...



I'VE BEEN WISHING FOR quite some time to show you a picture
of my shoes. You see, I like to look at them; they make me smile.
Thoughts of showing them to you, Dear Reader, usually strike me
when I'm traveling down the road. I rather abruptly pull onto the
shoulder, hop from the car with my camera, and take a few pictures
of them...yes, yes, I know it's odd! The first time I did this was
about a year ago. It made me feel a little silly, and I sat in my car for
a while beside the road, peering in the rear view mirror, waiting for
some cars to pass. Fortunately I was on a not-so-beaten path and
soon enough the road was clear--no passers-by to frown and raise
their eyebrows.
Snap, snap, snap.
I snagged my pictures and jumped back into the car. But...I didn't show
them to you then, Dear Reader. The pictures I'd taken of my shoes just
languished in my camera.

Lo and behold, it was a long time later, seasons had come and gone; this
time the leaves were falling from the trees when the inspiration hit me
once again. Having done it before, it didn't seem so odd the second time.
I just swung the car off the road, boldly focused on my shoes and took a
picture. When I looked at the shot I'd taken, I saw it was a good one--this
shot I'd show to you.

But alas, you didn't see that photo either... And so it went. Succeeding
times the urge would strike and I would tell myself to let it go! I didn't
need another picture of the shoes! I could simply show you one I already
had. But then I'd think, These shoes (so elevated in my estimation)
won't last forever! Better take another picture now!

So that is how I gained a neat collection: My Shoes as They Appear at
Various Times and Seasons. And you, Dear Reader, are going to see them
now. Maybe it will stop my small shoe-snapping habit; but then again, who
knows. The first time I set eyes on them, these shoes were a high point
in my day. Until they finally fall from that high place, I'll likely fight
the urge to put on the brakes,
pull to the side of the road,











look over my shoulder in a sheepish way,

.
















































and get yet another picture of these shoes.




...

...
I DUG OUT MY TRUSTY AND WELL-SPATTERED West Virginia Carrot cake recipe. In spite of having five good and ever-so-capable daughters, Minnie's birthday cake was going to be whipped up by her one and only daughter-in-law!

Every last one of those lovely daughters was going to be at the birthday party--the one who lives in Washington state, the one who traveled from Ohio, the three local ones who've been hosting all kinds of guests at delicious sit-down meals during the lengthy Easter holiday, and running to fetch their mom from the nursing home numerous times.

Making this cake was the least I could do, plus here's why I leaped at the chance--I may never again (as I've never before) baked a cake for a loved one who is entering her eighty-ninth year!

I didn't have a lot of time to devote, but I certainly wanted to do the job right. This meant making two cakes. Some of Minnie's grandkids would be dropping in at the party, some with kids of their own. It just wouldn't do to say, Oops, we ran out of cake! (I mean, really--whatever would those ever-so-capable daughters say then? [Not to worry, Dear Reader, they'd say nothing...they don't get worked up about minor things, those sises-in-law.])


So, my first step was producing 'the goods'--my name for that great bowl of shimmering orangeness that is grated carrots. (Be forewarned, Dear Potential Baker of Same Cake, it's by far the most time-eating part of this whole endeavor: peeling and grating the veggies! Of course, there's also the painstaking excess of minutes spent frosting the layer cake before it has cooled (should you do such a foolhardy thing)--heaping great globs of cream-
cheesey icing on the bottom layer and rushing to mount the second layer atop the first, then slathering the whole thing with piles more icing [sadly noticing a few minutes later how the whole thing is morphing to a sideways slump...and slipping around like an oaf on ice when one tries to set it right.)


Once I'd gotten that layer cake made (the real birthday cake), then I set right to work and repeated the process (another great bowl of grated carrots) and mixed up more batter to bake in a sheet pan (the easy way). Of course, then I felt that I needed to make stiff pink icing to letter the cake...but arrrgh...time was trickling away. Minnie's one and only son was drumming his fingers and tapping his toes (no, not true, he was scooping up the layer cake to transport to the car, along with the nut-free cupcakes made expressly for the one [she's hosting tonight] who thinks nuts are disgusting]).


The hastily-squeezed
pink-icing letters were
relegated to the
sheet
cake.


















And Minnie seemed pleased with both cakes
and the whole
celebration




















of her eighty-eighth year.
Happy Birthday to my
cute little mom-in-law!

...

...

HAM AND LAMB






























with lots of gravy on the side,



















and family* all around.










(*The suffix being 'in-law'
I'm not certain I can offer adoption here.)
...

...



FRIDAY I went to the used-buggy lot.
(or so it would appear).





















































...

...

FOOLED YA!!!



Or at least that's what I wished to do, Dear Reader. I will have to admit it. I wanted to lead you down a short silly path, around a few hairpin curves and over a rocky little ledge--where you would fall (completely unscathed, of course) for my tale. I intended for you to be laughing when you picked yourself up, otherwise it just wouldn't be any fun at all. But...hmm...I couldn't conjure up a single fabrication with which to dupe you.

Then, later, as I ran to the store to buy fifteen bags of marshmallows (you heard me) for the giant Easter bunny I'm constructing, it struck me that I could just tell you the truth and it would sound so fantastic that you would not believe me--sort of an April Fool's plot in reverse.

I had to buy two different brands, and ask an employee to re-stock the shelf, but I got what I needed. It's a sticky job with lots of toothpicks involved, and you're sure to see pictures and hear more of this marshmallow rabbit when I've got it completed!

I urge you to go ahead and let yourself fall for this story, Dear Reader--you'll have such a soft landing!



...