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Happy Valentine’s Day to all and to all some dark chocolate! I am not a traditionalist, so there will be no red roses today.

An orchid for Emily

Orchids are lovely. Sadly the pot is empty now. My bad.

 

 

IMG_2168

I made it myself only in the sense that my sister Mary Eileen wove the basket and my daughter made the heart magnet. I did purchase the Pantone postcards and put them in here though!

A chocolate for my thoughts?

A chocolate or 16 from Gearharts? Sadly these are not in my possession.

Heart be still.

Heart be still. It’s a beef heart from my heart throb. 

BaconHeart

BaconHeart

Whoopie!

Make some Whoopie!

impressive, no?

impressive, no?

that's all she wrote

that’s all she wrote

It’s not my policy to tell all here, throw open the cupboards and let it all hang out. But I thought everyone could use a thrill here in the summer doldrums with the stock market crashing at our tired feet.

For a variety of reasons, my family’s eating habits have morphed over the last year or so from eating packaged cookies and crackers–high end often enough, but still completely empty calories–or should I say full of sugar and other poison–to not doing that.  (I of the 735 cavities calling sugar poison. Think it’s a case of too late after too much. Ah well.)

Staying away from packaged grasshopper cookies and goldfish crackers and the like makes going to the grocery store remarkably easy. Most of what’s in there I really don’t want. There is however, one aisle where I linger longingly and lovingly. The dark chocolate aisle. My favorite aisle lets me keep my favorite food group in my favorite kitchen cabinet.

The shelf of life

To my way of thinking (and eating) this cupboard is pretty bare. But just so we understand each other, the photo is the thrill. Of course, I’m only a few feet away from it, so I’m in a better position to judge.  And, full disclosure, it’s just coincidence that the box of Yogi tea right next to the chocolate is Get Regular. I don’t drink tea–regular or unleaded.

 

I am just this side of some line, drawn in the dust that’s everywhere in my house, that prevents me from displaying a photo I didn’t take of the house air filter I didn’t change for quite the long time.  You’ll have to trust me when I say it was an impressive sight to behold, if not breathe.  The filter, which I can only presume was still there under the thick dark gray matter that I had likely been breathing moments before, did a helluva job–until a couple of months ago, I’d guess. Then it just sat there collecting dust, so to speak.  If you needed proof that I wasn’t kidding when I wrote in my latest RHOME column that I’m done dealing with my house, this filter would have sealed the deal. 

I’m just glad it didn’t also seal my fate. I’m not planning on giving up on the old joint quite as completely as the unfortunate woman who was reported missing–only to be found recently–months later–dead in her hoarder-heaven home.  I’ll be easy to find. Not far from–perhaps in– the cabinet with all the dark chocolate in it.

I’m back!

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