For the Love of Costco

Someone please take my membership card away from me because I spend way too much time at Costco!

I was just chatting with my sister yesterday – actually telling her how much time I spend at Costco.  For a family of only three most of the year, and when College Daughter comes home part of that time – one would think I have twelve children under the age of twelve.   My trips to Costco [as most of my readers know] are not always just the average trip spending gobs of money on something(s) I really don’t need!   My inner spendingmonster can and usually does surface at this mega-super-costcutting store.   I get passed the Morgan Freeman look-alike.  Put my membership card back inside my wallet and off I go down one aisle to the next.   I know Costco like a GPS tracker.  Blind fold me and send me off in any direction.  Spin me too and I’ll get you to the bakery once I stop vommiting after you spun me around.  No worries….I’ll get you to not only the bakery but to the frozen treats!

Today my morning run to Costco was for three items.  (1.) Frozen Fruit.  (2.) Coffee Filters.  (3.) Paper Towels.

I’m eleven items over my three item list.    I couldn’t leave without grabbing the mega plastic tray of freshly baked croissants.  Apple who has been all about France this past year feels it’s only proper to have a croissant in her weekly school lunch.   Perhaps these flakey buttery clouds of air will improve her French vocabulary.   Football Superstar asked for his favorite shaving cream and eye solution.   Got it.   But also I grabbed another pair of Nike athletic shoes because they were on sale and why not have another pair of black Nike’s to match the pair you have now?   Except the older Nike’s have shark teeth marks from puppy boy.    And why not grab yourself a pair of travel pants since my goodness they were on sale too!

Does this make me a Costco hoarder?   Or am I becoming my father when he made impulse purchases every place he walked into?  Perhaps I’m just aging into adulthood and finally realizing that if I’m not working full time I’m shopping part-time and spending way too much time with a Morgan Freeman look-alike.  After all, on a recent trip to Costco he did suggest I become an employee to save on my super purchases.

For those of you who may have missed my post on [4/15 “a stager throwing in the books?”]  I didn’t actually throw the books out my second floor window – yet.  I promised my wonderful husband who never once insist I hand over my Costco membership card – that I will be available for staging at anytime.  Anyplace.  And I will not tell the client(s) they are completely insane for choosing violet and green paint for their master bath.  The bathroom walls will look like the Queen when Harry and Megan married.   (I do like mint and violet together just not on walls)     Back to Costco…..    Our deck needed an accent rug.  And so one became item number fourteen.   It’s quite pretty.  Tan jute with a black design.   Pirate’s Booty.  Come on now….you know I won’t pass up the Pirate’s Booty!  Naan Bread for Friday night pizza.  Two beach towels ($9.99) to keep on hand because you never know when you may need another beach towel.  And lastly I didn’t forget the paper towels.

Once upon a time I would write a post about shopping.  It was titled Shopping 101.   I can’t for the life of me think of why I stopped trying to menu plan and budget.  Why is that so hard for me?   Apple found my menu planner along with it’s matching alphabetical order coupon folder.  I have always thought myself to be organized.  Perhaps I’m not as organized as I thought.  Or just maybe I like adventure and I’m the adventurous kind of gal who likes to blindfold herself and run through the aisles of Costco?!   It doesn’t matter now because there’s no way on this semi-green planet that I’m going to get organzied at this point of my life!   If I’m able to remember the main three items on a list then hey – I’m doing just fine.   Because you can make that wager I’m coming home with eleven more items!


Love cheddarly love
One can never have too many beach towels


I believe in French the word sharing is partager which Apple must do with her momma!

I think this will top off our deck!  [insert wink]
Have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!

Momma Daisy*


a stager throwing in the books?

Not so long ago – not so far away there was once this handsome man who insisted encouraged me to take a design course/staging.   That man is my husband.  I love him for the kind words he uses as to describe my taste in decorating.   But there was a slight detail he left out while insisting encouraging me to sign up for the next course study in Interior Decorating 101.  When my realtor husband has a listing with a new client…..he would no longer hire that “good eye” for decorating if the home should, [lets say] needs a little less European flair or to remove the Italian bronze statue of Saint Romulus who greets you at the front entrance gate.  The gallery of the children starting from zero grade until the last era of college.   Or the sports emporium of every athlete you ever gotten an autograph from.  He typically hires a stager if I don’t accompany him to the new listing.   And in the world of marketing real estate comes photography for your best images online and on those brightly stated brochures.   The hired professional photographer at times has his or her own stager.     Mostly it’s up to the individual agent to make that call.   Football Superstar doesn’t slack off when marketing a home.    He goes in winning the game.  And this is where I entered the game.    Over the past few years I’ve gone with him to assist in removing clutter from a garage, switching out the six foot Oriental vase for something softer or less chunky to allow the natural light of room to flow.   Nothing beats natural lighting when it comes to a large single family home or urban townhome. But when I became his “bad guy” for what needed to go and what could stay and what is tacky or what was slightly a questionable color on the walls to what is head on perfect……I needed to visit these homes which are sometimes owner occupied without the protection of my ex-football lineman.  Meaning I needed a piece of paper stating I was qualified to do so.   Congratulations you are now a certified Interior Designer/Stager/Therapist/Home Destructor.

At first I was like – sign me up!   I’ve always loved interior design.  And perhaps I learned from watching my mother early on.   My mother would change out our home(s) my entire life with her.   My father had a good eye for color, but it was my mother who would pick and chose the fabric, the shade and the texture of wood and textile.   French Provincial whites and blues where her “it thing”.   I never knew what French Provinicial furniture was until we were instruced to never put a glass on the Distressed Pecan French Provincial style dining room table!   [still makes me giggle]     Beginning with my first city apartment I felt excited to always change up a room.  And though in the early 1980’s  primitive country home was in, I found a modern twist of this and that was always fun to incorporate into a room.

My styles have changed as my homes did.  Depending on where I lived [city, suburbia or country] made a huge impact on my home design.  My taste could take me to 1800 style prarie home or a civil war relic.   I once drenched myself in primitive antiques – the rustic the better.   I have also visited the fresh air garden theme where most of my bedroom looked like something out of Smith and Hawken.   Talk about over the top boxwood wreaths!   I would say over the past eight years my style has been industrial meets vintage and cottage charm visits once in a while.   I loved each home we lived in, but I honestly feel the townhome we have now is probably the brightest.  I go ga-ga over natural light – bright and I mean bright wide windows where every bit of sunshine flows in no matter which direction the sun decides to move.   I prefer natural colors on my walls.   Creams and tans.   Wood floors.  Stone or brick walls.   Porcelain tile.   And with having a canvas like this to work from gives me the opportunity to add whatever shades and textures I feel comfortable for my home – most importantly my family.   Not to mention easy clean up for pets or the occasional coffee spill.    What does all this have to do with my piece of paper indicating I’m capable of staging your home?    Nothing except everything!

In my brain there’s Modern Refinement, Industrial, Comtemporary, Continental, European Traditional, Classic, Comtemporary Urban [different from Comtemporary], Historic, French, French Provincial, French Market, Italian, Moroccan and Coastal.  Then there’s lighting by Sea Gull Lighting, Hinkley, Quoizel, Feiss, Monte Carlo, Kichler……the list goes on.   And they are not all found at Lowe’s or Home Depot.   [go figure]

Am I really capable of staging your home?   No.  Why?  Because I don’t like what you may like.  And because my [brain] won’t allow myself to go into the depths of your very liking!  I try to remove all interior from my inner self before walking through a home.  Be the mediator not the decorator.   Meet in the middle.  Stay focuses on the client and not the fact the living room walls look as if Crayola sent preschoolers in to paint.   Remember Football Superstar says off white, natural color paint on the walls open up the potential buyers mind to all possiblities.   But there I stand stuck feeling as if I have the worst wedgie because I can’t say two simple words to these clients.  Oh. Yuck.

This is why I stopped recording the very channels I loved to watch late night before falling asleep.   Fixer Upper is my go to one and only favorite.  I love Joanna, however I must say before they became the adorable fixeruppers on TV, we were selling industrial meets cottage meets antique meets artsy at my shop years ago.   So why can’t I go back to years ago and meet the needs of these clients as I did when we had Gettysburg tourist stop and shop at Simple Dimple?   What’s blocking my mind from the free flow artisit talent I once dallied up on the walls of my cottage shop?  What’s blocking me from pulling out that wedgie and saying ” lets begin with painting your walls…all of them…yes…all of them”.  What’s blocking me from saying “let’s begin with taking down the  safari photos – yes all fifty 8×10’s.  I love animals….but your home can not be a museum for Animal Planet during these next few days [or weeks] while your home is on the market”.   Enough said.   [all said with an industrial size smile]

My canvas.  Your home.  We need to begin with a blank canvas.  And I will eliminate any doubts that your home can look the way I want it to   all potential buyers can and will see their future home.   Enough said.        


It’s time to call #1-800-PODSTORAGE

So my books have been thrown placed aside for now.   My last online study course is at the end of May.   I could drive into DC but I’ll just take it from the comfort of my industrial/French market/vintage/coastal decorated home.  I’ll not throw in the towel rack yet.     Besides….it’s saving my husband from paying $375 just for a consultation to have a home “reviewed” before the actual staging takes place.   I’ll work for Pirate’s Booty and my water front lake or beach trips.   I believe that’s pretty fair in trading spaces!

just enough fresh color with a touch of coastal living  ~ PS…ignore the creepy man in the doorway – this photo is from a movie scene – believe it or not in my book – it almost took me six months to realize there was a person in this pic!




I can’t get enough use from an industrial basket ~ simply simple!


not too shabby!



I can’t. I just can’t do this one.


crisp. light. dreamy. don’t leave out something masculine!



and if there’s a brick wall…’ll have to resuscitate me! hash tag….love brick. hash tag…..adore brick. hash tag…..brick collector!



Oh, dear readers….thanks for listening reading!  I will pull myself together!   If not for payment in Pirate’s Booty….then for you!   [[wink]]


Momma Daisy*


sleep number and menopause?!

I had the pleasure of spending time with some funny, wonderful ladies last week.  We enjoyed our time by the water as our kiddo’s enjoyed their time in the water or collecting pretty lake rocks.  Our topic; menopause and sleeping.   I can’t help but laugh as I type, so I’ll apologize for type-o’s now!

I’m the senior of this group.  At fifty-five thirty-five, no fifty-five.  Daina is fresh out of the forty bracket and Tanya is permitted to have her forty plus years of life.  Daina and I have more in common when it comes to the circle of life.  No, I mean the cycle of life.         We both know what hot flashes can and will create in the middle of the night.  Hot flashes create monsters.   Pillow becomes a sponge for the base of your neck and hairline.  Where you’re up changing nightshirts and mumbling because the night sweats woke you from a wonderful slumber.   I always feel sorry for bears who hibernate and are dragged out of their cozy dens by researchers trying to poke and probe them for their weight.   I would so become grizzly-like if someone woke me up just for my weight!   Daina not only experiences night sweats, she also gets leg cramps.  So basically….it’s as if Daina is running in her sleep.   Sweating and leg cramps.   Wonderful.   One thing we all agreed on was our ability to fall asleep like clock work.  Lights out.  Sleep.

I rarely get night sweats but apparently I’ve become “child-like” in my sleeping pattern.  Football Superstar has been poking me – like the grizzly bear and the researcher – to move over.  Move over?   I’m on my side of the bed!     This can’t be possible because I sleep like a baby.  I rarely flip over from side to side.  I am the hibernating bear.                   My husband tells me that I have been “flipping” from side to side.  And I’m sleeping on an angle.    I laughed because he must have surveyed my sleep pattern as he was reading at 1pm.     So  now I’m sleeping with one leg hanging out over the bed while the other is fully wrapped in the sheet.   I pull the entire sheet over to my side in such a coordinated way – he can’t figure out how I’m able to get a tightly tucked in flat sheet out from under this once football player who hasn’t lost much of his strength – well maybe a little.               As my adorable husband tells me this – I’m almost spitting my hazelnut coffee out into the morning air.  No way!    I have this Cirque Soleil image in my mind.   Tokyo-Girls-Collection-11AW-15-Cirque-du-Soleil-004

My gal pals begin to laugh to the point of hick-ups.  They’re trying to imagine – yet not imagine this.  There’s nothing but laughter.   I seriously have no idea that I’m sleeping in such a way.  I have no memory of my talent.   I give my friends a follow up on the sleeping conversation with my hubby.    A Sleep Number Bed!   There is no doubt in my mind – my husband did his research.   He consumer reported.  He researched local companies that supply these SNB’s, and he probably already went to the store to check them out just so he could come back to me and “sell” me on the idea.    He’s a professional.    Again, I have this vision.   What if…..what if I’m still Cirque Soleiling while I sleep on the Sleep Number Bed?!     Sleep-Number-Bed

Is it possible for my (one) leg to still have its freedom?

There’s quite a few questions I have for the Sleep Number Bed salesman before I agree to this not-so-new idea of my husbands.    I know he had this planned out for some time now.  Football Superstar is just so sweet and kind hearted he didn’t want to hurt my feelings by pointing out that I’ve become a monster in the middle of the night.  I prefer a Cirque Soleil performer thank you very much.


Regardless of what menopause has contributed to my cycle of life… thing I can count on and that is my ability to fall asleep.  Stay asleep (unless a monsterous night sweat surfaces) and share some of the funniest stories with my gals who know what it takes to be a great menopausal performer!


Until next time….





no More shopping 101?


I recently had an inbox question regarding Shopping 101 post.

“Dear Momma Daisy,  what ever happened to your Shopping 101 post?  Are you no longer food shopping? ”   – M.L.  Kansas  

My family…sure they are fed, healthy and happy.   Not sure they are happy with each meal  I lovingly create.  Perhaps I should say throw together.   My menu planning has taken a back seat to other work related stuff.  As I sit here typing this post – my menu dinner planner is peaking out from behind a file titled “Family Meal Planner”.   Even I get such a chuckle out of the clearly marked vintage style tag attached to the vintage style folder placed neatly in the vintage galvanized organizer.   This brings out my inner Joanna Gaines, and because I am NO Joanna….my office area clearly shows this file has not been touched in months.   Except for the occasional dusting.

As for food shopping, well my latest experience at Costco was more like a skit from Seinfield.    Normally my blue ticking linen backpack is placed in the shopping cart in place of a child.   If it’s on my back where backpacks are to be displayed – then I run the chance my phone will chime and I may miss a call from school (never get calls) , college daughter (prefers texting) , hubby (reminding me to get shaving cream) my mother-in-law, my father…. you get my point.   Tuesday my backpack played the part of being just that- a backpack and looking quite cute if I may say.   Not me…the backpack.     I was seeking out the ginormous bag of Krusteaz Buttermilk pancake mix when my eyes caught the book section.  I can not stay away from books.  I smell them.  I track them down like a bloodhound on its trail.   I love books.   While joyfully filtering through the latest selection of arrivals (the dude was just opening up boxes of newly pressed hardbacks!) I forgot there was a linen growth attached to my back.  As I slowly turned to make my way up the sea of words, the growth then attached itself to the handle of a shopping cart.  As I walked….so did the cart.   A woman laughing – chuckles out  “hey…excuse me ma’am…you have my cart!”    Oh, well, yes, yes I do!

Released from the metal monster I waltzed down the bakery aisle remembering how much Football Superstar and I love Rosemary-Parmesan cheese bread.  Two come in one sleeve.  ($6.99)   It’s not exactly our favorite bakery’s version but dang when it’s pumped out of the mega ovens and placed (again TWO) in a plastic sleeve while still warm and seeping the aroma of rosemary…..sold!     I know I was smiling not only on the inside but my exterior had to be exploding.   You have no idea how much I LOVE fresh baked breads.   Just as I was walking towards the produce selection a quiet voice appears from behind Aloutte’s Goat Cheese vendor booth.  Wait…goat cheese?   Rosemary-Parmesan cheese bread needs goat cheese.  I gently pick up one of the teeny-weeny cupcake like papers with a morsel of Aloutte goat cheese just enough for a mouse – when out of nowhere a couple, well dressed , possibly between the ages of 65-70, pushes my arm to grab three teeny-weeny cupcake papers when my morsel of goat cheese went flying in the air directly landing on the gentleman to my left – his black dress coat.   Sticking to his coat.   Do I pick at the tiny morsel of cheese – do I tap him on the shoulder as he was looking at a selection of Cheval Blanc.   Do I walk away.   Did you know goat cheese can be rather sticky?  Firm curds that react when pitched in the air.

I shuddered in my L.L. Bean duck boots.  Just as I was about to pass by and pray my linen backpack would come in handy as the tool it was designed to do (not really) and gently knock the morsel of now warm and less firm goat cheese from this gentleman’s black dress coat – I noticed it on the floor by his shiny black loafers.    This tiny morsel of goat cheese went from its wrapper to a teeny-weeny cupcake paper to my hand to a coat to the floor in a matter of seven minutes.    There was no way I was about to approach the vendor for a second sample.   But. There. They. Were.  The couple.  The couple that first took THREE teeny-weeny cupcake papers.   They were back for more.   I watched from the other side of the aisle pretending to be selecting guacamole.  This couple went from sampling more Aloutte goat cheese to the happy vendor warming up organic Al Fresco tomato&basil 60% less fat chicken meatballs.     It was lunch time.

I made my way through the paper product aisle making a U-turn down the frozen fruit aisle.   No way.  A vendor sampling frozen smoothies (didn’t get the brand name) was talking rather loudly to – yep – the couple.     It was lunch time.

Fifteen minutes later I’m waiting in the check out line.  Backpack is now sitting in the child seat of my mega cart.  I’m smiling because the aroma of fresh bread is still seeping through its plastic wrap.  My membership card is placed between my fingers so the kind check out lady can quickly retrieve it.  And just then….there they are.   The couple.   Two rows across from where I wait.   Talking.  Sweetly laughing with each other.   And in their hands….more teeny-weeny cupcake papers that held small morsels of granola.

It was lunch time.

My food shopping days have been of no value to report.  Meaning, I am not saving as I should to be bragging of my hours spent at Wegmans, Costco or Harris Teeter.   My backpack and sometimes my black leather tote bag at times are filled with receipts.  If I were an accountant I would have them neatly organized and categorized on display in a vintage file holder labeled with a vintage tag.

Maybe, just maybe some day I will be back on track with my Shopping 101.  Until then I’ll waltz through Costco watching and waiting for the couple.

ranting and its songs

Rant – verb.   To speak loudly or shout at length in a wild, impassioned way.

I’m about to rant.     But it’s not your momma’s ordinary rant.

Song – noun.   A short poem or words set to music.

There are songs floating like a butterfly in my head.


As much as I promised myself that I would not allow the opinion of others to affect my own worldly view, this past week my promise was broken.   I’m not exactly sure how the conversation even began.  But one thing I do know is there were several topics floating around the pool deck while those who were doing exactly what I should have been doing – that’s right – floating inside the pool ignoring the words that have become like toxin.

Instead of floating around the pool on Apple’s pink striped noodle [I so appreciate her reminding me to take the noodle as she heads to school and I head to the pool] I sat desperately trying to focus on my summer read – Just Beyond the Clouds – when a mom decided to openly discuss the gorilla incident and after fifteen minutes of listening it turned to Donald Trump which then turned to free health care which then turned to ordering lunch from Delhi 6.  My head was spinning. And I’m not sure if it was due to the direct sunlight without my sunglasses [forgot them, but got the noodle] or the conversations taking place while truly, honestly, sincerely spoken here – we were to be organizing end of year events.   I was volunteered by an acquaintance, whom will remain nameless.

I’m sure most of you – no make that all of you have been listening to the news, reading your news feed, finding it posted on Facebook or like me….sitting poolside having several different topics spewed out in one direction within 22 minutes.   Exactly 22 minutes.

So my rant if you will, became more like a recording studio in my brain that just couldn’t turn off the topics being discussed.  Or argued whined about.

*Harambe. The massive silverback gorilla who was shot by a zookeeper after a child fell-climbed-slithered down-slipped-somehow this young child ended up in the gorilla outdoor exhibit at the Cincinnati Zoo.    I was not there.   I’m not exactly sure CNN found the most reliable sources for interviewing.   I was not there.  I’m not going to blame anyone because I am not a zoo official, I’m not a key witness to the incident.  I am not the parent of this young boy.   I’m thankful I wasn’t placed in the situation as the zoo officials were when making the life or death decision to save this childs life.   We were not there.               I was not there.   I wouldn’t want to be in this child’s mothers shoes.   Because all over the world we’ve placed the child second.

The song “Take a Walk in Someone Else’s Shoes” by swingsetmomma’s came to my mind.  Okay, okay…so maybe it’s not the best song to describe this horrible situation – but the verse “just imagine walking in someone else’s shoes” pretty much summed it up.

I’m just thankful the little boy is fine.  And this is coming from someone who followed PETA for many years.  I’ve matured some since those days….some.

*Donald Trump.   OhMyGosh!   I’m SO over hearing about his nastiness, his wealth and his private jet.  His wives and his children.   I don’t like him.  I don’t like his long ties either.  They are ugly.    But as the moms were discussing the latest on Hilary and the Trumpster, the song “Born in the USA” came to my mind.  I had a silent giggle.   I’ve seen Bruce too many times back in the day – and I’ve seen him in Atlantic City directly where the Trumpster built his empire in NJ.    Sorry Bruce, you’re getting a little old and rusty, as is the Trumpster.   America is great.   I’m happy.   Sorry you’re not.

*footnote:  Bono isn’t walking around shouting at either party.  Take note entertainers who are all talk and rusty.

*Muhammad Ali.   I grew up hearing his name in our home.    My father enjoyed boxing, only because my uncle was a boxer.  Mr. Ali didn’t really mean anything to me….I just knew about him.  He was a great athlete.  He worked on making changes.   He had a soft adoring voice.   And there was a song about him with lyrics “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee“.   That’s exactly what floated through my head as conversations swirled like the crystal blue water in the pool.    Another private giggle.

I did not order from Delhi 6.  I decided at that moment…it was a perfect time for me to slither off of the noodle like a slippery eel, and return to my pink polka-dot beach towel to finally pick up my good summer read and do just that.   That was my “momma daisy time to myself day” and I wasn’t going to waste my time planning a meeting to have another meeting

I read and in my mind I heard Ruth B singing “Lost Boy“.   “usually hanging out with Peter Pan, and when we’re bored we play in the woods, always on the run from Captain Hook….”

America is great!











We’ve become a society of hashtags.  We can label and post with #.  We can use it on Twitter and Pinterest and Instagram.

But if my memory serves me correctly [maybe I’m aging myself] wasn’t this # once referred to as the pound sign?   Once you reached the customer service number, you needed to listen to a series of instructions – and when all else failed you pushed the pound sign.   Sorry…I don’t know that extension…. pound sign.   I ordered the $500 exercise equipment only to return it two weeks later – pound sign.    Long distance phone calls on hold…..operator instructs you to push – pound.   That  meant, next months phone bill would highlight the phone call to Italy, costing you $75 – because you pushed – pound.

I’m one of many now hashtagging my way through post and tweets.

For instance…. when you post something on Facebook or Twitter…. why not hashtag this

I love you!   #besthubbyever    #heforgottogetmechocolate

My kids are awesome!    #mykidsarebetterthanyourkids

Best dinner tonight!   #hereisapicofmyleftoversupersaladandmydirtynapkin

Selfie!     #myhairstylistrocks   #myhairisorange!

Rockin my new glasses!   #needglassesbecausemynightvisionsucks    #cantseethrumykatespadeglasses

Having fun on vacation!!   #rainraingoaway     #losttheroomkey      #myvacationwasmuchbetterthanyours

Flowers for my birthday!!     #ididnotwantroses    #morecrowsfeet     #stilllooklikemyyearbookpic

Christmas album 2015   #whymustweposelikethis      #doggotmoregiftsthanthekids

As I continue hashtagging my way through post and tweets, I’ll keep them short and sweet…. #betterrhymethandrseus