Now I know why I don’t necessarily blog, tweet or write on my wall (Facebook) every day. That’s because if I did I wouldn’t have a column to write. Many times I’ve gone to the computer and started to post something thought-provoking, unique or crazy-funny (usually something told TO me), but then stopped myself. Last week’s a good example: I went to Old Time Pottery, where something very strange happened. I then came home and posted a couple sentences (on Facebook), but decided I’d save it for this week’s column.  

Shopping in the Pottery, I bought silver and gold wired ribbon, a couple of ornaments, and then noticed a massive wall of beautiful, high-quality silk flowers. Every size and description were there, including several holiday arrangements. A few fall ones remained, but mostly I saw Christmas themes, and I’d been wanting a new Christmas wreath. It didn’t take long for me to spot the 30% off sign, either. I spent twenty minutes searching through them to find the perfect one (reaching on my tippy-toes, then kneeling on the floor—getting a workout, in the meantime). Soon, a sweet, little old lady came by and joined me, searching for a wreath, herself. She asked my opinion on a fall decoration and I told her it was beautiful—especially the tiny pumpkins that looked so real. She said she was going to hang it on her husband’s office door. Fine, I thought, I’ll go ahead and make my selection to hang on my front door at home.

I picked up the best of the best and placed the lush, colorful wreath at eye level in my cart, then stood back to get a good view. There were strands of boxwood, thick holly leaves, large berries and gorgeous velvety cranberry-colored poinsettias. However, I did notice a tacky sprig of gold glitter that I knew I’d just pull out and replace with something more authentic. Martha Stewart would be proud of me: she may not approve of a total fake (albeit silk) wreath, but she would approve of my adding some juniper and pittosporum from my own front yard.

But something was wrong with this wreath. I couldn’t decide what, at first. I closed one eye and held up my hands like a picture frame. Then I came forward and inspected it closely. Oh—that was it! There was no HOLE in the middle. I turned it over and noticed two (not one) metal hangers on the back—most unusual. I knew it wouldn’t fit on my over-the-door hanger. My jaw dropped open, surprised. What was the problem?

That’s when I realized—these weren’t regular wreaths. A large sign read, “Cemetery arrangements.” Uh-oh! I was holding a funeral wreath. Yes I was! I almost dropped it. The thought of it seemed morbid to me. I even told the lady with the pumpkin wreath my findings and she said she didn’t care, she was buying hers anyway.

Not me. I can’t explain why, but it seemed wrong to buy this wreath. I felt like a fake (even though I wasn’t and it was). Why? I don’t know. I hesitated—I almost felt like someone with a real loss needed it worse than me, especially since I didn’t have any loss at all. Other thoughts and curiosities filled my (confused) head: I have never, ever driven past a cemetery and seen flowers of this calibre. In fact, something this beautiful wouldn’t stay that way very long outside, what with fading from the scorching sun and shredding from the wind and rain. But, wait, I thought to myself “This is silly.” I put it in the cart again. I rolled forward a few feet and stopped, thinking, “No, this is just too weird.” Then I thought back to the pumpkin wreath lady and thought, “Well, if it’s good enough for her…” But I couldn’t do it. I put it back, for whatever reason.

I’m glad I did too. For one thing, Russell would NEVER let me live it down (no pun intended). He’d have so much fun announcing to his golfing buddies and coworkers what a strange purchase I made. He’d probably also fuss about the price—saying, “Why’d you buy a new one? We have a dozen wreaths in the garage!” (Do not.) But this much is true: last year’s wreath may not be perfect, but I made it myself for the purpose of displaying on our front door for the Christmas holidays and it REALLY is a wreath—it even has a hole in the middle!

I recently found an adorable sign in a trendy boutique that read “La La Land.” It was painted on a distressed white board in whimsical magenta letters, complete with a lime green and white polka dotted bow. I bought it and hung it on my office door. Somehow, I think the reasoning behind it needs no explanation.

But I should’ve bought a sign that read “Candy Land” because I’m living in that place, as well. I guess I played the game so many times with our daughters (and granddaughters) that it’s embedded in my subconscious. It’s a good thing Halloween is over because it’s just another excuse to eat candy. And with all of the 50% off bins, how can you resist post-Halloween sales? It reminds me of Stein Mart sales: You can buy $142 worth for $29.

I’ve said several times before that I’ve turned into my mother. Here’s yet another example: She carries candy with her wherever she goes, and now, so do I. For a long time Mama carried Werther’s candy, then those clear hard mints (she once bought a case of them from a restaurant). Then she switched to Lifesavers (wintergreen), cinnamon disks and Jolly Ranchers. I never figured out how that bag stayed full since we were all plundering through it constantly. Guess I never realized her out of sight back-up stash was plentiful. Mama’s current favorite is Altoids. Once, when Madison, our granddaughter, was about three years old, she asked Giggy if she could have one. As Madison popped it into her mouth, Mama said, “Oh, I don’t think you’ll like that candy, honey. It’s hot!” You know what Madison did? Kids being kids, she blew on it. Get out!

As I said, Mama carries bags of regular candy in her purse. But me? I’m a chocolatista. I just made that word up—chocolate combined with fashionista. See? Yet another advantage of being a writer with a wild imagination—sometimes a good thing and sometimes not. (It also came in handy when I recently tried to explain to hub Russ how, when parking my car in front of our house; the wheel got stuck just so, making the perfect lock between the tire and the metal drainage grate at the curb. My story was that a vacuum of sorts pulled me forward and I couldn’t help myself. Hey! It made sense to me.) Russell loved helping me though: showing off, being the he-man and rescuer that he is, maneuvering the car with his perfect touch at the steering wheel and correctly timed stop-and-go acceleration on the gas pedal. Men!

But back to candy: For a long time, my favorite candy was Peppermint Patties and I carried them everywhere. The story even appeared on my website bio, something like this: “The folks at Piggly Wiggly know my favorite foods are Peppermint Patties and boiled peanuts.” But these days, my favorite candy is a close tie between Dove dark chocolate and Hershey’s special dark chocolate. What to do? I simply throw both into my own Ziploc bag—though I must say Dove’s packaging makes it easier to not eat too much. Wait a minute! You CAN’T eat too much chocolate, can you? I also throw in some Red Bird Soft Peppermint Puffs. Yeah, I wrote about them in my latest book and I’m addicted. They’re the ones that melt in your mouth.

And now it’s gotten to where, just like Mama, I’m sharing all this sweet goodness. I often hand out the Dove to waitresses at the end of my meal—though hub Russ insists it’s supposed to be the other way around. “I thought we were supposed to get candy from them.” Last night we were having gyros at the bar of Katie’s boyfriend’s family’s restaurant, Olympia. Katie was waitressing and Michael was bartending. Our meal was over and everyone was talking, laughing and reminiscing when I pulled out my bag of candy. Russell stared me down—I do embarrass him sometimes. I turned to Chris beside me and said, “Chocolate?” He smiled and grabbed one, then passed the bag down to his friends. I overheard someone say, “Good energy!” The way I see it, a few decades of scientific data was proven in just one minute among friends: Dark chocolate and red wine keeps us healthy and happy. As for me, I’ll be the one sharing the chocolate. Anyone want a bite?