Days four, five, and six make one cloudy day.

It is official. I am a slacker. I haven't posted anything for a few days, and I am supposed to be writing about what I am grateful for every day. I seem to be suffering from a brain cloud. Those of you who have seen "Joe vs. The Volcano" would understand this. A brain cloud is a fictional ailment that would cause one to sacrifice himself/herself to the volcano gods because they are too clueless to know they really don't have a problem. It's all in his/her head. Does that help you understand my predicament? Maybe it's just because I am too lazy to take the effort to write. Personally, I am voting for the brain cloud.

Today, I am thankful for lotion. Don't you just hate that sandpaper feeling that your skin gets? There is something about feeling like your hands will crack if you bend your fingers that I just don't like. I am a lotion snob. There, I said it. That is the first step, admitting you have a problem. Now it is out, and I can't take it back. You know, I feel as if a huge burden has lifted. No ordinary lotion will do for me, unless I am desperate, of course. It can't have too strong of a scent, it can't be too greasy, and it can't have very much mineral oil in it. It makes my eyes itch. Seriously, I am allergic to mineral oil. Don't believe me? Pass me your closest bottle of lotion, wait five minutes, and I will be scratching my eyes out. Or maybe it's just a brain cloud.

I am also thankful for guitar teachers. Doug and I have started taking guitar lessons from a 22 year old prodigy named David. David can make me feel untalented in 3 seconds flat. Not that he does it on purpose. At the beginning of every lesson, we have "show and tell" time. Also known as "The Throw Down". This is my turn to attempt to impress him with the prodigious skill I have aquired within the last week, or lack thereof. Emphasis on the last part of that sentence. As soon as I walk in, I have performance anxiety. (The guitar kind.) The moment I sit down, my fingers become unattached from my brain. They begin to rebel and resist the direction they are given. By the end of the lesson, I am sufficiently humbled, and wonder what would have possibly posessed me to think that I would be good at this, or at least enjoy it? Within a few days, I start to think success may actually be possible, only to return to class, and feel like a complete idiot once again. I don't seem to be making much progress. Maybe I should actually practice. Maybe it is another brain cloud.

The smell of gingerbread is the most comforting, yummy smell that could ever come out of my oven. This weekend, after the "Thanksgiving - stuff  yourself until you think you will literally explode and die" celebration has passed, the women on the Burrell side are coming over for the annual gingerbread house construction project. (Pictures coming the following week.) We did this last year, and it was so enjoyable that, apparently, it is a tradition now. That has to be a record. Our second year, and already a mandatory part of the holidays. I have to admit, I love gingerbread houses. I love to look at them, build them, and smell them. If you have never had the experience of a real gingerbread house sitting on a table, and every time you walk by, or when the furnace starts up, there is the warm, spicy scent of gingerbread, you are seriously missing out.

I know that in most homes, the candy on the house doesn't last long. In my house, it tends to last a bit longer because there are only three of us. My favorite part is actually the gingerbread, itself. I can't wait to get rid of the candy so I can break off a piece of crispy cookie to savor. It is the only crispy cookie I have ever enjoyed. Normally, I prefer soft, chewy cookies. I'm not sure that would be a good material to build a house from. Talk about substandard materials. Although, I have built a few really adorable houses out of Pop-Tarts. They make great gifts, and there is no need for tedious baking. However, it just isn't the same without the yummy smell.

It has come to my attention that I am the only one that will take on the task of actually baking the houses. Who in their right mind would volunteer to do that much baking? I must be suffering from complications of a brain cloud again. If someone had volunteered to bake it for me, I would probably accept. It wouldn't be the same, though. Knowing that I made my house from start to finish makes it more fun. However, baking seven houses is quite a task. That is two days worth of baking, and a big mess in my kitchen. Molasses is sticky. Really sticky. Let me emphasize that- Molasses is an ooey-gooey substance that is worthy of sticking a road runner to the pavement. Wile E. Coyote should have used it. His cartoons would have been much more successful, and he would have finally had his own Thanksgiving.


I think he suffered from brain clouds, too.