Tuesday

Charlie, our new family member is a rescued Brussels-Griffon-Havanese
Charlie, our new family member is a rescued Brussels-Griffon-Havanese

tues·day
/ˈt(y)o͞ozˌdā/
Noun
The day of the week following Monday and right before Wednesday.

I’ve always felt that Tuesdays are the laid-back day of the week. Can’t tell you why.

Tuesday use to be the slowest day in retail. Not sure if that still stands.

Manic Mondays must cause Toned Down Tuesdays 🙂

Lovin’ Tuesday.

Just Scratching the Surface

nutcrackers

Very excited to learn that you can fix scratches on wood floors and furniture with a walnut.

Yes — a walnut.

It’s the oil from the walnut meat that penetrates the wood. Coat a scratch with it and it will blend back in to the surrounding wood color.

As long as no one you’re preparing food for has a nut allergy you can also use them to correct any scratches in wooden bowls and kitchen utensils (and the oil is good for maintaining wooden cutting boards). Simply rub the scratched area with a shelled walnut to watch the scratch disappear, and then buff with a soft cloth. – How Stuff Works

I can see me now.

Losing My Marbles

A full jar of glass marbles literally jumped off the shelf.

Inspiration granted.

The vintage window was purchased in Orange, California with my sista friend, Alice.  A fun day was had by all.

Lovin’ the glass heart porthole!

glass-on-glass-window
“Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us.” ― Jim Carroll

“Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It’s self-conscious and anything self-conscious is lousy. You can’t “try” to do things. You simply “must” do things.” — Ray Bradbury

Glass on Glass
Glass on Glass

“The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.” — Pearl S. Buck

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