Pots. Pans. Portals.


I’m afraid I’ve accidentally opened some sort of intergalactic territorial gateway separating my little house in Arkansas, from Aunt Bea’s in Mayberry, R.F.D., (Rural Free Delivery), which exists to this day, on a distant plane, in a parallel universe.  Either that, or I’ve been possessed by Aunt Bea’s ghostly spirit who, apparently dissatisfied with the lack of need for domestic expediency in the after world, psychically picked up my vibes of admiration for her mastery levels in both familial and domestic skills.  Perhaps the pull between us was too much for time and logistical realities to ignore.  Or maybe I just quit trying to blend.

What we believe magically becomes our truth, and in my heart of hearts, I believe I am an absolute mirror reflection of Aunt Bea.  Lying in a hospital bed compiling a laundry list of Worst Case Scenarios, I decided to set my inner Aunt Bea free.  It was an idea I’d been toying around with for the last couple of years.  The challenge up until that particular point, was that I believed in order to be Aunt Bea, I needed the presence of my children.  (That darned empty nest nearly killed me.)

Morgan filled the gap from time to time, coming and going as educational realities ricocheted from Texas to Arkansas, to Texas, and back again, but the addition of a significant other, Charlie in this case, put a new spin on things at our house, and this time Rich and I held hands as we were sucked back into the tunnel of an ever-fluctuating nest.

It was a light bulb moment when I quit being afraid of all the changes that lie ahead, and effortlessly, there she was: Aunt Bea Me, giddy to continue my crazy love affair with domestic bliss!




Rich is taking me out to dinner tonight, so the kitchen’s closed until we sneak back in to raid the fridge for left-overs of last night’s yummy dessert!  The Heavenly Pumpkin Spice Cake was as easy to make as it was to eat, nearly orgasmic, making Aunt Bea blush.  Today she’s still smiling!

happy face



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