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January 2009

BUON ANNO!!!!




It is the time of the year when even Father Christmas starts looking at cruises in the Bahamas




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And the rest of us consider banning all relatives from our houses


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We have eaten our weight ten times over  in crackers and cheese



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And the sounds of Rock Band are causing our homes to burst at the seams

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It is just about then when fathers start daydreaming about remote islands



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While wives and mothers start carrying kniveses


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And just when we started yearning for school (or even work), for no apparent reason


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Comes the coup de grace of the season


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We had no choice: abandon ship despite the weather



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Head for some R & R without any tethers



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So what if it's not summer  and there's frigid temps -  despite the howling winds, there will still be sunsets!




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So don't come visiting for the next four days because we'll be sitting on the  [winter] beach . . .  to escape the  holidaze!



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HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM ALL THE POMEGRANATES!!!



The Sweetest Week of the Year

I do NOT get post-Christmas letdown. At least not until January 2nd. The week between Christmas and New Year's is the sweetest week of the year - the house is decorated, gifts bought, wrapped, given, and enjoyed, and there's usually a plethora of junk food and goodies in the house. I save a few precious days off and just slug out.

Christmas was good to all of us. I got my best gift - a new camera! Where are the photos, you ask? Well, here's the thing: I have over 300 photos to upload (some from late summer!) and I'm a teensy bit afraid it's going to crash the laptop and take a very long time, so it'll be a few days.

In the meanwhile here are some of the things I took pictures of for yer:

  • my Venetian tree decorated with doll parts just to drive the family nuts
  • The Lobsters in their Christmas Eve Appearance
  • Cucciolo quivering behind Mr. Pom's legs at the beach when a Canadian goose flapped his wings at him
  • Cucciolo biting the drum sticks while The Teen tries to play Rockband
  • Julia and I spending Christmas afternoon in bed watching the Little People Big World marathon cause we both were sick
  • The girls and I at The Metropolitan today, viewing the Angel Tree and the Calder jewelry
  • Watching sister #5 totally rip off my brilliant idea of moving a sofa into the dining room for seating (all my good ideas are stolen by my sisters)


Surely there's more - but right now I'm reading some books, starting to make a journal for the new year, getting ready to clean out the studio to make some room to walk for some new ideas and a fresh approach, and plaing soccer with the Cucch. 

 Mr. Pom and I are heading up to the Cape for a few days over New Year's. We couldn't find a place that took pets, so The Teen is home with him and sister #2 is teen/dog/house sitting to work off that giant lobster she ate for Christmas (har har) and I am having new mother pangs at leaving The Teen Cucciolo for the few days we'll be away.


Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Remember at Thanksgiving when Mr. Pom and I went into the city to see Gypsy?  If you recall from the post, it was a very disappointing evening. Last night, Mr. Pom and I went back into the city to see Liza Minelli and as dismal and glum as our Gypsy experience was, our experience last night was as lovely and exciting as a night on Broadway can get.



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The show was a New York experience that soon will be extinct.  A small, intimate theater, a limited engagement, one-woman act, with standards by Kander & Ebb and her iconic renditions of Cabaret and New York, New York. Liza is a little breathless between songs, her dancing a little tamer than when we saw her at Radio City years ago, but she has the energy and performance power that blows the roof off the theater and draws you onstage like you were watching your old friend perform.  Just seeing such a superstar in person and having her seem to chat unscripted with the audience and her 12-piece orchestra  between legendary songs had me sitting on the edge of my seat and I don't think I took my eyes off the stage for a second.

The audience could not sit down and she received a wave of standing ovations from the minute the curtain rose and she was silhouetted in her trademark pose of uplifted arm in her Halston costume.  She was vulnerable, talking about her mother's - momma's - death when Liza was only 22. She was whimsical, staging a nightclub act in tribute to her godmother, Kay Thompson,  the elegant singer and dancer, who also was the author of the infamous children's book, Eloise at The Plaza.  And despite her frequent self-deprecating humor about her exhaustion, she was indefatigable.


By the time she got to the finale of New York, New York, she was dripping with sweat and charmingly candid about her need to sit down. The audience could not get enough of her and when she returned for her encore, which was supposed to be, "I'll be Seeing You",  she sat down on the bench with her pianist, her band gone, and began to sing, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, "  the song her mother made famous when she sings it to a tiny Margaret O'Brien in the 1944 classic "Meet Me in St. Louis".   There was an audible gasp from the audience and not a dry eye in the house, certainly not my own.




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We left the theater walking on air, tears still in my eyes, and came out to snow falling in Times Square. We felt like we were walking on our own movie set of a 1940's New York at Christmas black and white movie.




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We walked arm in arm to the Christmas tree and joined the throng laughing and having their picture taken. We shared a kiss under the tree and I told Mr. Pom that it didn't matter what else we did for Christmas or what I received, that this night was the best Christmas present I'd ever received.





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If I don't get back to you on this blog before Christmas day, I want to extend to you and your families the very best merry little Christmas and Hannukah and Kwanza and Solstice. Whatever and wherever you celebrate, may your days be filled with the simple joys of friends and family, a few baked goodies, the scent of cinnamon and numeg, and a candle or two.  Thank you all for keeping this blog read, for your comments, your messages of support and happines, but most of all your friendship and love. I return the same to you but I could never impress enough on your that you return it to me a thousand times over.




CUCCIOLO IS A MOOSE

Remember this - that sweet, tiny little puppy guy staring straight at the camera???


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Followed by this cuddly homecoming??

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Well, here he is now, all THIRTY SIX POUNDS OF HIS 15 WEEK OLD SELF!


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[Note: leg belongs to MM; he has not grown a fifth leg. Neither has the dog]


AND NOW FOR THE ALL IMPORTANT, CRUCIAL MOST ACHINGLY ADORABLE, ABSOLUTELY PREREQUISITE SWEETEST FIRST CHRISTMAS PHOTO - - -






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We dressed him up a few weeks ago for his shot, of course, he wouldn't sit still or behave so it is a tad blurry and not particularly well staged. But worst of all - he's already so much huger than this.

So in the interest of full disclosure and due to FOIL demands, we are bringing you



THE MONEY SHOT


[A/K/A OUR EMAIL  CHRISTMAS CARD BECAUSE IT WILL BE THE ONLY ONE YOU'RE GETTING THIS YEAR]***



Photo



MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE        WHOLE CRAZY BOWL OF POMEGRANATE SOUP!



*** Yes, Maria, we've become those kind of pet owners.....


IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE

Christmas will come whether we are ready or not.

and I am thankful for that!

I am in the midst of writing a lovely post about Sicilian Italian customs and holidays in Advent . . . but it remains half written and without the links and photos.... (Santa hasn't come with my present yet...)

But here's the thing I just realized:

I cannot give you perfection.

I cannot give you the blog I want to write.

So....

I could pull the plug on this blog - - -

but what fun would that be??


So.....

I hope you enjoy putting up with my rambling, simple posts (sans photos till Santa shows up...)

I hope the new year will bring more time for blogging and all creative pursuits...but who knows if it will?

In the meantime, the Poms have been busy!

~~~the tree is up, and I mean UP, as on a table UP, to prevent Cucciolo from using it as a chew toy - but undecorated because the Pom children want to do it when we are all together, which I figure will be about 10 p.m. on Christmas Eve

~~~the Pom men decorated the outside and it is all white lights and candy cane stripes down the sidewalk - simple and festive.

~~~I decorated the rest of the house, including a silver Venetian mystery theme tree, which I will take a photo of as soon as some child charges his or her camera...

~~~Cucciolo IS getting big, getting cuter, cuddlier, and more trained, and also a little "ballsy" as his trainer puts it, but we're all on board with the "corrections" to keep his little butt under control (photos will come before Christmas - where is those cameras, kids??

~~~NO cookies have been baked, but all the ingredients for Aunt Anita's Gingerbread were bought AND The Teen made monkey bread, for which I will never forgive her because I've eaten half of it in little tiny bites over 2 days of going in and out of the kitchen. Sigh. I need to be put into a medically induced coma until Jan 1st.

~~~Mr. Pom and I are going to see Liza Minelli on Saturday  night at The Palace. The newspaper reported that she called in sick two nights last week, but what they hey - at least we'll get a refund if she doesn't show up since it's a one woman show. Wouldn't it be cool if they had Patti Lupone fill in for her???? But I digress.

~~~I did not have time to make a Christmas card this year, but I found a very cool commercial card and I will send it out to those friends we don't see. We still haven't done the thank you cards for those that came to Granny Pom's services, so I feel that comes first.

~~~I CLEANED MY STUDIO! AND DID A FEW CRAFTS YESTERDAY! (Once again, waiting on that dern camera to appear...)

~~~Mr. Pom and I found a new cafe for weekend cappuccino breakfasts and one day we had breakfast AND a late lunch there. I lurve it - they serve French crepes - sugar & lemon, apple, nutella, strawberry. Of course I can't eat them, but Mr. Pom can and I can get a forkful. I so was born to live in the 30's in Paris....


Twas the Weekend Before the Weekend Before Christmas

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And all through the house,
nothing was stirring except....a mouse.

I do not want to share my house with any meeces
tho I am content to host a gaggle of nieces.

I can embrace all matters of flora and fauna
But in my lair a mouse I no wanna

So after messing around with peanut butter traps
And finding them  eaten but hearing no taps

I demanded to Mr. Pom to pick up the phone
And get a professional on loan

Even Cucciolo got into the game
Making eyes and noises at the window frames.

Just when we were about to  throw up the sash
And yell for the pest control poison mash

What to my wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature and dead tiny mouse dear (inside the puppy chow).

Relieved for now but then the warnings:
them mouses don't come alone a-callin'

My  ears are cocked at the slightest ruffle
or Cucciola's nose seeking a mouse truffle.

Ah, homeowning is so exciting
Tomorrow we are preparing for a plague or lightening.

==============================================
This poem is brought to you by the very work-weary brain of your author who promises a real post - tamarra!





Birthday!

Yesterday was Mr. Pom’s birthday, his first birthday without his Mom.  We were determined to do something special and show him a good time. So we made him get out of bed very early and  go into the city to go to brunch.  But first, he walked the dog and played with him in the backyard while we girls got dressed.

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As usual, he found a great on-street parking space and we took him to Pastis. Here we all are eating pastries from Balthazar and smoked salmon (Mr. Pom)  and omelettes aux fine herbes (The Princess) and  fluffy pancakes (The Teen)  and BOWLS of cappuccino  and CHOCOLATE BREAD (me). As The Princess astutely commented as we surveyed our half-eaten entrees and demolished pastry basket – next time, just order the pastries. In Godfather lingo – leave the guns, take the cannoli.



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Pastis is located in the trendy meat-packing district. The décor is French bistro (think subway tiles and large mirrors and worn wooden tables) and on Sunday mornings, it is filled with tourists asking where to go shopping and what to tell the cab driver if they want to go to Soho. We love the out of town tourists because they snap to attention if they see someone trying to get a picture of their family and offer to take it for them. (If only they'll loaned Mrs. Pom a brush and some make up...)


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We seemed to be surrounded by New Yorkers’ with children, so the trendy ambiance was a la famiglia – sippy cups, strollers, and much coloring. Behind us at the bar, sat the cool people who were downing Bellinis  and ordering….charcuterie (?).

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We cannot be cool people, because if I down a Bellini, the Bellini will not be the only thing going down.  But it is not a snooty place and most importantly of all, the good is very, very good,  the service was polite and efficient; the maitresse d’ was very welcoming, and the allover ambiance was cheerful and warm.




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I love the way they  list the desserts on a large mirror and I’m thinking of doing some  mirror writing for Christmas (Not reverse writing, but writing on the mirrors…)


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After Mr. Pom paid for his birthday breakfast, we further delighted him by taking him up the street to The Apple Store where we all pointed out the powerbooks and Ipods we are lusting after and the children got into an argument over which one of them was more spoiled as a child and as usual, the trump card was played (The Teen was the first one to receive a Powerwheels , tho the other two Always. Wanted. One.) . Then we took  him to the Chelsea Market where he insisted on buying us some Wendy Addison trinkets at the Tinsel Trading outpost and twisted our arms to buy oversize cookie cutters at the restaurant store.




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The rest of the day was quiet and uneventful and he got to rest and watch The Giants  go to Petco for Cucciolo supplies , pick up The Princess at the train station, buy our Christmas tree, put up the tree, and supervise The Teen stringing the lights. (More later with pics of  the Christmas tree, our first “tabletop” tree – tho it is 5 feet – but on tabletop due to …..Cucciolo That Crazy Pup.)

The evening was crowned by his dinner, which was  a Cholesterol Nightmare and exactly what he wanted along with the lemon layer cake that he has EVERY year.  Finally he got to lie down and watch TV, right after he made me a cup of tea and some crackers cause my stomach was upset.

Whew, I’m exhausted from catering to him.

And so very, very happy that I am married to someone who wants the  Same Cake Every Year (along with the Same Woman)


No Lobsters Were Harmed in the Making of this Post

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I complain a lot about the winter cold and darkness, but the truth of it is, I really don't mind the early nights.

Early nightfall does definitely alter my behavior.  In the warmer months, I tend to tarry on the way home from work. I'll stop at the store, take a detour to a farmstand, or get a Starbucks and read on the patio for a half hour before I go home. We go out to eat a lot usually a burger or salad down by the dock or sushi at a sidewalk table.

Now, I scurry straight home in the dark. I feel put out if I have to go to the store or pick up something. I go straight into the kitchen and clean up and begin to cook.  I want the drapes drawn, the fire lit, and the lamps on.

Each night this week, I've been ridden home on the parkway with a beautiful crescent slice of moon hanging above Jupiter and Venus. What a magnicent sight against the dark blue sky and painterly swaths of bands of clouds.

Tonight is Wednesday, the beautiful turn of the week from missing the weekend to anticipating the weekend.  I also love Wednesdays because I watch several episodes of Ghost Hunters. Yes, Ghost Hunters. The Princess turned me onto the show and I began watching in earnest this fall. I don't know that I believe any of it, but for some strange reason, I find the show relaxing.  It has just enough eeriness to be interesting and just enough debunking to make me feel justified in watching it. (Now don't go acting all superior on me - I know you're watching Masterpiece Theater and CNN, but some of us admit to their heir junk TV addictions. )

So tonight, I ran through the supermarket, dropped a package off at UPS, served steak, baked potatoes, and salad, and played with Cucciolo. Now I am sitting in bed with the electric blanket on, drinking Earl Grey tea from my yellow Chantal mug, and have a plate of 100 calories Oreo chips and a dollop of sugar free orange marmalade. (I just bought this orange marmalade and it tastes like lemon curd, only orange. It only has 10 calories a tablespoon! I love orange and chocolate together so I am in heaven.)

I am as contented as a cat. I LURVE Wednesdays!

And you people thought I didn't have an exciting life!!


First Week of Advent

1 The First Week of Advent is upon us. Advent is a liturgical season in its own right, the Church tells us; it is not just the prelude to Christmas.


I have heard these words from the pulpit all my life. From the pulpit it makes sense that Advent is separate and apart from the Christmas season. The readings for the 4 Sundays in Advent are full of fire and brimstone and dire warnings to get our acts together and remember that this life is not the life that matters.  They are full of pleadings and intercession to the Lord to return to earth and save us.

Why do you let us wander, O LORD, from your ways,
and harden our hearts so that we fear you not?
. . .
No ear has ever heard, no eye ever seen, any God but you
doing such deeds for those who wait for him.

Is 63:16b-17, 19b; 64:2-7



 In my mind, Advent is the hemming off of the liturgical year – although it is actually the beginning of it.  For me, it is bringing the binding forward, as we quilters do, to wrap the unfinished edges of the quilt in a story, hemmed binding. So too, we tuck ourselves inside the Advent season, allowing ourselves to be subsumed by it just when we want to rip it off the most.  We want fairy lights and candy canes and we are handed reminders that we are dust and unto dust we shall return.


As a child, I just tuned all this out and concentrated on counting on my fingers the number of days that were left until Santa came. I crossed the days off the calendar I had made with magic markers and construction paper, I opened the little tiny doors of the Advent calendar, and I marked the season by the appearance of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, always the first Christmas cartoon special of the season. I'd much rather be dreaming of Santa bringing me a Tressy doll than listen to the priest extolling us with the words of this cautionary Gospel:

Be watchful! Be alert!
You do not know when the time will come.
It is like a man traveling abroad.
He leaves home and places his servants in charge,
each with his own work,
and orders the gatekeeper to be on the watch.
Watch, therefore;
you do not know when the Lord of the house is coming,
whether in the evening, or at midnight,
or at cockcrow, or in the morning.
May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping.
What I say to you, I say to all: ‘Watch!’”

Mk 13:33-37


Now, in middle age, I have come to appreciate  the fierce warnings and cautionary psalms.  This year they seem especially apt: financial recessions; careening stock market; gas pump shock; layoffs; plunging retirement and college funds....

Winter is indeed upon us. The ground is freezing, the trees are bare, the waters are icy gray, and the sky is low and dark.  We are being marooned on the island of darkness and cold and our despair has stranded our emotions.

 Advent is the reminder of the  darkness before the light.   Advent is the representation of the darkness that we must acknowledge before we can begin to cross the bridge to the light. Advent is both the culmination of the loss of the Light and the preparation for the Coming of the Light. It is both the yin and the yang, the despair and the hope, the retreat from and the movement toward the Light.

Was there ever a year when my state of mind so clearly dovetails with the season? tI can more easily respond to the warning to, “Watch!” so that he may not come suddenly and find me sleeping. My eyes are fixed open more nights than not, and when sleep does come, my first thoughts on awakening is whether the mountains have been rendered down while I sleep.

Of course, my mountains are so much smaller than those of the Old Testament. The tribes of my heritage, my quaking mountains  are the sleeping forms under the covers of Mr. Pom,  the children, my mother, myself.  I am ever vigilant, obsessed, compulsive, ruminating.  But I don't think that this is what was meant.

I need to be reminded to watch - but not to watch my fears, but to watch how the Light returns. I am dithering in my anxiety and confusing myself with my fears. This Advent I pray to keep my eyes fixed to the horizon so that I may be the first to see the crack of light cleave the night sky and cross the bridge of my self-imposed exile and be drawn  to its warmth.