Yellow Daisy Chick Chat


November 2010

Queen of the Kitchen ReDon’t

We are in the middle of a kitchen redo.  Before you say, “oh, how nice, how wonderful,” let me paint a picture for you.  My cupboard is in the laundry room blocking my dryer, my computer desk is reminding me of those ten extra pounds every time I squeeze by to get out the back door, my breakfast table is on my porch and no one knows where the homework basket has gone. 

Have you seen “Design on a Dime” on HGTV?  We are doing the Design on a Nickel version and while the results are looking good so far, we are getting crankier by the minute.  As it turns out, I do not do well in kitchen chaos.  It is the heart of my home and it is in the midst of quadruple bypass surgery.  My contractor/husband says I can get in sometime tomorrow, but you know how contractor/husbands can be.  And project manager/wives. 

It’s not easy on a marriage.  A DIY home improvement project can test the best of marriages.  How can two people who respect each other, run a household together, raise children together, still get on each other’s last nerve painting cabinets together?  Just because one person is detail oriented and thorough and the other is better with the big picture, i.e. going to pick up lunch?  I thought that’s what Project Managers do.  Just because one person is a work horse and works 12 hours, and the other needs to stay abreast of current events, i.e. watch the Real Housewives?  I mean, someone has to feed our children, i.e. call Papa John’s. 

I’ve done such a good job as Project Manager, I’ve decided to promote myself to Queen of the House.  So far I can’t get anyone in my household to call me that (or Project Manager.)  In my fantasy queendom, there are no torn up kitchens, no dust, no adhesive or grout fumes, and no chaos.  There are also no other branches of government, no checks or balances.  Off with their heads!

In my fantasy queendom, instead of a royal robe, I would wear my Snuggie.  My court jesters would be Conan O’Brien and Tina Fey. 

Every time I made a public appearance, they would have to play this:

In my fantasy queendom, I would outlaw many horrific things, things our real world lawmakers seem to overlook:  skinny jeans for men, cell phones for anyone under 13, Christmas music before Thanksgiving, and married couples redoing kitchens. 

I would make many things mandatory:  college degrees for pro athletes, wine at children’s birthday parties, women to be paid for housework, 10am – 3pm workdays, and quintuple coupon days.

Any unruly children would have a punishment of being forced to listen to NPR for the day.  Any unruly husbands would be sentenced to watch Top Chef: Just Desserts for a week straight.

But I digress. 

Back in reality/Hell’s Kitchen, we really are starting to see real progress.  We can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I should stop complaining.  I can now slip by the computer desk with ease as a result of not being able to access any food cabinets for 2 weeks! 

I look forward to putting our kitchen, marriage, family and home back together.  Then I will be content again in my real world.  My contractor/husband thinks he’ll be done by next weekend, and it will finally be time to celebrate.  


Remembering Not To Forget

Note:  This entry is on the Freedom to Vote, and is NOT a political discussion!  Yellowdaisychickchat welcomes all comments on voting, but will not approve any comments related to specific political issues, specific candidates, elephants or donkeys!  Take that &*$%#@ elsewhere!

Many are debating, “What was the meaning of this election?”  The question I ask myself is what does the election, and all elections, mean to me?  Well, in a weird way, I love an election.  Now, I hate the negative campaigning and incessant ads just as much as the next person.  I definitely don’t get nearly as excited, or borderline hysterical, as the pundits/experts/comedians do, but I admit, it does get my adrenalin going.  Why, you ask?  Because I love to vote and have my opinion counted.  My chosen candidate may or may not win, but with every click on the voting screen, I get to say “THIS IS WHAT I THINK ABOUT THAT!”

I am very lucky, too, that my polling location is always very civilized.  Pleasant retirees work the poll, and neighbors line up beside each other, respectful of one another and careful not to talk about the election.  I go to my booth and make my choices, freely.  No one intimidates me as I drive to the voting location.  No one threatens my life as I walk up to the fire station.  I am a lucky woman; not everyone in this world has that freedom.  Not so long ago, not everyone in this country had that freedom. 

I tend to forget what amendment it was (the 19th), when it was enacted (1920) and who was president (Woodrow Wilson, who fought it and eventually supported it) that allowed me that freedom.  During my busy days with kids, work, laundry, etc., I don’t think about the women before me who sacrificed so much, went to prison, were mistreated at protests, and were force-fed with feeding tubes during prison hunger strikes.  I forget that there were strong, good men beside these women who supported them and their cause.  Sadly, I often take my rights for granted, because it’s hard to imagine a life without these rights.  I know of women my age (born in the 70’s) who don’t care about voting.  I know of women my age who “vote the way my husband does.”   Ladies (and men too, for that matter), we should never take our rights for granted.  It’s a slap in the face of the women and others who blazed the trail for us.  And to paraphrase the Churchill quote, if we forget our non-voting past, we are doomed to repeat it.

So tonight, remember to raise a glass to the ladies who came before us:  Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Alice Paul and many others.  We must remember not to forget. 

Cool links:

A photo essay-,29307,1712645,00.html

For kids-

More than just a face on a coin-


In the Sanctuary of Outcasts:  A Memoir by Neil White

This incredible true story of loss, love and redemption was written by Mississippi native Neil White.  This book was recommended to me by the staff at Turnrow Books in Greenville, MS (see previous blog entry) and it did not disappoint.  Successful magazine publisher White is sentenced to 1 year of white-collar prison in Carville, Louisiana (yes, there is a James Carville connection,) which he initally faces, in arrogance, as a short-lived bump in the road.  Soon after experiencing a humiliating prison check-in, he discovers the prison also houses the country’s last leper colony.  He decides to record the inmates’ and patients’ stories during his time there, and this book is the result.  The individual stories (especially the extraordinary Ella), the dynamics between the two groups, and the life lessons he learns are well worth this read.

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