I like the thought of whirling around the universe, spiraling through the galaxies in a playful weightless freefall.
It seems to evoke the ultimate surrender and that appeals to me, to belong to the sacred geometry of planetary orbits.
I envision the whirling not so much like a crazy fast dervish, but more like a butterfly ballerina, pirouetting from one flower to another to extract equal amounts of nectar and joy from each stop along the way.
It’s a mantra of sorts. Do you know what I’m talking about?
Picture Angel Girl wearing my Hello Kitty apron on the other side of the kitchen table, mirroring my movements and my mantra, “push, fold, turn…“
I toss a handful of bench flour on the silicone mat so the dough won’t stick, and hand her a portion of the cinnamon roll dough to start kneading.
“Like this, watch me. With this part of your hand, push…fold…turn.”
“Like this, Grandma?”
“That’s perfect. Let’s say it together.”
We work and speak in harmony…”Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn.”
“You can tell it’s ready because it feels smooth. How does your dough feel?”
“Super smooth, Grandma!”
“Awesome! Now we’ll let our dough rise and finish creating our yummy cinnamon rolls.”
“I can’t wait!”
“Neither can I, but we have to follow all the steps to make your Great Grandma Charlotte’s recipe exactly like she taught me.”
After the dough doubled in sized, both the Angels helped to roll it out, sprinkle with sugar and cinnamon, and they allowed me to complete the process.
One more proofing (no one was patient) and the sweet bread was finally ready to bake.
Dad and Mom came home JUST as they came out of the oven and we all gorged ourselves on more cinnamon rolls than we probably should have.
In case you’re wondering, we don’t ice our cinnamon rolls. We like them just like this.
Dad complimented me, “These are really the best you ever made!”
Do you know what the secret ingredient was?
I do.
It was the sweet, loving assistance of two curly haired angel kids.
Since it’s just about time to honor June’s Full Moon, it seems like the perfect opportunity to chat about Moonstone Beach, another sea glass location I need to visit. It’s in Cambria on California’s Central Coast.
It’s said that at Moonstone Beach beach you can find moonstone agates plus jade, jaspers, and other semi-precious stones.
Here’s a photo of some of my beach glass collection. Red is the third most rare type of sea glass, and I only have a couple pieces of that color.
Did you know? Orange is the most rare sea glass color. Turquoise is the second most rare color and the rarest type of blue sea glass. Red is the third most rare sea glass color and yellow is the fourth. I guess white and green and brown are more common to find because I have a lot of those colors, probably because most bottles were crafted in those colors.
None of the beaches around me have sea glass OR many seashells, although we have an abundant and endless supply of ROCKS.
Do you remember the Tapatio shortage during the pandemic? Well, I do, because I LOVE that particular brand of Mexican hot sauce.
And now I’m horrified to report that there’s a shortage of my other fave, Sriracha.
Yup, the rooster can’t be found anywhere. When I went grocery shopping yesterday, it was on my list and the first store I went to had an empty shelf where the Sriracha was supposed to be.
Hmmm. I thought to myself. That’s strange. So I went to another store. Nothing. And another store and another until I figured out that this was something that needed further investigation.
Apparently, a drought in Mexico caused a shortage of the specific type of chili peppers Huy Fong uses to make Sriracha.
The even worse news is that there’s no way to estimate when supply will increase.
Uh oh.
Now what? I bought some “sriracha” replicas and NONE of them come close to equaling that specific and extremely addictive condiment.
Actually, for me, Sriracha is more of a food group than a condiment. Nothing else offers that singular feeling after the spicy heat hits when our brain kicks in to release endorphins, providing a natural high.
I’m so sad; I miss the rooster!
(If anyone has a spare bottle or two, lemme know.)
As I dug a hole for a new plant in the garden last weekend, I had to laugh out loud at the thoughts swirling in my head.
Sometimes when I garden, my brain goes into an almost trance-like state lightly touching random elements in my subconscious like a butterfly drifting from flower to flower.
With no apparent rhyme or reason, my brain began to ponder the top ten things I would do if I won the lottery (which I never will because I don’t play).
If I had unlimited funds, I’d buy so much good soil that I could replace all the clay and concrete-like death-to-all-plants earth in my gardens. Instead of buying a bag or two at a time, I’d get a dozen truckloads delivered of the finest growing medium that money could buy.
I wouldn’t mind at all loading it up in a wheelbarrow, in fact, it would be a JOY to don my work gloves and shovel that sweetly perfumed soil. I might roll in it too, like a dog–that’s how much I wish I had that loamy organic earth.
Of course, I’d go to South Coast Plaza and splurge on some Chanel, but the dirt would make me equally as happy.
In no particular order, here’s my lottery wish list….
💰Dirt 💰Chanel 💰Fix some things around here 💰A little cosmetic fix on me lol 💰Buy presents for everyone 💰Donate to a few awesome animal rescues 💰Travel to Peru and Paris 💰Visit all the beaches that have beach glass (and a lot of seashells)
*Sigh*
Forget all the other stuff, the truth is that I’d be overjoyed with a mountain of dirt on my driveway.
I’m back to the land of reality, dreading the hot and dry droughty conditions I’ll be faced with this summer as I mourn the death of many of my plantfriends, but for right now, I can enjoy their colorful beauty.
Established in 1868, Memorial Day (originally known as Decoration Day) honors those who have died in military service for the United States. It’s a day of reflection and remembrance for their ultimate sacrifice.
When I was little, my mom and dad would buy red poppies for us to wear, but I haven’t seen them in a long time.
It’s also a three-day holiday and lots of tourists are here, but it’s still early and cloudy, so it’s not too crowded on the roads or the beach.
However, the waves are full of surfers packed like sardines waiting for the building swell.
I’m continually surprised that I don’t see more surfer collisions when they’re so close together.
DIL asked for suggestions about flowers for a hanging basket near their front door.
When I replied that I thought a fuchsia would be pretty, she snortlaughed and said, “Ring-ring-ring, 1980s calling, Grandma!”
I had never before thought that a purple-pink fuchsia dated me as being OLD, haha. It was a great joke…UNTIL she saw mine, asked what it was, and I was able to identify this amazing creation as a…fuchsia!
So NOW who’s laughing?
How could anyone not love this delicate ballerina of a flower?
Fuchsia is a dancer Dancing on her toes, Clad in red and purple, By a cottage wall; Sometimes in a greenhouse, In frilly white and rose, Dressed in her best for the fairies’ evening ball!
Before it gets so hot and dry that everything dies a slow and painful death, here’s a few pics from the garden:
The raspberries aren’t ready to eat, but oh so pretty cherry red.
Still thriving; a decades old bottlebrush.
Flowers everywhere!
Photobombed by my resident Scott’s Oriole. What a show off! Look at how adept he is balancing on the tip of an agave.
And then he flew over to the bottlebrush in time to get his photo taken again.
I have pretty good luck propagating alstroemeria; now it’s blooming everywhere!
And indoors, it looks like all these plants are growing out of the fireplace, but this is where they get the perfect amount of diffused light. My Monstera looks bright and healthy living her best life with a fresh white orchid.
Lots of happy plants in and out. I hope you enjoyed this tour of Casa de Enchanted Seashells!
The Angels love to look through the photos on my phone, especially all the ones I’ve taken of them, of course.
When we clicked on this rose, I told them it was a selfie of ME cos I’m Princess Rosebud. They thought that was funny but being their dad’s kids, they just HAD to disagree…
“Grandma, you are so annoying! You aren’t a REAL princess!”
“Yes, I am.” I replied. “And you are Princess Charlotte and Prince Theodore.”
“Dad, Grandma’s being annoying again!”
OMG did they just tattle about me to my original Angel Boy? That’s too funny.
From the other room, I hear him say, “Mom, stop being annoying.”
I guess that’s going to be my legacy…however, we’re all royalty around here, so I thought I’d share this little joke to start the week.
This particular rose smells as good as she looks. Spicy and sweet, just like me.
I think a backstory needed to explain the origin of being called “annoying”, thanks to my new friend, wonderfully talented author Debbie Russell. I should have explained it in more detail and to be fair to the Angels.
I first began to reference myself that way when I bothered them as they were busy doing things (just to be funny) like standing in front of the TV during a show they were watching and I’d say, “Aren’t I the most annoying Grandma?” and they’d say “Yes, you are! Stop it!” And I’d stop, of course. Also for example, when I’d read a book to them, a book I’d literally read a thousand times before, to make it more interesting for ME, I’d change the names or spice up the story a bit differently, mainly to see if they were paying attention (which they were) and then they’d say, “Read the exact words, Grandma!” which I thought was pretty cute. And then I’d say, “Do you find it annoying when I do that?” The answer was always yes.
The Angels weren’t being disrespectful. Grandma was!
Enchanted Seashells by Princess Rosebud 