Damma Taffy

Her name is Grandma Kathy. But to me, she is Damma Taffy.

She's probably one of the coolest grandmas around. As young children, she clothed my brother and boy cousin in Christian Dior suits and the best of the best. Meanwhile, my girl cousin and I got Dooney and Bourke purses and lots of glitz and glam.

Thanks to Damma Taffy, my neighborhood friend Sonja and I played "Rich Ladies In Town" with mink stoles and large gaudy costume jewelry. She is the reason I love huge diamonds.

Damma Taffy has a habit of spoiling her grandchildren to say the least.

She struck again the other day.

My mom was out in Arizona visiting Damma Taffy and called to check on the measurements for a few of my aprons. I thought, SWEET, maybe they'll send a couple yards of cute fabric.

Then I got this box in the mail ...

Peel back that first layer of fabric and you have all of this...

It's a mountain of fabric, ribbon, buttons and accessories.

Damma Taffy covered all of the major themes.

From the Red Hat Society...

To the fight again breast cancer.

And everything in between.

Everything was carefully sorted and coordinated with matching fabrics and accessories, then bagged up with directions as to what patterns they are intended for.

Am I spoiled or what?

This apron empire of my has pretty much turned into a family affair. I jacked all of my mom's unused fabrics, got a large portion of my aunt's goodies, and now my grandma is adding to it all.

And it's a good thing, too. Because the cute little old man who owns the fabric store just down the road from the farm is wintering in Florida until April. I've got plenty to keep me busy until he gets back to open his shop again.

My mom is notorious for buying a whole heap of stuff from a fabric store for some ambitious project she wants to do. And then, ten years later, that heap of stuff has turned into a heap of unused crap in the basement. In other words, the shopping part of all of this is fun for my mom and Damma Taffy. They get to do the fun part.

And luckily, I consider the actual sewing the fun part.

I would say the three of us make a great team. (Although I am undoubtedly getting the better end of this deal)

As soon as I got my new fabric, I delved right in.

This is the first apron I made from all of my new loot. The print has lots of retro aprons on it.

And best yet, it is my first plus sized apron to add to my collection.

Because they say you can never trust a skinny cook!

Farm Wife vs. Dust

I am not world's best housekeeper. Add in a summer drought (which means ridiculous dust), and a naughty dog who thinks he is a paper shredder ... and you have one messy farm office.

I tried dusting the place twice a day, but it still looked awful. Finally I said to heck with it. It's a farm. It's meant to be dusty.

And then I come upon piles of junk like this. With a dog oh-so-vigilantly guarding it.

You think I don't know you did this? Hiding under the coffee table looks pretty incriminating.

So does walking around the office with a Gatorade bottle label stuck to your hair. Those things don't just happen, Woodrow.

After temporarily giving up, I got inspired recently. I realized I have about 27 boxes of fall decorations in my basement and I may as well put them to good use.

And Voila!

Well, at least it's a slight transformation.

And it's possible that I went a little overboard. I mean, I did wrap up the TV stand in plaid ribbon.

My husband had to put his foot down when I was covering desks in leafy garland, leaving only about a 4-inch square of work surface.

My gratification came when a man stopped by the other day (and didn't realize I was within ear shot, in my sewing room) and said "this place sure looks a lot better now that he's got that little wife in here doing things."

You can call me "that little wife" any day, as long as it is accompanied by a compliment.

But sadly, just days after I put up all of those decorations, they are already covered in dust. And I refuse  to go dust every single stinkin' leave. Forget that.

I'll just shake it off a little when I shove it back in storage boxes and bring out the Christmas decorations.
Farms are supposed to be dirty.

Wedded Bliss

It was two years ago today that I married my farmer.

For two whole years, I have been putting up with him sticking his tongue out in every picture we take together.

Including on our wedding day.

I've been embarrassed by his rendition of the moonwalk in neon bowling shoes during a night out in Colorado.

I've been the subject of his pranks. Like the time he and my brother strapped me in the roll-away bed at our hotel in New York City.

And I've put up with his always being late, never taking out the trash, and not celebrating or so much as mentioning birthdays, holidays and anniversaries.

Although I did get a text from him exactly at 12:00 am this morning that said "Happy aneversary." I will forgive his spelling because that text message is a huge gesture for him.

He makes up for it all when he plays his guitar for me. Okay, so he doesn't exactly sit there and sing to me while gazing into my eyes. But I don't think there is a living, breathing woman out there who wouldn't go for a guy who can play and sing.

I am still hopelessly in love with my farmer. As much crap as I put up with, he probably has to put up with more. Like the fact that the majority of my blog centers around poking fun at him (hey, a girl's gotta get her material somewhere). Or that I am not exactly the skinny tan blond he met six years ago.

But while I have a few more pounds, he has a few less active hair follicles. We'll call it even.

I don't think there is another woman on Earth who would let him get away with his shenanigans like I do. And there probably isn't another man out there who would let me turn spare bedrooms into walk-in closets and take over two office spaces and convert them into my own little sewing studio.

In the words of his dad, "I wouldn't want him to hear me say this ... but you're both pretty lucky."

Alright, enough sap. I'm about to make myself puke in my mouth with all this lovey-dovey talk.

And they all said it wouldn't last.

Well, okay, no one said that. But it sounds good. And it makes a great caption for this ridiculously funny candid pic from our wedding day. Boy do I look evil.

A Day In The Life Of...

My day started out pretty normal. Minding my own business (the best that I can) in my sewing room, putting together aprons.

I took a break to go down to one of the fields to take a few pictures. I love to capture that brief moment that fall first starts to make its arrival.

Yes, we are your typical farm in that machinery is parked and left in the same place that it died 20 years ago. That red spot is an old baler. I can't say that I've ever seen it in operation.

While I was out taking a pictures, I got a call that my husband needed me to run a set of keys into town.

When I got to town, I saw this:

Wowza.

I met my  husband at a location in town very near a pawn shop. I assumed this beauty must belong to them.

Nope, it belongs to one of my husband's acquaintances. He bought it so he and 87 of his closest friends could all go out together on the weekends.

 Dual wheels aren't just for farm trucks anymore.

For those of you who know my husband, you know that he is obsessed with the late 80's, early 90's. A car with a fin on the trunk is right up his alley. Before I knew it, he had a set of keys and we were taking this baby for a spin.

 

When I crawled in, I saw this behind the back seat. Please Lord let that be a hot tub. How freaking amazing (and hilariously cliche) would that be? This certainly explains what all of those extra wheels are needed for.

  

Meet my chauffeur... Who didn't even have the decency to open the door for me. Why am I not surprised. He was too excited to drive White Thunder (that's what I named her) to care about his passengers.

 After owning my car for more than three years, we have yet to figure out the DVD player. Maybe we should just install a tube TV and VCR. If the limo has it, it must be the cool thing to do, right?

I'll have to be honest with you, when my husband asked his friend if he would be willing to sell White Thunder I got a little nervous. But I think he was just making conversation (or at least I hope).

Could you imagine if that thing became the new run-around vehicle on the farm?