pomegranatesandpaper

DID YOU READ THIS?

My entire day was distracted due to casual glancing at the arts section of The New York Times before going to work, and seeing this. 

My entire day.

The sound you are hearing over and over is my palm repeatedly hitting my forehead.

Did you ever feel like someone just beat you to the punchline of your life?

I just exported my entire blog and I'm printing it out to take on vacation.

Let the writing begin.

Simply Summer

Tuesday evening, Mystery Man and I are the only ones home. Mr. Pom is out at a business thingie and The Teen has returned to work (partee's ovah).  Warm and muggy today but we are on the porch with the ceiling fan on high.

The dogs are wet and exhausted from being at the dog beach. They've eaten, though, and now they are having a protein spike and are having a roaring old time fighting over a dishtowel. As it is not one of my Calphalon or Williams Sonoma dishtowels that I hang for company, I let them run around the house with one end  in each mouth and watch them careen around the furniture without losing their respective jaw grips.

Oh, who am I kidding. It's hilarious and I let them do it with the good ones anyway.

Besides, when they are running around the house like conjoined twins, I am free to blog without a black and a yellow head slobbering on me or pawing me for attention.

Kinda like letting the kids eat a carton of ice cream for breakfast and watch Saturday morning cartoon in exchange for letting me know work on a quilt when they were little.

Mystery Man has a community radio show on Wednesday night with his friends. Last week the theme was "Space" in honor of the 40th anniversary of the moon walk.  After a quick consult with his other "producer", i.e. BFF the K man (nephew of pioneerspirit who comments here frequently and who was my BFF growing up), it is decided that tomorrow's theme is "Money".

MM is in charge of selecting the music and he's working through I-Tunes at the moment. He's having problems because he wants to use Sweetest Girl by Whyclef and he has to check with K to see if you can say "ho" on the radio.

K texts back "sure, why not" and MM puts it into the rotation.

Then his phone rings. Oh, wait - K says the text was sent with attitude. Huh? (from the mother). Sarcastic, mom. Oh. Out of the rotation.

He's playing the Stones and then closes it out when his mother insists on singing along off-key.

Refusing to be rebuffed, I tell him, Dude, you gotta do Joplin.

Which one?

Which one?? How many does she have about money - hello - Oh Lord Won't You Buy Me a Mercedes Benz.

He nods uncommitedly.

And don't forget Dylan - It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding).

Total stare down.

Sigh.

Seriously, I'm going to talk to K and see if they have any community airtime for AHM.s (Aging Hippie Moms).

Soon as I got the slot committed, I'm hiring Badger as my DJ.

Dudes, I can't do it all. Though I try, I try.

Portrait of the Artist As a Young Woman

In the deep of winter, when the lakes were solid blocks of ice and the wind scoured the snow that clung to the earth like a down comforter, The Teen was picturing her summer vacation.

She was not fantasizing about Cape Cod, or Aruba, or backpacking through Europe. No, she was fixed on an idea: immersing herself in the study of what she was coming to believe was her passion: art.

Her idea was to go away for the summer and be a part of a program that allows high school students to experience a college environment and college-level classes in art. She choose a prestigious school down south and went about getting the application filled out, writing an essay, photographing her portfolio, and copying thumbnails to DVDs.

She waited out the decision of the school and when a fat envelope arrived, I texted her at her job to let her know. It was a little surreal; a mini college application run through.

I was worried, I admit it. I was afraid it would be too intense, that it would frustrate her, bore her, or burn her out. I was afraid she wouldn't like the kids, or miss her friends too much.

She concentrated on finishing up the year with stellar grades, seeing her friends one last time, anticipating her last days of work, and hunting and gathering all the "stuff" that seemed so necessary for a summer away.

As you can see below, we Pomegranates do not travel lightly. We are like snails who take our homes with us. The upside of all this, as she reminds me, is that we are completely ready for college and need not buy her a thing.

(Yeah, right, as she would say.)

She could finally collapse on the way down, leaving the navigating and driving to the parental units.

 

After a long drive, we reach the campus and find many students wandering around with parents with armfuls of suitcases and art supplies.

 

The teen is a little nervous, but doesn't let it show. She soon figures out where her room is.

And it is all the way up here.

Four flights up.

These big, cement flights of stairs.

The ones with no elevators....

 

Eventually, with help from many resident assistants, all her stuff is loaded into her room. We hope that our legs will uncramp after a few days. And that she will see the error of her ways and only bring a backpack to college.

As if.

The dorm mascot smiles down on us as we leave her, secure in the knowledge that there are teaching assistant resident counselors (tarcs) who do headcounts twice a night, that they are not allowed to leave the dorms except in groups of three, and that she has enough junk food to survive the winter even though she'll only be there for four weeks.

 

The first few days,we check in almost hourly, or at least before and after each class. Soon the phone calls become emails, become texts, become occasionally hooking up at night via instant messenger and video conferencing, until the last week when we basically leave voicemails as to when we will arrive on Friday.

My fears about burn out, or boredom, or lack of friends were all unfounded. She is busy, happy, working long hours, texting me that she's going to need a Mac and a tablet and Adobe Photoshop when she comes home, that she wants to go to school here, that her roommates may be in New York and she must see them the week after class, that there's swine flu and kids got sent home, that she's fine, that she's Purelling and Lysoling everything, that she's been sightseeing and staying up all night and hanging out in the commons and doing figure drawing for 4 hours at a time and working on the weekends in the graphic design lab, and even the food is good!!

And when we hurry into the city to meet her on her field trip, we realize that she doesn't really need to see us, doesn't really want to see us, and it is all okay because she is on her own and loving it and in charge of her life.

 

Before we know it, we are driving back down I95 to attend the certificate program on the last night.

 

Their main projects were hand-lettered half-tone posters and t-shirts for indie rock bands that appeared at a city arts festival.

 

They made zines (she didn't even know I had a zine about 10 years ago!)

 

And they did cartoons of themselves and made up a vernacular font and individual alphabets from the grids of the city streets of their hometowns.

 

She did not take 3-D animation design, but I can tell you that after seeing this, Mystery Man is second-guessing his degree in mech engineering!

 

Soon, the night was over. There were certificates, a reception for the guests, and a beautiful exhibition in two buildings of all the core classes: graphic design, figure drawing, drawing and painting in oils, drawing and painting in acrylics, architecture, video, special effects, sculpture, fiber arts, and book arts *yay*.

 

This is a sample of some of her work and others in her figure drawing workshop.

 

I wish I could show you the pictures of all the incredible work that these precollege students accomplished in four intensive weeks. (I took tons of photos, but I don't feel it is appropriate to post their imagery as I don't have permission).

They went to class everyday, 3 times a week classes went from 9 to 4, then from 7 to 10. They even had workshops on Sunday nights. This was no camp, but serious work designed to approximate a college art program.

 

And she loved it! And wants to go to school there! Now we have to figure out how to pay for it! Regardless of cost,  the program was a chance for her to show her independence, to be surrounded by art and artists for four weeks  and to concentrate on her new-found talents and passion. What a remarkable opportunity and I am proud to say that she did not squander a minute of it and has made friends that I hope she will keep for life.

 

Leaeving was bittersweet. There were many tears and hugs and exchanging of emails and phone numbers and a scramble to friend each other on FB and setting up of friends lists.

 

We parents were there to help sweep up the rooms, take out the last bag of trash, carry the suitcases and paintings and posters and even plaster casts out to the car. Then we got the unenviable task of preparing the travelers for reentry into the world of siblings and jobs and local friends and babysitting and curfews and even summer projects for fall art classes.

She's still running on the adrenalin of her experience. She will crash soon, with exhaustin and work bringing her down. She will remember this time always in her life as a time when she had no responsiblities other than to make friends who shared her love of art. Ihope she gets to experience that over and over in her life. I know I have and still hope to do so over and over again.

The Garden State

Tonight Mrs. Pom sat down to finally upload 172 photos from the past month. She plugged everything in and waited. And waited. And waited. Then began to complain and whine and curse the new camera that she so hates. Mystery Man offered to help and she replied in despair, "Why, why? What can you do, it's broken!"  Finally, Mystery Man took the hint  and grabbed the laptop and the camera.

"Mother" (you know what it means when the son calls the mother, Mother). "You are using your power cord as the USB cord".

Oops.

Problem resolved, upstairs she trooped to the coziness of her bed on this very cold and rainy night in October July.  Mrs. Pom finds the appropriate USB cord and hooks everything up, including the power cord in the power adapter and the USB between the camera and the laptop....

Nothing. Nada. Nope.

She   yells calls sweetly for the son. Much sighing and complaining. From son, too.

Then.

Hysterical, uproarious laughter. Falling onto the floor. Shrieking.

Seems Mrs. Pom managed to plug the power cord into the power adapter....and into the laptop and the USB into the camera and ... who knows where.

Basta!

Without further ado, Mrs. Pom brings you The State of The Garden 2009.

Remember my dreams last year for a new garden bed on the poor, neglected other side of the walk?

 

Mystery Man and Mr. Pom succumbed to my whining and crying  graciously decided to dig it out for me right before MM's party:

 

It's looking a little "pin cushiony" right now, but we'll fill it in with more plants next year. I'm especially excited about the two oak leaf hydrangeas which we've lusted after for several years. Mr. Pom picked out the variegated holly, which he knew would "pop" against the dark cedar shakes and it's a fast grower and will hopefully give us some privacy for the front window.

All this horrid rain has had the most wonderful effect on the hydrangeas - they've never been larger or more lush.

 

 

And the lavender! Oo la la!

 

It spills dramatically across the sidewalk. The plan is to completely edge the walk with lavender, rosemary, and yellow pincushion santolina...ahh, the fragrance as you walk up the path. 

 

If you set up the shot just right, it looks like you have an acre of garden! Look how cute the pink hollyhocks are. Next year: a wall of hollyhocks!

 

This is the little nook under the weeping cherry by the front door. It is my little secret hobbit garden, a place for elves and fairies and wishing rocks and hidden charms.

 

That is what I  love most about my garden. 

It is my garden. A place where I can put together my favorite plants, rocks from Nauset Beach, the giant dinosaur egg (rock) we unearthed when we dug the bed, and one of my dinner plates that got broken, and not worry if anyone thinks it is too much, or too messy, or too anything because it will only last a few months.  

Oh, and my shoes. Aren't they cute? They look very gardeny. And I got them on ebay. Brand new!

Go garden and get your zen on.

Inside Out

Waiting to talk to you and you and you. Stories fill my head and wait for me to have time to get them out. I can feel them shifting inside my brain, causing me to feel more than slightly scattered, more than slightly full up to the brim, and wanting, wanting,wanting, to pull over on the side of life and just transcribe all I see.

How many  of you have this affliction? Do you find yourself recording blog posts in your brain, wishing desperately that you had a dictaphone or instant messaging that went right from the left hemisphere directly to your blog?  My mind is full of snippets and half written paras and tales told but only to myself.

It's not a bad thing, you know, telling tales to yourself. Some might find it a trifle odd - hell, probably schizophrenic even - to have a screenplay running in your mind's eye as you live your days. The compulsion to soundlessly narrate is quite compelling. It's like a tic or a reflex that I can't control.

Maybe all writers experience this.  Sitting at the park in the bliss of a midday Sunday, sun overhead, cloudless sky, waves lapping below me, the smell of the Sound filling my soul with summer. Searching in my purse for a pad, turning away from the sun to record my feelings in my journal, make notes for a post, until I put it all away and allow myself to just sit and absorb and experience this pocket of sunshine.

But it doesn't last long and I am taking photos and sketching and transforming, transcribing, processing the feel of the sun's rays on my skin, the expansion of the joints of my bones as they relax in the sun, the wipe of sweat off my brow, the trickle of ice cold water down my throat, the rhythmic clanging of the buoys and the mast lines.

Heaven, just heaven to be here with no one but my paints and my thoughts, but oh those thoughts that threaten to take me out of the scene. I give into the compulsion. I am a write after all and once I get it down on paper, I am able to relax, my fingers unclench and the itch gets scratched.

Currently Contemplating

• The inordinate delight of a summer evening on the porch

• The coolness of the breeze as it lifts the damp air off my neck

• The soft yellow glow of the firefly lights Mr. Pom faithfully strings around the porch
• The indulgent luxury of a ceiling fan outdoors

• The complete silliness of two large dogs dancing in the darkness as they  snap at the fireflies

• The feeling of being in the swaying treetops while lying on the porch sofa taking a pre-bed al fresco nap 

• The sweetness of The Princess being homesick and the pleasure in sending her a ticket to come home for the weekend and her delight  over the rain

• The touching concern of the owner of the sushi restaurant who credited our bill when he saw that I barely touched my soft shell crab

• The bouyancy  of Friday summer nights, all heady anticipation over time unmarked and endless cool mornings to walk in the woods and rich, healing cups of cappuccino and woodsmoke evenings grilling fish and  the patter of the raindrops on the hydrangea leaves,  the dogs roused from their evening naps, lifting their noses to drink in the smell of fresh rain, the long, slow ride past the Sound and the rich briny smell of the water filling the car with all the memories of summers past and summers yet to come, and the desire to sail off into the gauzy veil of dusk, parting the humidity with the crisp sheet of white sail, the firm feel of the rudder in hand, and the heel of the boat lifting us up to fly into the roundness of a July night.

Visual Notes

I spent my summers with my nose in a book.

I had a bicycle with two fender baskets and I could fill them with at least five books each.

I was an indiscriminate reader and the branch library was small. I started on one end and worked my way to the other. Couldn't get to the library? I read and reread Nancy Drew, The Bobbsey twins, and my parents' Readers Digests Condensed Books. And of course, the magazines we always had in the house.

I didn't understand where I fit in my family. Middle children always have to define their personalities a little harder than the rest. Once I read Little Women, it all fell into place.  I was Jo. Still am.

When I was a senior in high school, I read The Golden Notebook, or Jo Grown Up as I think of it now. I am never far from a copy of it.

These were my touchstones and principles:  books, family, and faith.

And still are.

I cannot separate out myself from any one of those. 

They've stood me well.

Sunday Snapshot

We have company here at The Pomegranates.

Nonna Bella Cucchi,

my long lost great grandmother from Sicily

She doesn't speak much English. But we communicate through the universal language of love.









This is the side of the family from which I inherited my good looks.

And penchant for biscuits.

Lazy Saturday

A most delicious, lazy Saturday. Nowhere to go and nothing to do, and that suits the Poms just fine.

A morning walk with Cucciolo and Bella Sera through the woods with all their fave friends: Sacha, Bella, and Charlie. 

Mr. and Mrs. Pom park them in their crates for a snooze and sneak off to Cafe Oo La La  for coffee and a sweet and sour crepe. (lemon juice and crystallized sugar).

At home, Mr. Pom announces that he is looking forward to looking forward washing both cars, his favorite pastime (who knew?) 

Mrs. P takes herself in hand and climbs the stairs with a sad look out the window at the beautiful day. Time to  take stock of the filthy art room, which has not been cleaned since a furious and mad art project at least six weeks ago. It only took about 45 minutes to set it to rights and in the process, some old writings are unearthed that provide a spark of inspiration for a new project. 

By then, Mr. P was second guessing his exertion after a very late night of Yankees and some wine......and Mrs. P was hunting through her purse for some migraine meds. The pups were snoozing on the porch and before plans could be made to go look for a bathroom contractor, both Poms were snoring and drooling on the porch. 

 What is more deliciously decadent than sleeping on a sunporch in the middle of the day, the breeze tickling your  feet and the sun dancing through the leaves, creating a light show on  closed eyelids?

The  church bells at 1:00 is the wake up call for a lunch of canteloupe and proscioutto  with Rainier cherries and parmigiano reggiano cheese.

The Empress is visiting,  reading the NY Times and regaling the crowd  with tales of shopping bargains. Tonight, Mr. Pom is grilling salmon and baby lamb chops, and there is gnocchi with pesto and asparagus to prepare.  Dessert is courtesy of the new Itaian bakery - a spot so enticing that weight loss surgery patients have been known to swoon from the fumes......

Mr. Pom is off to mail The Teen a care package. She requested New York goodies. Schemes were devised to package her some dirty dogs and sauerkraut, but saner heads prevailed. 

She is at The Newseum in D.C. today. Next Saturday, she will be traveling to NY to go to galleries and spend the night in the city. A fast and furious instant messaging session burned through the wires last night as she was warned to be prepared for her old and doddering parents to stalk her outside MOMA, with hand-lettered signs asking, "Where is The Teen??" and dogs baying at her scent.

Does she think she can come to the city after a three-week absence and not see her parents, whatever the cost to her cool quotient?

Silly Pomegranates girl!

Into Each Life a Little Rain. . .

Last night at midnight, I was awoken by a massive, rolling boom of thunder followed by an intense bolt of lightning right over the house. I jumped right out of the bed and Bella Sera jumped off the floor and stared at me as if to say, "What are you humans doing now?"

Within seconds, the wind began to shriek and there was a thunder, wind, and rain storm the  likes of which I haven't seen since we left Memphis.  The wind shear was incredible  and the rain was coming in horizontal sheets as thick as snow. The trees were bending, garbage cans were flying across lawns, and the street light across the road blew out in a million sparks. Soon hail starting hitting the windows and we decided it was best to step away from them.

Mr. Pom and I flew around and shut doors and windows and mopped up water and then just stood transfixed by the bedroom window and watched the force of the wind and water rip apart trees.  And then we realized that Cucciolo was in his crate in the guest room with all the window opens. He was calmly sitting there waiting for us to explain why he was getting wet inside the house.

It was over in ten minutes and by the time I thought to turn on the TV, it was passing across the Long Island Sound to Port Washington and I thought of a few people I knew who would be worried. Police cars soon appeared at either corner of our street as trees and wires were down.

I was just happy that all three kids were away so if anything happened, they'd inherit the  house mortgage. I was especially glad The Teen was away because she has a little PTSD from her early years in the hall closet in Memphis while the tornado sirens were going off. (I found out today that she was online at imdnight with her cousin here so she knew all about it and was tracking the storm online. HELLO: thanks for calling the parents and giving us the heads up!)

This morning, sister A told me that there was a tornado warning and the civil defense  screen came on the TV (she watches late night TV). She got her kids into the stairway to the basement. Sister M told me she ran out onto her front porch to secure her objets d'arts and furniture (what a gal!).  The next town over had so much hail that they had to get out the snowplows in July. Today it looks like a warzone with giant trees snapped in two, old, huge trees upended roots and all, and piles of limbs on every street corner.

I know I was a little bored, what with being sick for the last SIX WEEKS, and really ill over the long weekend, but honestly, I'd rather be bored than have these late night wake up calls. Really, I won't complain about the weather anymore, okay? Cool and rainy is okay over hot and thundery.

And Mr. Pom? He had to be practically pushed out of bed to help me shut everything and then he was able to go right back to sleep. I was coming down off of hyperventilating and he was already snoring. Sister A said her heart was pounding for quite awhile after her family was fast asleep.

Look, weather gods, this is NEW YORK, not Memphis, not Kansas City. We do NOT get tornados.  When our buildings get knocked down, it's by terrorists, not tornados. 

What's the world coming to?

Currently Contemplating:

• How I would do if I had to perform my job in front of a crowd, whilst singing and flipping molten lava hot sugar up into the air?
• If Ace of Cakes cakes actually taste good since they are worked on for days and handled by so many people?
• If anyone around here makes sugar free Italian lemon ice - or watermelon flavor?
• How long it takes for Augmentin to kick the ass of a sinus infection?
• How many days I can leave early due to above without my boss freaking out and assigning me to the bowels of the courthouse to cover the pro se cases for a week?
• Where I can find robin egg's blue linen to make slipcovers for my fugly chenille couch?
• If it would be incredibly tacky to use the blog to ask if anyone has contacts for jobs in mechanical engineering for a certain college graduate son?
• Why I didn't check to see if we had any nail polish remover in the house before painting my nails fire engine red....badly.

Inspired By

Thursday's style section of the New York Times -

The Lettered Set

Mrs. Kargman has a stationery wardrobe which includes,

miniature raspberry-colored notecards with chocolate borders that say “Jill and Harry” (Harry is her husband), made by the Printery in Oyster Bay, N.Y., a century-old stationer from which she also orders white “empire”-size notecards with red borders and her initials; correspondence cards from Kate Spade printed with her first name; and pale gray sheets of writing paper with a white border from the Grosvenor Stationery Company in London.

I am a stationery fiend like Mrs. Kargman, though not of her class since I had never heard of the term, "social papers", which aparently have a specific definition, to wit:

real “social papers” are not boxed cards with your initial from your corner stationer. Social papers are made with hand-cut dies, a universe of fonts and stock in shades like creamy ecru, tobacco or artichoke, to name a few of the offerings at the Printery.

Lucky thing my ignorance, for despite luscious colors like artichoke, seems that "social papers" start at " $350 for 100 of Dempsey & Carroll’s best seller, the No. 3 notecard; $500 will get you tissue-lined envelopes to match."

But who wouldn't like a set of stationery as diverse as their wardrobe?? Well, I would - even if most my missives appear on a glowing screen and blinking cursor.

Can't afford $350 for 100 or just despair of using other than tissue-lined envelopes?

Shop Etsy!

These zinnia cards are from Sarah Parrot's gorgeous shop.

As are these peony flat cards. Which to order?? Not really a need to decide between the two since they are $3.50 and $8.00 respectively you can get both.

Letterpress offers this lovely tandem bike card.  The color sings summer and the paper looks so creamy and lush with its deep embossing.




Beautiful vintage letterpress cut from inkadoodle.




While not stationery, wouldn't you love to pull one of these lovelies out of your bag to jot down your grocery list?

And sometimes, less is more.....

These are so summery - brings me back to dating Mr. Pom and trips to Playland on summer nights.

 

How about these for a punch of summer!

Can't break the email habit??

 

These will reassure you. 

Can't choose? Want them all?

Then this option is for you: the card of the month club! Really cool retro designs sure to please.