Cupid strikes again...

When my husband and I were dating, singing telegrams were all the rage. I received one in my college apartment. A few guys with guitars serenaded me in my bedroom while I played it cool and hid under the covers. I decided to surprise my future husband with a special singing telegram at his place of work. He worked near an airport for a large car rental company which was always busy. I pulled out the big book of yellow pages and started making calls. I wanted Cupid to sing his heart out for my man. 

I found the perfect singing Cupid and set the date and time for Valentine's Day! The only thing I didn't really give much thought to at the time was that Cupid was a male. I expected a female Cupid to show up and sing and dance and make my boyfriend laugh and think I was such a fantastic girlfriend that he should definitely marry me because I was so much fun. I figured I ordered the singing telegram for a guy so they would automatically send a girl. Not the case. Cupid showed up at my boyfriend's place of work in all his diapered, winged, and prancing shirtless glory singing at the top of his lungs and shooting rubber arrows at anyone who crossed his path. My boyfriend, as told to me by my college roommate (who happened to work with him) said he turned redder than a red hot candy heart and tried to hide. Cupid chased him around the store and tried his best to shower him with love and bent arrows. He wouldn't leave until he had done his job and sung his entire song and danced and pranced for everyone and then presented my guy with a certificate of authenticity, verifying he had been hit by Cupid's arrow. It is framed next to our wedding picture. Not really. I don't have a framed wedding picture. I also don't have the certificate or know what happened to it. 

It wasn't really that day that made my husband want to marry me. I think he liked me before Cupid blew in and knew I was the one. Cupid was persistent and prevailed that day. The rest of the time between Valentine's Day every year has been up to us. I will end this with, my husband likes to say being married to him makes every day Valentine's Day. Cupid strikes again! 

Happy Valentine's Day! 

Me, my husband, and the serial killer...

When my husband and I were newly married we lived in an apartment a few streets up from famous Hollywood Blvd. We were young and poor and the apartment complex was owned by a friend, so it was just the right price for two very young and naive 
newlyweds trying to make it on their own. 

A cast of characters lived there as well. 

There was the mother and daughter who lived in separate apartments and communicated by yelling at each other out their windows. 

The mother lived in one corner of the apartment complex and the 
daughter lived below my husband and I, not particularly close or within reasonable hearing range. The daughter had a voice that sounded like screeching tires and the mother sounded like she smoked in her sleep. I still remember the daughter yelling for her kids to come home. They were most likely blocks away but could hear her with their attuned spidey senses and would come running. The mother would yell out useful information sometimes. She 
would yell when she wanted to let her daughter know the laundry 
room was available. I would hear at least five doors open and slam 
as everyone at home made a mad dash for the laundry room. 

I went in the laundry room once and never went back. 

The laundry room was where Hagrid, from Harry Potter lived before he became famous. He was the "plus one" living in our apartment building. There was nothing magical or friendly about 
this guy. He was scary. The laundry room was a carved out cave of 
sorts under the building. Hagrid the homeless guy lived there. I went in one time and was about to place my laundry in the washing machine when I heard a strange noise coming from the dark underbelly of the laundry cave. 

It was Hagrid.

He was growling. 

I may or may not have screamed when I saw him emerge from the depths. I grabbed my clothes and ran. Never to return. I took my laundry home to mama after that encounter. 


There was a single guy who lived in the building.  Every single time we crossed paths he would look at me and ask me the same question. "Are you a runner?" And then follow with, " If you aren't,  it's not natural to be that skinny." If single guy saw me today he 
would not ask me that question. I think it was the Dolphin brand shorts I wore with a matching tank top that had him convinced I was an Olympic athlete. Imagine Bruce Jenner, if he was a skinny girl...

There were plenty of other characters living on Franklin Ave. A few of Hagrid's friends lived in the alleyway between our apartment complex and the one above us. Our bedroom window happened to face that alleyway. My husband was completely convinced that a 
certain serial killer on the loose the year we lived there was lurking in the bushes or hanging out in the space between our building and the next, waiting for the right moment to get him. We were both quite the scaredy cats and not the best combo when it came to convincing each other it wasn't going to happen. Did I mention how young and silly we were? 

One night after watching a particularly spooky news program that proclaimed said Serial Killer was thought to be hiding out in our neighborhood, my husband freaked out. We locked all our rusty windows and bolted our balsa wood front door and shivering like it was the dead of Winter went to bed. It was not Winter. It was "hotter than Hades" Summer! I got up in the middle of the night to get some water. I came back to our room and my husband, who was prone to walking and talking in his sleep, sat bolt upright in bed and pointed behind me. He threw out a few guttural shrieks for emphasis as well. I thought this was it. I thought my husband's worst fear had come to light and the Serial Killer was behind me. I was frozen in fear. I let out a few shrieks of my own. A contest of sorts took place. I screamed and he screamed. Both of us completely out of control, with me screaming over and over, "Is he behind me?" My husband thought I said, "He's behind you!" in his half awake state and came unglued. He lurched from the bed and grabbed me. I was scared senseless at this point worried that he was about to toss me into the Serial Killer's arms. Our neighbors, who shared a bedroom wall with us, and were the apartment managers, yelled through the wall and banged on our door. They didn't speak English very well. I thought a gang of marauders was coming through the door. A back-up of sorts for the Serial Killer if we tried to escape. By this time we were both out of our minds with fear and adrenalin. In my hysterical haze I heard my husband ask me where he (the Serial Killer) was. I remember thinking, "What? Isn't he behind me? I shrieked, "Isn't he behind me?" and my husband responded with, " I thought he was behind me!" Our neighbors were breaking down our door at this point. Not hard to do. A poke with a pinkie finger would open the door even if it was latched.

But let's get back to the Serial Killer.

Logically if he was behind my husband that would mean he was in our bed - lying right next to him - because our bed was pushed up against the window where he could reach in and get us if he was so inclined. It made more sense - if we had any at all -  which we clearly did not - that he would be behind me as I came back to our room.  Our neighbors coming through our door distracted us from our hysteria and we realized our mistake after both of us recanted our side of the story. By this time my husband was fully awake and doing his best to calm me down.

The Serial Killer wasn't anywhere near either of us. He was caught soon after and is spending his life in jail in Northern California which makes my husband feel very safe.  But that night we both had the scare of our lives. My husband, our neighbors, and me. They were probably very happy to hear we were moving soon after this evening. It wasn't the right place for two newlyweds who weren't made for the big city life. 

...the end

Seriously...

My sister gave this to me a while ago to remind me of my years as a Catholic school kid. I don't ever remember a nun giving me the "thumbs up" sign. Typically they gave me the index finger pointing toward the Principal's office sign. I was a great kid. Apparently, I didn't live up to the high standards set by my two older sisters who were 4 and 5 years ahead of me in school. They were practically from another generation! I also didn't live up to the standards imposed by every nun who crossed my path as my teacher. There were many. Sr. Palmyra was my first teacher in elementary school. She was as tall as me in second grade. They made them smaller and mightier way back then. Sr. Palmyra liked my mother. She liked my two older sisters. She prayed for my father. He wasn't really Catholic. She tolerated me. She pinched my cheeks a lot. And I don't think it was because she thought I was cute.

 When I think of her I think of the times tables. We were required to learn them in her class and recite them every week. I was on a roll until we got to the 12 x ? = ?. To this day I have trouble remembering anything past 12 x 2 = 24. I'm lost after that. Seriously lost! I have managed to get by though with the help of a calculator. They weren't invented yet when I was a student. My time in Sr. Palmyra's class reminds me of numbers.

Sr. Pam taught us for a little while. She was the principal of the school and was also a pinch hitter when a teacher was absent and somebodies mother or the janitor couldn't come in and take over. Seriously. We had some doozy "teachers" who I think weren't quite qualified to teach but were available for the right price. In other words they needed to fill their pledge of a million volunteer hours. Some parents volunteered for hot dog day and cupcake day. Others helped in the health office. The brave few volunteered to come in when a teacher was absent and sit at their desk staring at the clock on the wall while the class ran wild. This happened to our class in 6th grade. Our teacher died soon after school began for the year. I think she can be found in the Guinness Book of Records for being the oldest teacher ever to have taught. She told us on the first day of school she was older than God and we shouldn't give her any trouble because she was bound to meet her maker soon and would tell Him all about us if we misbehaved. I believed her. I didn't want those pearly gates shutting on me if I happened to follow soon after so I tried my best to be a model student. Just my luck...one month into the school year she died. Her successor was none other than the daughter- in-law of my 4th grade teacher. She was a newlywed and needed money to buy a house. We were the answer to her prayers. She was very sweet. I also thought she was very pretty. She didn't last long. Sr. Pam came to the rescue and cracked the proverbial whip and we were back in business after two months of coloring pictures of Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the Saints every single day and reciting the Lord's Prayer over and over while coloring. Seriously. I think of the waxy scent of a box of 64 Crayola crayons when I think of 6th grade. 

In high school I had lots of nuns teaching me. It was nun nirvana. At least for them. They all lived together on campus and taught all of the girls who were lucky enough to make it into the prestigious college prep school in our community. I was one of the lucky ones. They didn't ask me what 12 x anything was on the entrance exam so I was golden.  My oldest sister attended the school before me. She was a model student. I may have been or not have been the same. Think the latter if you must. I won't blame you. You may be right! I wasn't necessarily anything like my sister other than sharing the same last name and similar looks. She was quite shy. I was not. She was very studious and conscientious. I was not. I didn't really have to study to do well. It just came to me. I got by on that alone. There was a nun with my namesake who took a liking to me. She was my saving grace in high school. Whenever I saw Sr. Rosemary with her warm hugs and bright smile I knew everything would be alright. She had a way of making you feel like you were just fine the way your were. Whenever I think of high school I think of her. She was the epitome of loving someone unconditionally. 

In college I had a nun as a resident advisor in our apartment building on campus but not as a teacher. I also lived with an ex-nun my first year away at school. She was never home though. She was living with her boyfriend. She was also 36 years old. I was 19. We didn't have much in common. Seriously. My next roommate thought she had a calling to be a nun until she met a boy. Then all bets were off. They married and live happily somewhere in this great big world. I had lots of priests as teachers in college. They were just fine. They must not have read my cumulative file from high school and elementary school saying I was quite possibly the devil's spawn or close to it. I met my husband my second semester of college. He told me once he thought he had a calling to be a priest when he was a boy. I asked him why. He said he visited a seminary while in elementary school and was impressed that the priests ate roast beef every Sunday for dinner and had a delicious array of food made for them each day by the parish housekeeper. He thought that lifestyle would be heaven on earth for him. He loves food. He also liked the ladies. He had to choose. He chose me. I knew how to cook. I wasn't a parish housekeeper, and he didn't become a priest so...we got married. When I think of my college years I think of everything that led me to my husband. My favorite memory of all. Seriously. There's "nun" better than him. 

This is Halloween...

 I'm back...I can't believe it's been an entire year since I last posted. I have time now to blog so I will post more often. 

Fall is my favorite time of year and this little guy is from this amazing place:

rogersgardens.com in Corona Del Mar, California.

They have a spectacular Halloween Boutique every year.

This year the theme is Night Gallery.
http://rogersgardens.com/holiday-2/halloween-2013/ 
It is the perfect place to get in the mood for Halloween. 

This is my Fall mantel this year. 

I was inspired by my visit to Roger's Gardens and found the sinister portrait in the center of the mirror to use as the centerpiece of my decorations. It was waiting for me to find it at a local thrift shop for $4.00. The little white pumpkin was a $1.00 at the same store. The Federal Mirror was at another thrift shop for $12.99 and I had to get it! I have been looking for one for quite some time. My sister found it for me. It was perfect for this space. The candle sconces were from another thrift shopping adventure a few years ago. They were $2.00 a piece. I spray painted them in a taupe shade and hung them to balance the mirror. I made the flower arrangements with faux flowers and added the bows to tie in the Autumn theme. The pumpkin girl sitting in the chair is from Home Goods and the pumpkins were too. Those were purchased two years ago. I added a small garland of colored leaves to the mirror to finish the look. 

 This is my "Ode to Cinderella"and can be found on my front entry table. I usually have a velvet slipper displayed inside the pumpkin carriage but I switch it out every Fall to this little wonder. I added the creepy mice this year. I usually put them on the steps of my staircase where my daughter's boyfriend likes to take them and hide them in different places in our house. It scares my husband. He thinks they are real. Mice and rats are not his thing. For the record we have never had mice or rats in our house.  My husband grew up in the big city where there were one or two of them from time to time strolling alongside him as he walked home from school in the snow. Not really. It doesn't snow where we live. Ever. 

I wish it did.

My sister gave me this cute Boo thingy. I don't know what to call it but I like it. 

Happy Fall!
I am linking up for the Fall Mantel Party with
http://thriftydecorchick.blogspot.com/2013/09/fall-mantel-and-party.html?showComment=1380033576832

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