Decorate Your Soul

What’s the deal with taking photos of cakes?

I mean, we have oodles of them in our catalog just sitting there (at least I put some together now they are functional, ha).

…………………

I attended a baby shower this past weekend and I couldn’t help but question to myself why people take photos of the cake at a birthday, anniversary or in this case, baby shower? It is a bizarre practice, I thought (and take no offense, we obviously do our fair share of photographing cake). And who started it? I pondered. I know both my mom and mother-in-law take photos of the cake, I have seen them do it and they have years of proof in their family albums. Is it any wonder why Andy and I continue to partake in this time honored tradition? I know we are not the only weird family out there…

"Wait, don’t blow out the candle, I have to get a picture!" is often heard all over America (I think in Canada, too). Snap! Okay, blow the candle!

I guess one could argue that cake decorating is an art and before the cake is devoured, we should capture the finished piece on film (or digital image) in order to further appreciate the labor that someone put forth. Yes, that is a fine argument, I think.

However, as the the cake was served, I could see women around me graciously accepting and some declining a slice of the dessert. Since this happens so often when one is presented with a yummy at celebrations, I couldn’t help but wonder next, why continue to serve cake if so many agree that they don’t need the extra calories?  I actually shared a piece and still didn’t finish it because I felt guilty. Guilty for eating so much sugar in one sitting. Guilty because it would definitely break my suggested calorie intake (again) for the day. Guilty for really  wanting to scarf it down, frosting included.

What a weird ritual the serving of a cake is.

One of my favorite pastimes is roller skating. I started out going to a roller rink when I was five-years-old every Wednesday night with one of our neighbor ladies. I would hold on to the side wall around the perimeter of the indoor rink and shuffle the wheels along. Over time, I gained more confidence to let go of the wall and venture out where most of the more advanced skaters were. And of course, having more confidence meant I also had gained more speed. But I was always conscientious of the kids shuffling along the side wall (I mean, unless you are a prodigy skater, you probably began over there, too, right?) and didn’t pivot in and out of them too much.

I remember having roller parties at the local skate rink as I grew older. My entire fourth grade class came to skate when I won a free skate party and my neighbor broke her wrist. I remember the slow skates when you chose a partner and held hands and rollered around and around with nerves and sweaty palms to "I Had the Time of My Life."

And then there were the referees- you know the ones that skated so smoothly and effortlessly, weaving in and out of the slower folk that you thought they were skating gods? I know two of those black and white jersey wearers personally: my dad and my husband.   

But I didn’t always skate in the rink- in fact, most of my skating fun was right on the sidewalks in front of the house I grew up in (see above photo). In fact, that is where I taught myself to skate backwards. My folks bought me these cones at some point and here I am weaving in and out of them. I eventually retired my skates and graduated to inline skates, which I still enjoy from time to time (admittedly, I have not been on them in awhile).

There are a few things I must point out in this photo before I close this edition (click on the photo to make it appear larger). The other gal back there skating is my Aunt Nancy, the grass is DEAD- thanks to hot California summers, there is a basketball court near the street, which was later asked to be removed by the city and my mom is pregnant with my little brother- about ready to deliver, I’m sure. So, that means I was 14, it was the Summer 1991 and I was going into 9th grade. Fun memories

(This may or may not become a regular column on this blog. It depends on the amount of ridiculous things I come across in my life.)

Without further ado, I present the little plastic toys that make sounds. And little plastic toys that hurt like crazy upon placing ones foot on top and stepping down -OUCH!

They seem all nice and spirited here because they are lined up and in ONE spot, but they are awful when strewn about the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen floor, hanging out in the truck, in the garage- they are taking over our life! And, my friends, these are the only ones I found while cleaning out the toy closet last week- today I discovered MORE in Lauren’s room. Yep, three more pretend cell phones. Arg.

Ridiculous.

The label on the box of this colorful tee pee ought to be changed. It should read:

WARNING: PARENTS PUTTING TEE PEE TOGETHER WILL TURN INTO BEARS WHILE TRYING TO CONNECT PIECES FOR TODDLERS. NOT JUST SWEET CUDDLY TEDDY BEARS, BUT BIG, MEAN FEROCIOUS GRIZZLIES.

(And will likely stomp out of the room saying impolite things to themselves in their heads.)

Between the two of us, it took 41 minutes to get that thing together (I know this because we started coffee right before we set out to assemble the parts). And you know how long the little cutey pie cubs played in it?

Fifteen minutes. Maybe.

The tunnels are nice and friendly pieces, though. They do not require one bit of assembly out of the box (in fact, they kind of pop out at you making you jump back a bit) and you can easily stand inside them:

and be silly

My neighbors took their trash cans in.

They have been sitting in my front park for four days.

Hallelujah!

(I know, I know, I could have dragged them over to their house myself, but then I wouldn’t have been able to see how long they would sit there)

Welcome back front sidewalk. You are open to pedestrians and baby strollers again.