You’ll remember these beauties from this post: https://thislittlelight516.wordpress.com/2012/04/05/a-smile-a-sigh-and-a-laugh/
I told you then that I smelt a tutorial, and though it’s not Tuesday, I’m bringing you a “how to” with “How to impress your family and friends with a delicious dessert, sans blood, sweat, and tears.”
Woo! That was a mouthful.
In her post today, Christy, over at http://biggerinreallife.com/, announced,
“Ladies and gents, it’s been a long week. And it’s only Thursday.”
I couldn’t possibly have agreed with her more.
If you have a moment, go on over and take look; she posted some awesome pictures — some inspirational, some humorous. I felt compelled to do the same, and headed over to Pinterest to see what I could find.
This was a fun project, requiring very little of me mentally — which is good, because my brains are gooey. For those of you photographers, chefs, writers, and craft enthusiasts, you’ll know well what goes into composing a thought provoking, interesting, or visually appealing post. The only reason I have not taken to posting on a more frequent basis is because, by the time I hit publish it seems as though half my day has been lopped off.
I’m cheating today. I’m copying and pasting, and I’m not looking back.
Happy Thursday!
*****
My day does not begin until a ceramic handle is pressed into my palm.
There shall be dessert — always.
Oh, Squirrel . . .
Yes there is.
I would very much like to write here.
Sound advice.
Just call me Ja Ja Gabore. “Garcon!”
No joke — I peed myself when I found this.
Joy and happiness; there is a difference.
This is a tough concept to learn, but learning it makes all the difference.
Isolate from time to time.
I think someone wants to play fetch, hm?
The mantra. “Press repeat.”
I smell a tutorial cooking.
Well, when you put it that way . . .
The best for last:
I wish you a blessed day, everyone.
Happy Tuesday, cyber-land!
I hope this day finds you well and able. So, I don’t know about you, but Sunday gluttony rolled over into my salubrious Monday, which in turn resulted in Cara doing sluggish laps around the perimeter of gym, like a gold-fish in a bowl. Lacking endorphins and a mightily gleaned sweat-glow, I arrived home in such dour funk, that when my dear, innocent, dough-hearted husband greeted me at the door, attempting to cheer me upon earlier-than-normal arrival time with a smile and “Oh, good! We’ll have more time together tonight.” I brushed passed him, pivoted on my heel, and gave him this:
. . . aren’t I sweet?
This Little Light 