pomegranatesandpaper

Manifesting Miracles

THE LONG TERM GOALS TO PUT OUT IN THE UNIVERSE FOR 2004:

1. Eat, drink, exercise, and get healthy! Shed the next 40 pounds, get the heart rate going again, get more stamina in my energy level!

2. Be more prolific in my writing and art and submit pieces for submissions on a more regular basis.

3. Set up a webpage (now that I have a scanner)

4. Find a way, some tantalizing way, to live the life I read and drool about. In other words, live the life Under The Tuscan Sun, without going to Italy (or go to Italy) and with still needing to work full time.

5. See both my children at the colleges of their choice, healthy and happy.

6. Cushion the blow my little one will feel when the older two are away and she is suddenly a latch-key child.

7. Be more available to my mother for regular visiting, etc., an enjoy her while she still has the energy to go places and be amused.

8. Specifically, to start and finish a novel, or revise and finish the two novels I have going.

9. Find a job that allows me more time at home and more time to write and create.

10. Keep romance alive in my marriage.

There you are, Spirit, take these words into the Universe and let an ear be listening.....

The Best Of

The Best of 2003

1. Watching my 12 year old play softball and having her team win the Fall Championship

2. Going to Cape Cod for two weeks; the first with my husband kids, and cousins, and the second just with my sister, my niece, and my 12 year old.

3. Having an artist book and short article published in Somerset Studio this October.

4. My husband being able to go back to work full time and our finances easing up.

5. My cousin's wedding in which my two girls were bridesmaids, and seeing them all dressed up and looking so mature and lovely.

6. My son's maturation into a fine, good-hearted, intelligent senior in high school.

7. My blog!

Being There

I had last week off and the rest of this week, but I had to go into work today. It was odd, returning for a one-day appearance in a two-week break. Making a cameo appearance as a colleague said. Last night I felt like I had the first day of school waiting for me, but the day itself was calm as my boss is still away and I didn't have any court assignment. It's weird to face the wrest of the week off. I could get used to working one day a week.

It brings to a head my growing need to do something else, that something else being, of course, devoting all my time to writing. I've been feeling a drying up of my art urges over the past two months. I have some neglected projects reproaching me on my desk, but fingers itch to press the keys and spin out some new tales.

You see, my husband bought me the laptop becuase he has unconditional faith in my ability to finish the books I've started. He believes if I can relax and work anywhere I want, I'll be more productive. He sees this fantasy where I'll write that best seller and we'll all retire to Cape Cod. I'll sit upstairs in my sun-renched room overlooking the water and write and write, and he'll putter and prune and cook.

Talk about pressure!

But if not now, when? If not by me, whom? My destiny is manifesting iself, and I don't want it to. I am not a passive observor. I want to be in control. I want to manifest my destiny, not have it manifest me.

I feel a visit from I.C. coming.

Computer Migraines

Soon after I downloaded the program for this blog, my computer went on a diet. It will not download any more files from anywhere. No more. Nope. Nada. I've coaxed it with scrumptious morsels of data, tried force-feeding it (if I keep clicking this key, it will work!), and then going into ignorant denial like a mother wiht an anorexic teen (I'll pretend its OK and one of these days it will fix itself.)

Finally, after having exhausted all the free help around me (sisters, friends, etc.), I decided to bite the bullet and went on microsoft.com and paid the twenty bucks for their online repair service, www. 24tech.com. (I'm not highlighting the link because NONE of you should go there!)

First I got "Trishia" who put my computer into safe mode so she could scan it, had me reboot, but didn't bother to keep the connection, so I had to go to the website and wait in a line all over again to get a new technician. "Gracie" , the newbie, made me repeat everything all over again, spent a lot of time zipping around with my cursor, deleting and sending me files, and going to websites and doing nothing. Finally, she had me reboot, and kept the connection.

Only thing - I couldn't log onto anything. Nothing. Couldn't get the computer out of safe mode. Couldn't access ANY of my files. Couldn't get into the control panel. And couldn't get back to the website!

OK, without boring all of you with the details, so far I'd spent over two hours on line with these folks.

Now I had to go to the third floor, and use the kids' pc and log onto the website, get ANOTHER techie - Wilson- explain the whole day's sad story, and he walked me through repairing my computer. This took about another two hours.

Picture the scene: hubby, who is deaf in one ear, is on broken computer. I'm a floor and a staircase away, yelling things like "press F8"; "type in scanreg"; "reboot". Then the older two children came home, decided their parents were truly senile, and handed me a cell phone so I could CALL hubby on the house phone and give instructions.

Oh. Right.

Anyway, thanks to dear, patient Wilson (and you know I kept picturing the soccer ball in the Tom Hanks movies), we got the pc back to where it was. Yes, exactly as it was: it still can't download.

But - the poor hubby, so frazzled by all the yelling and angst and wife's despair, bought me a belated Christmas gift - a laptop with wireless internet!

Now I can blog in the bathtub, in the backyard, and in my bed.

Thank you sweet husband.

Off to work!

Today was return and exchange gifts day. I got a migraine in the middle of a store. Nauseated, I sought refuge in the upscale restroom. I could have lived in the small, cubicled stall. It was marble and had walls to floor and ceiling and a lock. Actually, a great place to journal. Even a small shelf to hold belongings and very clean. Larger than my bathroom at home.

I came home and ate the pignollatta I made yesterday and had a little egg nog while watching "Seabiscuit". Very good movie, but DH says book is so much better (as is always the case). I should have stuck to green tea.

Hard to bitch about my head and stomach when looking at the news about Iran. We have been so spared from such devastation on the lower 48.

From the list: got Chris the guitar; he promised to write his essays tomorrow; I bought Donna Tartt's "Little Friend" and I've gotten through the first hundred pages and think she is an awesome writer.

I saw my sister's tree. It looked just like the ones we had growing up, all tinselly and vintage ornaments. Her house is so welcoming. And always clean.

I'm all out of words. Must go to bed with heating pad.

Manifest Destiny

I am working on manifesting my own destiny for 2003. But I have a lot to work on it before I post. So I thought I'd start small by Manifesting My Destiny from Dec. 26th to January 5th:

1. Get Chris the Bass Guitar he wanted instead of the Electric Guitar the stupid online place sent.

2. Bake gingerbread cookies and pignollata because all my kids are going into home-made cookie withdrawal. (Surreptitiously showing them HOW to make them so they can take over the baking, see post of few weeks ago.)

3.Set up my scanner and post a whole bunch o' artwork. Is it possible to use the typad Photo Albums as my pseudo-web page that I am too busy/cheap to have someone set up for me and too busy/dumb to do myself?

4. Get some Good Books to Read. I am trying to read "City of Light" but it's so bogged down in the history and development of electricity in the early 1900's around Niagara Falls, and the narrator is the headmistress of a private girls school and thus the tone is too Edith Wharton for me, NY Times Notable Book or not.

6. Go to the Met for a mother/daughter stroll, outrageously over-priced lunch and sketching Neopolitan Baroque Creches.

7.Go to Cloisters to sketch.

8. Go to Serendipity for Frozen Hot Chocolate.

9. Call Kate's Paperie and find out what happened to the special order of the 3 all-media journals.

10. Rip down sheets of assorted paper I bought in September to make my own journals. Make journals.

11. Decide what submissions I am going to do over the next 6 months to various art magazines.

12. Go to Knit New York and buy wool and knitting needles because I don't already have enough expensive craft and art supplies that I am not using and I could go to the cheap-o yarn store around here to see if I really like knitting since I haven't done it since 5th grade, but what fun is that??

13. Have the Albany cousins come down with their kids.

14. Badger son into finishing essays for college.

15. Badger youngest into cleaning out her clothes and giving stuff away.

16. Badger oldest into helping with above.

13. Sleep, eat, read, and figure out a way to support myself without going back to the Bronx courthouse!

The Big Day

After a rainy and windy Christmas Eve day, we made it to the Children's Mass. It was noisy and crowded and everything you expect on Christmas Eve with a church full of kidlets. My favorite part is at the end of Mass when all the lights in the church are extinguished except for the candles on the altar and we all sing Silent Night.

My honey was home by the time we returned. The lobster pots were boiling and the linguine was almost done. We were famished and just fell upon the food in a frenzy. I was exhausted by the time we were cleaning up, but afterwards we all hung out in the living room and we put on old videos of Christmases past. My son's friend got to see him at 4, 5, 7, and 10, receiving tons and tons of gifts.

Tip to Parents: videotape the gift openings. My husband always did this and it makes for great memories, and a lot of laughs. What is funnier than seeing a 6 foot tall 17-year old with a goatee watching the video of his 5th Christmas and shouting, "I remember that game, I loved that game!". (It also makes for great proof of What Great Parents We Are as they see all the loot!)

We also got to see my Dad, my grandmother, and my aunt who recently passed away. A few tears were shed but they were balanced by the laughter and joy at seeing the kids as babies and everyone in the prime of health.

And the vote for Best Caption was: What Was I Thiking About With that Permed and Streaked Hair??? Subtitle: OMG, Why Didn't Anyone Tell Me Not to Wear White Leggings with Black Socks??
European Title: Could My Eyeglasses Be Any Bigger?

'Twas the Day Before

A rainy, dark Christmas Eve. But that's okay too. Last year was The Big Snowstorm and I was getting claustrophobia from too much family togetherness. I can still get out in the rain. I have one more trip to the Stupidmarket as my friend calls it. I"m picking up the seafood for Stan's Big Night (see the Tucci film to get it.) Lobster, shrimp, calamari, and crab claws. I also have a crown roast of lamb which is going into the freezer. It is the result of some sister skirmishes that I can't write about for fear of Offending Everyone.

DH works for The Scrooge Brothers, so he can't leave work until 5:00 (NO Exceptions: Not Even to Attend The Children's Mass at 5:00). May all the reindeer poop on their heads.

I am conserving energy. I still have a little of the creeping crud from the youngest. I've been managing by taking a nap mid-afternoon and going to bed at 9:00, but today does not bode well for that schedule.

I am just truly grateful that no one is seriously ill, that my husband is upright (back problem, not honesty, though he is that too), and that we have No Money Problems for this month anyway!

To all who are my Faithful Readers (all of 5 of you), thanks for the interest and trust you have that I always have something to say. And thanks to Elaine for turning us all onto typepad.com. And thanks typepad!

Solstice Fun

Why is at Christmastime I always feel like cutting out construction paper and using tons of glitter and Elmer's glue. Or even better, that glue that you dig out of a jar and used to eat a little in grade school. Worst still is Coccoina glue, which smells exactly like marzipan and comes in a cute round metal tin. I have been known to inhale it deeply late at night when I've needed something sweet but nothing's in the house. (It doesn't get you high, just makes your mouth water).

Anyway, I feel the need to make some Christmas angels with construction paper, glitter, glue, and pipe cleaners. Something very tacky and totally childlike. I'm even considering a run to CVS to see if they have any fake snow to spray on the windows. Except who the hell wants to clean that up in five days.

Instead I'm going to the dentist for a check up and cleaning. Ugh.

So to appease my own need for something gooey and kidlike, afterwards, my youngest and I are partaking of the s'mores marshamallow roast at Cosi's. Haven't tried it or felt the urge to spend $12 for 8 marshmallows, 8 graham crackers, a Hershey burner, some sticks, and a Sterno? Splurge and do it anyway because life's short and you need a little Christmas right this very minute.

I'll consider it my Solstice Celebration. It has all the requirements: ritual and flame, and female bonding (not bondage for you nuts out there).

Womenfolk and Dawn to Dusk

I forgot about the metamorphis that comes over everyone in my family when I am home from work. They all forget how to move, talk, eat, clean, or even breathe without their Momma.

No, really, this was today:

Up at 5:30 worrying about the to-do list
Wrapped gifts from 9:00 to 10:30
Ordered groceries on line 10:30 to 10:45
Took 2 kids for check ups and blood work - 10:45 to 1:00
Fed them before they fainted (at the diner of course) 1:00 to 1:45
Went to p.o. and mailed the 32 Christmas cards I managed to do while waiting for kids 2:00
Drove to next town to get dh's Secret Santa gift to my sister 2:45 - 3:00
Went to grocery store 3:00 to 4:00
Unloaded, cajoled oldest into wrapping some gifts 4:00 to 5:00
Had tea with sister who dropped in 5:00 to 5:30
Picked up downstairs and made dinner 5:30 to 6:30
Determined that youngest child gave me her cold/scratchy throat 7:00
Declined going to Lindt chocolate store with one sister
Declined going to Borders with another sister
Told youngest she could not go to either either
Listened to youngest half-cry/whine for ten minutes
Cleaned up massive mess from wrapping gifts & put away a week's worth of work clothes from chair 8:00
Reading 40 messages abuot earthquake and checking with online friends 8:00 - 8:20
Went to bed 8:30 with Coricidin and novel and Hershey kisses. 8:30

I'll Be Home for Christmas

I don't have to sing about it, because I am HOME for Christmas. Yippee, work is over for a week! I couldn't get a better gift this year.

Yesterday, I started the vacation with an early morning hair appointment. I was grumbling as I got out of bed, but I enjoyed it once I got there (kind of like sex these days). Most of the people at the salon are Europeans. My hairdresser is from Italy. He is a tall, spare fellow with dark circles under his eyes and thinning hair. He is very kind, but he does not smile a lot. He does not crack jokes. He likes to talk about "ambition", a very un-Italian topic, and gossip about local crime. He does not usually like my hair suggestions.

Do you think you can flip it all up in the back like Oprah?
I have never seen Oprah.
Well, she wears it layered on top, then longer in the back and sort of flipped out.
You need a razor cut for that.
Can I get a razor cut?
Long pause.
You could.
Long pause.
But it it might not be good for you.
Oh.

Then how about going a little red this time?
Long pause.
You could.
Long pause.
But it might not be good for you.

I stuck to my guns on the red and it's worked out fine except this time it's a little marooney-pink. Icee would get a kick out of it. The DH hasn't mentioned it - which means he's a little freaked out.

But this is the least of the attractions. First, Sophia shampoos me, giving me a great neck and scalp massage which sends tingles everywhere. I can easily go back asleep but for the incredibly uncomfortable plastic neck thingie of the sink which is cutting into my neck. She brings me a coffee in a real cup. I start talking about Italy with T., who is from Sicily. He tells me what I have to see if I go. The older lady next to me starts telling me about the trip her daughters forced her to take and I share my story about the 2 trips my parents took. When I tell her that my Dad died a year after their last trip, my voice quavers. She writes down the name of "1000 Days in Venice", my favorite romantic book of the season. I'm bonding with this little group, two of us with stinky chemicals and aluminimum foil in our hair like extraterrestrials in a 1950's sitcom. I am having a Steel Magnolias moment.

While the chemicals work their magic, T. insists I have two chocolate raspberry truffles, which he brings to me on a little crystal dish. I let the rich chocolate melt in my mouth and begin reading the book I've brought with me.

I am home. I am eating chocolates. I am reading books.

Life is sweet.

Last Day till Break!

If I can just get through this incredibly hectic day, I'll be free for a week! I have a one-day trial, plus a ton of conferences, then back to the office to write it all up, and somehow take my paralegals out to lunch. Sound feasible? Nope. Probably take the paras out after the break.

My fingers are itching to get into my art room. One of my sisters scored a load of discontinued fabric swatches from a decorator. We spent an hour ripping the books apart and divvying up the swatches. They are very sophisticated, some sheers and other shiny stuff. I'm going to try to do photo transfers onto the sheers. I also have a little cache of vintage ribbon I found at a stamp show. It's the grosgrain used to bind cardigans - remember those? Having gone to Catholic schools, I had my share of pastel-colored button-up-the-front cardigans bound in grosgrain on the button placket. It brings back memories of circle pins, Bass Weejun loafers, and knee socks.

Finding the Holiday

I've long since lost that giddy feeling that overcame me as a child when I marked off the days till Christmas and saw the calendar whittling down to One More Week. What a fantastic feeling, what a rush!

Where is that feeling? I think I replaced it with a desire to make it to Christmas morning wihtout feeling so tired that I ache all over and only wish to retire to the bed with a large eggnog and the West Wing marathon.

Last night I fidgeted through my son's holiday concert. His high school is large and the concert is almost 3 hours long. I always bring candy to distract me (I haven't changed in that way since I was a kid.) And as in the last 3 years, the concert sneaks up on me and suddenly I go from fidgety to transfixed. I stop running through the elements of the trial I have on Friday, and I am on my edge of my seat clapping over the orchestra's rendition of Carmen, or the 125-member chorale singing a jazzy rendition of Jingle Bells. Remember those commercials with the singer who could shatter glass? Well a young woman named Nina almost did the same last night. What a voice!

DH and I were misty-eyed and holding hands during our son's trumpet solo for Auld Lang Syne.

It's a damn big accomplishment to see about 500 kids parade on and off that stage all night, at a large, suburban school, all in concert dress, instruments polished and shiny, and top-notch instrumental and vocal performances.

Only 2 more work days and the sun is shining!!

Are We Having Fun Yet?

We have shifted into high holiday gear. Yesterday I ran around between court sessions and finished all of my shopping except one gift for my boss. I stayed late at work to finish a report, then rushed home and made a Real Family Dinner since the oldest was on her way home for Christmas break.

I've obviously forgotten how to cook since I served too rare roast beef (tho I liked it), and I shriveled the hell out of the green beans in the microwave. Unfortunately the meal ended with me losing my temper with the youngest. As I explained to the oldest darling daughter, mid-week Real Family Dinners are too stressful for everybody.

Then I forced the Extraordinarily Busy Son to search through the rubble known as his room and find his white dress shirt and black pants for his Christmas concert. I ended up buying him new pants because the old ones have unidentifiable stains related to care care. So I was ironing clothes at 8:00 at night, then decided I needed to wrap gifts so prying eyes wouldn't see them. However, I was saved by the brilliant idea of putting the gifts into a packing box and sealing it with packing tape. Let them try now! (DH is supposed to put a lock on a basement closet, but since we're a week away, I don't think he's getting to it.)

Amazon finally delivered Danny Gregory's Everyday Matters, plus two cool books on map-making which I will post about later.

Only 3 more days of work!!!!!

Only 4 More Days of Work!

You can tell from the number of "Lined Pages" category entries that I have been too busy to write fiction or extended essays. It's just the usual pre-Christmas frenzy coupled with so many attorneys on vacation that I am fully booked in court or depositions all day. I am still ordering certain certain gift items for the youngest kidlet on line. Send out a prayer that they arrive before Christmas so we are not the world's worst Santa parents. Bad enough that the kidlet's birthday is 12/20 and I tend to shove her parties sometime in January when I can breathe. We managed to book a party at a ridiculously expensive mini-golf place for this wekeend. I got over the shock of the price by reasoning that it was my sacrifice to the Gods of Working Parents Who Are Loaded With Guilt, and will thus prevent any further emergencies in that category for the winter. The oldest descends upon us tonight. She called last night after spending the whole afternoon taking exams. Sounded like she was on speed, but I'm sure she was just revved up from being confined for so long. Hope she gets back down to earth before tonight.

And so the holidays officially begin.....

Sunday Snow Again

We're gearing up for White Christmas in the Northeast. A fine, heavy snow began falling around 8:00 a.m. and is predicted to go into the evening when it will turn into ice rain. Fun. So we have the whole day to sit inside and watch endless newscasts about Hussein's capture. One of the world's great tyrants, found hiding in a spider hole. Will it make a whit of difference on the terrorism in the world, or bring the death toll to a stop in Iraq? I don't see it happening.

Yesterday, knowing the forecast - and who can avoid it without 24/7 news show needing lots of filler, my sister and I ran to Bloomie's yesterday to shop.

Last year, I did 99% of my shopping online, and I don't think I went near a mall. This year there were certain items I didn't trust picking from a jpeg, so we decided to hit Bloomie's, mainly because it is a free-standing store with an open parking lot and we wouldn't have to snake our way up ramps and lose our car on AA 945 Aqua.

The minute we went in, we were waylaid by the clothes department. (Clever placement near the front door). We tried on fantasy suits by designers and bemoaned our wardrobes. I convinced sister to purchase the Anne Klein red jacket I couldn't afford, and I tried on a knit jacket with leather trim several times until I decided it make me look like Donna Reed instead of Donatella Versace and put it back.

We refocused and got a couple of gifts, and then we searched for the elvators when we got a whiff of that smell that can only be described as "New York Hot Dog". Sure enough, Bloomies, for some unfathomable reason, had a Sabrett's cart set up in the middle of the store. And there was quite a line. We decided to take the safer gastrointestinal route of the yogurt counter upstairs where the harried waitress shouted at us and we ordered and ate quickly. Fortified, we wandered through jewelry and cosmetics before refocusing and getting the rest of the items on my list. Good thing, because a fire alarm went off just as I was paying and the sales help wandered around asking whether they should ignore it or herd people out. As half of us made our way to the exits and the other half blithely ignored the clanging bell and strobe lights, the fire engines could be heard roaring up. (Note to self: do not seek harbor in a Bloomingdales' during next terrorist attack.)

My head was swimming by the time I got home, as my mother likes to say. Going into a department store is subjecting yourself to the reality that nothing you own is current, fashionable, or in good taste. And more importantly, that you do not have the money and never will to do anything about it. Or so it seems. My general feelings were simultaneously that of inadequacy and lust. An Anne Klein naby blue suit with white leather trim! An Armani leather jacket with fur collar! David Yurman jewelry! I just kept picturing the American Express bill and I was able to resist. Thank God I work in the boonies and our lunch time shopping is limited to a Walgreens.

I discovered that I do need a little bit of Christmas crowds, jostling in line at the register, walking across the store for boxes with shopping bags digging into my hands, sweat pouring off my forehead, and feet killing me, in order to feel like it really is Christmas. And today I'd really rather go back then wrap all the items stuffed under my bed, but the weather is helping me avoid bankruptcy.

Anyone want to rent a four by four and take me back today?

Weekend stuff

Saturday morning and the house is cleaned and the groceries already put away. The washing machine is humming away in the basement, and I've brought up a few loads to put away. Hubby is at work, and so is son, and younger daughter is about to go to a birthday party. The only other chore I have to do is the cleaners. Then I am going to brave Bloomie's mid-Saturday afternoon. If you don't hear back from, assume the worst.

Last night I dragged my butt through Target and found a few gifts. I took the easy way out with the office staff and got gift cards. Maybe it's me, but every store I have been in looks trashed. I still have a ton of people left to buy for, though. When I came home, I persuaded the dh to run out for sushi, which we ate in our pajamas, in our bed. Could be messy, but we were careful. Definitely a perk of married life: the spouse who will run out and satisfy your cravings!

The Bakery is Closed

Isn't it amazing that it is 2004 and 55% of the full time work force is women and 100% of that 55% still feel enormous guilt and pressure that we are not "baking for the holidays"?

OK, I don't know if 55% of the work force is women, but it sounds about right. I am sure about the 100%, though. In our family there are no more aunties baking their special variety of bread, cookies, cakes, and pies for the holidays. It has fallen to us, the sisters, to provide our kids with all those high-calorie, fat-laden, confectionary dreams of sugarplums and gingerbread.

I liked it better when I was on the eating end then on the baking end.

Now I know there are the overachiever Martha-wanna-bees out there. I know an attorney who graduated number one in her class, who is a partner in one of the most prestigious New York firms, who will knock down anyone in her way to the front of the room to be the first on the list to sign up to bring Her Special Cookies to any event.

I seem to be missing that gene.

Oh, I 've had plenty of vanilla extract bonding experiences with my mothers, sisters, and kids. I once put my first born in a kiddie swing for about five hours (she liked to nap in it) while I went into a Dickensian orgy of gingerbread, thumbprint, spritz, and butter cookie-making. Only thing was, I thought I could substitute margarine for the butter (this was in pre-trans fatty acid days when everyone thought margarine was healthy) and all my cookies tasted flat and oily. And my kid grew up with a fear of swings all her life.

I remember one of my neighbors at the time, a pretty, young mother whose taste exceeded her budget, deciding to make Panettones for everyone as her Christmas gift. I saw her car in and out of her driveway about 10 times as she forgot first the flour, then the candied fruits, then the nuts, then the currants. She discovered this cute little baking supply place where she stocked up on fancy paper containers, tags that she calligraphied, and curling ribbons. By the time she was done, she estimated each Panettone cost about $25 and Waldbaums had them for about $7.99 apiece.

My husband's birthday was this weekend. I planned on getting him the cake he said he wanted and always wants (read:boring but stable man): a lemon cake with coconut frosting from the bakery down the hill. But we had the big blizzard and I decided I had all the ingredients to Make The Cake.

I started early Sunday morning. I cheated with a box mix, but added a packet of lemon pudding. I'd always heard that was a way to jazz up a box mix. (My info was unclear as to whether I should add more liquid because of this, and what liquid to add - water, eggs, milk? So I didn't add anything else). While the cake baked, I took out the sour cream, butter, cream cheese, sugar and lemons. I didn't have any confectionary sugar, just granulated, and the cream cheese was whipped, not a bar. Oh well. I started adding and it just wasn't lemony enough after 2 lemons, so I added the juice of two more, and then it was too runny, so I added a lot more sugar, and so on. Eventually I shoved the bowl of glop into the refrigerator to harden.

At that point several people came into the kitchen to tell me that something was burning. It's just the cake, I repeated over and over until I realized it was just the cake burning. Seems my oven has to be recalibrated or something. So after the layers cooled, I had to scrape off a burnt crust from the bottom.
When I put it all together, the icing was rather runny, but I just kept smooshing it against the side of the layers and shoved it back into the refrigerator to firm up until we came home from dinner.

It was my big surprise to the dh. I cut it and handed out huge slices. "Wow Mom", was heard all around. And then we ate it. Dry, hard, dense were apt descriptions. Icing was still runny and kind of overly sweet, which was good, because it made you drink a lot and that helped get the cake down from the roof of your mouth where it was stuck.

Next year, back to the bakery.

Last year I absolutely did not make a blessed baked good. My kids had to survive on expensive bakery items and the handouts of more talented and industrious aunts. This year I am determined to at least make my aunt's gingerbread. (Only because I love it, no altruism here.) My sister, the baker, was supposed to do this with me, only she's shrugging me off over some kid's party she has to take her son to. I know it's really because she intends to show me up with some artful and incredibly good plate of perfectly made cookies that she will whip out at Christma and serve us.

And I'll gladly eat them.

Today's Goals

Find something to wear to work that I haven't worn a thousand times already

Find shoes that will last me all day and through Christmas shopping without crippling me

Get through deposition in record time

Manage not to pass out from boredom during deposition

Think positive thoughts that client for deposition can string more than two words together
without drooling

Leave work on time and do first serious Christmas shopping

Find the pertinent gifts for S. and J. and only have to go to Fortunoff's and Bloomies to do so

Have time to eat by myself at Cheesecake Factory

Only order dessert at Cheesecake Factory, preferably chocolate ganache cheesecake with raspberries

Get home in time for West Wing

*******************************************

Really, I have such simple goals, it's rather sad.....

And as for those of you who want to hear more from Icee (Inner Critic), all I can say is that she has all of you fooled! She's so judgmental and yet so superficial. Don't let her razzle dazzle blind you. She'll suck you in spit you out like yesterday's blog entries....

Christo te amo

I was trudging out of the courthouse today, being careful not to slip on ice or get too wet in the filthy, dirty slush that had accumulated around the curb. I passed a group of women returning from lunch, including a judge I know. They were all laughing together and speaking in Spanish. It was nice to see them relaxed and having a good time. After I passed them, I began walking towards the curb in order to cross the street and go down the hill to the parking garage.

Right before I walked off the curb, a lady appeared next to me; she must have been walking from around the corner.

She touched my arm lightly, and said something in Spanish. She was around 55 years old, a plain-loking woman in a sturdy brown coat, and a tote bag on her arm. I looked at her quizzically and said: "Non?", meaning, I don't speak Spanish. I assumed she was asking for directions, or for the way into the courthoues for the public.

She looked at me reprovingly.

"Jesus loves you, " she said to me in perfect English, and as if I should have known this already.

I realized then that what she had said was "Christo te amo".

I smiled and said "thank you" and she smiled back and walked away.

I don't know why she said it to me. She wasn't handing out pamphlets or asking for a donation. Was she an angel sent to give me a message? I had felt depressed earlier in the day. When I came into the office this morning, a coworker told me that looked "glum", a nice old-fashioned apt word. Did I appear glum? But by this point in the day, I was just concentrating on getting my car out of the parking garage and going home. My expression was the same that I wear everyday on the streets of New York.

Maybe that was the problem.

Christo tei amo.

Ciao, Ciao, Kiss, Kiss

I've had this blog for about one month now. I've really enjoyed it, and writing the entries has provided inspiration for me to expand on them in short stories and other pieces. It's awakened the writing muse in me again and I am very satisfied when I click onto the blog and see the string of titles that I have authored, sort of like leafing through a recipe book that I have created.

Sometimes, though, my inner critic comes for a visit. She was here this afternoon. I heard her BMW pull up, (she never calls first) and saw her emerge, with her leather Prada coat crackling in the cold. She swept off the Chanel sunglasses and kissed me on both cheeks.

"Buon Natale, dahling, I was cutting through on my way back to the city and though I'd stop in. Paolo went to his mother, good Italian boy that he is. Oh, if you and Stan can EVER get away from these kids,you must stay at this adorable b&b we found in Garrison, it was divine, outrageously expensive, but divine. But finally, I said, Paola, go to your mother's, you' re driving me crazy, I can't stay in bed another whole day!"

"How old is Paolo?"

"Oh, darling, he's an old 27, really, he's wise beyond his years, we are COMPLETELY sympatico! Everyone says we remind them of what's her name on that show, y'know that cable thingie with that girl from Annie. Not that I've seen it. Who has TIME for cable? WHAT is that brown stuff on your t-shirt?"

"Oh, Brownie mix - I haven't gotten dressed yet; I've got Brownie mix on my pajamas. I'm making them for my neighbor who picked up Julia Friday during the height of the snowstorm."

"You SLEEP in those? Really, I thought you were cleaning out the basement or something. If you go to the b&b, visit Bergdorf's first, please! Brownies? I haven't had those in years. You are SO domestic."

"Yeah, well in between working full time and trying to write."

"Oh, yes, I finally remembered to surf over to your little blog."

"Oh?"

"So sweet, so very sweet. You make a visit to the post office sound romantic. But the snow story, honey - so many metaphors! Pick one and stick with it."

"Right, right, sorry. I'm not trying to sentimentalize....over Christmas I'm taking some time off and I'm going to do some serious writing."

"Where will you go?"

"Go?"

"Where will you go to write, are you going to an island or skiing or what?"

"No, are you kidding, we're eating at one sister's, going for dessert at the other's. But I hope to see a play or get into the city at least a few times...."

"You are so into this EXTENDED family thing, dear, so domestic Sicilian, really, you should all come out with a line of olive oil or something."

Well, the family is getting smaller and we try to spend time together..."

"But seriously, writing seriously, you HAVE to get away from here, BROADEN your horizons, write about the universe, go to Chile, take a lover, go to some clubs, get a face lift, get an MFA, learn Chinese. I know what! After I finish teaching my class in Architectural Dogma and the New Imperialism at Columbia, I'm leaving to open the house in Sorrento, then after New Year's I'm skiing with Charles and the boys in Gstaad. Come for Christmas, let your family fend for themselves - cook them some meals and stick them in your freezer, they'll never miss you!"

Looking for a clean place to put down her Ferla bag, I cleared a space on the coffee table laden with newspapers and half the New York Times landed on her Ugg boots.

"Oh, good, you saw my article on Dadaism and the Aids movement!"

"Actually, I haven't had time to read the papers yet."

"No problem, I'm curating the show at The Whitney, though how I'll fit it in after doing the Biennale Symposium in Vienna... BASTA! Look at the time. Must go - I'm catching the 9:00 shuttle to Washington. I'm testifying tomorrow before Congress on funding for the NEA. And I have to get my nails done - George phoned me last night on the QT to tell me his little cable show is going to be there, just so I'd look good - tho he said that he'd never know me NOT to look good."

She is a wave of fragrance and flying silver hair headed for the door.

"Kiss, kiss, ciao, and really darling, keep writing those LITTLE vignettes, they are SO charming. You don't want to the hassle with a book, oh, the agents, the film deals, besides, the commitment level, darling you don't need the STRESS. What would the hubby and those rugrats do if you were all tied up in knots. Maybe you could do a little column like an Erma Bombeck type of thing. Anyway, got to fly - see you in June, make sure you show up at our alma mater for graduation, I'm the keynote speaker and they're giving me another honorary doctorate for most Pulitzers won by a single, biracial, bisexual, bipartisan female. Love you!"

I go down the basement to stain-stick the brownie mix on my pajamas.

The Azure Journal - Silvershot

The snow is falling in great sheets of taffeta and tulle, swirling around me and threatening to suffocate me like the tulle skirt I had to wear to ballet class but couldn't get over my head. The snow is shot with silver and hits my face like stinging needles.

I am warm from cooking a great pot of Venetian pasta e fagioli. I opened cans of pureed tomatoes, thinned with some water, added minced garlic, fresh rosemary, sea salt and bay leaves. We have no dried beans in the house, so I added cans of creamy broad beans, chunky chichiti beans, and red kidney beans. I perfumed the pot with a little balsamic vinegar and a dollop of Beajoulais Noveau. I boiled ditalini pasta in another pot, and while it cooked, I found several heels of Italian bread in the refrigerator. I tore them into pieces, floated them on the top of the soup as it boiled and generously drizzled extra virgin olive oil on top of them. When the ditalini reached al dente stage, I ladled it into the pot, shut the burner and let it all stew while the flavors melded.

I need air. I take the whisk broom and sweep the front porch and steps down to the sidewalk. The snow is like a lemon ice down my throat and clears the malaise of too much heat and lolling around. I scurry back inside and through the pantry and around back and sweep the back porch steps, lifting the floor mat and flipping it over for sturdier footing. The garden is barely visible under great loaves of rising snow. I can still see the outline of the trellis against the brown garage, but it is outlined in white and the clematis vine has disappeared. In the corner of the yard between the arbor vitae, which are bowed with their royal cloaks of snow, the bright red rose hips gleam like ruby jewels. If I had on boots and a coat I could wade through the knee-dip fluff and pick them. They'd be the perfect complement to the trio of white ironstone pitchers that are standing in formation, ready for the everygreens and holly I will cut later in the month for Christmas.

My hands are stinging now and I rush back into the warm embrace of the kitchen. It is filled with the rich aroma of garlic and olive oil and simmering tomatoes. The cornbread I made for breakfast adds a sweet harmony to the heady aroma. From the back door window I can see my neighbor's bamboo bending in the wind. They are thirty feet tall, yet move with the grace of a prima ballerina. In unison they sway tasseled tops across the yard, then spring back up to sway the other way. I try to be so resilient.

I go back upstairs to my little art room and find a wonderful length of sheer silver organiza. I place it over my journal page and take a needle and thread and make french knots through the paper and into the the organza, securing it to the paper. My words are now covered with a scrim of silver. I cut the edges raggedly and let long threads of the shiny stuff work their way out of the weave and fringe the edges of my pages.

Today all is crystalline and warmth, white and whiter, crisp and honeyed with garlic and rosemary. A day of crunching snow, crumbling cornbread, and taffeta dreams.

yep, it's snowing

So we got the big storm after all. Or at least it is snowing and it's hellatious driving. Our office Christmas luncheon was today and it was a pretty quick affair bec. everyone just wanted to go home. So the weekend got an early start.

Update on current events: the 19 y.o. finally went to the health office and found out that she has the flu. Now she is really sick, and 3 hours away, and needing her mommy. Sigh.

The almost-12 y.o. is not home from school yet. Nervous mom calls school and they tell her that all the buses were late in arriving and late leaving. Hope she is warm and not stuck on some side street. Sigh again.

Hubby also coming down with upper respiratory thing-a-ma-bob.

Sounds like a good weekend to write and make art!

And speaking of which, check out this site for a great mini-documentary about one of my favorite artists, Dan Price:

And I found cream-colored pillar candles at Walgreen's for 2.99 on sale! So I'm going to try the Lazertran copies. Hope I don't end up with a pile of melted wax.

current events

Some more rules! blogs are supposed to discuss current events. OK, here goes:

The 19 y.o. wants me to send her all the cold supplies she could buy at a drugstore but doesn't feel like going out, and oh, yes, our humidifier. (We don't have one, but she remembers one she had when we lived in Memphis five years ago.) Wait, I'll unpack the boxes we never unpacked in the basement altho its 10:00 at night and find it and send it up.

The 17 yo plans to visit said sister. Only we are expecting THE FIRST BIG SNOWSTORM and his parents do not want him driving with a girl who's had her license for one year up the slippery roads of Route 17 for 4 hours in the snow. We are SO controlling!

The 11 yo turning 12 in 2 weeks wants a cell phone, everybody has one, all her friends have one, we are so mean, why can't she get one, blah, blah, blah. I can't say whether dh caved in and buoght her one bec. she might read it here.

Office Christmas luncheon is this afternoon during THE BIG SNOWSTORM. My plans to leave asap and go Christmas shopping appear to be snowed-in.

I tried do my online grocery shopping this morning but they've cancelled deliveries for tomorrow due to THE BIG SNOWSTORM.

You watch, we'll get 2 inches.

And those are my current events.

Oops

Some kind [sic] soul pointed out to me that my entries are not "blog" entries. They are too long.

Well, tough noogies.

It's my blog and I'll do what I want to, do what I want to, you would do it to if you had a blog to do.

There, is that short enough??

Calling Tilly

I have been journaling a lot about my sister's "contact" with my aunt through a psychic. I've never believed in talking with the dead, and I would have dismissed it all out of hand except for some of the information imparted by the allegedly unknown "reader". But instead of this event filling me with the joy you would expect that my loved ones are still "there" and we'll "see" them again, the event triggered a deep sadness in me. I could not put my finger on it at first, but I finally realized that it disturbs my faith/hope that they are all "at peace". I want to believe that they are being held in God's hand, not hanging out waiting for an ethernet connection to come up.

My poor aunt had gone through enough suffering at her death and I'd like to think she was at peace now, not feeling an urgent need to contact us to let us know she was okay. On the other hand, the terms the psychic used to describe what my aunt wanted to say was SO my aunt, starting with her description of the message as "urgent" , and her laundry list of physical complaints before she died. That is so our aunt and makes me laugh to think about it. (She would call you in a tizzy over the news that the washing machine repairman was coming on Wednesday, and she had to have her hair cut Thursday, and she couldn't possibly handle two events in two days.)

The "contact" was making me experience her loss all the more deeply. It just reinforced for me that she is dead, and with her goes almost the last link to a rich, sentimental portion of my childhood and
heritage.

With the holidays coming, I've been weepy about all these family members that are gone.
I don't often watch Sara Moulton on the Food Channel and cry, and my husband thought I was losing my mind, but last night she had on Sophia Coppola, and her little round chubby figure, her Italian
idioms, her brusque ways, and her array of cold cuts had me in tears missing all the strong Italian women who cooked for us, diapered us, scolded us for our teen age rebellions, and always brought at least two
tins of homemade cookies and cakes to every event.

Someone wise said to me that it is possible that those that are gone can be at peace and make contact with us. This has help settle my off-kilter mood and lightened my load a little. I can't have a fixed vision of what I cannot see. And yes, I do believe in an afterlife, I have to believe in it. Otherwise, what is this life journey with all its hardship and sadness for?

So, if all of you in the celestial heavens have one ear tuned to the ground, or if you're sipping a latte at at the etherland cyber cafe, I ask that you send us healing energy and help keep the world safe and at peace, keep our homes intact, keep us in love with our significant others, keep us kind and caring with our children, keep us tender-hearted and strong-willed, make us cook for our beloveds, gather as family often, be patient with our in-laws, and keep us mindful always of those that have gone before and, I hope, sleep the sleep of peace.

weirdness

Last night I had nightmares about my aunt. I was spooked all night. When I woke up during the night, I saw light flashing in my art room. I realized it was my cable modem flashing with activity, which at the time I thought was pretty weird because everyone was asleep in bed. This morning I went onto my visitor stats, and they show a referrals from my own email site from 2:17 a.m. through 2:36 a.m., referencing each of my entries. I don't know anything about how these stats are recorded, but it's pretty weird that it shows these hits just about the same time I noticed the modem flashing. Then again, what time zone are these hits recorded in?

Enough of this!

My little girl is sick with the creeping crud and hubby has it too. I'm almost done with it, but stayed home with the kid. She's happily watching cartoons upstairs. I am going to do artwork! Yes! Yes! Something wild on one of these canvasses, and some Christmas stuff.

I'm looking for inexpensive pillar candles in cream. I bought a set of Lazertran papers. The vendor showed the transfers made onto candles and they looked like they were professionally silk-screend. My idea was to transfer a whole bunch of very old family photos - like great aunts and uncles as babies and in their weird, Italian feast clothes, onto pillar candles to give to my relatives. But I haven't been able to find candles for less than $10 each unless they are really cheap looking and pure white.

New Journals

The journals I wrote about earlier are called the "Peinture Painting Book" by Clairefontaine. They are also called the Peinture Pastel, Peinture Drawing, and Peinture Watercolor. They're about $20 bucks each.

I haven't used them yet so I can't tell you more. They are spiral bound. They all have a small annoying hologram on the front, but I'll just paste something over it.

Tonight I am determined to do something creative. I came home a half day from work because of the creeping crud which now the young one has. So I picked her up early, got us a couple of Starbucks (her favorite if the Brownie Frappucino) and passed out on my bed until hunger woke me around 5:00.

Then I received a phone call from my mother in which she relayed a conversation she had with one of my sisters. Seems the sister was surfing in some chat rooms and mistakenly ended up in a spiritual "reading room". As she conversed with a few people, she said she was leaving bec. she was in the wrong place. Someone spoke up and said for her to stay because someone wanted to "speak to her". I won't repeat the whole conversation, but the person proceeded to do a reading in which they told her the name of our aunt who passed away several months ago, and several other items of information that no one could possibly know outside the family. My sister insists that she'd never been in the chat room before, never discussed any of this, never wrote my aunt's name in an email, no money was exchanged etc. All pretty weird and made the hair stand up on my arm. Who's to say? (And of course you know I am dying to find out the name of the chat room and go into it but I am too left-brained to make the leap....)