Gladys' Gluten Free Lemon Zinger Ginger Cookies

Well now that's a mouthful.   Gladys' Gluten Free Lemon Zinger Ginger Cookies and did I ever eat a mouthful.  I love cookies.  Really who doesn't?  Who says "Oh No Thank You, I don't eat cookies?"  and if you know that person unfriend them and run away from them immediately!  I mean really you don't need that kind of negativity in your life.

About a year ago I was told that I wasn't allergic to gluten but that I shouldn't eat gluten because my body can't digest it.  I was also told not to eat a multitude of other really yummy things which made me very sad.  I love to cook and eat and eat and eat.  Anyway I've spent the last year modifying and refining many of my favorite recipes to work for my diet.   I thought I would share a recipe or two with you as I find success.  I know there are some people who don't do sugar and honestly I normally don't, but I am allowed to use unrefined brown sugar, molasses and REAL maple syrup.  I substitute these items not one to one but by testing the recipe until it works.  Here is my Ginger Cookie recipe. .

Gladys’ Lemon Zinger Ginger Cookies

ingredients:

·         3/4 c. butter

·         1 c. brown sugar

·         1 large egg (1 flax egg)

·         1/4 c. molasses

·         2 c. Bob’s Red Mill All Purpose Flour

·         1 tsp. baking soda

·         1 tsp. ground cinnamon

·         1 tsp. ground ginger

·         1/2 tsp. cloves

·         1 tsp. lemon zest

·         1/2 tsp. salt

·         sugar, for rolling dough balls in

directions:

Beat butter and sugar until creamy. Add egg and molasses and beat until well mixed.  Combine all the dry ingredients in one bowl and stir well. Add wet ingredients until well combined. Chill dough for at least 2 hours or overnight, as the dough is quite sticky.

Preheat oven to 375°. Roll chilled dough into 1″ balls and then roll the balls in sugar. Place sugared dough balls on parchment lined baking sheet and bake until cracks form on top of the cookie, about 8 to 10 minutes. Be careful to not over bake. Remove from the oven and let sit on the baking sheet for a few minutes before moving to a cooling rack 

Make it and let me know how it worked for you.  As my favorite Chef would say Bon Apetite!

Gladys Gets A Big Old Howdy!

When you grow up in the south, as Gladys had, you were used to people waving at you when you passed in your vehicles.  She remembered being very young and asking her daddy, Trooper Bob, if he knew all those people who he exchanged waves.  Trooper Bob, thought a minute then responded “Reckon I do.  They are all our neighbors.  Even those people over yonder with the Yankee license plates, they’s our neighbors.”  Gladys leaned from the back seat over the front to see the big yellow Cadillac with Vermont license plate. 

“You mean those people over there with the Varmint license plate are our neighbors?  You know the capital of Varmint is Montecatipillar and their state bird is the Hermet Crab, no that ain’t right, it’s the Hermet Rush.  And my teacher says that the whole state would fit in our county with room to spare.”
 

Trooper Bob rolled down his window spit his chaw from his jaw and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “That right?  Well I Suwanee.” 

When you grow up in the south people waving at you from passing cars and talking to you in supermarket lines is common, but where Gladys now lived it was an anomaly.   This was just a fact.  If someone honked it wasn’t to say Howdy unless you start Howdy with and F and end it with a you.  Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to get to the next red light where they would rev their engines and try to beat one another to the next light.  It was all very confusing for Gladys who grew up in a friendly state. 

Gladys as usual grabbed her reusable grocery bags, her big glass of water, no bottles for her, and headed out to run her usual errands.   Even though she lived in this particular town for almost a decade she rarely saw anyone she knew, not even her sister Matilda.  Nope she normally went about her day speaking only to the salespeople or giving an occasional nod to a stranger in line at the grocery only to be turned away with a grimace or a growl.  She had become accustomed to the surly harried state of most people; but decided not to let it influence her she smiled and went her own way.   

Lately, she had noticed a change in some of the people in her town.  They were almost friendly.  She noticed that they would often wave at her while she drove past them.  They would make a point to put a hand out their window and wave with their whole hand and not just a single middle finger.  She would happily wave back thinking “now this is how it should be”.   She noticed more and more that when she took certain routes and saw certain vehicles they would wave.  Gladys smiled and thought maybe she did know these people.  Perhaps she had met them at a party or a dinner but quickly dismissed that thought as she remembered she didn’t go to parties. 

One morning as Gladys pulled from the drugstore parking lot and onto a busy thoroughfare a woman in a Jeep stopped and let her out into traffic.   Gladys, being raised to always be gracious, stuck her hand out the window and waved a big THANK YOU wave.  She lumbered down the street in her little Jeep Wrangler and pulled up to a red light where a man in a Jeep Renegade beeped his horn and waved.  It was then it dawned on Gladys, the people who waved at her were always Jeep drivers.  They would beep and wave and let you in or out of traffic.  They moved over so you could fit into parking spaces, instead of straddling the line. 

Gladys contemplated this as she drove into the post office.  What made Jeep drivers nicer than others?   Then it struck her.  The only answer she could come up with.  Jeep drivers were from the south.  So to all my fellow Southern Jeepers who hail from Bangor, Maine or Providence, Rhode Island, Chicago or Montecatipillar, Varmint, you must have a little bit of Southern in you because when you get behind the wheel of your vehicle you let your Southern show.  In the words of Trooper Bob, we’s all neighbors, so wave and say Howdy as you go by.

Doom-Pa-Dee-Do

We’ve all been there, too long without sun.  You put on your favorite shorts and you realize people are putting on their sunglasses to block out the glare from your overly white legs.  Jill Conner Browne,THE Sweet Potato Queen, once wrote that brown fat is much more attractive than white fat, and if you think about it, it is true.  Uncooked bacon is white and gross but cooked bacon is brown , crispy and deliciously attractive.

  So it goes with our friend Gladys.  She too believes brown fat much more attractive but when you’ve been told to stay out of the sun, what’s a girl to do?

Not wishing to be blinding in shorts Gladys decided she would venture into the realm of self-tanners.   She researched and researched to find one that would be A. easy to use and 2. not messy and of course C. didn't stink.  Finally settling on L’Oréal tanning towelettes she read the directions and followed them to a T.  She brushed the dry skin from her body with a horse hair brush,  shaved the hair from her legs, and exfoliated to the point her skin tingled until she finally deemed her skin prepared.  She applied Vaseline to her hands so as not to have orangish palms and started as the directions stated from the bottom wiping upwards in steady and even strokes.  She swiped and wiped and covered all the parts of her transparently white body in the hopes that she would look as if she had just returned from several weeks in St. Tropez.  Then just as the instructions directed Gladys stood naked waiting for it to dry.  Thinking that it would speed up the drying phase of the project she maneuvered her tanning body to the fan in a Frankenstein gait and assumed a crucifixal stance.  She oscillated to dry evenly to make sure that her vacationish tan would be consistent and look “real”.

Gladys waited twenty minutes and looked down at what should now be tan legs.  She inspected her arms but it did not appear anything had happened.  There was no bronze glow.  She did not appear to have spent one minute on a sunny beach in the Caribbean much less a month.  No all she saw was her still blinding white legs and raw chicken colored arms.  

 Disappointed and confused she went back and read the box.  Quick and convenient, smooth and even application it said.  Unique self-tanning formula applies easily and dries quickly.  Surely thirty minutes should be enough drying time she thought.  She opened another packet and withdrew another towelette.  She applied another layer to her arms, legs and torso and because a little is good but more is better she went over her body a second time.  Again she Frankenstein walked to the fan and stood arms outstretched waiting for magic to happen.  Ten minutes passed and she could tell no difference.  Twenty minutes passed and again no change except her skin appeared a little pink but she figured after all the scrubbing, rubbing and shaving it had a right to be pink.  Thirty minutes passed and again she saw no visible results. 

Gladys decided that it must be her skin type.  She tanned beautifully in the sun but must not react to self-tanners.  She gave up and put on her uniform of the day, yoga pants and tank top, and settled into her normal pattern of life, tan-less and vacation-less. 

Several hours later she answered the call of nature and upon washing her hands she noticed a definite change in her coloring.  Excited she stepped into the living room where the light is brighter.  She rolled her Capri up her leg and inspected the now garish orange of her extended leg.  Oh no!  She pulled the other leg up for inspection, it too has turned an Oompa loompa-ish color.  She shucked her clothes and inspected the rest of her once transparently white body.  She let out a disappointed sigh and realizing she was now the color of iodine.  It looked as if she has bathed in Betadine and forgot to rinse it off. 

She put her clothes back on and resigned herself to the fact that the next week maybe two she will be a freakish color of orange which would fade to a freakish babyshit yellow and then  white as snow.  The color is only temporary she told herself.

She propped her feet upon the ottoman as the sun glinted in on her from the window behind.  She looked at her legs and tried to convince herself that it wasn’t really that bad.  Orange is the new black, right?  That’s when she saw it.  There were white lines that traveled up her calf not just one but numerous white streaks and blotches.  OH MY GAWD,  WHITE BLOTCHES in her Oompa LOompa Tan.  It is much too much to handle.  She ripped off her clothes and jumped in the shower complete with Brillo pad and Comet scrubing the ugly orange skin from her body to no avail; all she accomplishes is to come out smelling like a clean toilet with very raw skin. 

Gladys once again read the directions on the box and realized she will just have to admire her orange fat and maybe make application at the candy factory.

In the mean time if you are looking for an Oompa Loompa I happen to know where you can find one. 

Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do
I have a perfect puzzle for you
Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-dee
If you are wise, you'll listen to me

What do you get when you try to look tan?
Wiping and swiping with a towlette in your hand
You don’t end up looking like one of the Coppertone Clan?
What do you do next is try to make yourself look bland.

SLEEP ELUDES GLADYS

Gladys and Kahuna slept the sleep of parents.  A sleep in which every creak or groan, cough and hiccup awakens you from a sound sleep to jumping up looking for the boogeyman or at the very least the boogeyman’s throw up.    Gladys jumped and looked at the extra large numbers on the clock.  The green glow read 2:22.  She settled back on the pillow and closed her eyes tight trying to will herself back into the land of slumber.   Kahuna rolled over patted her arm and began his ascent into dreamland.

The warm wash of sleep swept over the couple and the night became still and quiet.  Then through the silence came that sound that makes mother’s ears perk and fathers duck under the covers.  It was the sound of horking.  If you are a parent or a pet owner, you know the sound of which I speak.  The sound that breaks through the night causing you to leap from the bed in which you share with said child or pet, switching in on lights and grabbing towels.  You begin the search for the pile of puke in a futile effort to clean it up before it soaks into the mattress. 

All of a sudden you are a ninja warrior, flipping and leaping wiping as you go.  Your partner snatches the offending creature from mid-hork and carries them gingerly but quickly to place where they can safely retch their guts without offending your sleeping place.  In mere minutes you have managed to completely undress the bed and redress it with clean linens as you carefully wad the wretched fouled sheets into a ball keeping the effluent away from you, the bed and the floor.  Then as deftly as you cleared the bed you are washing the foulness down the drain. 

Your partner is not sitting to the side sleepy eyed and waiting.  Nay they are dealing with the poor child, four legged or two, who has now managed to expel three days’ worth of intake onto the bathroom floor.  Your partner has their own choreography of dancing around the pile of vomit gathering paper towels while still holding on to the patient and wiping up with their feet.  They chasse’, pirouette and plié’ while wiping the face and patting the back of the sufferer.

Finally all is clean and all is calm.  They settle back into clean sheets still cool from the early morning.  The invalid between them on a towel with a bucket close by.  You look at the clock and it now reads 2:28.  You have performed the vomit ballet in six minutes.  You wait for your heart to stop racing and you take deep breaths.  You realize at 2:46 that you are waiting in anticipation for the initial horking sound and sleep will not return.

It is in those moments that you realize that you will not be sleeping and you reach to check the poor offending soul who has sprung you from slumber and they let out a long low snore. 

  

GLADYS IS LOST

Gladys crammed the last of the groceries in the cramped refrigerator.  “Do you smell that?”   She asked Kahuna.

“Smells like dead fish and broccoli” he answered as they both squeezed their heads into the semi-cooled space. 

 

They took all the groceries out and wiped down every inch of the box.  They sniffed every piece of food and cleaned the outside of all the containers.

“What do you think that smell is?”  Kahuna asked as he started replacing food into the tepid cooler. 

“I think something died in here.” Gladys answered.   “This thing isn’t even cooling, in fact I think the freezer done froze up and it has completely shut down.” 

Gladys did all she could to keep the smell down.  She scrubbed and cleaned.  She put bowls of baking soda in the crisper drawer that would barely open.  Who bought a refrigerator with the door that opened into the cabinets instead of away from them?  She put freezer packs in the refrigerator trying to keep the temperature cool but not turn the cooler down any further.  The little freezer was so iced over that the door barely opened.  Obviously it was time for a new refrigerator. 

Gladys went on line and shopped and shopped for a fridge that would fit the odd space in the little kitchen.  Success!  And it could be there in only three weeks!  Three weeks was nothing right?  You stand that smell for three weeks, maybe.

 

The day finally arrived.  Gladys sat anxiously waiting for the call giving her a smaller window than between 7:30 a.m. and 7:30 p.m.    Gladys sat thinking about errant meteors and how up here in the hills she was closer to them when the trill of her cell shook her out of her reverie.  

“Gladys speaking” she answered

“Iz sis Gladees Mackinculty?” said the faceless voice

“Close enough” she replied.

“Ve are close but ze GPS does not show vhere ju leeve.  I need divections”

“OK,  first of all vhere, I mean where are you?”

“Ve are on Lional Cunyin.”

“Go up to the third light and turn on Hippie Hills, then follow the yellow airplane hieroglyphics.  There will be one at each intersection.  When you get to Hill Street make sure you turn around in the first side street and back the rest of the way up the street.  Oh and be careful of the woman who lives in the white house with the blue door.  She has a baseball bat and a foul temper.”

“Jes, Ok, but vhat are hiramglycolics?”

“They are little drawings on the curb.  Just look for the yellow airplane and go in the direction they are pointing.”

“Jes, Ok, I vill call you vhen I near”

“You might want to have someone guide you up the street too.”

“Jes, Ok, I vill call."

She waited, and waited, and made a cup of coffee and waited some more.  She emptied the old refrigerator out.  She watched an episode of Lost, and wondered if the delivery men were stranded on a deserted island with “the others”.   Her phone buzzed.

“This is Gladys”

“Jes, dis is Vladimir.  I deliver refridgadair to ju?”

“Not yet.”

“I stink ve took wrong turn.  Ve are in Glendale?  Dis is close jes?”

“No, is not close, is far.”

“Jes, I pick up Chuey.  He been der afore.  He knows de vay.”

“Ok.  Tell Chuey to follow the yellow airplanes.”

“Jes, he says jello airplane ees good.”

“Ve vill be zere in twenty minutes? Jes?”

“Only if you know a shortcut.”

“Jes, Chuey know.”

Gladys washed the dishes, vacuumed the floors and watched another episode of Lost.  That was it!  She had the answer now.  Chuey and Vladimir only existed in another dimension.  They were not real or maybe she was dreaming all of this.

 

She pressed play on yet another episode of Lost, because why not binge watch while you wait.  Something caught her eye.  In the window of her front door something was popping up.  It was a head.  It was a man’s head. 

Gladys opened the door and there stood Vladimir, sweat soaked and springing up and down on his toes trying to see in the door.

“May I help you?”  She asked

“I am Vladamir.  I have your refrigerdair.  I come in, no?”

“Sure come on in.  Did you find the place ok?”

“Jes, Chuey, he know vay.  He say turn avound, he say back up.  It vas, how you say, difficulty.  Ze road she turns, ze truck, not so much.”

“Glad you made it.  The old refrigerator goes out on the porch and the new one goes here,” she said pointing to the odd space in the cabinets.

“Jes, ve vill bring now.”

He sprinted up the stairs like nobody should if they don’t want to die of a heart attack.  Gladys walked out on the porch to see how they were going to get a refrigerator down the sketchy staircase. 

A large man with the refrigerator strapped to his back came first with Vladimir and who Gladys could only assume was Chuey bringing up the rear.  They guided the large man as he stepped one step at a time carrying it like a papoose.  They made it to the landing but got hung up on a plant.  The large man struggled and tugged trying to get loose from the tentacles of the vine.  He pulled hard to the right then jerked to the left with his oversized pack pushing him forward.  He stumbled down several steps, caught himself and righted his burden.  Vladamir and Chuey grabbed blindly to help steady both the man and the cargo.  Vladamir caught his foot on the next step and fell forward onto the back of the large man.  Chuey reached out to catch Vladamir but missed.  The large man, icebox and Vladamir tumbled down to the next landing.

The large man steadied himself against the railing but Vladamir was victim to inertia and tumbled the rest of the way down.  He jumped up, dusted off his knees and announced “Ve are here.”

Gladys, biting back giggles, replied “Yes and what a grand entrance you have made.”

“Jes, yust  wyke de Cirque Soliel, No?”

The big man muscled the unit into the small apartment and set it in place.  He smiled at Gladys and set to work deftly taking the wrapping from the appliance and setting up shelves.  He took a package from his pocket, pulled out a cloth and wiped everything down.  He then turned to the old unit, wrapped his arms around it and walked it out the front door.   The large man opened the door on the old unit and took two steps back. 

“What is that smell?”  He growled.

“We don’t know.  It was like that when we moved in.  I think something died in there.”

“No ma’am it’s too small to get a whole body into, maybe one cut in half.” Replied the giant.

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that.” She replied with a forced smile.

“Yes ma’am prolly best you don’t know.”

The three men said their goodbyes and made their way back up the stairs as Gladys stood wondering, was it all really a dream?  Perhaps it was heaven or hell or perhaps we are all just LOST.  Well either way at least now her food will stay cold.

Beverly Hillbilly

It was grey and foggy.  Gladys looked at her little dog Bozz, shook her head and said “let’s wait a bit buddy”.   She knew the May grey would creep out just as subtly as it had crept in.  She was used to the fog that occurs when the low altitude clouds form over the ocean then the winds blow them inland creating fog and drizzle.  Sometimes this weather phenomenon lasts all day, sometimes it lifts midday and once again the skies are azure blue and life returns to normal.

Most non-southern Californians know about the ill effects the Santa Ana winds have on people but very few know that May Grey or June Gloom also affects the inhabitants of the sunny desert metropolis.  It coats them in a film of despair from which only the brilliance of the sun can cleanse.  But I digress.

For clarity here is a little background on Gladys’ neighborhood.  The street is extremely narrow only wide enough for cars to park on one side of the throughway.  People in this area for some reason don’t use their driveways or garages, instead they choose to park along the narrow street.  In addition to being narrow the street dead ends and because of the row of cars it affords no possibility of a turn around.  One must either back their way out or park their car plant daisies on the hood and call it art.

The normal protocol for parking is to pull into the side street, which also is a narrow dead end, and then back up the street until you arrive at your destination.  The problem is directly across from the side street is a house.  The owner of the house usually puts his garbage bins in front of his house to prevent parking.  Let me also say that since Gladys moved here she has learned that there is a parking dick on our street. She isn’t sure who it is but said PD  has felt the need to put notes on her vehicle reprimanding her for parking in various spots. One was quite incoherent and hateful.  Luckily Gladys is easy going and wrote it off to it being Hollyweirdness.   Again I digress.

Finally the sun won the fight with the gloom and Gladys laced up her shoes and leashed up Bozz.  He danced happily as they trudged up the staircase leading to the street.  The neighborhood is mostly quiet; while it feels like a mountain retreat it rests above Sunset Strip in one of the busiest cities in the world. 

 There were the normal noises that permeated the day, birds chirping the construction workers next door pounding nails and sawing but there was also an underlying vitriol.  It echoed through the canyon.  This was the same canyon that echoed the lyrical sounds of Joni Mitchell, Buffalo Springfield, Graham Nash and others of the era.  Only this wasn’t the twangs of guitars and melodic sounds of harmony; it was yelling and cursing and what sounded like a jack hammer against a metal building.  

Bozz breached the street first and backed up a few paces.  There before him, stuck mid-turn around sat two large men encased in a giant green garbage truck looking fear stricken.  There was a stream of obscenities and nastiness emanating from the other side of the truck.  Bozz and Gladys approached the scene with trepidation.  Behind the truck stood a short woman with a baseball bat threatening the men in the truck as they inched forward and back in an attempt to make a 587 point turn.  They were attempting to make this turn while not backing into the car parked in the crash zone, her car.   This was the same woman who had left the note admonishing Gladys for parking her car too close to the turnaround site.  The incoherent note writer now stood in the middle of the narrow road replete in housedress and baseball bat threatening the very people who clean up her trash.  The men in the truck nervously look from the safety of the 5 ton truck carefully trying to avoid the deranged woman while still doing their job.  They inched forward, back, forward and back as the crazy woman screamed and swung her bat in their general direction. 

Bozz sensed discord, decided to piss on the garbage bin and head back to the house with Gladys in tow.  She cast a few glances over her shoulder as the big green giant inched it’s way to safety.

Gladys sat on the patio listening to the sounds of the garbage truck lumbering his way down the hill back into the safety of the bustling city.  She wondered was it May Grey that had the woman in a tizzy or maybe she had her first encounter with a real Beverly Hillbilly.

SWEET FREEDOM

Remember when Memorial Day meant your life was about to begin?  What was the song?  “No more rulers, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks”?   What a wonderful feeling those final days of school were.  The electricity in the air was palpable and anything was possible.  Heck this summer we might build a spaceship and fly to the moon or a ship and sail the seven seas.  Yes the opening weekend of summer, Memorial Day weekend, was the portal to adventure.  

Gladys awoke with a start.  It was here.  It was finally here.  She climbed out of her side of the bed being careful not to wake Matilda.  You see Gladys was an early riser.  She did not want to miss one single moment of the day.  She wanted to see the sun rise and drink in the very first day of freedom.  She slipped into the kitchen which was still dark and quiet.  Nurse Meme had not returned from her night shift at the hospital and Trooper Bob was in the shower preparing for his day shift keeping the highways and byways safe from interlopers.   She got the stepstool from the pantry and drug it to the refrigerator.   The door opened with a stiff tug and illuminated the room with the soft cold glow.  She reached in  pulled a carton of milk from the shelf, made a swipe for the pitcher of Tang and a couple of eggs.  The stool then was drug to the stove and pots and pans were pulled from their storage space.   Gladys wasn’t afraid of the stove, heck she had been cooking since she was a little kid and now that she was seven she knew how to not burn herself, well, most of the time.  She went about her business of breakfast making and poured herself a glass of milk and then gingerly pulled the glasses with oranges printed on the outside from the cabinet and unsuccessfully tried to pour her Tang without spilling, because Tang is what the astronauts drink in space.  They were adventurers and so was Gladys.

Trooper  Bob walked in just as she was sopping up the contents of the juice pitcher from the floor.  “What’s going on here?” his voice shattering the quiet of the morning. 

Gladys jumped and turned holding the juice soaked towel.  “Nothing Daddy, I jist tried to pour me some Tang and I spilled a little”.

 

Trooper Bob side stepped the puddle in the floor careful not to get his polished Tony Lama’s near the sticky juice.  “Well, you better git this mess cleaned up afore your momma gits home.  She’ll have a can-ip-shun fit.  Wipe it up with some Spic and Span so it don’t leave no stickiness, now you hear.”  He made his way to the percolator and poured himself a cup of coffee and turned for the door.    He stopped, took a long look at his baby daughter mopping up the orange goop.  “Gladys?”

Gladys leaned on her mop “yeah, Daddy.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Trooper Bob asked pointing toward her outfit.

“My bathing suit” she replied smoothing down her red white and blue two piece.

“Did you git up and put that on first thing this morning?”  He chuckled.

“Naw sir.  I slept in it.  It’s summertime that means you can sleep in your swimming suit.” Gladys answered matter of factly.

“Yep I guess it does.” Trooper Bob said as the door closed quietly behind him.

So happy summer everyone and I don’t know about you but I’ll be sleeping in my swimming suit.

GLADYS BORROWS TIME

Tap…tap..tap… Is this thing on?  Anybody there?  (crickets)

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve been here but I’ve been in a coma and then I had amnesia when I came to Stefano DiMera had kidnapped me… oh wait maybe that was Days of Our Lives.  In reality I’ve been here and then I went there and after that well I went over there and now I’m here. 

Most important I realized I really missed this creative outlet and decided it was time to return to writing this blog whether there was anyone out there still following or not.    I may not be here every day but I will be here more often than every 4 years. 

One of the many things that have happened to me in my journey is I’ve come to the realization that no matter where you go there you are.  Life takes us down so many paths and we must learn to enjoy each and every road we are traveling in the moment.  It doesn’t come easy for me to practice being in the moment as I am one who worries about things that may never happen.  I worry that I worry too much and then worry because I’m worried about that.  Such is the life of a constant worrier.

I have been working on not worrying so much.  Nurse Meme used to tell me not to go borrowing trouble.  I would thinK “why would I borrow trouble?  I might borrow sugar or shoes or even a really cute purse but trouble?”  I realize now what she was telling me not to fret over things that have not and may never happen.

A little over a year ago we moved to Hollywood South to work on a project.  The old Gladys would have obsessed over where we were going to live, what we were going to do and how it would all come together.  The new Gladys just loaded up the beast and settled in next to her sweetheart and was thankful to be along for the ride.  We finished that project and headed back to Californica.  Again the old Gladys would have gnashed her teeth and wrung her hands fraught with worry but the new Gladys once again thanked the stars above for the chance of another adventure.  

Now we are on yet another adventure, one that I hope will lead us to yet another adventure,

 but I’m not here to borrow trouble, I am just here for the ride.