Category Archives: Treasures

Seeester’s Birthday

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Today is my seeester Eugenice’s birthday.

She came to visit me this weekend and boy did we have a BIG time.

First, we shopped around in downtown Franklin and had an early lunch at Puckett’s.  We left the restaurant to check out a cute little bakery and stumbled upon this completely normal scene on Main Street:

The latest in hybrid vehicles.

Thankfully this guy kept his road rage under control.

Apparently the dress code for this event was formal.

Somehow (perhaps inspired by our canine acquaintance’s fashion statement), we wound up at the mall where I purchased these VERY tall shoes.  I thought that I was going to sneak one by Eugene and finally be taller than her.  But then she also bought some VERY tall shoes.  So I got to be tall and she got to be VERY tall.  At least I was tall.

Here are some very professional photos we took of ourselves dressed to go out to dinner.

I’m not sure what’s going on with my right eye here.  I think it got stuck.

Eugene’s poof was not cooperating.

We take ourselves very seriously.  Obviously.

This makes me laugh uncontrollably every time I look at it.

The point of these pictures was to capture our full outfits, especially our sassy new shoes.  Clearly we succeeded.

Not.

We ventured down to the Gulch and had a delicious dinner at Sambuca’s, where we enjoyed some great live music in our VERY tall shoes.  We also had a celebrity sighting, which was a special present that I organized for Eugene (not really, but that’s what I told her.  I won some major points).

After enjoying ourselves thoroughly at dinner, we started toward the door and realized it was pouring rain outside.  We decided to wait it out for a little while, but then it just started raining harder.

Wonderful.

So, we agreed to cut our losses, take off our new tall (and suede) shoes, stick them in my purse and run for the hills (the car).  I hope someone witnessed this and had a good laugh.

The next morning I whipped up a gourmet breakfast of Eggo waffles, butter and butter-flavored syrup.  I then served this delicacy on my formal storage bin table next to the sofa.  I know this made Eugene feel really special.

As I tried to take a picture of Eugene enjoying this beautiful breakfast spread, my camera went off like a machine gun.  Evidently, the night before as we tried to take pictures before going out to dinner, Eugene had adjusted my camera to a timed, rapid-fire setting so we could back up and get a picture of ourselves since there was no one else to take a photo of us.   I was not aware that my camera was still on this setting when I turned it on the next morning.  As it went off, my instinct was to find cover because I had no idea what was happening.

Eugene just shook her head.

All in all, I would call it a very successful weekend of birthday/sister shenanigans.

Welcome to the third decade of your life, poodle.   I hope you had a stupendous Birthday.

I LAHV you.

Y’all be careful and take an umbrella,

Sugarlump

Fried Chicken

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I would venture to say that every Southern cook knows how to fry chicken.  Not all recipes and preparations are the same; in fact, almost no two are exactly alike.  I have read dozens of recipes about frying chicken and they all offer different tips and approaches that they claim are the key to the best fried chicken.   I have yet to try any of them because I don’t know where to start.

I decided to go directly to the source of fried chicken in my life: Grandmother.

While visiting my grandparents in Kentucky last week, I requested fried chicken from my Grandmother, per usual, but I put in a special request for her to allow me to document the process so I could learn how to fry chicken once and for all.   She obliged and thought it was cute that I wanted to take pictures of everything.

So we started out with 2 chicken breasts that had been cut into 2 pieces each, for a total of 4 pieces of chicken.  Grandmother likes the pieces to be a little bit smaller so they cook evenly and all the way through without burning the crust.

(And by we, I mean Grandmother.  She was handling all of the chicken because she knows what she’s doing and I didn’t want any chicken gunk on my camera.  That would not be sanitary.)

It was just me and Grandmother, which is why we were cooking only 4 pieces, but when the whole family is together, she fries 2 or 3 times that amount (in several batches) and sometimes fries dark meat as well.

The first step is to brine the chicken (salt and water) to help the chicken stay moist and seasoned.  While you can let the chicken brine overnight, Grandmother says a few hours is fine.

The next step is somewhat controversial: selecting the frying agent.   This can be peanut oil, canola oil, vegetable oil, lard, vegetable shortening, etc.  Part of the selection usually depends on if you are frying or deep frying.  Grandmother fries her chicken with Crisco and uses enough of the vegetable shortening to cover the chicken about half-way, but not enough to deep fry it.

Grandmother added a couple of HEAPING cooking spoonfuls to the pot. Translation: a lot of Crisco.

I thought this was probably adequate.  Grandmother said not quite.  She then added another big spoonful of Crisco.

Surely this was enough.

Nope.

One more spoonful.  I would say this was about 2 cups of Crisco in all.  Grandmother concurred, but like any good Southern cook, she doesn’t measure.  She just goes by look and feel.

The phrase “ignorance is bliss” comes to mind.  But even knowing about the quantity of grease involved, I’m going to eat the chicken anyway.

Then turn the stove top to 5 and heat the Crisco.

That’s what Grandmother told me and just laughed because of course she knows that 5 is not a universal stovetop temperature.  We decided 5 was equivalent to about medium heat.

Meanwhile, coat the chicken liberally in self-rising flour.   Grandmother uses self-rising because it creates a crispier, more airy crust.

Let the chicken hang out in the flour bowl until the Crisco is heated.  Grandmother says it is ready when you sprinkle in a bit of flour and it sizzles.  Be careful not to get it too hot that it crackles and pops and “carries on.”

When the Crisco is ready, place the chicken, meat side down, in the pot and cover.  Covering the chicken helps to keep the meat moist, but you must let some of the steam escape so your crust doesn’t become soggy, says Grandmother.

To fry the chicken, Grandmother uses a Club Aluminum Dutch oven that has been in the family for approximately 75 years.   She thinks it’s important to cover the chicken so she prefers a Dutch oven to an open cast iron skillet, but she says to be careful with some of the newer, enameled cast iron because they seem to hold in too much steam.  She recommends cooking with the lid slightly askew to allow some of the steam to escape.

Check on the chicken after about 10 or 15 minutes.  If the crust on the bottom is nice and golden brown, it’s time to flip the pieces! Then let cook another 15 minutes or so, covered.

And please wear an apron, velvet house shoes, and your best Wilma Flintstone necklace while fryin’ chicken.  (Picture courtesy of Grandmother)

Then, as the chicken is finishing to its golden brown on the second side, allow it to cook uncovered for about 5-10 minutes to crisp up the crust.

When chicken is crispy and golden brown (after about 30-35 minutes of frying total), remove chicken from pot and allow to drain on a paper towel for a few moments before transferring to a serving dish.

Then, stand back and admire this beautiful work of art.  (Don’t take too long or it will get cold.)

And then, most importantly, please eat it blissfully as you forget about the amount of Crisco used in its preparation.

Thanks for teaching me how to fry chicken, Grandmother!

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

My Closet

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When I moved into my apartment, I was able to find a place for most things fairly quickly. Books go on the bookshelves, dishes go in the kitchen cabinets, sofa goes in the living room, cats go wherever they please, etc.

My clothes, however, were a different story.  I am fortunate that my small apartment has a good size bedroom closet.  The only problem is that it is set up for hanging space only. I’m sure the apartment was designed with the expectation that the tenant would bring a dresser or armoire, which most normal people have, but I do not yet own one.  Eventually, I hope to buy a really neat, antique armoire with shelf and drawer space, but that will take lots of searching and deliberating and may not happen for many months/years.

While I pondered this dilemma, my folded clothes, bags and shoes sat in boxes and even larger bags on my bedroom floor for about a week, which I found to be thoroughly irritating.

This is actually a fairly cleaned up version of my room before I had shelving in the closet:

I like to be organized and for everything to be in its place so this was a bit challenging for me. I had to dig through boxes and piles of clothes to find an outfit for a meeting or Church or just any outfit that didn’t look ridiculous in public.

More boxes…

It probably would have been easier to find things if I had labeled the boxes…but that would have made the box situation far too manageable.

I perused the isles at Lowes, Home Depot and Bed Bath and Beyond, waiting for just the closet solution to jump out at me.  I didn’t want to spend a ton of money on some fancy system, but I also didn’t want something that was going to fall apart. A few days into my search, I found some simple, metal racks with 3 adjustable shelves.

There was a lot of assembly required…

The directions specified that this was a 2 person assembly job due to the dangerousness of the metal objects.

Somehow, I survived the assembly of 4 shelving units.

And this is what my closet looks like post shelf-lift:

This brings me joy.

I have fairly high ceilings so I actually put one of the shelving units on a high shelf for my “winter-ish” items that I don’t need to wear at this time since we are averaging 75 degrees in Nashville.

After testing the limits of the upholstered stools in my room by jumping on them in order to sling purses onto the top shelf, I decided it was probably a good idea to invest in a proper step-ladder to prevent any injuries to me or my upholstered stools.

Meet my new best friend:

Look at all of that glorious shelf space.

Clearly, I could use an internship at J. Crew where everything is folded perfectly, but I was just so happy to have shelf space that it appears I let it get the best of my folding skills.

One thing that irks me is that the shelves in the unit on the far right do not line up with the shelves in the other two units. This is not a mistake; I had to make them higher so my Uggs would fit underneath, but nonetheless it bothers me.  Maybe I should adjust the other two so they are higher?

I know, I need help.

Sadly, all of my shoes did not make it into the closet due to a lack of space.  Luckily, I brought along my trusty door-hanging shoe organizer from college that has 30 shoe slots.  I have been known to pack 50 pairs of shoes into this thing so I’m very glad to have it.  The alternative was to line up my shoes around the perimeter of my room, which would have kept me up at night.

While it would have been ideal to hang this on the back of my closet door, there is not enough depth between the door and the wall to accommodate the shoe rack. Thus, the shoe rack is hanging on the back of my bedroom door.  Not perfect, but at least my shoes are off the floor and can be hidden from sight when my door is open.

I am hoping that when I finally find the perfect armoire I can put a lot of my folded items in it and then use the metal racks in the closet for my shoes.

I can’t wait to find that armoire so I can worry about more important things like what color I’m going to paint my kitchen.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Driving to Burkesville

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Welcome to Cumberland County.

This is my (very dirty) car, Chino, sitting in my grandparents’ driveway in Kentucky.

Why is this noteworthy?

Well, let me tell you.

I’ve never been able to just drive to my grandparents’ houses in Burkesville, Kentucky.  Having lived in the Northeast and about 1000 miles from my grandparents my whole life, any visit involved at least one plane ride (usually 2) and then a 2 ½ hour drive from the airport in either Louisville or Nashville to rural Kentucky.

Now that I live in Nashville, I can drive up to visit and be there in 2 ½ hours.  It’s glorious.

The blue Jeep, Azul, is my cousin Lauren’s.  Since this is Chino’s first time in Kentucky, he and Azul had never met and they are just tickled to death (a favorite Southern saying) to finally be together as family.

Naturally, as soon as I arrived in Burkesville, we had to eat.  We went to one of my favorite little spots on the square in town: Annie Ruby’s.

Now, Annie Ruby’s is in the location that was formerly Smith Pharmacy.  My papa thinks it had been open since the town was founded in 1810.  He said that when he was little a single ice cream cone was a nickel and a double was 10 cents.  My parents used to go there as kids for ice cream and orangeades, which they could purchase for something like a quarter. This was pretty amazing (even back then) since it took 2 fresh, sweet oranges to produce enough juice for this specialty.

My cousins, sister and I had a summer ritual at Smith Pharmacy when we were growing up where we would go sit at the old-timey fountain and order coke floats after a long day in the office (more on this later).  They had the BEST old school vanilla ice cream that was sort of a creamy yellow and then they would pour over the fountain coke to create the perfect ice cream to coke ratio.  This sounds pretty basic, but there’s quite an art to making a coke float.  Trust me, I’m a coke float connoisseur.

While we were devastated when Smith’s pharmacy went out a little while back, we were so excited to learn that Annie Ruby’s would be opening with good food and with the fountain.  It’s the same fountain that was in Smith’s and they do a darn good job with the coke float.  Their curry chicken salad is also pretty delicious if you want something to go with that coke float.  Actually, maybe eat the sandwich first and then savor the coke float.

Annie Ruby’s is known for “tomato pie,” which I’m sure is delightful, but unfortunately I’m some sort of genetic mutant and do not like tomatoes.  As my granny says, “what a shame” because my papa grows a whole mess of tomatoes that the rest of my family lives for.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve worked up a craving for a coke float.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

Packages

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I love putting together packages for people, especially when it is not for a special occasion, but rather to say “thank you” or “I’m thinking of you” or “I hope you feel better” or “congratulations” or “happy Tuesday” or “I think you’re alright”.

One of my favorite things to wrap up is food, which is no surprise because I love food.  Mostly I love the eating of it, but I do like to bake and cook as well.

So what better way to combine my passions than to bake something, do some heavy sampling (just for the safety of its recipients, of course), and then wrap it up with some cellophane, a pretty bow and a tag.

I’m also a huge fan of making gift baskets filled with mason jars of soups and such because they exude a homemade vibe, are timeless, very durable and also reusable for years and years.   In summary, they are very pretty and practical (and I’m slightly obsessed).

This morning I baked some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies for a “thank you for inviting me to supper” package.  I intended to capture the step-by-step preparation of these lovely things with my camera to include a recipe, but realized as I was adding the last ingredient that I forgot to take pictures.  I will try to do better next time.

Here are the cookies as they cool on the baking sheet for a moment:

And here they are all wrapped up purty-like:

In addition to making the package look nice, I always like to put a little tag or sticker (handwritten for a nice homemade touch) to inform the recipients of what they are about to put in their mouths.  I do this especially when there are controversial ingredients such as peanut butter, nuts, or oatmeal.  I might even add raisins to that list because I can’t tell you how many times I have bitten into a cookie thinking it was chocolate chip (my favorite) and quickly discovered that it was some sort of devilish raisin nonsense (my not favorite).

It is my conviction that cookies shall not contain raisins just as cornbread shall not contain sugar.  Amen.

Now that we have that settled, I will get back to the point.

Even though I love putting together an unexpected package, I do enjoy wrapping up gift boxes for holidays, birthdays and other occasions.  Here’s a gift I wrapped recently for a friend’s birthday:

I found the peacock paper at Homegoods and the ribbon I ordered from the ribbon factory.  While a great paper sets the tone, I think a nice, sharp bow really finishes a beautiful present.  I learned this from my Aunt Anna, who was the queen of gift-wrapping.

My Aunt Anna (we called her “A-Nana” which I will explain in a future post) passed away in early 2011, but she was quite the gift-wrapper.  She always wrapped gifts in beautiful paper with big bows and, for Christmas, she often added a little ornament or accessory to the bow.  These packages were so beautiful that you almost didn’t want to unwrap them.  I said almost.  There was always a thoughtful gift inside, so you had to unwrap it.

To have your wrapping likened to Aunt Anna’s is a big honor and level of distinction in our family.  You have arrived on the wrapping scene if some says your gift-wrapping work looks like “An Aunt Anna Package.”   Over the last few years, a few people have received this praise and we continue this tradition of wrapping excellence in her memory.

I love you and miss you, Aunt Anna.  You were such an elegant lady who did everything with great care.  You are an inspiration to me and I think of you every time I wrap a package.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

P.S. Thank You

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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

Spring Cleaning (Understatement)

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Last week, I helped my dad clean out his closet.  I really didn’t think this would be a big job.  My dad is usually a pretty neat and organized guy, so I figured it would be an hour or so of editing his closet, not a major undertaking.

BOY was I in for a surprise.

When I arrived on the scene, many piles of clothes had already formed on my parents’ bed and in the floor and this is what I found upon opening the closet door:

Oh dear.

(I apologize for the blurry photo.  It was all I could manage in my state of shock.)

Tempted to close the door and walk away (while making a note to have my eyes checked) I took a deep breath, changed into sweatpants and a mouth-guard, and debated my plan of attack.

Edit everything from the closet OR take everything out and only put back what is acceptable to wear in 2012?

Due to space limitations, I chose to edit from the closet after requesting that my dad extract all contents from the closet floor.  He obliged.

I then proceeded to heave volumes of clothes out of the closet and into 4 loosely defined piles:

  1. Discard immediately
  2. Donate (must be in good condition and passable the for the 21st century)
  3. I don’t know (read: daddy, now’s your last chance to defend this item or it goes into pile 1 or 2)
  4. Appalling and/or Interesting (more on this pile below)

With the abovementioned piles out of my sight (and my parents’ bedroom looking like a tornado had blown through) I then went to work organizing the remaining (acceptable) items by clothing type. Here is the finished product:

“Oh wow….oh my…..what an improvement….”- daddy

Yay organizing by color! (This might last 10 minutes before my dad decides organizing his clothing by color is not a valuable use of his time.)

I’ll have you know that after I finished editing and organizing the open shelving and hanging spaces, I discovered that these 4(!) drawers were packed with socks.

SOCKS!?!

Why so many socks?

I HAVE NO IDEA.

But, I ruthlessly edited the drawers, too, and my dad now has 2 drawers of socks instead of 4 (which, I know, still seems excessive, but he has “trouser/dress socks” and “athletic/casual socks”, so we had to give each type its own drawer for the sake of my sanity).

Now, back to pile 4 (“Appalling and/or Interesting”):

I always like to get the bad stuff over with first, so let’s start with “Appalling.”

Item 1: Ties

Below is a photograph of 4 unfortunate ties, pictured in ascending order of heinousness (I can’t believe that’s actually a word) from left to right.

Now I’m sure these ties were manufactured before my birth (which was not particularly recent), and were at some point fashionable.  Maybe.  Maybe/probably not.  Nope.  But, I’m going to give my dad a pass on these since I don’t recall him ever wearing them.  I make a motion to strike these from the record.

So stricken.

Moving on to “Appalling”, yet “interesting”:

Item 2: Uncategorizable Thing You Wear On the Top Half of Your Body

This here is a most curious specimen: a cross between a sweatshirt and a turtleneck.  I like to call it the “sweatneck” or the “turtleshirt”.  Each of these names is as appealing as the garment itself.  Take a look for yourself:

Please take note of the ¾ length sleeves.  (Why????)

Having covered “Appalling,” I now present some straight-up “Interesting” items:

Item 3: My little Sister Fishing in a Tankini

Among the odds and ends in my dad’s closet, I stumbled upon this gem of my kid sister in the ever-fetching tankini style of bathing suit.  Due to its neon color and tye-dye pattern, I am willing to bet that this suit came from Limited too, the store that I believe is now called “Justice” (hahahaha) and at which my mother so nonjudgmentally allowed my sister and me to shop as pre-teens.  Bless her heart.

My family doesn’t really fish so I have no idea where this photo was taken or why my sister is fishing so nonchalantly.  I asked her about it and she has no idea either.  So the mystery remains:  where/why was Eugene fishing (in a tankini)?  If anyone has any leads, please feel free to leave a comment.

Item 4: A Sweater Knit by Grandmother

I relieved my dad’s closet of many an unfortunate sweater and in the process I unearthed a beautiful hand-knit sweater that is exactly what I have been looking for since I was in high-school (a while ago).  This sweater is a lovely cream color, heavy and warm, and knit with several different stiches.  It’s long and roomy, but still flattering.  It’s just the thing for leggings and riding boots.  And somehow I found this perfection in my dad’s closet and he said I could have it.  What is this world coming to???

Well, in any case, I am thrilled to have the sweater which was my dad’s, knit by my grandmother, exactly the style that has eluded me for years and FREE!  Life is good.

SO, the moral of the story here is to clean out the closet of someone approximately 30 years your senior so that you may uncover some buried treasures, have some laughs and minor heart-attacks when you find volumes of items wildly out of style.

Y’all come back now, ya hear?

Sugarlump

P.S.  I want you to know that although my account of this closet surgery was somewhat brutal at times, I thoroughly enjoyed it and love my dad very much.  I just want him to have an organized closet and look sharp.