Author Archives: The Sugarlump

Southern Staples

Posted on by

1

Lordy, what have I done?

This is my cart at Walmart.  I don’t know how this happened.  And, yes, I am feeding a family of one.

Want to guess how much this cost?

Actually, please don’t.  It’s still a touchy subject for me and my credit card.

It took 8 trips to unload all of this from my car to my apartment.

But, a girl’s gotta have her staples.   During my first grocery shopping trip, I failed to purchase many basics such as tin-foil, eggs, mustard, flour, sugar, etc. so I had a lot to buy.

Somewhere in that cart are two glorious items that I could not find in the Northeast no matter how hard I tried.  They are critical components of Southern meals so I am just thrilled to pieces to have had the opportunity to purchase them (and soon to eat them).

Might I first mention that I could not get over the variety of cornmeal available here.  In Boston, if you didn’t know exactly where to look for the cornmeal in the grocery store, you would never find it. And when you find it, you will realize that it is not the one you want.  Here, it’s impossible to miss because there are dozens of choices.  But, I had one in particular I was looking for as it is the kind that both of my grandmothers use:

Item #1: Martha White Cornmeal

This is self-rising cornmeal and it’s white and fine (not yellow and coarse).  And, in my opinion, it should NEVER be prepared with sugar.  Cornbread shall not be sweet.  I’m pretty sure that’s in the Bible. Corn muffins, maybe, but cornbread, absolutely not.  How would you like a cupcake to sop up all that good pinto bean soup?  I don’t think so.

Cornbread should be salty, never sweet.  Amen.

My kitchen lacks a cast iron skillet, which is essential for making cornbread so I guess I’ll have to add that to the list of things I still need to get (much to my bank account’s dismay).

Item #2:  Hot breakfast sausage

Yes!  I can’t tell you how many places in Boston I looked for this stuff.  Those Northerners just don’t know what’s good.  But I do.  It’s hot pork sausage loosely packed so that it crumbles up and leaves behind enough drippings for a real nice gravy. Mmmmmmhmmmm.

This item does not require a cast iron skillet, although that would be a mighty good way to cook up some sausage patties and season the skillet real good for when I make cornbread.

I stopped short of buying myself some lard/shortening for a real initiation into Southern cooking, but I’m sure that will make it into my kitchen at some point in the near future.  I can’t help it. I’m Southern now.

I would like to end with a realization that has changed my life immeasurably.  Down here, the speed limit is 70 miles per hour on the highway (15 miles per hour faster than I’m used to) and I now live in the central time zone.

Translation:  I’m driving faster on slow time.

I feel like I’m getting more out of my day already.

Winning!

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Emily

The First Supper

Posted on by

2

After a tearful goodbye with my parents at the airport, I decided I needed something to cheer myself up.  Food usually does the trick (because to me a good meal = home), but the only problem was there wasn’t any food in my apartment other than cheerios, so I decided to go grocery shopping.

When I arrived at the store, I browsed at my leisure for a while and then walked out with a very random assortment of items, such as herbs de provence, granola, polenta, and dried pinto beans.  I can’t explain these choices except to say that it was an emotional afternoon.

Thankfully, I had the sense to purchase frozen macaroni and cheese because I was busy all day and still unpacking and was not up for cooking a full meal.

I got home and took that sucker out of the box and went to put it in the microwave.

Oh wait, I don’t have a microwave.

Undeterred, I searched the box for oven directions because I do, in fact, have an oven.  And people must have made frozen macaroni and cheese before there were microwaves, right? ……..No? ……..Frozen macaroni and cheese was invented for the microwave? Oh….…. Well, anyway, there were oven directions on the side of the box.

The oven directions said to unwrap the plastic and place the container on a tinfoil-lined baking sheet.

Oh wait, I don’t have any tin foil.  Bummer.

Not to worry, I actually bought stovetop macaroni and cheese because I found it before I got to the frozen section.  It was a long day of unpacking and I was tired and too lazy to take the stovetop macaroni back to its isle so I left it in my cart and purchased it.  Good thing, because I was ill-equipped to prepare for myself what seemed to be the impossibly easy dinner of microwave macaroni and cheese.

So then I got out one of my new pots, filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil.

Then I smelled something similar to what a hair-dryer that’s about to burn out smells like.   I turned the stove off momentarily and immediately called my cousin Lauren who I thought might have a similar stove at her apartment.   Luckily she answered and told me that that had happened to her before if it had been a while since she turned on the stove and that it was likely the cleaning solution burning off from when my apartment was prepared for my arrival.  Phew.

Confident that I was going to be eating dinner, I got the water back up to boiling and threw in the pasta.

Then I realized I didn’t have a strainer, but that was fine.  I would just use the lid to the pot to drain the water.   I only lost a few past shells down the drain.

As I was pulling out a bowl to put my pasta in, I saw that I actually did have a strainer.

Oh well.

I then made bake-and-break cookies without incident.  These are normally against my religion, but judging by the chain of events I just described, do you really think I had the ingredients, equipment or mental capacity to make cookies from scratch?  Ah, no.

The cookies weren’t terrible but they didn’t quite taste like home sweet home either.

Full of sub-par macaroni and cheese and square cookies, I continued to unpack and the cats watched, exhausted from tracking my quest for dinner.

Just as I was worried about the drive and hotel stay with the cats, I thought they might take a while to adjust to my new apartment.  As you can see, Gus is barely managing to hold it together on the sectional.

While things are going well in the living room, I think there is only room for improvement here in the kitchen.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Hello, Nashville!

Posted on by

0

Hello, Nashville!

19 driving hours, 1150 miles and 8 states later, Amarillo, my mom, my dad, Gus, Scarlett and I arrived in my new hometown of Nashville, Tennessee.   My dear mom and dad, as well as Amarillo (my moving truck that I grew attached to) were along for the journey to help me move.

Although my cat Gus meowed constantly for about an hour straight after we left, the cats traveled much better than I thought they would.  I think their pleasantness had a lot to do with my ingenious set-up for them in the back of my car.  I purchased the largest animal crate that would fit into the back of my Jeep and used the divider (intended to be used vertically) to create a mezzanine level so the cats wouldn’t be on top of each other.  Scarlett took the main floor and stretched out in the camper while Gus opted for the upper deck and was able to see out the windows and enjoy the scenery.  I realized about an hour into the trip that Gus’ blanket (“the mommy”) was outside the cage so at our first rest stop I put the blanket in his bed in the cage.  He snuggled right in and the meowing abruptly ceased.  What a weird cat.

They were much more relaxed when we were moving at a steady pace than when we were stopped.  I think the might have thought that a stop meant we had arrived at the vet’s office.   They do not like the vet.

The drive was especially beautiful in some of the states we passed through, particularly Virginia and eastern Tennessee.  This was my view for about 500 miles.  Not too shabby.

I love me some hills.

This was a very pretty sky.  I can’t remember if this was late Thursday or very early Friday.  It’s all a blur.

Here is my naked apartment right after I signed my lease and my life away.

Love the pale pink counter tops. Not.

I will be painting as soon as I have some energy after packing up, driving across the country and then unpacking my life.  Maybe I’ll feel up to it by the time my lease is up.

My seeeester, Eugene, and my cousin Lauren drove down from Lexington, Kentucky (where they both go to school with the 2012 NCAA Men’s Basketball Champions.  No big deal).

They were such great helpers and I really don’t think I could have gotten everything carried up into my 3rd floor apartment and pretty close to set up without them.  I think I’ll keep them around.  I tried to get them to stay at my apartment but they gave me some spiel about having to get back to school for class.  Lame.

Who could say no to this?

After a few hours of unpacking the truck and carrying my ridiculous amount of stuff up to my apartment on Friday, we were all starving and we went to one of my new favorite spots in Franklin called Sol.  It’s kind of funky Mexican or Mexico meets the South or something like that.   Whatever you want to call it, it is obnoxiously delicious.  We started out with some freshly made table-side guacamole.   YUM.   As our entrees were ready to be served, our waiter took the guacamole bowl and I was very displeased because I had not yet scraped the bowl clean with the homemade tortilla chips so as not to leave a morsel of deliciousness behind.

I quickly got over my outrage as soon as my dinner arrived.  I ordered one of the evening’s specials: chipotle honey pan seared salmon with herb and parmesan polenta (and some sautéed spinach that I ignored).  This was heaven on a plate.  I have a picture that will surely make you hop in your car and drive however many miles (it doesn’t matter how many) to taste a bit of this wonderfulness.

After dinner, we were all drifting off into food comas and wanted to pass out.  Eugene, Lauren and I had to make a quick trip to Walmart, however, because I had no food in the house and no couch for my sister or cousin to sleep on.  As with all Dyer Walmart trips, this was an adventure.  We were delirious at this point and must have circled the bedding department 43 times before I made up my mind on which sheet set and blanket would coordinate best with my décor (even though they were going on an air mattress).

I expected to find an air mattress in this section also, but I was informed by my cousin Lauren that such an item would actually be found in the “camping and recreation” section.  I mentioned to her that I was impressed by how well she knew the departments and that I was grateful to have her along because I never would have found it on my own.  Her response:

“Honey, I was practically raised in Walmart.”

Her parents might find this statement troubling, but I thought it was hilarious.

We got back to my apartment and Lauren blew up the air mattress (inflated it, rather.  She didn’t explode it.  That would have been real bad).  And then we all passed out at the thought of more unpacking the next day.

More to come.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Boston

Posted on by

0

I’ve spent 13 years, the majority of my life, in Boston.

I went to middle school, high school, undergraduate and graduate school here.  It’s where I learned to drive and where I started my business.  It’s where I have met people who have been very important in my life.  In large part, it’s where I became who I am.

But there’s always been a part of me that belonged to the South.  It’s where my family is from and it has always felt like home. I have visited my extended family in Kentucky at least twice a year for my entire life.  I used to cry on the way back from visiting Kentucky when I was little because I wanted to live there so badly.

I guess as I was planning my move to Nashville I was thinking mostly of the excitement of living in a new city, in the South, within an easy car-ride of my extended family.  I knew that would mean leaving behind some great people, but it didn’t really sink in until this week as I said goodbye to my clients, my friends and people who have become like family to me.  I always loved the South because of the genuine people, but it turns out I have found some really wonderful people in these Northern parts, too.

I will miss my friends.  Even though most of them are dispersed throughout the country (and even the globe), there were a few good friends who stayed in Boston that I saw regularly after we graduated.  I will certainly miss our get-togethers and those last remnants of college.  I guess we are officially grown-ups now as all of us start new phases in our lives with new jobs and new homes.

I will miss my neighbors. The kids I once babysat are now driving, but they’ll always be those cute little kiddoes in my mind who kept it real.

I will miss my clients.  When people invite you into their homes, even though it’s for business, there’s no getting around the fact that you will learn about their lives and often develop a friendship.  I have had many wonderful clients that I have gotten to know well and I will certainly miss our meetings.

I will miss my trade network.  Working alongside people in the design and building trades, you make small talk to make the day more pleasant, you see how hard they work and how they are just good, down to earth people.

And then there are people who don’t fit into just one category, but span many.  Although we are certainly an unlikely pair as she is 44 years my senior, I will greatly miss a woman I have known for over a decade, who has made window treatments and pillows for my parents and then for my clients after I started my interior design business.  She gave me great support and advice as I was starting my business and she has become a very close friend and mentor.  Whenever I would bring fabrics over for a job, we would quickly go through the details and then just talk.  Sometimes we would be so deep in conversation that an hour would go by before we knew it.  Even though for most of my day I am in a hurry, I’ve always cherished my talks with her.

It goes without saying that I will of course miss my parents terribly, but my hope is that they will move back to the South to be near me and my sister in the very near future.  So I’m just thinking of this separation as temporary because that’s the only way I can get through it.

I’ve had some great times here with some really great people, but I am excited to finally get my wish to live in the South.  Just like the best chocolate, it’s bittersweet.

Thank you for everything, Boston.  I will miss you.

(But don’t worry, I’ll be back to visit 🙂 )

Sugarlump

Packed

Posted on by

0

This is Amarillo, my moving truck.  The name just came to me and I think it suits him.  This is his best angle.

My dad and I packed up Amarillo all day today and I am pooped.  My back is broke.  On the bright side, my biceps are now bulging.  Kinda.

We started out filling up the truck with all of the boxes I had ready to go.  Things were going swimmingly and it seemed like I was going to have a ton of room in the truck.  My apartment is not a whole lot bigger than Amarillo so this was good news.

I finished packing up boxes and then we put in my colossal disassembled work desk.

Satisfied with our progress and how much room we had left, my dad and I went to lunch.  I had to have one last fix of Mexican at one of our favorite lunch spots (more like one of my favorite lunch spots, but my dad is a good sport and went with it (for the second time in a week)).

When we got back, we decided we should go ahead and put all of the pieces of my bed in the truck.  Moving a queen-size mattress without handles is like trying to move an enormous piece of Jell-o (as my dad put it) or trying to give my cat Scarlett a bath (the first comparison that came to mind for me).  It just ain’t happenin’.

I would also like to note at this point in time that shrink wrap is not my friend.

After many nearly fatal moments, my dad and I wrestled the mattress into the truck.  Although I did not enjoy moving my bed components, I did learn a new trick from my dad.

As he was tying up my mattress, headboard and box springs to secure them to the truck, he showed me a way to pull the rope really tight.

“This here is a hay-hauling knot.”  -my dad

I had not seen this technique or heard of the abovementioned application before, even in all my time as a farm hand.

I hope you enjoyed that farming/physics lesson.

Somehow, I managed to fill Amarillo completely.  I’m not really sure how that happened or where all of this stuff came from or how I am going to have any room to circulate in my apartment after I unload all of these things…

…or why I need all of this stuff.

…or how I am going to transport these things up two flights of stairs.

…or how to haul hay.

Wish me luck.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Southern Vibes

Posted on by

2

Please forgive my cat-heavy content lately.  I swear I’m not a crazy cat lady; I just get a real kick out of these fur-balls.  That and I’ve been cramming in a lot of work and packing in the past week and there’s only so much to report on that front.

I have so many pictures of my cats now as they are the only subjects that tolerate me trying to learn how to take portraits with my new camera.  I figured I might as well share these pictures and stories instead of the seemingly endless piles of things in my life at the moment (because even thinking about them gives me heart palpitations).

While the last few days have been fairly uneventful, I did have an interesting exchange this weekend as I was buying a bottle of wine to take to my friend’s housewarming party.

I walked up to the register and the cashier asked me how I was doing with a big ol’ Southern drawl.

Looking for something to confirm that I was indeed still in Massachusetts, I replied that I was doing just fine and asked how she was doing.  She was just dandy.

She kind of looked at me knowingly and I thought maybe she was trying to figure out if I was old enough to be purchasing the wine (which I am, thank you very much) but she was actually sensing some Southern vibes.

She complimented my ring as I showed her my ID.  I said thank you.  She said she’s been trying to get her boyfriend to buy her one like it because she just loves the design.  I told her it was definitely a good purchase and I wear it every day.

She then paused and said, “Where are youuu fruum?”

I said, “Well, here I guess.  I grew up in the Northeast.”

I could tell by her face that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer.  So I said, “But, my family is from southern Kentucky and I’m actually moving to Nashville next week.”

She beamed, “I knew I heard a Southern acce-yunt in they-yere!” (which is funny because I don’t really have a Southern accent….yet.  I do, however, have many family members with Southern accents so I can speak Southern fluently and often catch a drawl when I’m around them.)

I asked her where she was from (obviously not the Northeast).  She said proudly, “I’m fruum TEHHH-xas.”

At this point we were friends.

She then wished me luck in my move, I told her I hoped she got the ring from her boyfriend soon and we both smiled as I walked out of the store.

Thank goodness there was no one behind me in line or he/she would have been very confused by our sudden kinship.

I think it was a sign that I am making the right move.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Nosy Cat

Posted on by

0

If you look up nosy in the dictionary, this is what you will find:

No matter how hard I try to discipline my misguided cat Scarlett, her nosiness seems to get the best of her, especially when it comes to people food and the kitchen.

Several times a day, as I am sitting in the family room or my office, I hear the very distinct thump of 4 furry paws landing on the kitchen floor after leaping from the counter.

I then walk into the kitchen and find Scarlett either hurriedly trotting into the dining room or standing nonchalantly in the middle of the kitchen, staring into space.

Sometimes there is evidence that she has been on the counter, such as a stray paper towel or green bean on the floor.  One time, I found the remnants of a rib-eye steak on the floor half-way across the kitchen and Scarlett was nowhere to be found (behind a chair), licking her chops.

But most of the time I just hear the thump and by the time I walk into the room she has already destroyed (consumed) the evidence.

This is how our talks about her behavior normally go:

Me: “Scarlett, what were you just doing?”

Scarlett: ……………(stares intently at nothing)

Me: “Scarlett, you’re acting guilty.  Anything you want to confess?”

Scarlett: …………..(stares at Gus in an effort to divert my attention while praying that I have a bout of amnesia)

Me: “Scarlett!”

Scarlett: “Who?…….Me???” (tries her best to look innocent, shocked and pathetic)

Me: “Scarlett, I know you were on the counter.”

Scarlett: “I want a lawyer.”

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Packing

Posted on by

6

I have a lot of stuff.

I don’t really know how I accumulated so much in the last few years of my adult life, but things seem to be coming out of the woodwork as I try to pack for my move.

Do you know what this is?

No?

It’s a canner.  As in food preservation.  I purchased this a few years back with the intention of making my own jams and fruit preserves.  Due to my status as a full-time student and working professional, that did not happen.

I have high hopes that this year I will take off the sticker, learn how to use this sucker and preserve some things.

For now, I plan to pack it full of kitchen utensils to maximize space because even though I am renting a 16’ moving truck, I am a little concerned about the volume of things I am taking with me.

This is my garage bay that is currently acting as the staging area:

And this is what my bedroom looks like at the moment:

All of this stuff (including the furniture) will need to be added to the garage bay pictured above to ensure it will fit in the moving truck.

Gulp.

Luckily, most of my office (including my 8’x4’ desk) is already in the packing zone.  While this is good for the progress of my packing, it makes for a somewhat challenging work environment:

It’s been a lot of work to get this far although these pictures portray a state of disorder.

Thankfully, I have some helpers.  My resident customs officials have inspected and tested out every box for safety and compliance with federal regulations.

Little do my furry friends know that they will be the final items to be packed into my car.

Oh boy is that going to be a fun 19 hour drive.

I can’t wait………………to have arrived in Tennessee.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Salmon!

Posted on by

2

Gus loves his Fancy Feast Savory Salmon.  He spends the better part of his day (when he is not making himself comfortable in my lap) begging for salmon.

While he’s a very sweet kitty and I want him to be healthy and happy, he eats 2 cans per day, about ¼ of a can at a time.  That figures up to 8 feedings per day.

Reminder: Gus is a cat, not a newborn baby.

It’s starting to get out of control.

Here are a few examples of his ridiculous behavior:

I’m hungry.

Will you please feed me instead of taking my picture?

That’s enough pictures, lady.

Now feed me some salmon.

Oh hi.

SSSSSSSSAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllmooooooooooooooooonn?

I’m going to sit on your notes and stare you down until you are forced to pay attention to me and feed me salmon.   I’m confident this strategy will work.

I’ll sprinkle in a few meows to disrupt your concentration as well.

Hello, did you hear me?

S-A-L-M-O-N.

Fine then.   If you’re going to ignore me, I will drink your iced coffee.

AAAAALck.   Never mind.  That stuff’s turrr-bul.

I’m so glad you enjoyed your dinner (and neglected to serve me some even though I very politely sat in a chair).

Now where’s my salmon?

Maybe if I sit at the counter you will put it together that I am hungry and I would like some salmon.

Man, what’s a cat gotta do for some grub around here?

These humans are useless.

SALMON!

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

P.S. Thank You

Posted on by

0

The great thing about cleaning out my parents’ house as I prepare to move is finding little treasures like old pictures, cards and papers dating as far back as kindergarten.

The bad thing about cleaning out my parent’s house as I prepare to move is cleaning out my parents’ house.

We have accumulated a lot of stuff that has not been thinned since…..ever.

(WARNING: tangent ahead)

I’ve decided I like organizing, but not “cleaning out.”  Give me a closet full of items tangled up and in a heap and I will gladly put like with like and in nice boxes and baskets, all labeled, color-coded and sorted by occasion/season.  After all, I used to organize the silverware drawer just for kicks when I was in elementary school.  I know, I’m weird.  I can’t help it.

I do NOT, however, care for “cleaning out,” which includes deciding what to throw away, give away or keep, because this involves many messy (and HEAVY) piles, bins, trash bags, nosy cats and 459 trips up and down the stairs from the warzone to the garage.

After completing this process in several rooms this past week, I still have to organize and store what is NOT going with me to Nashville AND pack what IS going with me.  And THEN I have to drive 18 hours, haul the “keep” pile (mountain?) up TWO flights of stairs and UNpack it.  YIIIIKES!  Maybe I’ll just stay in Boston.

Oh wait, nope.

My love for the South is greater than my hatred for “cleaning out,” so I’m sticking to my plan (but apparently not to the point of this post.  My bad.)

Anyway, back to my first point: I have come across some real treasures in this “cleaning out” process, such as this card from my little seeester, Eugene:

Although she has no recollection of this card, judging by its content, her lovely cursive handwriting, and the fact that this card was created using a card program popular in our household at the turn of the century, I have concluded that this card dates back to the day after my sister tried to amputate her arm.

That may be an exaggeration.  It was her finger and it was unintentional (allegedly).

It was just after her 10th birthday, the height of her horse phase.  She had received several toy horses as gifts.  These particular toy horses come packaged as if they are going to gallop off the shelf, with layers and layers of cardboard, molded plastic and lethal plastic ties that keep the horses’ legs bound to the cardboard.  My sister was in the family room trying to free her toy horses from their boxy oppressors when her scissors slipped from the lethal plastic tie and launched into her left index finger which was holding up the box.

I was up in the attic on the computer when a calm voice and a trail of blood drops made its way toward me.  Upon processing this scene, I realized that this was not good but tried to keep my cool.  I was 13 at the time and obviously could not legally drive my sister to the emergency room.  Oh and my parents weren’t home.  Did I forget to mention that?  My mom was on a business trip and my dad was at a dinner in Boston and somehow in the 2 hours between when our nanny left and when my dad was due to arrive home, my sister and I found ourselves in a situation requiring professional medical attention.

After calmly escorting my sister down to the bathroom, I pulled the scissors out of her hand (turns out I should have left them in there, but I thought she might contract tetanus or something terrible) and wrapped her finger up tightly in a towel.   As she sat tight and with very few tears, I called my dad and asked him what I should do and he told me to call my neighbors to see if one of them could drive us over to the emergency room where he would meet us as soon as he could.

I then called one of my neighbors.

Ring, ring, ring…ring… “We can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message.”

I figured maybe they were having dinner or something so I tried again immediately, hoping these back-to-back calls would communicate a sense of urgency.

Ring, ring, ring…ring… “We can’t come to the phone right now, please leave a message.”

Hmmm (translation: AHHH!).  I tried one more time and then decided they must not have been home.  Then I called my other next-door neighbors.  They did not pick up after several calls either.  I was about to lose my cool, but remembered that my sister was watching me very closely so I called my dad again and asked him what to do.

He told me to call 911.  All of the sudden, this seemed very serious and scary, but somehow I called 911 and the ambulance arrived a few minutes later.  As we were getting into the back of the ambulance, the second neighbor I called came running out of her house, got in the ambulance and traveled with us to the hospital.  At this point, I started to tear up, but my sister (the injured one) kept her cool.

We arrived to the hospital quickly and the doctor checked out my sister’s wound.  My dad got there shortly after.  After seeing my sister’s wound under fluorescent light and hearing the doctor say she needed stitches, I started to feel a little light-headed and had to go back to the waiting room until Eugene was all stitched up and released from the ER.

Even though she was the brave one for not freaking out when she stuck a pair of scissors in her finger, she made this very nice card to thank me for taking care of her.  The card was very sweet and thoughtful, but the P.S. note cracks me up:

As if I didn’t catch on to the sentiment on this card, she just wanted to be sure I got the message in the postscript.  I don’t know why I find this so funny, but I do. Even though that was not an evening I would like to relive (and I’m sure Eugene wouldn’t either), I’m so glad I found this card because it is so Eugene and it makes me smile.

To help you make sense of this post, I have put together a list of takeaways:

  1. Always answer your phone because it might be your panicking 13 year old neighbor calling about a scissors accident
  2. Deliberate long and hard before deciding to have children
  3. Packaged toys (particularly horses) pose a threat to your life and opening them may result in stitches
  4. Don’t move to a new place or you will be subject to some “cleaning out”
  5. “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
  6. (what?)
  7. P.S. Thank you

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump