Ye Olde Pumpkin

Hurray for October!!!!  Even though fall technically started ten days ago, this month makes the season more official.


Fall is my Christmas which means I am highly excitable right now.  And as if I needed it, my favorite way to get into the autumn spirit is to buy a pumpkin.


(Again, Fall = Christmas)

On our recent trip to Maine, we visited the most sincerest of pumpkin patches where we feasted our eyes on the greatest of pumpkins:

Nothing beats classic orange, but I went cuckoo for the blue and white ones.

Knock, Knock!

Who’s there?

What do you call a crate full of pumpkins?

A good start.

(Or something like that.)

And you thought pumpkins weren’t romantic!

Have you ever purchased a “pie pumpkin” with the full intention of turning it into a pie, but never had the guts to cut into it because it was just so cute?

Kooky?  Yes.  Heavy?  Yes.  Edible?  No idea.

Knock, knock!



Who is this?

Orange and black gourd at four o’clock.

Happy October, everybody!

Now go jump in a pile of leaves.

(And I mean that in the most sincerest of ways.)


A Clyde Woman in Maine

After five glorious days, Dave and I had to say goodbye to the Pine Tree State.

(Now excuse me while I cry into my keyboard.)

I believe there is a Maine-shaped void in all of our hearts that longs to be filled with salty, ocean air, bright red foliage, lighthouses, apple farms and everything else that makes Maine such a unique and magical place.

(Now excuse me while I drive back to the airport.)

Yup, Maine was just what this Clyde woman ordered.

Here were some of my favorite parts of the journey:

Behold, Portland Head Light.

Wish I could tell you what year it was built or how it produces light for wayward ships, but I was too busy gaping to learn anything.

Learn more here.

My first dinner in Maine: Crab-Stuffed Lobster with Newburg Sauce.  

Twas also my first lobstah evah.

(Word to the wise: You really DO need a bib when you eat these things!)

Deliciousness courtesy of Saltwater Grille in Portland.

Enjoying a bike ride along the shores of Peak’s Island, a small island off the coast of Portland.

(Above is a very boring sentence summing up what was probably the best bike ride of my life.)

Just look at these carrots!!

Now look at them again!!!

And again!!!

The produce at the Portland Farmers Market was what I imagine produce in Heaven to be.

I am still disgusted.

(But in a good, gastronomically-elated sort of way.)

Not disgusted enough? Visit the Portland Farmers Market webpage.

This gray, funky pumpkin was so fascinating that I couldn’t resist cradling it in my arms.

(Do pumpkins make you as happy as they make me?)

My favorite memory by far: Apple picking at Snell Family Farm!!

For more info on the farm, click here.

Enjoying apple pie ice cream at Peak’s Island.

It’s all about apples up here.

Apples and beer, I mean.  (We suggest Sebago Brewing Company!)

Maine is brimming with microbreweries which are brimming with tasty beer which means Dave was brimming with happiness:

Hmm, I have about 200 more photos left…but I guess I’ll spare you.

Otherwise, we’ll all be jumping the next plane to Maine.


Milk Glass Coffee Cups

While washing the dishes last night, I looked over at my milk glass coffee cups (which I use ALL the time) hanging on the drainboard and thought to myself: “I really love my little milk glass coffee cups.”

It sounds silly to be in love with a coffee cup, but me and one of these cups go waaaay back….

When we were kids, my Grandfather used to have something called, “Coffee Call” which was like tea time only with coffee.  And Little Debbie’s Donut Stix.  Or crackers with peanut butter and honey.  Or cookies.  Or leftover pie.

Grandfather had a sweet tooth.  He also believed that sugar was sinful and so he would add liquid artificial sweetener to his coffee instead.  Large amounts of artificial sweetener.

Sometimes me and my sisters would join Grandfather for Coffee Call.

“Time for Coffee Call,” he’d say with a grin.

Even though we were little, we were still allowed to drink coffee.  Lisa was brave and sometimes drank hers black.  Leslie liked milk and sugar.  I needed lots of milk and lots of sugar.  Though we all enjoyed our coffee different ways, one thing was for certain: we all wanted to drink ours out of the white milk glass cup.  Maybe it was Leslie who first favored the little cup.  Then perhaps Lisa decided that she liked it, too.  All I know is that whenever my sisters liked something a whole lot, I decided that I would like it a whole lot, too.

Inevitably, once we heard the words “Coffee Call,” we would all race to the cabinet to grab the cup first.  Then a fight would ensue.

I remember never getting it.

My sisters remember me always getting it.

In the end, I think Grandfather took the milk glass cup out of play thus putting an end to the argument.

About 4 years ago my grandma was thinning out her dishes and asked me if I wanted anything.  The first thing that popped into my mind was that cup.  And so she gave it to me.

A couple years later, a sweet friend gave me two more.

So now I have 3 milk glass cups.

One for each sister.

Or three for one sister.

Here’s to sisters and warm drinks and little loves.

And victories.

Heh, heh.