronted with the question  “when will I see you?” and all he had were excuses, the gig was up.  The sweet sentiment of his words were lost on his actions.

Begging someone to be apart of our lives shouldn’t be a part of the dating equation.  If it is, then it’s not meant to be.  We shouldn’t be left wondering what that I ♥ U!! truly means or if  WRUD really means they are interested and want to see us.  Our actions reveal our true intentions.  If feelings are mutual, finding time to talk and be together is something you just do. It’s really that simple.




Finding Passion Again


beading stuff

To say I used to be into beading and jewelry making is a slight understatement. I was slightly obsessed with it.  That was before I got married, about 15 or so years ago. The collection of beading supplies accumulated during those couple of years and I delighted in making pieces for friends and family. But life changes; the ex took over the craft room playing online racing games with his friends.  Not a conducive atmosphere for creativity.  Things got packed away.

I’ve not thought too much about that stuff in a long time, but it has survived the past two cuts of purging. The thought of donating it would flit through my brain – briefly, but ultimately, it would just get packed away  again and forgotten.  Until…  I was out shopping with a friend last week and saw a few pieces of crocheted beaded jewelry I really liked.  Then I looked at the price.   Ouch.  Thrifty has become a state-of-mind for me. If I think it’s something I can do myself, I won’t buy it. I started thinking about my beading hoard in the storage closet.  It haunted me for a week.  Yesterday, I took a trip to Michael’s , bought myself a crochet needle and cord and  decided to teach myself some simple crocheting (which is not so simple…).  Last night, after years of being packed away, the storage container came out and my eyes feasted on all of my beading treasures.

I spent an hour sifting through all of the trinkets: different beads and stones, wire, threading material, findings, pliers, snips etc. Thoughts of how I poured myself into a piece I was making crossed my mind.  Hours were spent at the craft store searching for the perfect beads or stones.  Once home, I would spend another few hours arranging and rearranging the beads and stones on my bead board until I found a pattern that felt right.  Then the stringing and wire process would begin.  I would be lost in concentration not thinking or worrying about anything else.  And at the end, with a stiff neck and sore fingers,  I would take a deep breath and smile at the completed piece of jewelry.

To be honest, I’ve felt a bit restless, unfocused, uninspired and unfulfilled for the last several years, except when I was traveling and that’s not an option at the moment.   My little crate seating patio project was the first glint of creativity and feeling good I’ve had in a long time.  It was a bit like finishing a piece of jewelry.  Taking an idea and seeing it through and having something done by my own hands.  So why have I waited so long to bring out the trinkets stashed away in the closet?  Why do we give up on things we know make us happy, yet spend so much energy on things that only bring us misery?

crochetRight now, I have too much time to think about things; Netflix and I are getting way too close and the dating scene does not seem to agree with me. On top of that, I’ve promised myself to keep a better tab on my spending. I really want that beaded crocheted-wrap bracelet in the store, but I’m going to make it.  This crochet thing may be a little tricky, but that’s ok.  I have plenty of time to myself to work on that skill.  And what better way to indulge myself than to reignite an old love and find some passion in it again.

Who’s That in the Mirror?


Mature-Woman-Mirror1“You look good for your age.” I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or not?   Growing up and through my twenties and thirties, I always looked a little younger.   That appears to be diminishing.  Now, I look in the mirror and its seems as though I’ve aged 5 years in the past 2.  I actually pulled up a picture of myself from 2013 and compared it to a current picture.   Ugh, have the past 2 ½ years really been that stressful or has the stress from the last 6 years finally caught up with me?

My nighttime ritual of washing my face and brushing my teeth now includes a study in the mirror; pulling my skin back and up with my hands to see my former self.   Things are becoming a little more prevalent now:  the sag in the jaw line (jowls… sounds so sexy), deepening smile lines and multiplying wrinkles at the corners of my eyes, not to mention the circles under my eyes, which I’ve always battled.  My forehead is carved with lines and is inching down my face, hooding my eyes and making them look tired.  The gray hair is coming in thicker and wire-y; lovely when they stick straight up in my part.  Unfortunately, these things I expected and since I have no plans to have plastic surgery or use Botox, it’s going to happen.  I’m not thrilled about it, but as they say, the lines we develop show that we’ve lived life.  What I’m not prepared for are the other changes going on.

Last week, I started taking a class at a place call The Bar Method. Its exercise at a ballet bar:  lots of isometric holds, push ups and crunches and is actually quite hard.  A few other ladies my age have braved the class, but it’s mostly slender, young twenty-something-year olds.  I feel really short in class.  With floor-length mirrors on two walls, it’s not hard to notice EVERYTHING.  As we hold our arms up, I notice the swag of flesh waving underneath.  Standing next to a rather tall young lady, I see my hips and thighs bulging against my black yoga leggings; I try to pull my top down a little more.  As we do crunches, the wrinkles on my neck and chest scream at me; the sun spots and uneven skin tone accentuated even more by the lights.  All those years of sunbathing are finally showing their true face. All of this has caught me a little off guard.  The gym has been a part of my life since the early ‘90’s and I have stayed in relatively good shape.  Sure, there were some times I got slack and put some pounds on (in my brief marriage of 3 ½ years, I packed on 20 pounds).  But for the most part, all’s been good.  In those days, if I put on a few, it wasn’t extremely hard to drop them.  Now, the pounds cling to me despite how much I fight it.  Things are sagging and wagging.

Yes, I know I should not compare myself to others, especially to much younger women and I’m not striving to look like a twenty-something year old. In fact, most who do so end up looking very odd and plastic-y.  I have definitely earned my wrinkles. I don’t, however, want my body to get old before it’s time.  I want to be out doing things and in my head and heart, I’m no older than… let’s say, 30.  Because of that, I tend to forget that I’m entering the high-maintenance phase of my life.  It’s as if my body is yelling, “HEY LADY, you’re not 25 anymore!!  You can’t take a month off from the gym, eat pizza every Friday night and drink beer every weekend and expect things to stay in place.”   I am now well aware of this.

I’m trying to fight back. I’ve signed up for the Bar Method class for 6 weeks and I’ve promised myself to get in some walking too.  I toyed with trying to get back into running…. But NO.   That is one thing I don’t want to put the body through again.  I can do this with that stress.  Motivation is my weak point, or I should say, staying motivated.. and my love of eating.  I have to look at this like a project – a DIY project of sorts – to restore this 48-year-old body and feel good in it again.