UPDATE: I’m sorry I ever started this. Who gave the internet a power boost so that they can start bombarding you with ads, manipulating your searches and offering comparisons to “blogs like you”. TAKE NOTE – I am in no way similar to any blog run by a person who would choose “mama” as part of her blog name. This includes thrifty mamas, vegan mamas, fitness mamas and toddler mamas who insist on flooding the internet with pictures of their less weird-looking children.  I realize there’s not many actual blogs to choose from these days, let alone similar ones, but let’s not be insulting.


Dear Chocolate  Lovers of the Word,

Must you ruin everything? Here I am innocently googling up recipes for candied orange slices and you have to insert your self by forcing your agenda into every possible nook and cranny on the internet? I’m glad you found something that you love so much but did you ever think that your intrusive actions might not be welcome?Is it completely unimaginable to you that not everyone shares your taste?I recognize that I am in the minority on this one, and a small minority it is but have some mercy will you?

Looking forward to a world with less chocolate aggression in it … Suzette


Here’s your googlei mages page for candied orange slices. Can’t you just leave us alone even once in a while?

How’s It Going, Suzette?

Last evening a bird pooped on my head while I was outside enjoying my post-workday beverage. (A post-workday  beverage, I wish to inform my non-Instagram followers,  which can no longer be served in my favorite vintage glassware.)

This morning, I was out in the backyard in my leopard bedroom slippers and I stepped in dog poop.

So how’s it going? Pretty poopy.


Once not all that long ago, I was sitting next to a man at a business meeting. He was a mature man with a long lean appearance  and he wore a 2 ft long pony tail. He watched me take my folding cane out of my business bag and let it fall open. Then he proclaimed to the whole dinner party,  “That is one badass cane!”

It was the first time in my life that I had ever been associated with the notion of badass and I was thrilled about it, let me tell you. On the other hand, the compliment was about my cane.

Whenever I think about that day, I ignore the inconvenient details and remember it as the time that someone called me a badass. You should be thinking about me that way, too.

Saturday Morning Live

It was 8 am when I started this post. Just the start of Saturday, the point when all things are possible.  I am the master of my own destiny and there’s so much to choose from! I have time to vacuum up the dog hair, scrub the filthy kitchen, pull weeds or just go hog wild and leave the house all together and just roam around. Freedom!

I can do anything big or small. I can just spin this chair around 180 degrees and take a crack at the pile of folded laundry on the daybed and that the things that came out of my suitcase when I emptied it from my last trip. I could go downstairs and make myself a liverwurst and onion sandwich for breakfast. I can do anything.

But we’ve been here before and you know how this goes. I’m just going to sit here and read blogs and cruise around eBay and then it will be time for my customary Saturday nap.

Here is something. It’s a then and now look at my new flowerbed.


The dream and the beginning. May 26, 2014


Three months later: the lush fulfillment. August 23, 2014

It’s been wildly successful which surprises me no end. When I started this project in late spring, the bed was filled with the crappiest, sandiest dirt imaginable. But I planned and planted and then used PlantTone, an organic fertilizer apparently made from feathers but which has attracted earthworms for me before. I mulched everything with a thick layer of shredded pine bark and kept it watered. And it worked!

Also I had a really great new hose nozzle from Kmart that allowed me to stand inside the backyard fence and give this bed as much water as it needed without exposing my nightgowned early-morning self to the paperboy and productive neighbors going off to work.

There’s more good news in this current photo. You’ll note a limp and dying portulaca draped over the brick edging in the lower right hand corner. It is dying because it got tromped during a visit from the local gang of adolescent deer. Which tells me that every flowering plant that I selected for this bed is of no interest to hungry deer. If they were, they’d be chewed down to the roots.

So I’ve got the right elements there – I just need to dial it back a bit and make some layout adjustments for next year. That little resin pigeon obviously cannot hold its own against such abundant vegetation so I might replace it with one of my chicken planters in the spring.

And there we are. It’s 9:30 now. Still plenty of time to vacuum. As if.



It’s early morning and I’m watching a recording of The Late Late Show on the DVR while I wait for the coffee to finish perking or whatever a modern brewer does to produce coffee. Drip, I guess. Waiting for the coffee to stop dripping. Craig Ferguson and Garrison Keillor are yukking it up and I just caught myself making my father’s face.

My father was self-contained if that’s how you want to put it. He was the Silent Commander type and kept quiet except to criticize or to holler. But once in a while when something amusing was on the TV, you’d look over at him and he’d be grinning like a jack o’lantern.

I say “the” tv because this was back in the day when households had one tv and watching it was a family activity. Even if he wasn’t sitting down for a whole show, the laughter would attract him and he’d stand in the doorway as if under a spell with the widest possible smile, his eyes shining  with the reflection of the televised images. In that moment, he was enjoying himself. If anybody spoke even to say <em>oh boy wasn’t that funny? </em>the spell would be broken and he’s put his regular buzzard face on again and leave the room.

Sometimes I do that now. I catch myself with my mouth stretched wide and my eyebrows lifted up. Maybe I’ve always done it but I’m only occasionally aware of it. It’s a solitary exercise.

And The Winner Is …

poll results

I was really hoping to discuss gin but w/e the people have spoken.

The reason I don’t blog about World Famous Fashion Icon And Busy Mom™ Michelle Obama anymore is because … well, there are actually three reasons:

  1. We are no longer subjected to the daily media fest declaring her to be beautiful and stylish and so I no longer feel the need to correct the false narrative.
  2. More and more people are starting to realize on their own that she’s not exactly beautiful inside or out.

…but the main reason I don’t blog about her anymore is …

3.  She is so predictable that she’s actually boring.

At this point, I don’t think there’s a soul in the world who doesn’t expect her to show up 90% of the time dressed like an oversized clown and dressed for the other 10%  in fabulous and expensive couture. And there’s no doubt at all who’s will predominated for which outfit selection:  MOO herself or or her handlers.

Is there anyone who is surprised that her choice if she could be anyone else in the world is the overpainted underdressed overtressed  product of lifelong focused marketing efforts that panders to the lowest common denominator. I can totally imagine MOO lost in contemplative reverie, wishing that she had a sister that would pummel old Barry in a private elevator.

And yes she is going to eat all the grease while preaching the opposite, she is going to vacation in luxury settings for extended periods on the tax payer’s dime; she is going to look bored or irritated at official photo-ops. It’s all her standard behavior. It might be newsworthy if she made extemporaneous remarks that weren’t filled with slang, grammatical errors or snide swipes at her husband. But, if history is any indicator, that’s not going to happen. I do notice that she’s not constantly lip-licking anymore so they must have changed her meds and that is only mildly interesting to me.

Nope. She is an awful specimen as First Ladies go. You want to occupy yourself with a fascinating First Lady? Here your most fascinating First Lady: Jacqueline Kennedy. And her lover Rudolph Nureyev! (note: “Bobby Kennedy and Rudi kissing each other passionately in a booth”. The mind boggles!)

Old Jackie was no shy flower. While America as a whole considered her to be the nation’s symbolic Madonna, she was hiding away in her White House bedroom to smoke cigarettes , drink vodka and produce piles of correspondence to her friends complaining that she didn’t want to see ” fat little women hopping around in the same dresses” as hers.

If we must talk about First Ladies who are products of main stream media fantasy and entirely different in reality, the let’s talk about Jackie. At least she had style. For real, not trumped up adoration for questionable wardrobe choices. Despite Jackie’s wishes to be unique, every female age 12 and up no matter their race or creed swarmed the streets of America wearing a pillbox hat as soon as they possibly could. And when Jackie showed up for Mass in a lace mantilla, that was the beginning of the end for the American millinery business. I have yet to see in any airport or major gathering a single female sporting a boob belt. There was, I will admit,  a brief fascination with big 3-D fabric flowers on cardigans, but that ended quickly once the ladies realized that it looked like shit for the birds.

This is how we were then:


My guess is two double vodkas went down PDQ after this.

This is how we are now: 

My guess is it took two vodka martinis before this event.

My guess is it took two vodka martinis went down before this. And then some champagne after, with a little bit of lobster to snack on.