Robot Measuring Cups:
This work of art has now made its way to my kitschy baking box, along with the stainless steel heart-shaped measuring spoons I purchased on sale at Michael’s in the wedding favor aisle.
I do not know how to begin to express my delight in these measuring cups. They don’t nestle–they stack. No, they transform from simple baking tools to a beautiful and dangerous robot. (Artificial Baking Intelligence not included).
At the same lovely store in Long Beach that I purchased the robot measuring cups, I also picked up a charming journal as mine is soon to expire.
I refrained from also purchasing this charming notepad:
But now I am regretting that decision, and I think I may just have to purchase it online after all.
I’ve come to the somewhat surprising conclusion that my aesthetic is a tasteful mix of chic, avante garde, kitsch, modern, traditional, and hipster. (If that statement is not an oxymoron). (Even if it is). I am ok with this.
Or, I suppose a better thing to say is that I take what I love most about every style and mesh it magically into my own Emilieness.
This past weekend I ate more carbs than I have in months, I had no telephone or internet connection, and I spent three and a half days at the ocean without setting foot on the beach.
I think I do vacations wrong.
Many of you know my lament about family camping, but for those of you who have not heard, I will now explain how I was tricked into going to bible camp with my parents. (I am sure my mother will stoutly deny this deception, but I stand firm by my story).
About a month ago my mother asked me if I wanted to go family camping with my parents. I grumbled and said I did not really want to, but after listening to some pleas of “probably our last family vacation tomorrow” I caved and said that, “Sure, fine” I would go.
I didn’t really have a clear view of when Labor Day was, so I wasn’t worried about it.
Then, I knew that Bumbershoot would be coming up and I have never made it there. I had vowed that this year I would go. I looked it up. It was Labor Day weekend.
Then, a few days before, I asked where we were camping, and if we even still had a tent. I learned we would be staying in cabins, and I thought that was odd. Then, horror of horrors, I was told that we were not camping, but instead, we were going to Family Bible Camp. No tent. No campfire. No board games at picnic tables and no poker for pepperoni. No hot cocoa over the ancient green coleman campfire stove. No light-fingered (or five-fingered) Freddy story competition.
I was not pleased.
I won’t say a lot, but here are a few notes:
–I wore my St. Genesius medal every day to push Baptist buttons. Nobody cared, sadly.
–I didn’t bother going to the beach, even though it was about a three minute walk. It just did not seem important.
–Long Beach–not really that fun now that I’m older. What used to take me an entire day (and then some) to enjoy and explore took my mother and I about an hour and a half.
–The female worship leader’s onset was so aspirated that I had to work really hard not to laugh. It was just so funny, “Hhhhhhhhhi will worship, Hhhhhhi will honor” or whatever the lyrics are.
–The male worship leader, as I have found to often be the case, could not sing in tune. Instead, he resorted to some sort of half-speaksong, half-whisper technique that hid his lack of intonation in genre-specific “worship voice”.
–I did end up having a lot of fun. Highlights were when the Schnabel family skipped planned family bonding, and, finding themselves without lawn chairs, pulled the comfy seats out of the van and spent the entire day reading in the sun to the envy of all.
–There was also a pretty cool antique store, and the shop where I purchased my robot/journal was lovely.
–The food made me feel like I was back in the third grade, and it also made me realize (pleasantly) how much my diet has changed over the last two years.
This week I have been spending mostly at home, cleaning, organizing, playing music, and sewing. It has been lazy and lovely, and is almost over.
Let the new adventure begin.