Back then, I blogged under quite a bit of comfortable anonymity; it was easier to speak my mind from behind that mask. Today, however, most people reading this blog know who I am in real life. Unfortunately, I’ve found it stifling.

There are many topics I would love to express, but they are centered around three main areas:

1) work – I value my professional consulting work too highly to jeopardize it with even the most well-deserved criticisms;

2) family – My children are both teenagers, now. They deserve their privacy, so I no longer post about my children’s antics, emotions, school hazards, or other life events. It is what I would have wanted as a teen, so I can only give them that much; and,

3) being judgmental – this just pisses off everyone else I know.

So, I believe it is time to shutter this old gal. But, before I go, below is a re-post from the first days of my original blog on what it means to be “seester.”

I’ll see y’all around. Most of you know where to find me in real life. I still use the saintseester handle on places like twitter, flickr, geocaching, and my gmail account. Come see me over there, at least for annual halloween photographs.

———————————————————
SEESTERS

Many people have asked me why I refer to my sister, as “seester”. For one thing, we’ve been calling each other that for decades now; I don’t remember how it got started – it just “is”. For a long time, I selfishly thought we were the only people who used that term for one another, but when I searched the internet for the term “seester”, I found many, many other seesters out there.

So, what exactly does seester mean? For me, it is my biological sister. Here’s the best summary of seester I can come up with before my required allotment of morning coffee:

1. Your seester always thinks you are beautiful no matter what.
2. You don’t have to get along in childhood to be great seesters when you grow up.
3. Everything your seester says seems to make perfect sense.
4. Seesters find every joke you make to be hysterical, gut ripping, or just insanely funny.
5. Seesters laugh at inappropriate moments. Seesters make it impossible for you NOT to laugh at inappropriate moments.
6. Seesters never make bad decisions. Seesters never judge your decisions.
7. Seesters have issues with their mothers, but love them unconditionally.
8. Seesters are very good at board games of all sorts. In fact, they are SOOO good, most people will not allow them to be on the same game-playing team. Either they will thrash you, or get drunk and forget what the game was about.

If you don’t have a biological seester,think of the other potential-seesters in your life such as in-law seester, cousin seester. Just make sure you have a lifelong connection. Remember to stick to the rules above and you will have a comrade forever.

I’d heard rumors that something evil was out among the trick-or-treaters in the area. The thing I sensed in the front yard dashed behind a bush when I came outside with the camera.

When I finally managed to attach the flash properly, I captured the disturbing being trying to wheedle treats out of my daughter on the front porch! (Actually, she’s inside the front door, not actually ON the porch, as you can probably see…)

Much to my children’s dismay, I dashed out into the street wearing my frumpy, lumpy, pink plaid bulky bathrobe, in my cold, bare feet to snap a couple of photographs of the headless horseman*.

*Super, super nice people. I asked permission because I was afraid the flash would startle the horse, but he had no problems with it. A wonderful animal. Just stunning. It was hard to take these photos because it was very dark outside, and I just had to guess at whether I was getting them or not.

My mother and I have always had fun shopping and browsing together.  We could find fun things pretty much in any venue, whether it be a department store, antique shop, flea market, or even an office supply store.  Lately, though, as mom slows down, I’ve found it difficult to hop from place to place with her.  It’s hard on her physically, so we’ve not made the effort to go on such outings.

Recently, I got a wild hair thought stuck in my head that I wanted to go to the Unclaimed Baggage Store. It’s been 10 years since I last visited, and I’ve never been back because, frankly, it was a bit disappointing.  Still, for some reason, the thought would not go away.   I even told a friend, and she warned me the prices had risen because they’ve recently remodeled the store.  It didn’t really matter, I thought, because I am only looking for a fun outing to take Mom on, and this would be perfect, with only a 40 minute drive each way from her house.  So, yesterday, we went off on our little adventure through the fall foliage and back roads of North Alabama.  We even found a lovely little lunch place in an old Victorian House that was super good.  The house was pretty, as well.

In case you are wondering what this place is, the Unclaimed Baggage Store is a place that takes lost luggage and items from airports and freight shippers, hangs it up, and sells it to the the public.  So, it is a little odd pouring over racks (and racks and racks) of other people’s lost things.   They have a LOT of scarves, probably because they get left behind on airplanes all the time.

When we arrived, I noted that the remodeling has done wonders to remove the feeling that you are picking through a bunch of stuff left in a basement!  It was bright, and airy, and all the staff were dressed in halloween costumes, and were genuinely helpful and fun people.   I was hoping that perhaps I could find a good travel tripod, but there were none.   There were hundreds of lost point and shoot cameras, memory cards, and cases, however!

While Mom amused herself over by the jewelry counters, I glanced over and saw a wool coat with sequins hanging in the women’s dress section.  “Hmmm,” I thought to myself, “that would be a wonderful coat to dress up my cocktail dress for the gala in a couple of weeks. Perhaps I should try that on.”   When I took it from the rack, I noticed that it had a matching dress with it that was VERY pretty, but a size smaller than the coat.  It was priced as a two-piece set at $35.00, and even though the dress didn’t fit me, that was still a great price for the coat.  When I inquired about it at the register, they were willing to split the set because of the size differences, and gave me the coat for $15.99!

(Sorry the picture shows it a little lopsided, that little ribbon band sits above the waistline and goes all the away around in back, too…)

Before checking out, I realized they had a section of formal attire.  It wouldn’t hurt to try something on, would it?   Well, I found four gowns that fit me (apparently many women my size travel with gowns and lose them!).   I ended up getting a beautiful, black gown for less than $100.   It even has its original tags on, so the dress has never been worn.   I feel so sorry for the woman who lost it.  I was even more thrilled when I looked the dress up and found it retailing for $395 (even if she bought it at half-off, I still got a bargain!).

Okay, that photo makes the dress look shapeless, but I have hips, so it isn’t shapeless on me.  Here’s a shop image of the same dress, and another similar cut by the same designer to show how the skirt swoops a bit from the hips.  It fits like the blue one in shape from top to bottom (with a little extra squish in the middle, unfortunately, but it’s always dark at these functions…).

I swear, it’s as if I am still high from the kill this morning.

“Yes, it does,” I agreed and began writing down the ingredients, one of which was Limoncello.

A little later that same day, my favorite cooking show, Extra Virgin, was featuring a recipe for Limoncello! I turned to my daughter and said, “Look! We need that for the tiramisu recipe. I will make some.”

She didn’t realize the process takes about 6 weeks, and she always looks a little dejected when she asks, “When are we making the Lemon Tiramisu, Mom?” and then I reply with something like, “in 3 more weeks, dear, when the Limoncello is ready,” and she rolls her eyes or shrugs her shoulders and wanders off, convinced she’s never going to taste it.

The first step required lemons, specifically, the rinds of 15 lemons. I made a special trip to the organic store so as not to poison my friends with pesticide-laden liqueur.

Next, one has to shave the zest off of these 15 lemons. It must be done in such a way as to not allow any of the white pith to enter the batch. I’ve heard it will ruin the entire thing. I retrieved my trusty potato peeler, and I carefully zested all 15 lemons. (Later, I squeezed them and made a pitcher of lemonade, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I zested these babies so well, that even after the peeling, the lemons are still yellow. I should be a surgeon, really.

Next, I traipsed all around town searching for 151 proof grain alcohol for the recipe, but apparently, the great state of Alabama doesn’t mess around with that lightweight stuff, so all I could find was the 190 proof, and I had to try to adjust the recipe accordingly.  Heh.

Steep the zest in grain alcohol, away from light for two weeks.

The drawback with this part of the process, is that the bottle lives in the bottom of the deep, dark pantry, and, therefore, it is easy to forget what’s down there.  Don’t forget. I don’t know what this would look like after three or four years.  After two weeks, it looks pretty much the same as when you started.

Next, you cook up some sugar and water syrup.  Strain the liquid to remove all evidence of the delightfully zest-free peelings, then add in the sugar concoction.   Let live in the bottom of your pantry for another four weeks, give or take a few days, because you forgot it was in there again.

Almost done!  Now, we get to go to Pier One for bottles.   While there, examine every pretty dish, decide you want all of them, but regain your focus.  Go find bottles.  Don’t buy yellow ones, because that would be cliche.  Buy blue and red ones.  Fill them up.  Put them in the freezer.

I ended up with 3 bottles full (about a quart to a liter each, along with 4 or 5 small bottles around a half cup to a cup each).

Bring last bit left in jar to friends to taste at book club.  They think it is too strong and sweet.  I think it’s just right, maybe needing a splash of club soda.

Now, I all I need are some ladyfingers so I can start on that tiramisu recipe.