pomegranatesandpaper

Corseted on a Saturday Morning

 

 

A gorgeous Saturday morning and I'm sitting on my bed writing to you. Oh, I didn't mean that as nastily as it sounds. Just that Mr. Pom had an epidural injection in his lower back so he is laid up, the dogs are begging to be run, walked, played, petted, and I have to go somewhere to be fitted for a longline strapless bra (or corset bra as the seamstress said but that sounds so yucky) for my dress for the wedding before I can have it altered. Cranky I am cranky.

Can I tell you how much I hate being fitted for a bra? If I shared how old my three (3!) bras are, you would click off and never come back. It is the type of female maintenance that I despise spending time and money on, along with manicures/pedicures, and having things waxed. It's not that I'm not into my appearance.  I just hate the time and money spent. As I said to my sister this morning, I will drop a bundle at Amazon on a load of books, but ask me to spend the same for a bra at Victoria's Secret and you'll have to put a gun to my head.

I grew up in such a different world than my girls. I always felt badly that The Princess had me as a mother. I was rather perplexed at her need to always wear purple and pink; her wont to search for lipsticks in other women's purses; and her desire to fashion an outfit rather than put on clothes every single day. She's the same way now and I adore her style and think know that she has influenced my style more than I have ever influenced her's.

Luckily, she had my mother as her grandmother, so she had someone to play manicurist with, give her a nail care kit for her birthday, and then, in turn,  encourage her grandmother to go get her first professional manicure.Of course, her grandmother is my mother, but it didn't work that way with my mother and I when we were growing up. Not sure why. Different times, I suppose, and too many daughters to run after.

When I grew up (long suffering sigh by children), cool, intellectual girls either didn't wear make up or wore heavy kohl eyeliner and white lipstick (what a look). NO ONE wore nail polish. NO ONE had manicures.  NO ONE, especially your uber-hip professors with Frye boots and sterling silver hoop earrings.

When I started working as a lawyer, I had about two nickels to rub together. I bought a dark black suit and a dark blue suit, a pair of Etienne Aigner pumps, and thought I was all that. There were heated discussions at the Women's Bar Association about whether we should just wear pantsuits into a certain judge's courtroom and then complain to the judicial commmittee when he threw us out or whether our representation of our clients came first. Oh, the days of controversy over pantsuits! Now  women attorneys arrive in court with backless mules and halter dresses. Which attitude is more offensive: the judge's back in the day or mine now?

At my first job, I remember that the young  receptionist in the small firm I worked in drove my boss crazy because she never wore make up, had her long thick hair loose and frizzy, and never tweezed her bushy eyebrows. He asked me to talk to her about her appearance and ask her to dress more professionally and put on  make up.

NO way,  I told him. I wasn't a charter subscriber to Ms. Magazine just to turn on a fellow (?) woman and tell her that she had to look purty in order to greet the clients! When I discussed this with a friend from lawschool who had just started her own firm, she set me straight that my boss was completely right in wanting a more professional, polished appearance for the person who greeted the clients. It was a difficult balancing of philosophies.

30 years later, I am a big proponent of dressing professionally and appropriately  whatever your job, however, I still would never have that conversation with an employee unless they were wearing risque clothing or slovenly dressed. Even in that situation, the fine line between an HR greivance and appropriate managerial supervision is a very fine line (and I'm not a manager anyway so this is purely hypothetical).

I still feel that pull, though, between the stripped down world I grew up in where feminism and intellectualism were the valued ideals versus today where the branding and marketing of of "self" is the sine qua non of success. I should qualify that the "stripped down world I grew up in" was a combination of being raised as a barely middle class, conservative Italian Catholic plunged into a public high school and radical college where drugs, sex, rock and roll, and fierce feminist intellectualism was the gold standard.

I supposed that our 1970's "self-branding" just had a different set of accoutrements than today's. We were just as rigid in what was acceptable and what was not; I have friends who haven't talked to me in thirty years because I got married at 25. One friend never returned my phone calls after she was at my house and heard me refer to my husband as "honey". Those same friends are now friending me on  Facebook and posting pictures of their own children's graduations from Ivy colleges and Martha Stewart-style weddings.

Is it any wonder that my generation is so screwed up? We are still waiting to drop out and drive our VW van through the desert, searching for Carlos Casteneda to reveal his power spots and share his mushrooms so we can forget about our 401(k)'s, when in reality we'll be working to one hundred to pay for our unemployed kids' expensive educations.  

All this on a beautiful Saturday morning, just because I have to get fitted for a corset bra.

I say no more.

 

Tuesday Trivia

 

1. Mr. Pom is running home to pay the taxes. The man is a CPA/CFO. I say no more.
2. The Bride To Be is at the Yankee game with The Groom to Be, who is already getting freebies from his 2-day old job.
3. Where are my freebies? Nada.
4. My dog walker told me that she is seriously in love with Bella Sera. It's easy to love a dog who looks like a seal with legs, even when her breath smells like poop. I say no more.
5. It is officially faux summer. The Bride To Be went to the Beach. 
6. I am waiting for Blackbird to tell us if she went to the beach with K.
7. Where's my beach day. I say no more.
8. I bought a new suit. It has a cream linen double breasted jacket. I never wear cream; I never wear linen. I had the pants hemmed at the tailor cause I never get around to it and wanted to wear the suit in this century. I looked good.
9. I dropped an entire triple venti skim cap half on my new suit and half in the car at 7:00 a.m. this morning. I say no more.
10. I drove 72 miles round trip for a arbitration conference that took 10 minutes. The arbitrator told me to call in next time. And that Lord & Taylor's was across the street. Twenty years ago I would have thought he was sexist. Now I just thanked him and went to Lord & Taylor's. 
11.  I am thrilled to death to find navy blue sling backs with a low heel in "wide" that are so comfortable.
12. I realized that my mother had or has the same pair. I say no more.
13. My lilacs and azaleas are in full bloom. Where's my Mother's Day present?
14. My elderly neighbor allows the little kids from the new family across the street to use his large side yard for games. I was scraping the dinner plates into the garbage when I heard a little "Hi!" and looked up to see a 4 year old 3 feet from my window. I like hearing kids in the neighborhood again.
15. Boo to the Amsale for making very shoddy off the shoulder grecian style flowy chiffon gowns that looked, in a word, "Ugh".
16. Props to the Mother for dragging The Bride to Be to Lord & Taylor and finding replacement bridesmaids gowns - for half the price.
17. I am quietly eating the one bag of Jelly Bellys that we didn't give away at Easter. Every time I walk into the kitchen, I have just 5. How many calories can that be??
18. I am always in the kitchen.
19. Almost have given up on watching "Smash" because Grace, without Will, is really, really bor-ing.
20. I just want to grab a bag, 2 dogs, 1 husband, and take off to the Cape for the rest of the week. I say no more.

Sunday Drives

 

Looking for a little seaside town hereabouts. Not polished white homes with tubs of pansies, but houses that grew wings and arms instead of standing still through time's passing.

 

 

A well-worn sea town too bare knuckled to need a taffy store, but with enough sense of origin that tattoo parlors outrun nail salons and self-tanning spas.

 

 

The kind of town where once grand sea captains' homes still harbor families that throw their nets into the sea.

 

A town where divers found treasure from the dumpsters of the seas and flaking paint advertises the winds that guide the ships ashore.

 

 

 

And always a church to anchor it all, bringing calm to Sunday mornings following raucous Saturday nights.

 

 

Where those that deserve it most, have the best view.

 

 

I am dreaming of that little town where even Mary calls upon sea serpents to guard the doors.

 

 

 

 

Where proud obelisks spike the marine layer perfumed with sea and bear witness to the names of the sailors and lovers that stumbled into port.  Where tumbledown grabs you by the throat and you have to pick your way carefully around whatever floats up on the shore, lest you lose your way and remain there, evermore.

 

 

But if you do, and your once proud flesh is sunken into the earth, let it be marked by two sticks that once kept you afloat, sturdy prow, neat bow, plank by plank your death and your salvation. Let your flesh leach into the soil and your bones soak into the ground water until you float, cell by cell across the ocean on the jet stream, only to return captured in a barnacle glued to the back of a whale that breaches across the sound on a day heavy with sky, a tail slap echoing across the centuries. 

Saturday

We didn't get to the Cape, after all. Allergies were on high alert and Mr. Pom was like a pretzel after a week of work. Although we went to bed feeling sorry for ourselves, today turned out fine. Seems he just needed a good rest and some anti-inflamms and by the afternoon, he mowed the lawn and did a little raking. Not too much, though! We grilled a pork loin and roasted asparagus and ended the day watching War Horse.

 

Remember my post a month or two ago when I had decided to keep 3 journals? Like most of my resolves, it sounded better in the announcement than in the execution. Not only haven't I kept 3 journals, I haven't managed to do much journal work of any kind. I was in a seminar all day Friday and when I found myself getting sleepy from the allergy medicine, I reached for my journal so I could sketch while I listened to the lecture. It was then that I realized that I not only didn't have one with me, but couldn't remember when I last did.

So I did what any good journaler does, I used whatever was at hand. I turned over the course description, took out a ball point and sketched through the morning. I wouldn't want anyone to think the seminar was boring because it actually was quite good. It's just that I cannot sit in one place for several hours without my hands doing something. Some doodle; I sketch. I find that the drawing allows my mind to listen without wandering.

I am sure our speaker would find my depictions rather crude; he was a much more handsome man than I could render in my lap discretely. A quiet seminar in a room overlooking Grand Central Station on a Friday is quite a nice way to end the week.

 

 

When I got home, I went searching for my journal, the one I carry with me. Gosh, is it possible that I hadn't worked in it since our February trip to Baltimore? Yes, sadly so.

 

 

Then I  remembered that I'd taken a big journal with me on our last trip to the Cape, which was just a few weeks ago.  Months, weeks - neither are acceptable increments by which to measure journal entries.

I got my journalingcomeuppance when I was on the patio in the sun at Starbucks this afternoon. I had my oversized journal totebag with me, filled with a fat plastic zipper bag stuffed with  pencils, markers, and pens; a ziplock bag with gluesticks and small scissor; washi tape; collage imagery; TWO journals (large and small); and Peerless watercolors. After a half hour, all I'd managed to do was drink my coffee and the bag remained unopened at my feet.

Along came a nondescript man dressed in shorts and a baseball jersey. He moved a chair into the shade and sat a table under an umbrella across from me. He took out a crumpled plastic bag from Barnes and Noble and pulled out a pencil, pen, and a sharpener. He caught my attention when he began meticulously sharpening his pencil and blowing off the shavings. Then he took out a small, black, hardbound sketchbook. He leafed through page after page of beautiful, clear sketches of people. He sat and drew for a minutes, and got up and left.

My journal bag remained at my feet as if it were too heavy to lift onto the table. Maybe it was. In more ways than one.

The Moments Between

 

Easter was relaxed and lovely and filled with good food and no one even freaked out over the fact that the bridesmaids gowns, ordered 15 months ago, were a hot mess at the fitting and now we have 6 weeks to find new ones.

Ahem.

In between, The Bride's very old car needs a very expensive repair and the couple experienced their first joint financial decision and I'm proud to say they managed it very well.

 

In the good news column, they found a wonderful apartment, right across from a nearby train station, and in the exact location they wanted.

 

Me, I am riding the high of spring. I have to fight the urge to turn the wheel north towards the Cape every day on my way back to the office from court. I am entranced with how long the blooms have lasted on the trees and how slowly they are shedding the blossoms and turning green. The warm days and cold nights have drawn out this process and the beauty of the white blossoms slowly tinging with green each day leaves me speechless and wistful every morning.

 

 

I have not managed to plant a single bulb since we've lived here. The fall just seems to get away from me in the garden. So instead, I am filling the house with flowers and enjoying the variety of the blooms. The sweet bouquet above was a gift from The Fiance's family for Easter. So charming and so thoughtful.

 

 

Mr. Pom brought me home a pink hydrangea. He knows my favorite flowers. I never worry about the color of the hydrangeas because I know that  once planted in the garden they will slowly deepen to a lilac just one breath between pink and purple.

 

The Easter meal is eaten and the dishes put away. It is 6 weeks to the wedding. There are dresses to find, alter, hem; shoes to be bought and wraps to be found; program, table numbers, and placecards to be printed; and the seating chart to be done - again and again. 

How lovely amidst all the "busy-ness" is the season quietly advancing, the trees festooning, the gardens greening, the bulbs bursting, and the birds twittering outside my window at dawn.

This weekend we are headed to the Cape. I don't think the lilacs are in bloom yet, but I am going to rent a bike and take my favorite trail through Brewster and check them out. There are lilac hedges there that are over two stories high. They are waiting for me to get off my bike, take out my watercolors, and try to capture that moment between pink and purple on the page.

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Take Me In

 

Mr. Pom and I have a secret. 

There's a lot going on at our house. So many comings and goings and events to get ready for. We barely have a minute to breathe.

 

Thursday night, I informed Mr. Pom that Easter weekend had the following itinerary earmarked for his involvement:

Friday night:

• Pick up Micalangela from the train station
• Go with her to the car show (their dad/daughter thing)

Saturday:

• Take dogs to park
• Drop off and pick up a ton of dry cleaning (change of season clothing time)
• Take his car to be de-doggified for the following trips
• Go to men's store with groom, groom's brother, son, bride, and wife to select suits for groomsmen
• Eat lunch in the car
• On the way to Brooklyn for bridesmaids' fittings

Sunday:

• Take dogs to park
• Vacuum first floor
• Buy bagels
• Assist wife with setting up dining room
• Start charcoal grill
• Go to Mass
• Grill the lamb (with fava beans)
• Entertain all afternoon
• Drive Micalangela to train station to go back to school
• Do office work in evening

 

I'm sure I'm leaving something out, but why belabor the point. We're BUSY, fella!

 

Mr. Pom: When we ever have a weekend that isn't jam-packed??

Mrs. Pom: June 4th, the weekend after the wedding. Oh wait!! That's the weekend Micalangela gets out of school and we probably have to go to Baltimore to get her stuff.....

So maybe that wasn't a good reply.

To keep the poor man happy, I realized I had to give him the carrot at the end of the stick. After all, it's been a busy time and he has a challenging job and a bad back and he's getting a little...testy.

 

But deep down, I think he is dreading the after-the-wedding letdown. Sure, he's talking about how we are not going to do ANYTHING but go to the outer beach and read. Truth is, we've gotten used to The Princess and The Fiance being around all the time. The Fiance is as obsessed with baseball as Mr. Pom. They watch a lot of sports together and argue about lots of stats.

I think he's figuring out that it's going to be pretty quiet around her in a month or two.

So we have a secret plan.

 

We're going to move.

We're going to get our house ship-shape (that ought to take a year at least) and then look for a house/condo/loft/shack/shed near the water. Any water. 'Cept a sewage plant. I gave him from Brooklyn to Greenwich Ct to look.

Now if you live in the metro area you know how funny that is. There ain't no places on the water we could afford from anywhere to anywhere in New York. But we could get NEAR the water.

After we made this simple plan, we both perked up. We are looking forward to stage two.

As you can see from the pics I've posted through this post, we are not discounting moving to Brooklyn. We'd like DUMBO, please. Preferably a 2-bedroom that takes 2 big ol' dogs. Or Park Slope. (If forced, we'd consider City Island.)   And a lottery ticket to pay for either area, 'k?

The best plan would be for MM to buy our house. He loves where we live and it's right round the corner from his best friend. He's big on barbecuing, entertaining, and fixing things up. (Sounds like Mr. Pom 20 years ago.)Then we could move to Gramercy Park, with Julia Roberts. Or The Dakota with Yoko.  Or to the West Village. Only thing is that his job is 90 minutes away.

 

We'd like a loft. With a large terrace where we can entertain, have raised planters, and space for the dogs to bark at everyone who walks by. Or a brownstone with an enclosed garden in the back.

We're not fussy.

We're just aware that we thrive on dreams. We've done crazier stuff before. We're impulsive. We're adventurous. And having a dream means the big events in our lives are not over, but just continuing.

 

Cue the music:

Happy talk, keep talking' happy talk,Talk about things you'd like to do,You gotta have a dream, if you don't have a dream,
How you gonna have a dream come true?

So we do.

Buona Pasqua! !

We thought you'd like a tour of Pomegranates Easters Past whilst you digest your breakfast of waffles and ham, jelly beans and chocolate bunnies, cheese and cookies.

What?

Are we the only family who sanctions chocolate Easter bunny ears as brunch? Come on now, I bet you've already had chocolate-covered Matzhoh and handful of Jelly Bellys before you took your shower.

 

We are having a "quiet" Easter, which in our parts means that one of my sisters' family are elsewhere, so it is just "us" -the Pomegranates, The Fiance, MM's J, The Empress, Mar, and then my youngest sister and her family for dessert. We are celebrating this wonderful weather, the health of everyone in the family, the impending marriage, and the wonder and surprise of our growing, older family, a continual delight and adventure.

Take our tour of Easters past and then get outside - it's gorgeous in the northeast and I hope it is fine wherever you are!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Holidays

 

I haven't worn an Easter hat since I was in grade school. I think it is a shame that women stopped wearing hats. I think I would enjoy going to court with a large brimmed, very austere, tilted hat shading half my face. I could be quite brusque and in control with a large flying saucer hiding half my face, causing my adversary to bend over to see my expression.

The photo is from a few years ago when we helped our sweet Aussie Sallianne make hats for her daughter's high school's production of ....oops, I 've forgotten what the play was! But whatever it was, it involved lots of beautiful hats and we were more than happy to go play with sun hats, silk flowers, ribbons, and glue guns.

 

This little clump of violets has had one or two flowers since February - yes, February. But the lamb's ear just came out last week and the cherry blossoms are putting on a good show for the weekend.

This week has been busy in a good way. After coming home for several days determined to go to the gym and blowing it off, I decided that this week is my Easter break and I will return to the gym next week. I was too busy to remember to request any days off and my colleagues beat me to it, so I am working all this week and next. Just as well since I need to conserve my days this year due to TW and Micalangela moving off campus in the fall.

So instead of going to the gym, I did some things I never get to do. I went to The Empress's apartment and delivered a palm for her. She missed Palm Sunday for the first time in her life. We told her to stay home since she was recuperating from a cough. And she listened! While I was there, I set up her Ipad so she can download books for free from our library system. That only took about an hour. Seriously, municipalities - please hire professionals to develop websites with clear instructions. Anyhoo, she was very happy until she went to read it that night and called me in a panic that she couldn't find it. The book, not the Ipad. I directed her to her Kindle app and all was well.

 

 

This is the inner clump of hosta that was left after I planted all the other pips. I just didn't have the strength to cut it up.

 

Yesterday, as the dogs dragged me into the house, I realized that this week is the last week I will be able to transplant some perennials. The front of the garden has become impossibly overcrowded. There is a hosta that is about 4 feet wide when in full growth. I tried to dig it up mid summer last year and it was like trying to move cement. Right now, it is only about 6 inches above ground. So I quickly put a dry rub on the pork loin we were having and threw it in the oven and the dogs in the backyard. Armed with shovel, spade, and a pick, I slowly worked my way around the plant, cutting off small sections by stomping up and down on the shovel and patiently shaving off pips.

I had to be patient - I was right by the sidewalk and my neighbor was tending his yard across the street. Thus, no cursing or crying allowed. Once I realized that the small shovel was sharper and easier to manipulate, I got into the rythmn and was finished in about an hour with a little break to check on pork and pups.

 

Be strong and multiply little hosta-ettes! Grow quickly and shade out all the weeds that like to spring up here by the front door!

 

I was lucky that the ground next to the walk by the side of the house was already prepared and I quickly dug a trench and deposited about 20 pips in a row. They will get quite large and provide a uniform border just where we need it, up against an ugly chain link fence of our neighbor's.

I'm glad I took my work out in the garden instead of the gym because I am now laid up with a sinus infection. I've been nursing it for two weeks with Claritin D, but when I woke up this morning and my gums hurt, I knew it was time to get to the doctor. She told me to go home and go to bed, but it was back to the office as I have to cover court tomorrow and Monday, not to mention have Easter, so I cut out of the office as soon as I could and came home for a long nap. I am awake right now as I try to figure out something to have for dinner for myself and then I will probably be asleep by 8.

Need my rest - not only am I having Easter here, but we have to go to Brooklyn on Saturday for Micalangela's second bridesmaid dress fitting. Hmmm - perhaps it will involve a sidetrip to Jacques    Torres again? For some Easter goodies?

Happy Easter! Happy Passover!

 Have a gorgeous weekend!

Palm Sunday

 

We are catching our breath  this weekend. We have no appointments, no commitments, and no events. We are tending to our house, which has been long neglected all winter, and lying low, getting a little rest and alone time before Easter weekend.

Saturday morning, we took the Mini in to the city and had our coffees. It was cold and overcast and raining lightly. We got our front window seats and were soon joined by two ladies close in age to my own, who were very busy catching up with each other and their families.

I had Daphne with me, and was deep into the cover up of Mr. Symington's theft of several Bronte manuscripts and holding my breath when the new wife, in this novel of telescoping  plots based on Du Maurier's life, runs into the old wife Rachel (the new Rebecca).

I couldn't help but be distracted, though, by the conversation of the ladies only two feet away from me. There were emails and texts being dictated and edited by one to the other. I thought it odd that one friend was guiding the other friend on how to write an email to her own daughter, including reminding her more than once to add "love and kisses". I wondered what caused the estrangement between the mother and daughter that a friend had to tutor her in adding  a tone of motherly love and care into a short email.

My book lay open in my lap while I sipped my coffee. Head in hand, I turned and stared out the window at the upper east side street, the trees in blossom with a halo of green where the top buds were leafing out. Expensive cars lined the curbs and next door the rain streaked the bronze plaque of the art gallery's sign and gathered in puddles around a sculpture.

The weather was typical early Spring, much more natural than the sandal-wearing sun of the past few weeks. It felt right to be sitting in this Italian cafe and be looking through rain-streaked windows out at the street while huge plastic eggs stuffed with Italian Easter chocolates lined the cafe counter.

It was terribly romantic. Mr. Pom had on his reading glasses and was lost in the paper. My coffee was hot, my frittata was warm, and I was just sleepy enough to appreciate the darkened skies and the quiet of the nearly empty cafe.

We haven't had much time to just be with each other and sit with no frantic schedule of errands and appointments gridded out for the remainder of the day.  Mr. Pom has had a wonky back for several months and the last few weeks have worn on him terribly. When he reaches the stage of not talking and sleeping as much as possible, my emotions  ratchet up and sleep is just a long stare at the ceiling as he snores.

Such are the codependencies of long relationships. A tone of voice, a lagging step, is all it takes to upend a day or a week. Tangled in the threads of years, we try to tie off our emotions into tidy bundles of me, you, and us, but there really is only "we", a tightly woven weave that threatens to smother us the more struggle against it.  So we tug at the frayed edges, then watch in dismay as the unraveling leaves  emotions bare and in the struggle to cover them up, we fling barbs and accusations that stick to us like burrs. 

And then once more, a bright hello, a quickness of step in the front door at night, and we fit together again, feeling neither too tight nor too loose, and we each exhale slowly released from our own spaces.

I love the city in the spring. I love the store windows bright with color and the luxury of the Bradford pears heavy with a blizzard of blooms. I love the city's self-conscious decorations, the granite tubs of tulips grandly planted out on Columbus Square and the tall planters of blooms on Madison. I love seeing ladies carrying Kate Spade bags and yellow trenches over jeans and Wellies. I love a flock of little girls headed to temple in pink coats collared in velvet.

The change of any season brings romance to the traffic, the steaming manholes, the hot dog carts, the Asian markets' stands groaning with fruit, and the smell of coffee that stops me in my tracks as we walk down sidestreets searching for a bookstore we are sure we saw a few New year's ago.

Today we hide at home. Mr. Pom is cutting down the stalks of last year in the front bed and carrying loads of wash up and down two flights of stairs. I figure out how to mark 7 pairs of pants on myself, a process that involves many bobby pins and a gridded ruler. The dogs go to the park and then sleep. Church for palms later. A late afternoon appointment to look at an apartment with The Bride and Groom. Miss Havisham on PBS tonight. And so we begin our holy week.

Wednesday With Words

Don't you love to come up with titles for these postings? Sometimes, I don't know the title until I write it. Kind of like I don't know what day I am going to have until it's over.

I've been silent lately, not out of any real issues other than jam-packed days and exhausted nights. We are busy with all things TW, which include for us getting the cottage ready for the season. Time to spruce up, clean, paint, replace pillow covers, shower curtain liners, clean out the gutters, rip out sinks, and buy fabulous cheap new rugs at The Christmas Tree Shop.

Yes, I said rip out sinks.

 

Wouldn't you if your's looked like this:

 

 

See, in my mind, The Cottage looks like this:

 

 

At Micalenagela would say, "Totes Adorbs".

[I have absolutely no idea where I got this photo from except I found it in my saved files. My biggest apologies to the photographer and the homeowner and I hope you are both assuaged by the fact that it quite possible the most adorable home I have ever seen and just what I want The Cottage to look like. Someday.]

Getting to that point is not a job for one person - not even one woman!

When it is time to rip out plumbing fixtures, who to call but a young person with brains, brawn, and lots of power tools:

 

 

Notice how tiny the second bath is. It's really a "bathlette". No one likes to use that shower because they say it is like showering in a coffin. I say, hah! I grew up without a shower and we had to either take a bath or sit in the tub with a hose, that was about two feet long and attached to the faucet with a rubber band that would fly off and shoot water around the room while you were using it, or wash your hair by bending over the kitchen sink.

Can you imagine my two girls doing that?

So they can all just shower like vampires. Why do you need a light to shower? You should know your body parts by hand by now!

Anyway.

Mystery Man cleared his schedule when he was told he'd finally have a chance to use scary saws and soldering irons and he drove us up to the cape as he is a full service plumbing technician.

So not only did we get someone who wasn't afraid to do this,

 

 

we also got to spend some quality time with him and discuss his 5-year plan and his 10-year plan, and yes, he has both. He's an amazing kid. An exact combination of his father (You have to have a good steady job to fund your dreams; you just can't go wandering all over the world) and his mother (I'm working to pay the bills and pursuing my dream at night). Difference is that he is 25 years old and already knows what his dream is and is actively working on it daily.

 

Of course, he didn't change out two sinks all by himself, he had a helper:

 

 

And his father was The Supervisor and Master Craftsman, fine tuning the installation of the faucets and giving advice on how to rip out the other sink without damaging all the 30 year old powder blue tiles.

 

 

The "after" is not that impressive yet:

 

 

It's a tad small - we think we may have bought a sink made for a kindergarten classroom. You'd be surprised how hard it is to find a selection of corner sinks. And if you are looking for one with a cabinet, get ready to float a bond. 

Not to despair, the paint will get touched up and I'll make a pretty skirt. In the meantime, we are internet searching for a larger sink that doesn't cost a fortune.

The larger bath had So Many Problems that I never got in there to take a photos. Picture this: faux marble gray laminate; powder blue sink with enamel worn off; stainless steel faucets so corroded that they looked pitted; and a metal trim around the back and side splashes that was installed UNDER the tile.

Ta-Da:

 

 

It's not quite Carerra marble atop an antique dresser, but until we can rehab the bathrooms, this is so nice and clean. Notice the darling tile and built in soap and toothbrush holders. Vintage midcentury - that's what I'm selling! Also notice the gap between the wall and the top: nothing in this house is plumb.It will be addressed verily.

So we didn't get to Provincetown to see that 40 Right Whales that were swimming unprecedently off Race Point; but we did get to troll the aisles of the Hyannis Home Depot, which has more customer help than every Home Depot in New York combined and, it appears, have all been programmed - or may be robotic - to be extraordinarily helpful and cheerful.

What say ye local Home Depot peeps? You mean you are NOT supposed to say you'll be right back and then disappear for two hours "in the back", leaving us abandoned with half a toilet that we are lugging from aisle to aisle in order to find the part that prevents the water from leaking out the underside thingamajig?

MM worked extraordinarily hard and without complaining. We fed him a lobster roll AND a steamed lobster AND a moon pie, but alas, Sundae School hasn't opened for the season yet so we owe him a hot fudge sundae.

I took down the Christmas tree (let the record reflect that Mr. Pom and both girls have been there over the winter and yet, the tree, wreath, and other decorations, still stood.)

If only we hadn't been stuck on the highway leaving Cape Cod for TWO hours and then had another FOUR hours home, I might have persuaded MM to come back again soon. Eh, by summer he'll have forgotten and he'll make the trip back. And he made it home in time to pick his Fantasy Baseball Team so all is right with the world.

 

WAS "Sunday Morning" But My Phone Ate My Pictures.

Sunday morning, I had planned to jump out and go back into the city this morning. Spring is here in two more days but in New York the sun already has returned and caused the daffodils to unfurl and the trees to bud and the farmers' market to be full of branches of forsythia, cherry, and pussy willow.

[Imagine highly detailed and cleverly cropped close ups of said branches.]

Saturday, the city was all lovely promise as we strolled without coats and got lost in the bustle of Union Square's market that was filled with people scurrying to bring home  armloads of spring.

[insert macro shots of varied and amazing tulips of all colors]

Tulips abounded - oh the varieties and colors! My favorite are the parrots, fringed and striated and absolutely frivolous, just like spring. I gave in to a nosegay of purple sweet peas and all the girls dipped in their noses for a sniff of their heavy scent. I put them by my bedside and as I tossed and turned last night from a sinus problem, their sweetness was lovely.

[insert tightly cropped bits and pieces of fabric that may or may not have been sneak peeks of The Bride's dress]

We were in the city for The Bride to have her first wedding gown fitting. It was quite a production to get us all there. Micalangela is on spring break and has 3 friends staying the week. This necessitated two cars, two drivers, two Iphones to give us directions, numerous travel cups of coffee, and whole wheat bread with egg sandwiches to fortify our early morning outing.

[imagine pic of the most amazing seafood linguine ever made and Maddy's look when she thought she would have to eat seafood still in the SHELLS in order not to seem rude]

Friday night, we had wined and dined them on seafood that Mr. Pom and I whipped up in the kitchen, a mini-faux Christmas Eve whirlwind of a hasty trip to Whole Foods on being informed that the kids were home from Cape Cod, and a riotous use of every pot and pan to steam mussels, clams, poach tilapia, and sauté shrimp in garlic, butter, and white wine. The kids followed it up with frozen yogurt from their favorite place. The grown ups went to bed early due to the wine.

[insert gratuitous shots of OTHER brides' dresses and over-the-top Nina Panina corseted mannequins. ]

After Mr. Pom lost us on a crucial turn,  we arrived at Kleinfelds,  all stressed out and bushed and almost forgot why we were there. Her roommates, however,  were wide-eyed, especially when we realized they were in the middle of filming. We got to see a very thin blonde bombshell of a bride wearing an over the top heavily swagged ecru satin gown wiping her eyes as her friends and crew clapped when she said yes, to the dress. I wonder if ever gets old? Didn't for us.

 

By the time we found our way downstairs and our fitter, a lovely woman named Janet, pulled the silk curtain to allow The Bride to don the gown she has not seen in18 months, my heart was in my mouth as little murmurs of dissatisfaction had been registering all week: is it too this? or too that? What if? Should I have tried more? Is it too late?

And, I needed more caffeine and some food, stat.

[imagine my daughter's lovely face in the biggest smile I've ever seen]

So when Janet suddenly pulled back the curtain and The Bride was standing in her finery, we suddenly remembered why we were there. I felt my whole body relax and we all let out a "yay". The Bride was happy, so happy, and loved it, and so did we. She was a little suspect that I was not wiping away tears, but I was so relieved that she was happy, that instead of tears all I could do was grin from ear to ear and pump my fist in a "YES!"

Then the tedious part came, the pinning and the tucking and the hemming. We watched as other brides came into the fitting rooms and were similarly stitched up, bustled, nipped, and tucked. We were bemused by a groom who had wandered off with an espensive brooch in hand and the saleswoman was trying to calmly ask the bride to call him as her job would be on the line should he ..err, wander off too far. We were giddy when the alterations manager, a lovely accented older woman familiar from the show, poked her head in and said hello, you look lovely! to the bride.

[insert pic of Mr. Pom sulking on a couch when told he missed her.]

We looked at shoes covered in peau de soie, satin, crystals, ribbons, and gold. We decided the corset gowns were really just ridiculous, and were alarmed that the the trend seemed to be more and more layers of lacy fussiness, swags, furbelows, and draping, judging by the mannequins with the prime real estate around the waiting room.

[imagine photos of these gorgeously adorned shoes that looked like torture chambers for da feet]

Our bride, well she was the most stunning and tasteful of them all, in her extremely divine gown of which I cannot give you even a syllable of description....

[insert photo of armoire filled with crisp, gingham checked shirts and very preppy ties, then cut away to Mr. Pom with his hands around The Bride's neck as this is the eleventy million time she's changed her mind from tuxes to suits to back again and Time Is Running OUT!!!]

The Bride decided, after viewing a stunning hand-stitched gray suit in the men's section,  that the groomsmen and fathers should wear suits not tuxes (causing Mr. Pom and later at home, the groom, to despair and me to become very anxious because it only two months away and they have nothing and now need to order suits, matching suits, suits that will need to have many fittings??). Hard to blame her, though,  since they had cleverly paired the suit with an array of striped and gingham-checked shirts with paisley ties, all in blues and greens and purples and as prepped out for spring as possible and thus, near to our hearts

Best to stay out of all bridal stores starting now!

That will be hard to do since there are more fittings to go.

[insert and I am not kidding about thirty pics of chocolate roosters, pigs, sunflowers, fish, giant bunnies, chocolate bark, chocolate cookies, chocolate drinks]

After a wonderful lunch, we traipsed to DUMBO for the bridesmaids' fittings. It was such a twisty, torturous trip that we had to fortify ourselves at Jacques Torres's chocolate shop before we could do one more blessed thing. It was a smart move to take that break since we discovered that one gown had to be returned as it had a defective waist, and another had to be "boned" because it was not hanging properly. The Bride could not find a veil that was short enough for her petite stature and we selected a style for the seamstress to create and be picked up later on. I know I could have whipped up the veil myself and saved us probably 75% of the cost,  but best to allow the professionals to tweak to the bride's satisfaction than the MOB, who still hasn't found a wrap/shrug to cover the batwings that she doesn't want swinging into anyone's face as she dances.

In all, we are exhausted. Trying to get Micalangela and friends up and out for the drive back to school. Nearing noon and all are asleep, which is not surprising since they went BACK into the city after 9 last night and didn't return until 3:00, whilst I paced and called to find they'd missed the next-to-last train.

[insert pic of Mrs. Pom slugging on the bed all day]

So my trip to The Frick is on hold; I have lost the diet to Jacque Torres chocolate chocolate chip cookies; a rare slice and a half of pizza; and a sinus inflammation from all the beauteous budding trees. I did clean up my studio and put away all the shower stuff. I do have a bunch of new books I am reading to tell you about. I do not have to make any more marathon meals since bagels are all that Pom B&B is serving this morning, and I may have to stay in my PJ's until a cappuccino calls my name around 3:00.

 [insert pic of purple sweat peas in a jadite vase on my night table. Oh wait. I can actually take that one again. Oh, why bother - use your imagination!]

 

 

We were near Union Square yes

All of Us

 

 

 

Micalengela's final photography project last term was this portrait of our family. She tortured us over Thanksgiving weekend, waiting until we were all overfed and dogtired and then took photos of our er, body parts at close range.

Talk about unwilling subjects! Who wants a camera lens up close and personal with your wattly neck, batwings, or crinkly eyes?

But look at what she wrought from our misshapen selves!

I was overwhelmed when I saw it. I can't stop looking at it. It is truly a mosaic of our lives, a complete capture of our personalities, our family dynamics, and of our separate but wholeness in this stage of our family life.

My favorites are the two dogs at top and bottom, keeping watch over the family and bringing up the rear with their goofiness. Or The Bride's hands. Or my stripey socks. Or MM's controversial Amish period.

Like most artists, after sweating through weeks over it, she's done with it and happy to have me take over and figure out where to hang it. We don't have a wall that it would fit on in our house except the stairs and the logistics are a little mind-boggling since I am not known for my ability to hang  plumb lines.

I'm thinking it should go in the cottage. The kids think renters will find it too intrusive. I think it might be just the thing to remind people to keep their feet off the furniture and not drink Hawaiian Punch on the sofa. Too much?

 

 

Surprise!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday Before The Storm, err... The Shower

Some days my cup runneth over.

 

Somedays they are so full that they slosh, spilling all over my pants and suede boots on the way to court and they I am Very Cranky.

What's a mother to do?

Yesterday, I spent the day glued to the computer, writing up reports, editing motions, and replying to emails. At lunch,  Micalangela sent me pics of off-campus apartments that cost a small fortune even with 4 girls (!) and pics of dresses she was trying on to wear to the shower or shoes she would like me to Zappo for pre-shower delivery; The Bride was texting questions regarding decor; a bakery was emailing me mock ups of bakery stuff that needed to be approved; a friend called to see if I was still alive while I should be calling her because her son is in the military in Afghanistan; and I was making a vet appointment for later afternoon for Bella Sera who was ailing.

Today, my kind boss gave me another day in the office instead of in court so I could further catch up on paperwork and I ended up flying out of there in the middle of the day due to a family medical emergency that turned out not to be a non-issue (thank you, Lord) and now I need to go to the hairdresser before Saturday because my hair has turned completely white.

 

But the crocuses are up! All purple and white and scattered like....crocuses across the lawn and garden.

And The Bride is receiving daily large and mysterious packages in  filled with pretty gifts for their pleasure and enjoyment.

I have rekindled my love affair with the glue gun, after some last minute Shower Stuff. Why did I ever lay you into a plastic coffin, my dear Gluey and bury you in the bowels of the art closet? All forgiven? You will rest forevermore in a place of prominence as I have remembered how much easier it is to plug in than use any one of a number of adhesives that do NOT adhere a calcium-based substance to a wood fiber-based substance. (How's that for throwing The Bride off the track??)

In the meanwhile, small yellow envelopes have been piling in through the mail slot each day as my travels through needlework sites on Etsy have gone far afield. What is more joyous than receiving lengths of perle cotton dyed the shades of the bay on a crystal clear July morning? Soon I hope to actually put needle to thread and actually stitch.

And oh, Mr. Pom, I am so hankering for a Cape visit. I can smell the sea, hear the slap of the waves, feel the wind off the ocean. I want to sit in my backyard and admire the stone wall that we will plant with all manners of bulbs. I want to see the fat buds of the mountain laurel just waiting for Memorial Day to burst into wedding celebration. I want to visit the herring run and watch Mother Nature's infinite miracles on display. I need to sit in the car with sleeping dogs in the back, Mr. Pom in the driver seat, a book in my lap, my journal open, a cup of coffee in hand, and stare at the bay.

Not for another two weeks!

I have a few things left to do shower-wise. I think it is sinking in that my oldest child is Getting Married. That little girl who couldn't pronounce her "l's" and once asked of my mother as she was looking through her purse, "What is that - a yipstick?"

Time enough in a few months for choruses of Sunrise, Sunset, for now I am trying to keep up with the number of dresses and shoes she has bought and returned for The Shower, The Rehearsal Dinner, The June Church Ceremony (later for dat), and keep my outfits on par with hers - ha ha - as if that will ever happen. All I have to say on that score is, Dress Barn, me loves you.

 

I will be back after Saturday. There may be some pictures of the shower, a few, one or two. Right - probably an album's worth.

 

 

While Otherwise Engaged

(all photos featured in this post are not our wedding prep, but are from StyleMePretty.com)

So much wedding fol de rol prep, and it is still almost 3 months away!

The shower is next week, however, so I am a tad busy. (Don't worry, The Bride knows the date, just not the venue.)

Yesterday, sister #2 and I closeted ourselves in my little art room and did all manner of things with ribbons and crepe paper.

 

 

Promise a lengthier post quite soon. Right now, I am very busy initiating a petition to ban all wedding websites, especially DIY wedding websites, from the Internet as being cruel and unusual punishment for innocent brides whose visions of individually-hand-lettered-invitations-printed-on-Venetian-marbelized-paper; vintage-silk-gowns-trimmed-with-hand-dyed-silk-from-1920's-French-purse-linings-found-in-an-abandoned-factory-on-the-Left-Bank; grandmas'-mason-jars-filled-with-lightening-bugs-from-every-city-their-family-every-lived-in-being-released-as-they-leave-the-ceremony; antique chemistry-tubes-of-hand-squeezed-lemonade-and-rose-petals-hanging-from-the-back-of-each-chair-placed-by-the-river-in-the-dell-where-their-fiance-proposed-on-their-hiking-trip-through-Scotland-where-the-ceremony-will-be-held; different-antique-plates-at-each-setting-surrounded-by-DIY-mercury-glass-votives-and-hand-embroidered-ribbons-hanging-from-chandeliers-repurposed-from-the-wagon-wheels-the-groom's-family-used-to-cross-the-prairie; wedding-cake-fondant-hand-tinted-from-grape-must-made-from-the-father-of-the-bride's-boutique-vineyard-on-a-secret-island-in-Boothbay-Harbor-and-flocked-with-gold-leaf-made-from-every-wedding-ring-in-family-history;edible-menus-printed-on-recycled-marzipan-rolled-by-cloistered-nuns-in-Florence;caviar-from-sturgeons-hand-raised-by-the-couple-and-corn-grown-on-their-Red-Hook-farmstead;to be followed by an-night-rockin'-dance-party-where-everyone-is-given-silk-pajamas-to-change-into-and-dance-to-The-Black-Keys-playing-and-angels-serenading;all-of-which-is-photographed-and-Instagramed-in-realtime-for-those-who-could-not-attend, is robbing young couples of their ability to say the simple words, "I do".

 

 

 

I'm just saying. 

 

 

 

 

 

We Were Supposed to Let That Ship Sail (without us)

Sometimes the dithering between couples, the lack of decision, the refusal to take the helm, is for a reason. I have learned to listen to that nagging feeling of dread. Sometimes. Cause I almost always have a nagging feeling of dread and one of these days I may go get a prescription for it.

But back to the point: we didn't go away and the following reasons proved us right:

• heavy rain followed by heavy wind even through last night;
• Mr. Pom got a major flat, which would have been a blow out on the highway; and 
• our 25 year old furnace bit the dust, causing a racket, alarm, and expensive overtime Sunday morning visit .

And if all those things are destined to happen, I'd rather deal with it from home than from 240 miles away.

The bad news is that we have to decide about buying a new furnace for a 100 year old house that will cost almost 5 figures; or spend a low 4 figures just to replace the motor on a 25 year old furnace; or spend just over 5 figures and get a 97% efficient furnace AND CENTRAL AIR.

For once, I was the one saying: Are you out of your mind? Just replace the motor! We have a wedding to pay for!

Then The Son The Engineer (a/k/a Mystery Man) phoned and said, "Mother (oh he's so grown up now!), Dad's right: it is an investment in the capital of the house. You're not going to live there another 25 years and it will make it more saleable." Yeah, whatever. We still don't have the money.

And then he said The Magic Words: "You won't have to hassle with those stupid window a/c units anymore".

Be still my heart! No more being locked in the bedrooms, the only cool places in the hot summer? No more yanking the units in and out and dragging them one flight up to the attic or two flights down to the basement? No more sweating to death trying to fry a burger in the kitchen because there's no a/c in there? No more having guests feel like they are eating next to a jet engine when the monstrous downstairs window unit is on?

OH well, what's a retirement fund anyway? I could get hit by a bus tomorrow!

If you need me, I am under the covers, sitting atop our heated mattress pad. I have a pot roast in the oven just to have it turned on; Mr. Pom has claimed the chair next to the fireplace; The Princess has an electric radiator heater; the dogs will lay on top of me, double the warmth; and we will keep the hot water running after we get out of the shower tomorrow so we can get dresed for work without turning into popsicles.

Of course, a few more 62 degrees would solve all, but it's 31 right now and last night while it was snowing, we noticed that our neighbor's cherry tree had flowered. The magenta blossoms looked pretty with snowflakes on them. 

The winter when no one knew whether they were coming or going.

 

Love & Marriage

What passes for decision-making in the Pom Household, or The Cape Cod Two-Step:

Tuesday, sunny and clear:

Mrs. Pom:  I am so jonesing for the Cape! I need to be at Nauset!

Mr. Pom:    It would be nice....

Wednesday night:

Mr. Pom: We are so going to the Cape! We are getting on the road, baby!

Thursday night:

Mrs. Pom: Can you believe what a glorious day it was? It was 62 - I can't wait to leave for the Cape!

Mr. Pom: I know!

Mrs. Pom: I know, too - I could leave right after court! How early can you leave?

Mr. Pom:  I can't leave early, you know that.

Mrs. Pom: For pity's sake - can't you have a dentist appointment?

Mr. Pom: No - I actually have one next week. Fridays are bad, I can't leave early. Don't start a big thing.

Mrs. Pom: Then let's take Monday off.

Mr. Pom: Mondays are bad. I can't take Mondays. Don't start.

Mrs. Pom: I'm exhausted. It's too much to run up there Friday night and back on Sunday. And Cucciolo never sleeps when we are there. Can we kennel him?

Mr. Pom: Are you crazy? We kenneled him two weekends ago, it's a fortune!

Mrs. Pom: We always get there at 11:00 p.m. and the dog is now wide awake and then we make him go in his crate, and he wakes up at 6:00, and we're grouchy and exhausted all weekend.

Mr. Pom: All right, let's just stay home. It's too much pressure.

Mrs. Pom: Hmmmpf!

Friday morning:

Mr. Pom: I just walked the dogs, it's 30 degrees and raining like crazy.

Mrs. Pom: Do you still want to go?

Mr. Pom: I dunno; I guess.

Mrs. Pom: I'll call you when court is done.

Later:

Mrs. Pom: I'm done. If we leave now, we'll miss the heavy rain.

Mr. Pom: I don't know, it's horrible out, I'm tired, my back is killing me.

Mrs. Pom: Let me call you after lunch.

Later still:

Mrs. Pom checks email from Mr. Pom:

"We have to go whether it's fun or not because we have to make sure the house is okay."

Mrs. Pom calls Mr. Pom: So we're going.

Mr. Pom: I'm not sure, what do you think?

Mrs. Pom: I can barely keep my eyes open.

Mr. Pom: We need to go, but I can't leave early and you have to drive part of the way because of my back.

Mrs. Pom: What?? I don't feel well. Then we have to leave early because I can't drive for 4 hours in the dark and rain. Let's go Satuday morning.

Mr. Pom: I hate that! Drive up one day and back the next? Only if we leave at 4:00 a.m. so we can be there by 8:00.

Mrs. Pom: 4 a.m.! Are you out of your mind? 6:00!

Mr. Pom: Then we won't get on the road until 8:00! We should go today.

Mrs. Pom. I work to do , this is getting nowhere, I'll see you at home.

Later still:

Mrs. Pom: Hey - I left work, I took the dog for her check up, and now I'm home, let's go.

Mr. Pom Go where??

Mrs. Pom: To the Cape!

Mr. Pom: What? We agreed to go tomorrow, you were too tired.

Mrs. Pom: Well, now I'm home and packed and if you leave we could hit the road.

Mr. Pom: Are you kidding me? This is nuts. Now I don't know what to do.....

Mrs. Pom: (clenched teeth) Decide!

Mr. Pom: You convinced me to go tomorrow.

Mrs. Pom: Then you have to pick up the other dog because I'm already home.

Mr. Pom: What?? If I have to drive all the way up there then we might as well leave now.

Mrs. Pom: NO, I need to take a nap, I feel awful.

Mr. Pom: Oh my lord. I'm hanging up.

Mrs. Pom: Hmmpf.

 

30 years, friends, and yet, it never gets old. Love you, Mr. Pom!

Journaling Back to Myself

 

 

Sunday night I was dog tired. A wonderfully busy weekend filled with all good things, but as usual - little in the way of art or writing.

Too tired to do any serious work on a Sunday night. Besides, I am trying to turn off the compunction to be "doing" all weekend long. I decided I deserved a nice cup of tea and and a little linger on the laptop.

I didn't start out meaning to do it, but I found myself deep into Pinterest and art journals and sketchbook blogs. I found myself starting that syndrome of clicking through on link after link, intrigued and attracted by amazing painters, sketchers, and mixed media journal pages. Then I began clicking on paints and watercolor and gouaches and filling out order forms I could never fulfill without going bankrupt.

Then I saw someone's  journal that stopped me cold. I'm sure you all know Pikland, which is an amazing illustration blog. I traced a pin of a pin of a pin and ended up on her blog and ran across this fantastic and completely simple idea: Quoteskine. I know that commonplace books have been around since the beginning of the written word, but I whenever I thought of keeping one, it seemed so detail oriented that I was turned off.

Now, I see Lee Crutchely's  marvelous book and it combines my current passion for lettering (I'm having so much fun addressing the wedding invitations with a calligraphy pen and rich blue ink) and my new somewhat silly fascination with amazing song lyrics that I hear. (One day I will write a post about rediscovering indie music in my 50's and how going to concerts is like rediscovering my twenty-year old self. Soon as I figure out how to do it without embarassing my children.)

 

 

 

 

 

The cool part is the lettering and illustration. I find lettering to be very meditative and having to make only the simplest of decisions such as serif or sans serif is exactly the type of art experience I can handle after a long day at a computer or in court.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can purchase his Quoteskine (I am!) at his shop.

Anyhow, I have started my own Quoteskine, called Words I Live For, which is pretty mundane, but I'm working on a better title.

Over the years, I've tried to keep multiple journals and I have to say that eventually, I don't keep one up and then another and before long, I not keeping a sketchbook or journal at all. I'm not proud to admit that, but my track record ends up with many, many incomplete journals.  I do much better with just one journal that everything goes into.

But I've been thinking about how scattered I feel lately. I can't seem to get any one thing to take hold of me and ground me for a length of time. Maybe I should reconsider keeping multiple journals, if I can figure out how to define them so their categorization leads to a synthesis of work and not a refraction.

Something simple like a  quote journal, but one that allows me to be outrageous with lettering is such a sweet idea for me. When I think of it I just smile! It will be pure play.

Then how about my other preocupation of developing an illustration style? I've been gathering illustration books and bookmarking illustrators whose work I admire and copying their style as a way of training my own hand and eye to develop a style. So instead of  random sketch pages all over the house, why not have a journal that is just for illustration techniques?

A steadfast love of mine is painting, watercolors in particular. I miss it so much as I haven't done any since the fall. I have a gigantic moleskine that I bought on sale and started filling up over the summer, but then it turned into a sketchpad, notepad, and soon it just looked like every other journal I've done - without a point of view.

So why not keep it just for painting, lush, vibrant dreamy paintings? But not just any paintings - for my story paintings. For those characters and stories that flit in and out of my  head, fill mynights with dreams, and get me spinning yarns that might never see the light of day except to me - in my journal.Th journal that would be the most personal, the one that best reflects my dual identity as artist and writer.

It would be - that's right - The Golden Notebook!

Seriously, I can really before I get all Doris Lessing on you and end up overthinking, overintellectualizing, and over analyzing my own creativity, which is what I do and why I fail, let's just try to keep this "playful".

As I always say to myself, I have a career; I have an income; I have a lot of responsibility in my life. Do I want art to be the same or do I want art to be the source of joy and passion in my life?

I just find it very satisfying to think of having 3 journals on my night table to turn to each evening:

• the lettering journal
• the illustration journal - a workspace for learning, for notetaking, experimenting, and keeping track of ideas
• the story journal -  my dreams, my inspiration, my half-told ideas spun out.

Surely if they are on the night table, along with my pens, my watercolor palette, some brushes, and pencils, I will not only have it right by my side to encourage me to work, but I hope that working in each will help me clarify my creative aspirations each day and help me organize my thoughts.

The quotes and phrases that I enter into the lettering journal will feed the illustration journal with ideas, which in turn will feed the story journal with stories.

That should work, right??

Why do I see the Leaning Tower of Pisa Journals teetering and toppling onto my head in the middle of the night?

Perhaps it's time to rethink this.

 

99 Bottles of . . .

Can you believe that TW* is 3 months away? Those 2 years flew by and when The Bride was hollerin' at me to get certain stuff done and I was all, hey, we have TWO years, yeah, I should have listened.

So this weekend was designated Wedding Prep weekend and The Bride invited her Wedding Party Plus** for lunch at our house followed by Afternoon O' Crafts.

As the MOB, I was The Designated Martha Stewart for all crafty issues; Emily Post for Envelope Address Issues; and the Ina Garten of refreshments.

I served this for lunch:

 

 

PEOPLE: I am worried about y'all! I'm afraid y'all are the ones who are opening up those emails that say you won a MILLION dollars and the contents of your laptop disappear!

When do you think I would have time to learn how to paint with variously colored Balsamic vinegars? I served a 3 foot wedge*** of turkey and roast beef that Mr. Pom delivered from the Italian Deli, a green salad, and a fruit salad****. C'mon, don't be fooled by Internet scams!

The lovely lunch in the picture was served at a charming wine bar in Havre de Grace, Maryland. We stopped in there last weekend on the way to visit the youngest. More to come about that. Someday.

Instead of painting with Balsamic vinegars, on Friday night whilst waiting for Peapod groceries,  I decided the kitchen chalkboard needed this:

 

 

Very therapeutic. I recommend colored chalk and clean slate to anyone for a Friday night activity. So Zen. *****

 

Now, I'd love to show you photographs of all the cute stunning crafty things we did, but The Bride's bedroom is right above mine and when she sees I posted pics of this stuff so all the guests will see it in advance of the wedding, she will creep down and smother me in the middle of the night. And then who's going to referee on how to address the wedding invitation to Our Uncle the Judge and His Wife??

I'll just show you this and whoever guesses first what they are wins a prize!

 

 

PEOPLE! You did it again! There's NO prize! Just how many dollars have y'all sent to those people in Nigeria??  Do you think I have time to figure out a prize, figure out a box, figure out where the packing tape is, address it and remember to get it out from the hatch of The Mini when there is TW in 3 months? You know how I posted about limiting Internet activity and involvement last week? Well, nothing stresses me out more than having to mail stuff to people in connection with stupid extraneous internet stuff I agreed to do.

But I will mention you by name if you guess! :>)

 

Here's another sneak peek. All I can tell you is that if you need me after work for the next week, I'll be behind a pile o' these.

 

This is  the only uncropped photo I can show you:

 

 

Satin and grosgrain ribbons. What wedding doesn't involve satin and grosgrain ribbons? Charming.

 

The young people stayed all day. We bribed them with macarons and raspberry melt-away cake. Towards the end, Mr. Pom came home. ****** He opened up various bottles of wine and The Bride granted a Special Dispensation in honor of our archbishop being elevated to Cardinal in Rome yesterday, and allowed us to partake of a beverage whilst at the table that held our projects.

After partaking of the water turned to wine, things got a little loosey goosey and hence, the blurry photo above and lord knows what. I'd best check those envelopes before mailing them out....Ssh! Don't tell The Bride.

So the only things left to do are Really Special Projects that involve me watercoloring, or the youngest graphic designing, or those that involve (sssshh) The Shower for which I have no Gang of Seven just me cause the youngest insists on going to classes this semester! Really, the nerve!

Gotta go find more of that wine.

 

 

``````````````````````````````````````

*The Wedding - had to abbreviate it, actually made a macro stroke (remember those?). I can't imagine how many times I am going to type those words in the next 3 months.

**All the people she has in her wedding party, asked to be in her wedding party and couldn't, would have asked but knew they'd prefer not to but were glad to help anyway. 2 of these delightful girls have the same first name as The Bride, so we pretend we are doing roll call and address everyone by first and last names all the time. (Did I mention that the wedding coordinator and the hair and make up person for the day of the wedding also have the same first name? Obviously none of us parents win the prize for Original Names of the 80's.

***Wedge: Westchester County terminology for hero, hoagie, submarine, grinder, i.e. long sandwich on a roll. Also known as The Standby in our house.

****(Why did I start with these freaking stars?) The fruit salad I made was strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries. As I was eating it, I sort of remembered that I had some blackberries last week and my mouth felt vaguely irritated afterwards. So now half of my bottom lip looks like Daffy Duck, which could have given me that sexy pouty look except that it is bright red and only HALF of the lower lip.  Otherwise, it's a reaction to the novacaine I had earlier in the morning at the dentist. Or a combo of the two. Whatever. It hurts and I couldn't eat anything at dinner and just sat there sucking the ice from the water glass. Charming company was I.

*****No, I have no idea how I am going to remember to change it everyday nor how I am going to do it without taking it down off the wall and smearing the rest of it. See my comment about mailing above and you can be pretty sure it will still say "99 days" until their first kid is in kindergarten.

******The Mister needed some play time and since he only goes to a racetrack every 5 years, I didn't play the guilt card about how he was leaving me home alone with 7 young people and 2 glue guns, especially since he came back with more money than he had when he left and took me out to dinner. 

*******I wrote this entire blog post last night at 11:00 p.m. and my hand slipped as I was trying to move a paragraph and the whole thing disappeared. Like forever.  I had to rewrite and upload all this crap again. See, I do love you even if I don't do prizes.

*******************Never do footnotes with stars.

************************Never do footnotes. It's a blog post not a law review article.

My Funny Valentine

 

 

 

This little wall hanging was starting at Tracy Stillwell's art retreat.

Last year.

Not this year.

It is meant to be a self portrait of myself smack in the middle of middle age. It's busy, colorful, scattered, and a little... intense.

Like me.

Over the last ten years, I fell out of favor with fabric. My love for drawing and painting seemed to sweep aside the fussiness of fabric. Who has time to measure, trace, cut, take out the machine, match up seams, sew, press, and do it all over and over again?

A creamy white sheet of watercolor paper, a pencil, brush, some paints, et voila: art.

So, it was with great shock that I found myself buying fabric again, and wandering through the aisles of an AC Moore with cohort in crime, Kathy Nesi, buying embroidery floss, needles, and a little white box to keep it all in.

Especially since I once had plenty of embroidery floss, needles, and a little white box, the whereabouts of any of it, I know not.

I seem to have recaught the handwork bug. I am happily pulling a needle through slubby linen, squinting my eyes and looking under my reading glasses to thread the needle, and massaging my hands at night when the arthritis makes itself heard. I am collecting colors of embroidery floss like pieces of hard candy and pulling fabrics like daffodils from a spring garden.

It's fun again.

So have no fear that my self portrait has been languishing. I think I've been languishing along with it. It's been a tough year. I've sealed myself off from most of my artwork in little accretions of sadness, disinterest, and frustration. It was a slow freeze out, unintentional and thoughtless.

Fabric and thread are accumulating in little piles around my house and with it a recollection of how I got into this artful mess in the first place. The young wife who wanted nothing more than a bunch of kids at her knees and lapful of quilt to sew; the young woman whose pulse quickened when she walked into a fabric store and thought nothing of making a wedding ring quilt for her sister's wedding in between caring for two toddlers and practicing law.

It's nice to be connected to what is for me the most feminine of pursuits. It slows me down, makes me smile, forces me to focus, and allows me the excuse to buy silly rick rack trim and chenille fringe and beautiful beads to thread on a needle and lay down on a piece of cut pile velvet in a line that curves from my hand straight into my heart.  

 

The Hunger Moon

 

 

The full moon at this time of year is referred to as the Hunger Moon. The Native Americans also referred to it as "Little Famine Moon" and "Storm Moon".  Our ability to feed ourselves in the United States at least no longer waxes and wanes according to the seasons. Would that it did; we'd all weigh a lot less. Be that as it may, I think most of us would agree that January and February is still ruled by The Hunger Moon.

As most know, I live for summer. I enjoy every aspect of summer's heat and lushness.  Even so, I find many things attractive about  deep winter. The bracing cold days that call for big sweaters and thick socks;  the early evenings with lights lit and curtains drawn against the winds that toss leaves against the foundations of the house, rattling the windows, rattling our bones with remnants of primordial fears of things that go bump in the night. 

This year we have not had deep winter as we know it in the northeast. The days have been mild and dry. The daffodils on the corner are four inches above ground. The grass in sunny spots is greening. A few violets are showing their inky purple petals by the front door. I do not complain about it. Navigating around walls of ice and snow for months last year was a Siberian experience that I have no desire to repeat.

But something is off.

This mild, sunny winter is playing havoc with my internal clock.  I find myself  disoriented when I begin to write "April" on a check and realize it is only early February. My head  tilts to one side like my dog does when he begins to bark at a stuffed animal and slinks off embarassed at being fooled. We are living under The Hunger Moon but thinking it is the Awakening Moon.

I think of all this while I read and reread the comments over the past few days. I hear a profound sadness in people, deep dissatisfaction, befuddlement, and confusion at how they are to relate in the world as artists in 2012. Again and again we complain about the intrusion into our lives, the great time waster of the Internet and social media, the weariness at needing to reinvent ourselves over and over and over again.

We are like the daffodils on the corner,  forced to bloom in February. It is not natural to live our artistic lives so on view. We didn't begin keeping art journals in order to post a page a day nor do we understand why we need to.Who has time to check or blogroll and FB each day and actually get our own work done?

So why don't we walk away? Why don't we just power down and go back to work? Time and time again, we confess to falling into the lure of endless pages of bright and pretty things to stare at. Bright and pretty things made by others instead of by us. It is an insidious conundrum for what I'm hearing about is not just that the bright and pretty things lure us away from our own work. It is that they also erode our self confidence, undermine our ability to come up with new ideas, and trash our creative joie de vivre. 

So why not just stay away?

Simply put, if you don't have it on a website, then it doesn't count.  If you don't have "x" number of FB friends, then you aren't popular. If you don't have a "fan page" then you aren't a professional artist. If you make something, but don't sell it on etsy, then you are not successful. If you don't  have "x" number of hits on your blog, then advertisers won't place their ads, big money-making blogs won't link to you, blogging conferences won't ask you to speak or teach, publishers won't publish your book,  and you are not considered a professional writer.

The Internet has created a world that is not objective but is objective. A world that does not exist but that rules how we perceive existence. The Internet has created a false culture of creativity that is in fact becoming the real culture of creativity.

We were living our lives as artists with a small "a". Now that the Internet has defined what a successful artist is (see above), our lives as "artists" are not enough; now we strive to be  Artists.  Aristotle defined the essence of identity as  "being qua being": to exist is to be, to be is to be something. With the metafilter of the Internet turned on all the time, it is not enough just to be. We have to be something that we constantly promote, advertise, market, and brand. We have to show others how to live like us, how to make art likes us, and simply, how to be us. 

Now how can that be? Does the picture I paint mean any less to me if I don't link it on social media and count the number of likes it gets? Is my writing any less successful than someone else's if she gets a hundreds hits for my every two? Does my new technique have less validity than someone who has sold out her online course on the similar technique? Do my journal pages resonate more strongly with me if someone pins it on Pinterest?

My head cries, no! My hearts sighs,yes.

I am no more or no less subject to this tyranny than you are. I reject the Internet and then come back grovelling to it for more. I turn up my nose at all those who are trawling their wares all over the social media, and then I berate myself when my own classes don't fill. I roll my eyes at yet another mixed media book being published, and I scribble titles for mine in the margins of my briefs at work.

I do not have a solution or a remedy. I am not the Ayn Rand of social media. I am merely an artist who finds herself making art less and less and looking at others making art, seemingly more and more. 

Humbly, I Adore Thee

Paper Clay faces from Art Girlz Retreat

 

Sunday evening after a very busy two days. I am in the bed, listening to Mr. Pom and The Fiancé shouting at The TV while The Superbowl plays. Every time they do, a smile crosses my face because it remind me of when my father used to do the same thing - shout at the TV, "Go - go - go!". And at The Giants.

I wish I could tell you that I spent part of the weekend making art or writing, but I did not. Still, I got lots of house and family obligations accomplished, and when that is all out of whack it only makes me feel worse and not better. I will remain optimistic and also cut myself a few breaks about what I can really hope to accomplish in the few short months until the wedding is over.

 I've gotten some parts of my life back in balance in small ways. The house is vacuumed and dusted. My bedroom is picked up and clean, clothes put away, scarves hung, jewelry back into drawers, shoes in the shoe rack. On Friday I made a chili for today out of ground turkey, two tablespoons of olive oil, 3 kinds of beans, chili powder, minced garlic, diced tomatoes, and tomato puree so we can balance out some of the  Super Bowl Indulgences.

Saturday, The Bride f/k/a The Princess and I went to the city where she got a rehearsal dinner dress and I tried on...gowns. Gulp. Gosh, wish I hadn't eaten all those wonderful goodies over Christmas....but now I've ordered a few online and I think I'll end up with something to wear to the wedding.

We went to Tinsel Trading and bought some glittered goodies and dusty rose silk ribbons for various wedding projects. Then we bought cardstock in her colors for table numbers,  escort cards, menus, and programs. She wants me just to watercolor them simply. A huge box filled with the invitations came in the mail and we will have an assembly line in two weeks to collate all the inserts, and hand address the envelopes.

Today, The Empress and Mar came for dinner and I made an old-fashioned Sunday dinner of roast beef, mashed potatoes, gingered carrots, and grilled asparagus. I set the table with a vintage shabby chic lace cloth, my grandmother's pink transferware, and deep red votive candles for Valentine's day.

And now I have spent over an hour trawling through wedding inspiration sites as The Bride and I become very excited over her "vintage beach" theme and start running around the house and grabbing stuff for "props". I'm afraid Mr. Pom is going to freak out when he realizes that we may have to rent a small U-Haul to get all this stuff up there, so I think we may have to start bringing up our vintage thrift props from now.

Next weekend is Parents' Weekend for Micalangela. We usually drive down there on Saturday morning, and leave early Sunday afternoon. We're always tired and Mr. Pom's back hurts and we collapse at night and poor Micalangela wonders why we even came down. So in the interest of cutting this ridiculous pattern of hectic stress that is our lives, I am insisting that he takes Friday off and allow us a two-night, more leisurely visit.

So my state of mind tonight is much better than it was a few days ago when I posted, but the essential truth of what I wrote has not changed: I need to stop watching, read, and surfing, and start going back to "doing". I need to recapture that amazing feeling of "wow, I made this!" and relearn how to write a full paragraph that Does Not Have Capital Letters for each word and does not consist of short, clipped slangy sentences followed by too many exclamation points!!!!

Your words, oh, your words, were like hands coming through the screen in support, empathy, tears, and laughter. I immediately thought - hey, we should start our own blog ring: Artists Who Hate Social Networking/Over-Blogging/and Excessive Marketing".

But then I remembered that the goal is to get OFF the internet, not to spend more time, so I stayed focus.

 

So, I have read each and everyone of your comments. Each one rang true for me: the overwhelming feeling of watching better, more prolific,  more inventive, more talented, more ambitious artists, and more, more, more expected of us to stay with the program, whatever your creative dreams are.

I clarified almost immediately in the comments and I will do the same again, that this is not a whiney poor me no comments please leave one post. I know why my page views are down, and it simple math: fewer posts, less frequent posts, irregular posts = fewer readers.And I am okay with that.

 

As I wrote in reply to a comment:

 

Just to clarify for all - this is not about the blog, lack of readership, or lack of comments. It's is a general feeling that my life is scattered in as many fragments as a kaleidescope and about once every few months can I view it through the lens and see something beautiful. The years pass; I am not further along on my creative path but farther away. Sometime I think the worst thing that ever happened to my creativity is buying a laptop.

And that is fine because while I am going through this transition and struggling to find my way in a new world, I have lost my spark - no it's become buried and I am trying to excavate it.

I want to respond to each of you, but I am giving myself a break, which I know you will allow me so I am not writing this post for two days. Every single comment was a hand held through cyberspace and I envision a huge circle of us saying, "We're mad as hell and we're not gonna take it anymore." (From Network, which you should watch if you were born after 1976.)

If you  haven't, please read the comments. They are a wonderful cross-section of viewpoints that coalesce into this essential point by "ClaraC":

Who has time to "do art" and "show art." Create for sale - impossible. Create for joy, for bliss, for knowing ourselves better.

For a very succinct, masterly view of what I so clumsily expressed,  read the comment left by  Laura Tringalli Holmes. She expressed  what goes on in the mixed media world so well!

Beth said,

I think the worst thing hasn't been having a laptop, it's been social networking, Twitter, and all the associated hype and frantic activity and fragmentation of our precious time and concentration. So much of it is an illusion, but like parched souls in a desert, it's easy to understand why creative people run toward what seems like an oasis.

Dana said,

I love the internet and use it constantly as reference sources for paintings and ideas for what to paint. I really appreciate so many blogs, especially in this recessionary time when so many print mags have gone under.

That said I am feeling old and cranky in the midst of a society that is more plugged in than tuned in. I am tired of holding elevators for sweet young things who are so busy texting that they can't be bothered to get on in a timely fashion.

(Dana, you always make me laugh out loud!)

Nina said,

That's me there beside you, tap dancing while we look around to see if anyone else is joining us. or, if anyone is out there behind the lights...i'm feeling the very same way, as well. it's scary, it's confusing, it's frustrating. i don't want to constantly promote myself. i don't want to license my wares so that they show up on every coffee mug, notebook, postcard, lampshade (wait. i'm a jewelry designer...)

Art8ldy said,

I've had it with blogs that just promote classes and every little mark or stitch becomes a tutorial! "Be true to who you are and have fun!" ~ thats my motto!

 

Another Beth must have a camera under my bed as she described my weeknights to a "t",

I think this is a common struggle, no matter your medium. My 'art' of choice is knitting. While at work each day, I look forward to coming home and spending some time with my needles and fiber. Though after dinner, I find myself checking email and then one blog and then another and before long, I've spent more time looking at other people's projects than working on my own. Didn't I crave for that time while I was working during the day? Why did I let it slip away? Visiting all the sites can be inspiring but I promised myself more 'doing' this year. I'm getting there, in baby steps. I can't get rid of the computer. It's a lifeline to folks far away, to news, to resources, to inspiration.

Mim, who has an amazing blog with lots of readers, said,

It seems you have hit a nerve! I love this post, it's what we all feel and are "afraid" to say. (remembering "prodigy" made me giggle!). I am trying to be more "me" this year on my blog and there is NO way I can keep up with FB, Tweet, Tumblr, whatever!

Paula said,

I also love online eye candy and inspiration, but I have had to make myself limit my time, because, yes, yes, yes, I get lost in the eye candy, don't make my own art, and begin to doubt my own art.

Another Barbara said,

I've gotten back to artmaking late in life (78yrs)because I didn't want to even try to balance everything as many of you do. I focused on family and on and off teaching, sublimating my creative urges with sewing, flower arranging,home decorating, etc. A few years ago, I realized, if not now,when? and jumped with both feet into mixed media artmaking.

BARBARA - I CAN'T WAIT TO BE 78!!!!

 

Gil said,

I wonder if you too sigh as you read of the latest "discovery" in the world of creative arts - usually something we've been doing for years but have considered old hat! Thank you for voicing so much of how I see the world these days, too.

Jean wrote about what it "means" to be a an "Internet presence" in the art world these days,

All the accoutrements of a successful artist/internet presence these days: the website, blog, etsy shop, book, teaching, gallery show, artists co-op.

And my own sister wrote about how Renaissance artists had a staff at their beck and call. And they also had patrons, who paid for the staff!

Those of you that I did not quote was because you wrote such nice things about me and my blog that I would blush to repost them here. Most of you are just names on a white screen to me, but somehow you understand me better than my own family members  and friends.

And that really is the true gift of the Internet. The coming together of like souls in appreciation of common interests.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have preached and rambled and taken up enough of your creative time.  Go watch Downton Abbey, have a cup of PJ Tips, or sit with Big Blue and cheer them on with a plate of chicken wings.

I am reaching for this book, which fills me with unbelievable envy at the imagination that invented this story, at the artwork that illustrates it, and newfound hope for manking if their are souls who still want to write and illustrate books that read as though they were written in Edwardian times.  (Colin Meloy, lead singer and writer for The Decemberists and his wife, Carson Ellis, is the illustrator. Wouldn't you like to be their kid?) 

 

I hope my novel someday will be illustrated by her and that he will write a blurb for me, and that my own book will have the same heft and creamy thick pages as this one. It's so lovely that I had to wrest it out of The Bride's hands as she tried to steal it last night to read before I did.

Look at her work in progress on a new cover for the British edition:

Notice her workspace: a piece of paper, palette, brush, inky awter, a crumpled tissue. This is why I love painting. So little turns into so much.

The Roar of the Greasepaint; the Silence of the Crowd

Here's the question for today:

If I have 1,085 "friends", why do most of my posts get 5 comments and my stats show 25 page views a day?

I have fallen into the Internet hole, friends.

I believed and it swallowed me whole.

I cannot keep up; I cannot compete: I don't want to.

I don't have it in me to brand myself; write and pitch a book; put up online courses; publicize my classes; post a piece of artwork a day; and participate in the hundreds  of charity art groups, auctions, etc that are sent to me by my "friends".

I don't read books; I buy them after I read about them on other people's blogs.

I don't read the magazines sitting on my night table; I look at the photos from online ones.

I don't make art; I look at the blogs of other artists.

I don't hang out with my friends; I "like" their statuses.

I am the wrong generation for today's in crowd.

_________________________

I just spent the weekend with a lot of "older" artists. We were around when the Internet was Prodigy and email lists where we wrote passionate posts about art and creativity and writing. I've known some of these women since the mid-90's.

We're all tired. We don't want to do class samples because no one signs up for our classes. We don't want to be told that we need to write a book or we'll get bumped for a teacher who has one. We don't want to travel the country and appear at the trade shows and come up with a line of product.

We want to make art, to write, to craft. We want to plunge into our work for our work. We want to unplug and go back to the old days.

But we're not crazy. We know there's no such thing as going back. Life is what it is. The choice is whether we want to do it anymore.

And by do it I mean remain current, topical, viable, known.

Or do we just want to fall into our work and soak it all up and lift our head in a few years and have people say, Loretta who?

 

I've got to get the monkey off my back. I've lost my goals, my personal enthusiasm for what I make and write and read. I will never get it back unless I unplug this laptop and hide it away. I feel like my brain has become rewired and I can't fix it.

 

So I am pushing "publish" and not even uploading a photo to make my post attractive for the social networks.

It's just me.

Read it or not. Leave a comment or not. This is what I have to give.

Tuesdays But Not Belgium

 

 

 

Waiting for Peapod to deliver the groceries. Not what you want to be doing at 8:20 on a Tuesday, but all in all, not much else to do since it is a Tuesday. Making dinner would have been nice, but no food, so we are eating grocery store square pizza slices. You know, the kind that tastes like cardboard topped with sugary tomatoes and glue.

The dogs, ah, the dogs. We are trying to keep them home more and at the expensive daycare less. We have a dogwalker that is half the price of daycare, but on a price per hour, about ten times the cost of daycare. Bella Sera is cool with it. She's all like, I don't need no stinkin' day care, I'm a big girl. She prefers not to be surrounded by even more loud dogs. Cucciolo? Let's just say if you called mefrom 7:30 and 8:00 and I did not answer, it would be because he was barking so loudly the windows were shaking. Seriously.

Mr. Pom's been working 7 days a week and then took a trip to the Cape by himself. So, the back of Mr. Pom, it is hurting and he is walking stooped over and like Tim Conway's 100 year old man. (Don't make me link to it; you know how to google and I'm too tired.)

Meanswhile, my office has decided that we need to cover eveyr case in every court that ever is or will be filed in the State of New York. Or so it seems. So when I am sitting here waiting for Peapod, I should be writing reports. But come on, I'm t-i-r-e-d.

In between, Micalengela doesn't feel well, so I spent the first half of the evening with an eye on the clock in case I needed to catch an Amtrak at 9:30. Thankfully, she's feeling better and is texting me from the college cafe to approve what she is ordering for a late dinner so as not to order anything that will make her feel ill again.

The Princess came in and mumbled something about whether there's any dinner, and then headed upstairs to collapse in her room after her grad school class and all day with four year olds.

So, all in all, that's a long way of saying that the weekend was way too short and we are lobbying Tracy to allow us weeklong retreats. Preferably with 3 meals a day, of course, of delicious soups and salads, bread, and homemade desserts.For the rest of the year. Please.

I made a mermaid, or a start of a mermaid. You know I'm writing about mermaids, but not about any mermaids you've ever read about. Consequently my choice of mermaid ...er, apparel, was met with some skepticism. But it will all make sense once the book is published, finished, written.

Wednesday night will be better. We will have food to cook so there will be dinner. The dogs will be exhausted from being with 15 other dogs in a big gym all day. Mr. Pom's back will probably be better. Micalengela will be on her feet and about to get the care package I sent.

I will do some embroidery on my mermaid's head and maybe by the weekend it will be done and I will show you.

See how interesting my life is? This blog writing is tough stuff. It's not all branding and ads and - well, at least not on my blog, much to my chagrin. But really, who needs the pressure??

 

 

Thursday on Saturday

I am getting ready to go to Tracy Stilwell's and Linda Willis's art retreat in Rhode Island. We went last winter and had the most marvelous time. It may have been the best art retreat I ever went on.

 

I don't do well in crowds. Even as a teacher, I feel overwhelmed by a large art gathering and often lose myself in the crowd. I am more comfortable being invisible, taking a class quietly, eating by myself, and sitting somewhere and sketching before going to bed in my hotel room early.

But since I met this wonderful group of women through Art Is, i admit tht I look forward to Art Is all year and can be found going out to dinner, mingling in the vendor room, and meeting and greeting all weekend.

The Rhode Island art retreat is very different. It's just about a dozen women, held in Tracy's gorgeous home that she shares with her partner, Sue, and Tracy and Linda, The Fabric Goddess, cook for us. Can you imagine?

 

Last year, I went on my birthday weekend and the ladies made me blush with all the fuss when they made me gifts and bought me a beautiful birthday cake. So I wanted to go all out in bringing little gifties for them. You know that is a large part of any art retreat - swaps, or gifts if the groups is small enough.

Work is rather intense right now, so I knew I wouldn't have time to do anything too intensive. Micalenagela and I had just been involved in a project that involved a lot of typography and I have found myself more and more intrigued with hand-lettering. So I decided to make some Valentines.

 

Like any project, I always underestimate the time to do it in, so it became a rather drawn out affair, all puns intended. I had to take Thursday off just to get it all done (as well as catch up on the laundry, the bills, medical insurance issues, and all those boring things that are necessary but eat up all your time.

I liked doing these Valentines so much! I really enjoyed doing hand lettering and inventing alphabets for each one. It was a really good exercise in a new area of art and one that I am sure to become more involved in. I can't wait to take Joanne Sharpe's class, which begins in February. She is the master of hand lettering. I've seen her work in person and it is just bursting with color and her lettering is juicy, artful, and exuberant!

 

I apologize for the ridiculous quality of these photographs. In mid January, it's hard to photograph work during the week when you get home after dark. So I decided I would take the artwork with me to work and photograph it at lunch. Unfortunately, it was still not that bright yesterday. I couldn't find a level surface to photograph on as all the benches around the office are to close to the entrance. I didn't want a million people watching me and coming over to ask me what I was doing.

I got in my car and drove to a few parking lots over. I parked out of the sun but not in the shade. I put the artwork on the hood of my car. (A Mini doesn't really have a flat surface, I found out.) Due to the slant of the hood, I had to put it up by the windshield. Which meant I had to lean really far over. Then the wind picked up and I had to photograph with one hand and keep a finger on a corner just until I was ready to snap. Which, of course, was just when the wind picked up.

 

Did you hear me swearing as I ran across the parking lot, screaming at my cards not to go into the water as the wind whipped them across the pavement. You could have! I am sure several people in that hotel were hanging out the window looking at the crazy woman photographing the hood of her car and then running around the parking space looking for pieces of artwork.

Sigh.

 

My next big accomplishment: building a photography booth. Time to invest in a place to treat my artwork seriously. And stop entertaining the neighboring office parks!

Taking Flight

Getting out of Dodge by the skin of my teeth. Took yesterday off due to big ol' sinus headache. After the usual two-day cocktail of Advil/Aleve, Claritin D, nasal spray, and Mucinex, my head is not pounding and I can walk around without shaking.  (We are timed up here with sinus issues the way some families are time up with their periods.) The Princess is waiting for her antibiotic to be delivered and I expect Micalangela to call me any minute to say her throat is scratchy and ears itchy.

But enough!

 

I am going up to my favorite small art retreat with the lovely Mrs. Knee C and several other adorable art girls.  We are going to have fun with

 

 

chickens!

bunnies!

 

 

bees!

 

 

and buttons!

 

No - not that kind.

 

This kind!

 

Last year, we ate, drank, sewed, and did it all again for three days. The snow and ice and frigid temperatures didn't let us have much time to leave the house and see the animals. So I am looking forward to this 60 degree weekend (even if we have broken the earth, we have to enjoy what we have when we have it, no?) so we can get out a little and maybe even walk to the ocean which is just a few blocks away.

Mr. Pom graciously packed the car for me, but not after asking if I was leaving him since I had enough clothes, he said, for a year. Pshaw! Half the bag was full of fabric! The other three bags:

• sewing stuff, tissue paper, ribbons, beads, more fabric,
• magazines, journals, gouache, w/c, , and
• a bag full of surprise goodies

So yeah, I overpack. I always assume I'll have time to read all those back issues of Uppercase and Country Living UK as well as

Gotta dry the hairs. TTYL.

 

HB HB HB HB

 January. The lean days. The cold, grey days. Penitential days. More austere than Lent. More remorseful than Ash Wednesday.

All those late nights; money spent; wine bottles in the recycle bin; pastries eaten by the light of the refrigerator door; surfaces sticky with candy cane residue.

We purge, cleanse, fast, juice, run, jump, and throw out the white flour, sugar, and caffeine.

But what if you have a birthday in January?       

 

 Party and candy tray by sister Maria

What's a girl to do? (No, not me.)

 

 

 

After all, you still need to eat.

 

Yep, some people have birthdays in January.  Can you imagine? January by itself is gray enough; throw in your birthday, and well, you could just about lock yourself in a closet till May.

And just because you're in your third, fourth, fifth, sixth decade, who's  to say you couldn't use some good, old-fashioned corn syrup in pretty shapes?

Huh? Ya got something to say about dat?

It's all good, as long as you don't  mind that extra "roll".

 

 

 

 

And you can still button your clothes.

 

 

 

 Besides, we get plenty of exercise walking the dogs.

 

We teach them how to make  friends.

 

Play dead.

 

 

And all our work paid off as coming in a not too shabby second at the International Dog Stacking Trials.

 

 

Just don't forget, even dogs need to hydrate and deserve a few treats.

 

 

 

Just as you do after all this canine work out.

 

 

 

 

 

Cause you gotta have yourself a very merry birthday ....even if it is January.

 

 

 Beautiful sponge cake by sister Maria, also!

 

Happy Birthday, Mar, a little late!

 

Sunday Night or Downton Abbey Night

 

 

Busy, busy weekend. Lots of wedding prep going on, especially with The Bride f/k/a The Princess is out of town. Can't tell you what I did cause she has a way of ferreting these things out and I at least have to make it hard for her and not just plain ol' write it on the blog.

I feel like I haven't blogged regularly since....when?  So I am still doing holiday catch up posts and other trivia that I found amusing and/or delightful and never got to tell about.

 

 

 

 

Office Holiday Decorating Contest or That From Which I Am Banned By The Haters

 

Sorry for the crappy photo, but I didn't dare stand in front of my picture and use a flash to take the photo  because 1) It's supposed to be anonymous, and 2) The Haters would saying, "Did you see her standing in front of her picture taking photos?" (I am completely exonerated from any criticism about using the term, "the Haters" because our managing attorney described them thusly to me and we all had a good laugh.)

The handwriting in the background is a listing of every holiday-type dessert from every country I could think of or google.  I loved making my silly little cookie cutter picture because it was one of the few evenings this holiday season when I listened to Christmas music and drew and painted and felt the spirit of the season.

 

 

 

The Amazing Generosity and Talent of The Cookie Fairy

 

Several years ago, I wrote a blog post about how all the women in my family spent the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas baking cookies, cannoli, gingerbread, pizzelle, and other goodies, and  my sisters and I rarely have the time to do so. That year, an enormous box arrived at the house and one of my blog readers, Rachel Scot, baked dozens and dozens of cookies and sent them to us as a gift. Can you imagine doing that? I am continually floored by her generosity of spirit and incredible baking talent!

 

 

 

Each year since then, I open my door to the mailman ringing my bell and tear into a carton of beautifully wrapped red boxes filled with cookies loving made, decorated, packed, and sent. Are those gingerbread men not the cutest things??  And as you can see by the prior photo, there is always a kid waiting round the door and this time it was Micalangela sampling the cookies before I could even finish the photographs. Thank you, Rachel, as always you are a highlight of our Christmas! I hope you received the little prezzie we sent in the mail!

 

Just in Case You Thought We Ignored The Empress and The Sisters This Year

 

 

 

 

We did not. The entire family who could make it was here for dinner and gift exchange and the food was great and the company wonderful.

 

 

Since we were going away, we didn't put up a lot of decorations, but I couldn't not decorate as it is one of my favorite things. My mantel was the most decorated area other than the tree on the other side of the room. Fortunately, the yellow teapot and sugar and creamer stay out all year as do the red and green candlesticks that The Empress gave us several years ago. That great lime green tray was a little find on the Cape and in front of it is the original artwork for my Christmas card. (I still have a few cards if anyone still wants one. I hope all of you that asked received it.) Bella Sera quite approves of it all, though she prefers a fire in the fireplace. Actually, she looks like she's relaxed, but she's really mesmerized by The Sunlight, which in her Dog World is A Living Creature that Must Be Killed.

My Mermaid Knitting had to have a little fol de rol for the Christmas, though. We managed to light the candles once, but I never managed to buy other candlesticks for the empty ones. There's always next year, right?

 

The tree has been at the curb since New Year's day, but the mantel, the candlesticks, and the dining room bookcases are still filled with Christmas stuff. And probably will be to at least...Easter? And why not?

 

 

Now, I have to finish up my project get ready for Downton Abbey (do you know how many times I have typed Downtown Abbey?) As someone I know wrote online, it's so pretty that you can watch it with the sound off just to see the sets and the dresses.  I don't have tomorrow off so the weekend is ending for me. And unliked The Dowager Countess of Grantham, I know all too well what the week end is.

Christmas Past

Oh, don't worry I'm not going to do an overdue Christmas post about the holiday when I was a child. I am going to do an overdue Christmas post about THIS Christmas. Do you think that is ridiculous? I feel a little silly, but this is the speed at which I get around to things these days.

Actually, blame these two:

 

Large dog poking his nose around in my tiny studio in case I'd forgotten that the plastic bag on my desk had an apple in it. Can be found most nights on my legs with the intent to knock the laptop onto the ground lest it take away attention from the magnificence that is him.

 

 

 

This one wouldn't hurt a fly or bother an apple. But she will sit jump on the bed and lay right on top of my laptop should I dare to open it and write a post.

 

 

Don't think I'm kidding about this, friends. These dogs think they are teacup pomeranians and want to spend all their free time in my lap. 'Cept when they are digging massive holes in the backyard or shredding the contents of the waste cans or protecting the house by the power of their lungs from predatory UPS men or unsuspecting friends who dare enter the portals of Dog World.

 

Okay, enough about the dogs (Micalangela says we are turning into those people - the ones who talk about their dogs all the time).

 

Instead, I bring you our First Cape Christmas:

 

 

 

Christmas Eve morning waffles and bacon in the sunshine.

 

I made this little Santa wallhanging about 20 years ago. It has hung in every house we've lived in: Mohegan Lake, Fresno, Memphis, and New York, so I thought it was only fitting that it have a Christmas in Cape Cod.

I'm kind of digging having a 5 foot tree that comes with its own lights and can be decorated in ten minutes. Ease of operation and all that.

 A mermaid has pride of place on our tree, but the cool tree topper was designed by Mystery Man on a 3-D printer.

We didn't bring up many decorations, but I couldn't resist these giant stars.

They are from Pier I and made to light up, but they require a wire and I didn't like the way it would look hanging from the rod.

 

 

 

 The presentation of the lobsters (we couldn't find any myrrh).

 A boy being very good for Santa on Christmas Eve.

 Very, very good siblings.

 

Bella Sera and The GF share a cuddle.

The requisite Princess and The Tentacles shot, captured every year since she was three years old.

Hats were THE gift of 2011. The GF had a skull one, but somehow I didn't get a shot of it.

 

We kept the bones of our traditions - the tree, the gifts, the lobster, the family - and simmered it all down to the essence of  Christmas. We ate and slept and went to church and opened gifts; we hiked on the shore and saw our cousins and made gingerbread cookies; we went to the beach on Christmas Day in a snow shower and back to the ocean at night to look at the stars; we played board games and haunted the bookshops and read our books; we put together our toys and cooked a lot of breakfasts and laughed and laughed an awful lot.

If we could snap our fingers and transport all our family to fit into the cottage, we would. But for this year, and maybe for the last year, we were our little family redefining our traditions.

When we went to church on Christmas Eve we filed into a pew, me leading the way. Usually we take up one half of a pew, but this year, I was nudged to keep going and we took up one and a half. When we all sat down, I looked to my right and saw our little family of five increased to seven, and  looked at their beautiful, grown up faces, their hands holding their significant others, then looked at Mr. Pom next to me, his face more lined and worn than when we had to restrain two toddlers from leaving the pew, and I saw my life in a timeline that stretched from birth to now and knew that the best thing I had ever done and would ever do in my life was create this family.  I started to cry, Mr. Pom squeezed my hand, Micalangela looked askance at her brother and sister who rolled their eyes, and my tears turned to laughter.

In the words of that old chestnut,

Christmas future is far away
Christmas past is past
Christmas present is here today
Bringing joy that may last

Here Comes.....the Cake And Other Random Bits and Bobs

 

Breathing a big sigh of relief that first post-holiday week is over. Work was quiet and not too stressful. Totally unsuccessful at getting back to healthy eating, but I expected that and this week is the reality check. Absolutely lovely dinner last night at Sister #5's house for Sister #2's birthday. So sweet to sit around the table all night with the nieces and nephews, now all growing up or grown up and see their beautiful faces and have funny and fascinating conversations. Pics to come another time as I have, once again, mislaid my camera cable.

As predicted, now that the holidays are over, it is full speed ahead at Wedding Central. I am glad I waited to start it all until after Christmas as I do believe that my head would have exploded if I had tried to do both at once. I find it easier to concentrate on one thing at a time, especially as I tend to get a wee bit wrapped up in it. The shower venue is almost set; the rehearsal dinner venue is shaping up; and I am cracking the art whip to get Micalangela to work off her graphic design tuition with designing some aspects of all these invitations.

Over our Christmas vacation, we went to the wedding venue and had the "cake tasting".  Can you imagine? An appointment just to eat cake! Can I become a professional cake taster for a living? Or even for free?  I will be your cake taster, should you be in need of one. (Back in the day, we didn't taste no cakes before our weddings. I couldn't begin to tell you what flavor our wedding cake was or what it looked like except it had more than one tier and was white, just like everyone else's.)

 

This is the charming pastry chef who is demonstrating the flexibility of fondant and recommending it for fancy cakes in warm climes, but with a warning that it does not taste very good.  To the left is the hotel's event coordinator; I think she looks sad because she did not get a plate of cake. (I'm sure she's tasted them all many times.) 

 

We each received a large platter of cake to sample based upon the bride and groom's suggestions.  We sampled a very moist, rich devils food with champagne mouse and strawberries; red devil with chocolate mouse and a little pot of cream cheese frosting as an alternative; and a yellow sponge with raspberry mousse and a tourné of buttercream as an option.

Each and everyone was rich and flavorful - how to pick? What a wonderful problem to have!  It was fun to be waited on for an hour in the midst of the Christmas entertaining. We wish we had had the nerve to ask for a doggie bag as neither The Princess nor I could manage more than a few bitefuls of of such sugary food before lunch.

The chef told us all of the flavors and ingredients and was pleased to hear that we could not decide which we liked best. He quickly did a sketch of the cake that the bride and groom had in mind and then left us to enjoy the rest of the cake.   Such a handsome man! 

If we were on the Cape, I'd zip down there and beg another plate. What better than a platter of cake slices and a good cuppa to accompany the next two hours - Downton Abbey premiers for the second season! Off to watch!