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Banks failing.
Economy tanking.
Election mudslinging.
Sick relatives.
Too much work.
That all means it's time........
for some puppy love~
We don't know which one is ours~
but I can guarantee that it will be the most anticipated puppy in the history of Pomegranate Petland.
And probably the one that pukes the most.
I'm just saying....
I've never been a big fan of Barbara Stanwyck*. Not for any reason. I think my opinion of her was formed by the characters she played, all rather overbearing women. She just wasn't one of those silver screen actesses like Lauren Bacall who evoked the glamour and wickedness of that era for me.
But really, who gave her much thought?
And then, today, well, today, I found out that RJ, or Mr. Hart as we call him around here, who is one of our favorite actors in the world,
when RJ was young, very young, 23 years younger than Barbara, he had a smokin' affair with her.
Barbara, you cheeky monkey. Girl, you put Madonna to shame. I'm starting your new fan club.
And RJ, I forgive you.
And (Mr. Pom, mom and kids and kids friends stop reading here)
I'd even do you now.
__________________
*Mr. Pom just walked in while I was blogging. Barbara Stanwyck, he says, looking over my shoulder, man, she was a babe. Who knew?
All the Poms are together and watching the very last game at Yankee Stadium. These are photos from the last game that Mr Pom and I went to with The Teen and her friend. It's probably the last game we'll ever go to together since the seats shown here, which cost about $130 and which we got free from a friend, are going to cost about $1000 at the new stadium.
There's no excuse for it really. It's all very sad. I'm very glad that the kids and Mr.Pom are such avid fans and that they got to go to so many games in a stadium where the Regular Joe could just buy a ticket and sit in the bleachers.
Those days are over now that sports have become an industry for the rich and famous.
In any case, it was fun to watch the pre-game show, even for me, and to see the rest of them cheering and yelling. Mr. Pom teared up when Thurmon Munson's son came out and when some other old timers took the field.
I'll miss going to court in the Bronx and parking right across from the stadium. It was always fun to have my pre-court fierce concentration interrupted by the sight of some sweet little family in Yankee t-shirts and shorts, cameras round their necks, wandering the streets - and wondering - what the heck is down here besides this stadium!
Hope you all enjoyed a sweet, last weekend of summer. I'll be back soon!
I want to be a strong link.
It appears that I hold a lot together.
Who and what depends on me is often more than I what I would choose if I was just born into this life today.
So I look for the loose link, jingle it, test it, pull it on, and worry the knots into frays.
Still, it won't give.
Life is an accretion of decisions, actions, steps, moments, ripples, words, looks, glances, murmurs, caresses kisses, strokes of hair, giggles, silent pauses over the phone line, a signature on a page, the rip of a check, a thrust in coitus, the turn of the screw.
I can't dissect it all. The center does still hold.
I can hold it all together for another day.
Rusty, frayed, battered, but intact.
What are you holding together today - or what is holding you together today?
The hardest thing I have to learn in this life is to remain open to whatever this life brings.
I am stuffed full of wants: what I want, what I should want, what I need to want, what our family wants, what I want out of everyone else, what I want from it all and where all these wants will lead, build on, grow.
Carrying so much weight of shoulds and needs and wants and musts keeps me moored in the shallows.
I am trying to empty myself out. To allow myself to remain unburdened
with ballast. To enjoy the sensation of drifting with the tides and trusting enough to not be frightened by the waves.
Of not grabbing for the rudder, running up the sail, starting the engine and heading straight for my pre-conceived destination.
It involves re-learning to float, remembering the sensation of being held over dark, cold water, trying to summon the courage to relax my neck and put my head back and trust my older sister to let me go and know that I will not sink.
To overcome the urge to grab her tightly around the neck and not let go, to splash, and gasp, and choke on the water filling my lungs.
Supreme trust.
This week, I am working on emptying out and re-learning the joys of submerging myself in the world, ears muffled by the weight of water, nose pointing at the sky, vision straight ahead, the sky a bowl of blue where hawks fly by and dip down to drink on the fly beside me.
Do you have the trust to float this week ?
You are all precious gems to me, each of you, with your sweet comments and cheering messages. We are doing the best we can; perhaps not as good as others, but it is what we can muster.
The weather made a liar out of me when I said I was set for fall. I'm heading out to Starbucks for a venti iced coffee as it is HOT HOT HOT AND HUMID. Not really so awful so long as you don't have to be in the direct sun doing anything more strenuous than clipping some rosy hydrangea heads to dry.
We're tired. Getting bone tired. Granny is way past us - she's holding on with her fingernails and if she had any strength left in her frail body, she'd pull herself out of there and hike cross town to her apartment and lock the door on all of us.
I've seen such kindness from the staff there - as well as the few thorny pips that are always present. There's a nurse there with a lovely Southern accent and a way with her that just makes you smile and feel like your momma is caring for you. Someone told her she had a wonderful way about her and she just shrugged and said, well that's the job, isn't it?
If only we all approached our lives this way and made whatever demands we had on us the reason we get our of bed in the morning. I am working on that. I am mindful of the new bracelet I bought this summer in Wellfleet. It is just a simple black cord with a rectangle of silver with the word "gratitude" stamped on it. It's taking me awhile for it to sink in, but it's starting to worm it's way into me.
I'm most grateful right now for Mr. Pom who models patience and love for me when I'd really rather be pissy and whine about everything. Hopefully, I can do the same for him in the coming days.
May you all find the jewels of your day scattered brightly across your path.
I was walking from the courthouse to Starbucks at lunchtime this afternoon. It was a glorious day! The sun was bright and the temps were low. As I walked in the shadow of the county office building, I suddenly felt a cold wind - the type of chill that isn't just from shade, but a harbinger.
And just like that, the season in my head changed from summer to early fall. Like a temperature setting or a biological clock, I was fully out of summer mode and ready to buy pumpkins and plan my Thanksgiving menu.
I'm a little crazy like that.
For as much as I adore the summer, my first and true love is the changing of the seasons. As The Empress said at dinner on Sunday, I can't wait to put on a warm sweater! And my Uggs.
Here are some of the ways to tell that autumn is right around the corner:
The beaches are deserted.
The marinas are all ready to pull the boats out of the water.
The flowers are deliriously happy and flinging themselves all over the sidewalk in their last gasp of fun.
The books are growing thick spines in anticipation of a cold winter.
Strange things are spied in neighbors' yards.
And Sarah
and Lear
finally had their litter!
.
.
.
.
.
And one of them is Brewster Pomegranate!!!!!!
Only 8 more weeks till Christmas puppy homecoming!
The Pomegranates are very touched and grateful by the support we receive from our little blogging community. Thank you all for reaching out to us as we share the journey we are on as we enter the last season of the year.
Hannah roared through New York as a wet, fusty, angry woman scorned. When the downpour had continued for several hours at a frantic pace, Mystery Man turned to me and said in his understated way, These are the times I'm glad we live on a hill.
The first night for warming the tea kettle and making my first cup of tea of the summer. Cold and damp and wet called for Earl Grey rather than espresso and it was comforting to hold my red mug in my hand as we all sat around and watched the world almost come to an end in Die Hard and Live Free.
In between popping off to visit Gran, we managed a family meal, turkey breast and a big fat steak that had been squirreled away in the freezer since summer.
Mr. Pom and I had gone to the Farmer's Market first thing in the morning and bought corn and eggplants as slender as my thumbs. The merchant said to cut them in half with stems in half and saute, so I did with garlic and honey. In my zeal to caramelize them, I managed to burnt the pot, and then with my tried and true method of cleaning the pot, which is to fill it with water and allow it to boil and deglaze as we eat, I managed to let the water boil out and I reburned it again. Today it sits forlorn with a coating of oven cleaner.
For lunch, The Teen and I ravaged a plate of bumpy, ugly, sweet as candy heirloom tomatoes and mozzarella dressed with just olive oil, sea salt, ground pepper, and basil from the front stoop.
The garden, well, the garden is as happy as a garden can be with the rudbeckia thriving in a mound 6 feet across, the lavender spiky and proudly purple, and rosemary towering in a pot dressed with an underskirt of purple daisies. The bees are so busy and as I try to get my hand in between the plants to weed, I am wary of grabby a fistful of bumble along with the clover.
The vegetarians should shield their eyes because there is beautiful, freshly slaughtered meat for sale and though we didn't buy any, I was remembering a conversation with The Boyfriend earlier in the summer when we at a barbecue joint on the Cape and I ordered a shredded brisket platter. He'd never seen barbecued brisket, and only knew it as the one pot dish his grandmother made with potatoes and gravy. Today seemed like a perfect brisket day and so I made it and wish I could send him a plateful in South Carolina.
Who could not find a pot to plunge these carrots into? Even if they are left with dangling participles!
I don't even like beets, but feel the need to try them once again after seeing these ruby globes.
Cherries as round and glossy as marbles want me to throw off my shoes, sit on some grass, and spit cherry pits as I watch the clouds.
As I wandered from stall to stall admiring mounds of colorful, fresh produce, I wanted to set my easel up right in the midst of the market and paint. Wouldn't it be a great idea to pair artists with farmer's markets? What a neat crossover between edibles and arts. Won't someone out there steal my idea and put it in place for next season. Just let me know so I can visit!
The Teen insisted that I make pumpkin loaf and the aroma caused Mystery Man to say that the house smelled like October. Once the brisket started to slowly cook in its bath of red wine and the pumpkin loaf was almost done, The Princess came down in time to ask why it smelled like a holiday.
Aromatherapy via the stove and reassurance that even if this rolling Catherine wheel of a year upends us on our heads, we will right ourselves as a family.
So we ended the weekend on the porch, everyone with their nose in a book, plates of pumpkin crumbs and tomatoes seeds scattered about the tables, and a big pot of brisket, potatoes, and carrots waiting to be tucked into before night falls.
The week cascaded over us with unpacking, returning to work, and catching up with Granny Pom's medical care in the rehab home. Before we could draw the next breath, she was transferred back to the hospital due to complications from the lymphoma that she also suffers from.
The fractured hip and post-op infection have apparently jump-started the lymphoma again into an aggressive mode. She is miserable, dear Granny Pom, and scared and wanting more than anything to just go home.
By Friday afternoon, the transfusions and increased pain meds have restored some strength and her fever- 107 - was gone. This is the second time I've seen her go from the brink of eternity to sitting up wide-eyed - and cranky! - in bed. The effect of proper dosing of Tylenol on her is similar to switching a light on and off and she suddenly opens her eyes and stares at us and asks, what happened?
The pain is embedded in her now, the sewn-up hip, the swollen legs, the bed sores, and the knowledge that there is no escape from this, there is no home to return to in the way that she wants. Patience, we urge her, our voices falsely cheery, and she turns to us with world-weary eyes and in her new, tiny, frail voice informs us that she's had all the patience in the world for a year and look where it has gotten her.
We are very grateful that we are but a few blocks from the hospital and that we have patched together a visiting routine that ensures she's only alone for a few hours a day. I am personally grateful to my managers who shoo me out the door after lunch and to my attorneys who take over the trial prep for the next day's calendar so I can leave early. Mystery Man came home for the weekend and The Princess has brought her lotions and sundries, and The Teen has visited with a big smile each time. She has faithful friends who have driven her to chemo and brought over food and now come by and attend to personal items for her, those things that she'd prefer not to share with sons and daughters in law.
From this end, I work on keeping Mr. Pom reasonably cheerful and limiting his work week visits so his back doesn't double up like a pretzel. I don't mind the bedside sitting and it doesn't wreak havoc on my body as it does his. As I sit with her, I am flooded with memories of other vigils from relatives past, and I am acutely aware of the sacredness of the time spent at bedside. The Princess and I proffer wet towels, cups of water with straws, spoonfuls of pineapple juice for something sweet and fresh, and the reassurance that someone is in the room when she dozes fitfully and wakes with the words, help me, help me, on her lips.
When Mr. Pom comes in the room, the dynamics change as he struggles to ratchet down his brusque straight-from-work demeanor to match the slowness of the sick room. While he tries to be helpful, she reacts to his preoccupation by becoming more demanding and the previously still atmosphere is charged like the air before a thunderstorm.
I can't help but be bemused as I observe their tango of emotions. I have watched this dance for some 30 years and never fail to be taken aback by the intensity of the tango. Before more erupts, I take the spoonful of carrots and feed her another mouthful, allowing him a chance to catch his breath and soon the room is back in balance, and we all return to our private thoughts and the slow-ticking of the clock.
Good grief!
It's September 1st!!!!!!!
Yes, I'm back from the Cape and raring to get into fall.
I'll tell you all about the rest of the trip, but FIRST -
October 10, 11, &12, Crown Plaza, Cromwell, CT.
Don't you deserve to spend a weekend with like-minded friends, playing with paints, fabric, paper, and glue? Can't you use some downtime before the holidays begin?
Please visit the website to see the plethora of talented artists who are teaching workshops on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, October 10 - 13th.
Here is a quick peek at my classes and you know, I am dying to meet you and work with you. We will a blast!
Friday, 10/10:
Loretta Marvel
Once Upon a Time
9:00 – 4:00
Did
you ever wonder what happened to Alice in Wonderland when she grew up?
I started thinking about it and before I knew it, I had created an
artist book that tells the tale of Alice At 80. In this class, you
will create your take on your favorite fairy tale or nursery rhyme.
Imagination is your only limit as we learn to create a very simple,
gatefold artist book that you will fill with pages collaged, painted,
decorated, beaded, and designed to tell your favorite story. Bring all
your fun ephemera, ribbons, beads, and bits and bobs that inspire you
to create a colorful, whimsical book. Small Class Kit Fee and Details: TBA
Saturday, 10/11:
![[1a.jpg]](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_yZ2ZtRNonN0/SLnvL6AWfTI/AAAAAAAABb4/u1BbHHXtaso/s1600/1a.jpg)
Loretta Marvel
Sow, Grow, Reap, Sleep: The Four Seasons of Life Mixed Media Self Portraits
9:00 – 4:00
This is the class for those of you who crave color like I do! In the middle of winter, I am wondering how I will get to spring before I expire from the monotony of our grey and white landscape. Fortunately, the older I get, the faster the year goes by! Seems like life flies by like the years, also, and in this one day class, we will paint beautiful, colorful mixed media self-portraits that correspond to the 4 seasons: spring, summer, fall, and winter. Techniques taught will include painting with acrylics on canvas, creating collage material with watercolors and other ephemera, collaging with found objects, and the principles of color and design in creating artwork. Small Class Kit Fee and Details: TBA
Sunday, 10/12:
Loretta Marvel
Bella Musa
9:00 – 4:00
