Spring ReDux
The Last Weekend In June

Snarkily We Roll Along

I decided to return to the world of blogging with not a splash but a flutter of angel wings as I blithely told you of my renewed artistic passion, vision, and spirit and my idealized embrace of all that is my life, heretofore known as: Mrs. Pom, Lifestyle Guru. 

Yes, you can have it all. Yes, you can remain fulfilled and relaxed and fun and organized and all good things all the time. You can!

Except when you cannot.

Which is most of the time.


The combined effects of this:



Plus this:



Left me gaga for at least 5 days and I resolved to only post lyrical, artful, coy posts about friendships and farm to table meals and the authenticity of hands pulling hand-dyed floss through antique Belgian linen.

So I pulled out sketchbooks and novel drafts and the sewing machine,  redesigned the blog not that any of you noticed  AND I even volunteered to MAKE AN APRON to send to a good cause in Australia (I swear there were hallucinogenic 'shrooms in Meleen's salads).

And begun working on ...... .....nothing.


Yeah, two weeks of back to work and it all wore off. 


But it IS my favorite season of the year: very late spring/early summer. Today there is a bright orb formerly known as the sun in the sky, the bedroom drapes are blowing in the breeze, and it is 90 freaking degrees, which I actually love cause I am craaazy about summer.

I am back from an afternoon of mind-numbing, tedious questioning of a witness in a over-air conditioned court reporting office in Queens and that, combined with the battle known as the Van Wyck Expressway (what an oxymoron that is), have transformed zeal into ennui. Throw in the disaster of my room, wherein everything I tried on this morning when it is was cool and cloudy is flung on chairs and bed after I found out it would be murky and 90's,  has left me lying (laying?) on the unmade, laptop on my abdomen, and ceiling fan doing nothing more than showering me with dust motes.

Add in one of the dogs licking his crotch (penile) next to me and shaking the bed, plus the appointment tomorrow afternoon to find out why I've had a headache for about a year (stress/migraines/tumor: you decide!) and I'm about done in for the day.

Yet, as I walked the thoroughfare of the world known as Sutphin Boulevard, passing both the Supreme and Civil Courts, listening to the polyglot of languages, particularly a middle aged couple from India yelling loudly with finger-pointing at each other and the woman repeatedly yelling "Mamma! Mamma! at him in some musical dialect, I came to the realization that I love the city in the summer.

Give me sticky sidewalks, littered gutters, tarry roads, exhaust-belching busses, and restaurants sending out sulphurous blasts of garlic, and I feel alive!

(Very entertaining to watch a man in suit and tie hurriedly walking down the street with a vanilla custard cone in each hand,  quickly licking one and keeping a worried eye on the other as it was leaning precariously in full melt, and making me wonder how far he had to walk to get to the intended recipient of the other cone before it smashed on the ground....)

I really do love it.

As long as I can get into my air conditioned car and not a subway.


In some ways, summer in the city is so much more entertaining than even Cape Cod. It makes me feel like I really am in the heart of things and not just piddling my time away wondering, when can I move to CC, when can I move to CC, as I am wont to do. 

Like most highs, of course, there is a crash and I am in full crash mode as I wait for Mr. Pom to bring home a small anchovy pizza cause it's too hot to cook the refrigerator full of veggies that are rotting and too annoying to do anything after watching more videos that sisters sent me  of Squishy in his little flotation device bobbing around in the pool with them-who-are-not-the-grandmother.

So entertain me, please, with tales of your handspun days of painting and writing and eating shrimp cocktails with bellinis on sidewalk cafes.