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March 2010
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MIRROR IMAGE

We observe the lives of others around us and we think we see the sum totality of their circumstances. We think we understand them and that we know all there is to know about their lives.

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Our view, however, is clouded by our own perceptions, our prejudices, and our expectations.

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Sometimes we just can't get out of our own way in order to see clearly.

Our preconceptions bleed into our view and cloud our vision.

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There are multiple layers to every story.  You can never know the whole truth, so step back, close one eye, and try to discern where reality and truth intersect.

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And remember: objects in mirror are closer than they appear.


The Best Part of Waking Up

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Is knowing you don't have to go anywhere. At least for this cold, rainy Sunday morning. 

Everyone is happy to laze around. Except Cucciolo, who is stamping his paw and whining (what a teen!) and The (actual)Teen who had to go to work.

Yesterday was a typical Spring Saturday at the Pomegranates. There was weeding, trimming, raking, fertilizing, washing the fence (!), cleaning the garage, (all Mr. Pom) and buying herbs to plant (me).

Of course, the herbs didn't get planted yet.  I need at least several weeks between buying the plants and deciding where they go.  During that time frame, I survey the garden, haul out the terra cotta pots, move them around, forget to buy potting soil, forget to water the plants, forget I have the plants, and then listen to Mr. Pom making loud noises about waste of money, blah, blah, and hear a flat of plants being thrown on  the compost heap.

But not this year! No, I'm getting them in the ground tout suite. Except that it's 40 degrees and raining so not today.

Which is just as well because I am still suffering from the effects of the cold, which has taken up residence in my sinuses. Now I join Mr. Pom, The Princess, and The Teen, all of whom are secreting REAL suphedrine about their rooms as no one wants to be the one who uses the last of it and has to wait in line for twenty minutes at CVS in order to show their license and be reported to the government as a potential meth lab operator in order to breathe again.

We also had the first barbecue of the summer up here in the north where a "barbecue" does not mean barbecue, but grilling...or grillin'. The Teen brought home the Argentinian young woman who is the cook at her French Cheese Shop and she made us guacamole Buenos Aires-style, which was delish.

Our menu was serendipitous for an Argentinian visitor as it was heavy on the protein: salmon, steaks, and hamburgers, but I certainly would not have served red beans and rice from a box (Zatarians: a fixation of Mr. Pom) had I known we were to have a visitor of Spanish/Italian origin at the table.

I don't think she helped herself to any of it.

Just as well.


Who Knew

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That one day I would no longer have long hair.

Or wear overalls. 

That I would have more to do all day than twirl my hair.

  Cake

That the year would come when my birthday cake would no longer be bigger than my body.

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That shiny white hose was only for nurses.

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That I would be a grandmother so soon.

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That children would be raised eating

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raw fish.

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That men would have hair transplants.

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That they would supersize it.

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That I would love to decorate the house  for the holidays!

(thanks, Elizabeth!)

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That condoms would be sold at ballgames.

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That everything would remind me of cake.

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That we'd have so many pets!

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That winter would finally say good bye.

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And I would spread my wings.


Collections

Feeling like I just have a regular cold now, thank goodness. I will go to work and slurp all over everyone cause I'm sure not using another sick day.

Today gave me a chance to upload all my photos from the Cape. I've decided that I will never run out of houses that I wish I could buy. So the next best thing is to collect them, no?

Anyone can collect a house. You needn't own it. You just have to love it, take a photo of it, maybe draw it or paint it. Just add it to the collection of beautiful places in your mind that you can escape to when you have a cold or a fight with your husband or your kids make you feel like you don't know a thing or you've spent 8 hours working at home on a beautiful spring day.

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Here's the first one to start you on your collection. A periwinkle blue house down the street from the bay. Meandering wings, ivy-covered lawn, and a big burst of flowering white bushes for contrast. I think I'd like a little study up by that third floor window so I could overlook the lawn and the road to see who is walking down to the bay with a fishing pole. And after dinner, I'd be out on the front porch catching the breeze.

What houses do you have in your collection?


I Have a Code in My Node

Started Friday night with sore throat and headache. Gradually began sneezing and sniffling. Full blown snorting, slurping, sneezing, coughing by Monday.

People in my office are refusing to come into my office and are instead  throwing papers at me that have to be signed. I bring something over to an admin to work on and she begins fanning the air with a file folder. Scuse me? Do I smell? Germs!

Then my boss, who will come to work on a stretcher, tells me to go home after I sneeze ten times in the middle of the file room. I tell them I'll do a deposition midday tomorrow but not come in beforehand.

By 8:00 a.m. I am phoning the office to tell them to find someone else to do it.

Gawd, I HATE taking a sick day to be sick! Do you know how many days this summer I will want to stay on Cape Cod??

But I'm home. Ready to stay in bed with the TV tuned to On Demand. Maybe The Teen will bring me a cup of tea when she's home on her free period.

What?

Dogs go away! Take a nice nap on mommy's bed.

OK, I know you've been napping for an hour but mommy's not done.

I hoist my achey, sneezy self out of bed, put on my robe with the hood, get my laptop, work laptop, books, journal, and giant bag of work and trudge downstairs. Make a fire. Open door to porch. Prop open outdoor door to porch. Throw out a handful of Cheerios. Grab an afghan.

Take a water bottle from the porch out of Cucch's mouth and give him a treat. Take top of bottle out of his mouth before he swallows it and give him a treat. Make Bella Sera come inside cause she's barking at the neighbor.Give her a treat.

There's a large wet spot on the sofa. WTFoolhardy? Both dogs look at me and shrug.

The Teen comes home with two friends. Oh, this is my mom's sick get-up. I pull my pink polka dot robe closer around me and hide the red nose with my hood. She's a pink smurf. In all their healthy youth they barely acknowledge me and go to the diner for breakfast. Seniors!

Bella Sera is sleeping in front of the fire. And Cucch - Cucch? Cucch! I thought he was on the landing, but certain girls left the door to the third floor open. I run up the two flights of stairs, gasping for breath. Please, please, please, I am praying. The Princess has beautiful curtains from Anthropology instead of doors on her large closet. That means that her massive array of shoes is exposed to a young dog's teeth, his specialty.

It's good. He's only eaten a Tootsie roll lollipop she got in her Easter basket and pulled her cosmetic bag onto the floor and scattered it everywhere. Oh, and gone through her garbage, but it's benign.

Herd both dogs down two flights of steps, give more treats. Settle into recliner.

Cucch comes flying in from the backyard with a big stick in his mouth. Oh, how cute! he wants me to throw it. I put down all my work and tighten the robe and go out on the chilly porch to throw the stick and soon as I hit the porch Cucch makes a U-turn, flies back into the living room, onto my chair and eats all my dirty tissues that are on the table.

Right now Bella Sera is voluntarily sitting in her crate. Cuch is laying on the sofa with his head on my toile pillows. JayLo is on Regis in a sparkly dress. The Sudafed has stopped the sneezing and runny  nose but now I can't breathe at all through my nose.

No sign of The Teen with my triple venti skim cap.  The living room is freezing with the porch door open. There's no food in the house.

I shoulda gone to work. Breathed all over the client for the depo. And not cancelled my hair appointment - again.

I rattle the dog crate doors in a warning to The Cucch. He ignores me and goes to sleep on the sofa.

 It's only 9:30 a.m. I have a ton of work to keep me occupied.

I nap a little and then the sound of pans crashing in the kitchen wakes me. 

Cucch!

Only 10 hours till Mr. Pom gets home.


A Potpourri of A Post If Ever There Was One


This weekend we are at the CC Cottage. It is cold and raining, like it is every spring here. I am happy for the quiet and the dark and a day of reading and working in my art journal. I've already broken my diet, eating a cranberry lemon scone toasted in the oven as I type this. Mr. Pom is hiding under the pillows cause Cucciolo was barking his head off in the middle of the night and then he had to walk him at 5:00 a.m. in the rain.

Sister #2 is here with us. She was  great help last night when we were waiting for Mr P to get here and suddenly the smell of oil filled the house. I just shut the thermostat, but she being the practical, older sister rushed down the basement and observed the smoke issuing from the brand new oil burner. When the smoke alarm went off, I called 911 from my cell and the nicest firemen you ever want to don't have to meet came to the cottage.

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Of course, this all occurred just when I had finally warmed up the freezing cold house, when we were both sitting in chairs with throws, sipping tea and watching What Not To Wear. I had actually taken out my journal and was sketching. ( Really, what was I thinking!) Even the dogs had just settled down with some bones.

The next few hours were a riot. The burner stopped smoking when we turned it off so we weren't worried about an imminent fire but I was really ticked since we barely have paid for it. The dogs were penned in the mudroom and howling away at the excitement and the Fire Chief INSISTED that we let them out (He has  4 dogs).

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So in the midst of several very sweet (and hunky) firemen going up and down the basement stairs, Bella Sera flew into the basement because the firemen had FLASHLIGHTS and once they realized that she wanted to chase the light, they were happy to spin their flashlights around so she could go nuts.

Cucch was growling at the men in their huge coats, big reflective vests, and firemen hats until the Fire Chief knelt down and petted him, at which point he ran and got his bone and brought it to each one for approval. Then he escaped outside and three firemen were running around my lawn trying to catch him but I'm proud to say, he came when I called him (with a large bone in my hand).

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It was as my boss would say, A Merry Machine.

I figured we would have a night without heat, but Chief Reynaud said, Young Miss (I made that up), call that oil burner company RIGHT NOW. And sure enough, they had a repairman here in an hour.

The firemen offered to take us by ambulance to the hospital if we felt overcome by the smoke and I did consider it for a flashing second since they were awfully cute and I rely on the kindness of strangers but then I remembered poor Mr. P about to arrive after a full day of work and 4 hour drive. (That and the fact that there was only about two puffs of smoke.)

The firemen left but not until the Fire Chief CARRIED BELLA SERA UP THE BASEMENT STAIRS because the fool dog is afraid of open steps.  Mr. Pom walked in as the repairman was in the basement and said, "WTFoolhardy thing is going on?". Everything got  fixed and we went to bed toasty and warm.

Whereupon Mr. P and I stared at the ceiling wondering what would have happened if this had occurred 1) when we were in New York, or 2) out for several hours, and 3) the dogs were here.

But none of that happened!

Ah, it is so relaxing up heah!


You Put A Little Love In My Heart

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Thank you, each and everyone of you, for the beautiful outpouring of response on my wool-gathering post. I was so touched to hear from the lovely readers who have been regulars for all these years, from those readers who occasionally pop their heads in, and from the many who wrote to say they read everyday but have never commented before. 

Let me assure you that my post was not meant to be a "do you love me post?" Any blogger who has been doing this for more than a year or two understands that blogging is a contemporary activity that rides the waves of current events back in the world and in the blogger's life.  Everyone has times in their lives when they wonder if they have anything left to say.

There's nothing more than a writer can ask for than an acknowledgement that they are still interesting enough for readers to return each day. Blogging can often be a lonely experience when hitting "publish" brings no response. It is good to know that you are out there and I encourage you all to leave comments on all blogs, not just on mine. Nothing is more satisfying to bloggers, as most of you are yourselves, then to engender a discussion in the comment section amongst the readers.  After all, we are really all just looking for a conversation!

I enjoyed all your comments and I am considering many of your suggestions, which were fabulous! I especially love "Fido Friday". If I was a smarter blogger, or a more sophisticated blogger, or a blogger who was more atuned to marketing, self promotion, and public relations, I could easily have branded this blog years ago and fashioned it into a single focus point of view.

The truth is that I am who I am and it spills out into my blog, my offline writing, and my artwork. I am a woman of many interests and enthusiasms. I would be better served to focus on one - or a few at least! But I never wanted to miss out on anything. Not on raising my kids, not on summer days, not on traveling, teaching, reading, cooking, sewing, visiting, and yes, even practicing law. The truth also is that as much as I complain about my need to work inside the confines of an office, my job brings me a lot of satisfaction. The people I work with are very nice and on many a morning when I am depressed and exhausted, just getting into the office and the structure of the day makes me forget the latent tendency I have to be despodent.

Thus, I am afraid that I will never  be able to "brand" the blog and thus myself as this or that, which is what they tell you at all the blogging conferences to do in order to be popular and get book deals and marketing promotions, etc.

My life is exactly as I represent here. I may burnish out the rough spots and throw sand on the crappy piles, but essentially the blog is a hodgepodge because so am I and I always will be.

As much as I would like to have separate blogs - reviews! cooking! style!, I have enough trouble keeping this one up to date! Even the thought of having a particular day of the week that I am beholden to (remember List Fridays - they were so much fun - in the beginning) tends to become like homework.

For those of you who would like to read more and see more about art and mine in particular, I am working on it. I honestly don't have the hours in the day to photograph it, scan it in, photoshop it, etc. One of these days!

I am having a great time visiting each of your blogs. I will be replying to your comments either on my blog or on yours if you have one.

Love to you all, and to my family who loves to read about my life here.  To Mr. Pom, who tries to read the blog but these days is too busy to, to my kids who pretend not to read the blog but then makes a comment about a photo or story and when is it their turn  to be written about. And to my mom who checks in each day and tells all her friends, to my sister in North Carolina who gets to see the kids growing up on the blog, to my sister who is just a mile away but who is busy as I am, to my sister down the street who doesn't have a minute as she is working and getting a Master's and raising three kids , and to the sister across town who is retired and is sitting in the next room today in Cape Cod, thanks to all who let me blog about you and us and all of it.


Reviews

Has anyone out there read South of Broad?

I really wanted to read and to like Pat Conroy's latest. I love Southern writers and books about the South in general. We consider the South our second home and hold a lot of sentimental feelings for the place where we raised our family.

The Prince of Tides became this generation's populist Absalom, Absalom!. So I eagerly snatched up his latest, and then had to wait until The Princess read it. She loves the South and adores Charleston in particular.

It is the most peculiar book.

The first part is quite lovely, sad, touching, and elegantly written. Until it begins to read like a phone book and we are introduced in twenty pages to half a dozen young people from diverse and improbably backgrounds coming together in that most patrician of southern towns.

The mother has a great mystery, that the readers are privy to but not her son. The son is a surviving ugly duckling of a son, the first son having killed himself for no apparent reason. The first son was The Favored Son and the younger goes crazy, has a criminal interlude (but not really) and plays the role of prodigal to his mother for the rest of her life.

I am more than two-thirds into the book and the reasons for the first son's suicide has not even been broached. No mention. Nada. No wonder. No conundrum. Unfortunately, in one oblique sentence tucked in to seem as if in passing in the first few chapters, I figured it all out.

The great mystery of the mother's past, one of the enormous hooks of the book, is not slowly or subtly revealed but told in a big upchuck of straight narrative by an "explanation" by the father after a "surprise" phone call by a character who has not been seen or heard from since.  What happened to "show, don't tell". And it is an entirely arbitrary and unsatisfactory explanation that goes against the grain of the mother's character.

There is a startling intrusion of what appears to be a Halloween I, II, and III type characters, which is left dangling for twenty years.

Part two of the books shoots the characters twenty years into the future. Suddenly A is married to B, C to D, and E and F are famous and ignominous respectively. There is a great chase sequence through the streets of San Francisco. Tire irons are wielded by newspaper columnists, celebrities weep with their friends, who are The Best Friends, The Greatest Friends, The Renegades. Husbands sleep with paralegals, Noble Wives suffah the slings and arrows of public humiliation, Great Loves are quelled for years, Racial Storms are diffused by Those Greatest Friends.

And never have I read the word, "titties" and other unmentionables reiterated constantly through the course of a book. Ah, it finally dawns on me, this is supposed to be a Sensitive Book But a Man's Book. Got it!

Part Three: We're back twenty years for the backstory once again.

I'm too tired to imagine how it is all going to wrap up, I presume we get back to the present. I assume several characters will 1) die; 2) reappear; 3) win the Nobel Prize?

The writing and storyline is the best when he is writing about their youths. There are lyrically beautiful  descriptions of the Southern landscape. There is a breathtakingly lovely and bittersweet scene when the main character and two friends are floating down the river into the delta. He is a master at family interactions and relationships and can pin a generation's attitude with a phrase

But he writes about friendships as if he never had one. Or maybe it's me? Maybe I've never had such diverse, true blue, hearts of gold friends? People who twenty years later still do their cheerleading routines and call their men onto the back lawn for kisses? People for whom verbal parry is their only form of communication? Sassy black and white interchange; sardonic men and simmering women; unrequited love by Noble Men and Long Suffering Wives married to Callow Type A's.

Tennessee Williams made it look so easy!

I'm going to go find my copy of Absalom, Absalom! and put it in my overnight book for the Cape.



The Middle Aged Blog

What do you think is the lifetime of an average blog?

I was astonished to realize how old this blog is, in fact I had to verify it with the Typepad billing records because I could not believe that I began this blog in November 2003.   In  blog years, I think that makes it 60 years old!

Some blogs go in the blink of an eye. Others develop a furious following and make an ascent into the stratosphere of posts and reader hits. Most blogs settle in and develop a coterie of readers and steadily plug out post after post for several years until life circumstances or lack of attention or both contribute to their demise.

In the course of the last 6 1/2 years, I have written 1408 posts (which seems low to me frankly) and had 9505 comments. I have a small, loyal following and at this point in the game, I don't think there is much I could do to increase my stats except to pull the plug and reinvent myself under another name and point of view.

Most days, my blogging feels like a conversation among good friends. I am always thrilled when I see a spike in hits and comments, and I always smile when I see the familiar names in my inbox. I'm excited when new people visit and return. I'm the most happy when my post generates lots of lively comments amongst the commentors.

I wonder, though, at this point in my blog's life, if I have run its course. As the kids gets older and require a lot more privacy, as I've written about most of the family situations  that recur, when I have to limit my posting about work to a severe degree, and when I find myself just plain too busy to give it much attention, I ahve the thought of pulling the plug, as all bloggers do.

Maybe I should start a new blog where I only review books.

Perhaps I could become a real art blog, with links to art posts across the world.

Or become a law blog - nah!

Fashion?

Interior decorating?

Garden porn?

What do you want to see on these pages?

What posts are most interesting to you?

What posts invite you to linger and comment?

Do you like it when the blogger replies to comments?

Do you want comments replied to on the blog or emailed to you or on your own blog?

How often do you read the same blogs - daily, weekly?

Food for thought.

Eager to hear your thoughts, and thanks always for reading. 


Greenery

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This is the season of growth, the season of rebound after the long, cold days when the earth was frozen over.

Verdant spring, a kaleidescope of greens whirls outside my windows.  From the yellow greens of the evergreens starting to push out new growth to the tender green of the shoots of fescue, the clean greens of the new oak leaves, and the emerald greens of the grass, I can almost find a match for every green in my paintbox:

  • SAP GREEN

 Sapgreen

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  • PHTHALLO GREEN

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  • PYRELENE GREEN


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  • OLIVE GREEN

 Olivegreen


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  • PERMANENT GREEN

 Permgreen

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  • TURQUOISE

 Rueq

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  • ULTRAMARINE TURQUOISE (my fave)

 Ultturq

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  • CADMIUM GREEN

 Cadgreen

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  • CHROMIUM GREEN


 Chromium green

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  • GREEN GOLD


 Green gold

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You may argue the position that turquoise has no place in a post all about green, but I beg to differ. Turquoise swings both ways and  today is about greens, so I am including it cause it is one of my favorite colors all around.

I don't wear a lot of green. In fact, after reviewing my closet in connection with this post, I realize that I only own one item of green - an emerald green silk top that I rarely wear.  The other day I was looking at a pretty purple top and decided not to buy it because I don't have anything to wear with it. It appears I am deficient in Easter colored clothing, but I own yards and yards of green fabrics. Go figure.

Green is very popular nowadays. We try to be "green" in our choice of cleaning products and paper items and we try to use the gas fireplace as much as possible rather than heating the whole house. We are not very green when it comes to cars, though my Mini gets excellent gas mileage. Our carbon footprint definitely could be reduced.

Green foods are often shunned by certain members of the household. I try to eat something green at every meal. Starbucks has an egg white, spinach, and feta wrap that I have almost everyday for breakfast during the week. It is only 290 calories and is easily eaten on the way to court. Lunch almost always is a salad of some kind, and I do include vegetables and more salad at dinner.  Others of the household find salads an unnecessary evil, but will eat it if forced. I have noticed that any vegetable served with cheese will be scarfed up, but it sort of defeats the purpose. 

My living room and kitchen are painted an apple green and I have not tired of it in the least although on the day the painting was finished, I had a giant panic attack, thinking that I had made a mistake.  

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My bedroom is a mint green, a color I must confess I am seriously lobbying to change it to a summery blue. Our last house had a lot of rooms painted in Restoration Hardware silver green, which is a sage that I loved but now fear smacks of the 90's.

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Colors go in and out of fashion as readily as hemlines.  You'll be interested to know that the color that tops the list for the Pantone Spring Colors of 2010 is turquoise.

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I find turquoise to be a very difficult color to select for a wall. It can be very cold or very green, neither of which I prefer. To me it is a gorgeous accent color, suitable in a print with white for a side chair or gorgeous in a ceramic vase or lamp base. I wear almost all silver jewelry and have worn many pieces with turquoise over the years. Most of them look a little dated now. 

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The other green on the list is Dried Herb, which on my monitor is a brown green, suspiciously like the ubiquitous sage, probably Dried Sage to be accurate.

 SS10-Eucalyptus

The other green is Eucalyptus, which reads beige to me and therefore not something I will ever wear or have on a wall. 

 

The best thing about spring greens is that they presage (no pun intended) the bluing of the sky and waters and blooms of summer.

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Green and blue are fluid parts of the same spectrum. Like the ocean and the sky,  they flow into one another,  mixing back and forth in a water exchange of hues that always leave me refreshed, calm, and smiling.

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  Perhaps being an Aquarian is the source of my ardor for all things blue and green, for my lifelong love of clean shades of these aqueous and ethereal hues.

  Or maybe I am just the girl who wants to live under blue skies with my bare feet in green waters.


Art is Blossoming

On a sunny, warm spring evening, we had the pleasure of attending a lively art show at a lcommunity art guild. What is more elegant than an art gallery in the golden light of evening?

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The reason for the occasion was a gathering of young artists from two of the local high schools.

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The Teen was selected as one of the artists from her school, as was our niece. Both of the girls have the most wonderful teacher, an art teacher who is absolutely the coolest guy (bicycles to school in Spandex, then changes into white overalls and a bowtie everyday). He is so supportive of the kids and really pushes them to go deep and make art that is conceptual and edgy and not "private Catholic girls school", which is how he described a recent show at the school and left me gasping for air from laughter.

The Teen got a second place ribbon for Mixed Media, which was very cool.

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What made me very proud was when she said that she was proud to get second place and to lose to the artist who got first place,  because, she said, mom, she's absolutely an amazing artist.

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This was the first place piece. The face is drawn in black ink on a transparency and is hung about six inches in front of an an abstract figure which is painted in colors.   You can get a better look at how cool it is in this photo.

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This weekend we went to college for Open House.  We left her off at the dorm of a girl who graduated from our high school and is a freshman now. She jumped out with another friend without a look back. I'm pretty sure she will have no freshman adjustment/homesickness. Especially with Mystery Man living ten minutes away.

It is so cool there! All these art students walking around with huge portfolios, sitting on the lawns sketching, and the neighborhood is just gorgeous with all the ornamental trees in bloom around the old attached brownstones and the little hidden alleyways.

No, I don't think I'll have to worry about The Teen being homesick. 

But she may have to worry about her friends asking her who is that older woman who comes down every weekend and sits on the lawn with her journals and hangs out in the cafe across the street. I'm trying to talk MM into getting a new apartment right near campus. Then I'll always have a place to stay! 

Did I tell you they have the best coffee at Fells Point?

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Oh, and pirates, too.

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And buxom women and dudes with powdered wigs. 

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I'll fit right in.

Note to self: Make sure To request a single for The Teen and buy her a futon.

I know she won't mind a weekend guest...every weekend.

Gotta go, The Teen and Mr. Pom are whispering and I heard the word "Mom" used about a 100 times.


Spring Anew

I wanted to write a lovely post about the tips of the daffodils bursting through the ground in the muddy garden and growing a foot into full bloom in the space of 5 days of mid-summer like weather. I intended to write about the last month's snowflakes whirling into a confetti of pink petals, and how the startling beauty of a huge weeping cherry tree brought a catch to my throat. 

The signs of spring.

But when I began to write my post, I became aware that I'd seen most of spring so far from behind the windshield, or through the window of my office, where the geese that befoul of our parking lot have been aggressively mating and nesting and fighting in the bushes.

I looked at my list and realized that it hardly even mentioned being outdoors!  My list could be considered rather trivial, shallow even.  And I saved it into drafts and went off to read other people's blogs.

And then I read the beautiful profile of Blackbird and her unique sense of style and I realized that my list was okay, in fact  I could not stop smiling.

Would I have written this list ten years ago, five years ago - or even three years ago?

No, I would not have. I could not have. Back then, I was 125 pounds overweight. My idea of clothes looking good was that I could zip up the pants and button the blouse and it matched. Not that I didn't love clothes and not that I didn't spend money on them, but at best, it was frustrating and at worst, sad.

So yes, I've become a clothes horse. Yes, I spend too much money on clothes now. If I had unlimited wealth, I'd buy couture or at least prete a porter. I love clothes with dressmaker details. I love color. I love fitted jackets and a-line skirts. I adore pencil skirts but alas cannot wear them.  I am much more conscious about fit and silhouette. I'm style conscious. I spend a lot of time shopping online, or at least surfing what's there.  I read style blogs, I notice what people are wearing on the street, and I look forward to getting dressed each day.

You probably have no idea what it means to a person who has been obese from age 8 to wake up in the morning and to look forward to getting dressed each day. To walk by a window and catch of glimpse of myself and actually  like what I see? I never thought I'd write that.

I will never be slender. I will always have fat, lumpy legs, an apron for a stomach, and boobs that have deflated into tube socks. That will not change unless I have surgery, and frankly, though I'd like to wake up one morning with it all done and it would make clothes shopping so much easier, I'd rather spend the time and money on going to Italy.  After I tuck all the strange body  parts into clothing, it  hangs together okay.

I am who I am at this age. And it's a wonderful age! I don't have to feel so  au courant with every fashion trend cause just doing a little bit of what's in makes me look really trendy for someone my age.

The reverse is also true: I can wear what isn't trendy and be unabashedly myself, which includes not feeling the need to wear the black or blue button down suits that every other woman has on in the courtroom.

My only wish: better knees and feet so I could indulge myself in gorgeous shoes. (And maybe an eye lift...)

I feel very empowered in that for the first time in my life, I want to be out with people, I don't hate to have my picture taken, and I don't find a million excuses not to meet online friends in person.

So here is my list for Spring. I have another one, much more spiritual and arty, and maybe I'll post it later in the week, and  I hope you don't think me shallow, but even if you do,  I wouldn't change it 

The First Sings of Spring:

  • I only want to wear pink
  • I got a pedicure (new OPI purply polish)
  • I am hunting down espadrilles and platform sandals with only a 2" heel
  • I am packing away the heavy red zippered military sweater I found at TJ Maxx and only wore once to my chagrin
  • I am buying new Spanx so I can fit back into the shirtwaist khaki dress I bought last year
  • I am reassessing what right I have to ever wear a skirt/dress with legs like these
  • The wooden and bamboo bangles are back on my arms
  • I am wondering how I missed the 4 weeks a year when I can wear my pink and black tapestry coat before it gets too hot/too cold
  • I moved all the winter coats off the hall hooks and into the hall closet and the raincoats vice versa
  • I packed away all my boots from hall and into  boxes under the bed
  • I timidly wore a dress with bare legs on Easter (see bullet point above re legs)
  • (I wondered when everyone stopped wearing nude hose, which appears to have happened sometime before I lost weight while I wasn't looking)
  • I realized that my Clinique 05 Creme Shy Blush needs to be benched for a rosier shade for blushing in spring
  • I switched from Loreal Pale As A Ghost base to Clinique 03 Ivory
  • I am looking for a softer spring colors replacement for the Revlon Color Stay 03 Neutral Khakis 12 Hour Eye Shadow (it really does stay 12 hours)
  • I wore the silver Oyster shell necklace on the brown gross grain ribbon for the first time this since last summer
  • I ordered my one dress a season from Boden
  • And remembered that I already ordered another but it hasn't come yet....
  • But then they had a sale so I had to order another, which they no longer have on the site to show you
  • I dumped all my summer shoes on the floor and took some to the shoe maker for new heels and decided that Payless really has some good flats and loafers that hold up well but you really have to look
  • And I sublimated my desire to buy all new spring clothes, so Mr. Pom doesn't divorce me, into buying new a new down pillow, which after just one night, has cured my constant neck ache


Fur-I-Day

Mr. Pom wants to know why I'm covered with dog fur every morning when he gets out of the shower.

What he doesn't know is that after he lets the dogs out, feeds them, brings them upstairs, and goes into the shower, the labs jump on the bed, jump on me, and hold me hostage until I rub their ears, snouts, and stomachs until my arms are numb.

Numb.

When and if I try to rest my hands and have them just sit with me, they bury their heads into my armpits and throw themselves across me, thereby preventing me from moving or breathing.

If I shut my eyes and continue to ignore them, I get pawed. Have you ever had a scratchy, heavy dog paw run across your face at 6 a.m.?

I think not.

Usually I am trapped in the covers under the dogs and freak out because they are resting on my full bladder or my stomach, giving me acid reflux.

Cucch will just lay across my chest with his snout an inch from my mouth, just in case I want to watch the weather on TV and divert an ounce of attention from him.

Bella Sera, who is very touchy gets her feelings hurt easily, will flounce off and lay with her head between her paws on the other side of the bed.

Sometimes, they decide that although my arm is trapped between them, it is a good time to wrestle and nibble at each other and soon one dog is laying on its back with its four legs flying and the other has someone's ruff in its mouth and at this point I am yelling and trying to get my arm out from in between them as they will indiscriminately nibble mine.

This is usually about two minutes before Mr. Pom comes out of the bathroom and finds Cucch sulking by the bathroom door and Bella on the floor cowering because I threw them off the bed when they wouldn't stop wrestling.

They look like angels.

I am panting.

And he looks at me quizzically and says, every morning, "Why are you covered with dog hair?"


Easter Miracles

Mr. and Mrs. Pomegranate announce the engagement of their daughter, La Principessa,

 Jessicadenimsk314

to


The Physics Boyfriend

who shall forthwith be referred to as

The Fiance*


and he better give me his baby picture tout suite!

 Jands
(She wants a wedding on the Cape with hydrangeas and pomegranates in the wedding arrangements. She is my girl)

_____________________

Wordybird reminded me - he is the fiance; she is the financee fiancee.* He is the fidanzato; she is the fidanzata.  Due to his frequent trips to Italy, we are reconsidering his a/k/a...

_____________

All the way from Scotland, Julia made me bust out laughing when she pointed out that I wrote "financee" - as in "financier"...hmmm, Freudian slip?


Almost Bunny Time

Just past noon and Mr. Pom and I have taken the dogs to the woods, gotten a grocery delivery, had breakfast at Frenchy Gourmet,  picked up The Teen who is back from a week in Florida, and Mr. Pom and MM, who came home last night, opened the dining room table and put in the leaves, brought up the extra chairs from the basement, and cleaned the side porch so we can sit out there tomorrow. I made another double batch of waffles, which the Pomettes promptly ate half of because they all got up at once, and I did everything for the deviled eggs except stuff. them

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How can I deny them several waffles apiece when I am so happy to have them all under the same roof so the Easter Bunny doesn't have to travel?

But now, my work for the day is done. There may or may not be a fish fry tonight in the backyard. Or there may be whole wheat pizza from down the street. I am at Starbucks, sitting on the patio in glorious sunshine!  And I do not intend to stir until about 2 when I am going to go buy some jeans.

But poor Mr. Pom went into work coz there's a problem. We are very sad. We'd hoped to go to Arthur Av, but just as well coz I'm sure it's a madness. (I don't know how I feel about the "coz"; it is useful when texting but seems lazy in posts.)

In between quiches and eggs, I wrote a long background for the main character in my novel, none of which will probably appear. I also wrote two sections that set up several plot lines. My new weekend writing routine is to go to Starbucks, grab the table with the electrical outlet, plug in both the laptop and my Ipod to drown everyone out, and write for several hours. 

However, yesterday was GAWJUS and I went to the park with a full battery and wrote about the Cape whilst next to Long Island Sound which is not too shabby a place to be by the water if you can't get up to the Cape for Easter.

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Here's a peek at the quiches I made for tomorrow's brunch:

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The ones in the foreground are salmon with a Greek olive on top: the big one is tomato, mozzarella, and basil, and the ones in the rear are bacon cheddar and asparagus and ham. 

Monday, I will be eating protein powder and celery sticks.

If you need me, I will be on the terrace for another hour at least, enjoying the sun, writing a couple of pages while my battery lasts, or just surfing your blogs.

Oh, and if you know this man,

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could you call his cell and ask him to put his shirt back on.


Blossoming

I took today off from work because  Easter is Sunday and the entire Pomegranate extended branches of fruit are coming for brunch.  I've been busy cooking and after a few nights of it, I gave myself a migraine and teetered through a deposition on Thursday on wobbly legs and with pounding head. That is usually my body's way of telling me to cut it out - get some sleep, go to bed early!

Mr. Pom doesn't fully understand this compunction of "celebrating" the holidays [unless  it is Christmas Eve and he is The Master of the Lobsters].  Just throw some food on the table, he hectors me. Can't you ever keep it simple?

Simple?

Honey, this is simple!  You have no idea how much simpler my holidays are than my mother's generation. I don't spend hours blocking and pressing  a hand-crocheted cloth. I don't garner a child to sit at the kitchen table with a cloth and silver polish and service for twelve. I try not to use the inherited crystal or serve a first course of shrimp cocktail in glass compotes that all must be hand-washed.

Easter may be my favorite holiday to have at my house. It's possible, first of all, that it could be warm and sunny (which truly would be resurrecting after the biblical rain of the last few week; more about our basement another time).  If I can sweet talk Mr. Pom, the screened porch may get scrubbed down and the kids can hang out in the sunshine and eat at the glass table.

Food traditions bind us as a family through the generations.  Monday evening, I caught a second wind after work and called my sister, Maria, to bring over  my Aunt Anita's hand-written copy  of our great grandmother's cookie recipe, also known as Mananna's (think Ma Anna or My Nana) cookies. They are what I call peasant cookies- 1 pound sugar, 3 pounds floor, 1 can Crisco, baking powder, and my heretical addition, vanilla paste.  They are one of the three types of cookies that my aunt made as regularly as rain for every occasion. Simple - Mr. Pom are you listening?
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Aunt Anita's method was to roll them into logs, cut, twist, cut with a knife, and add sprinkles before cooking. You can see their free form shape above. But at 8:30 at night, we decided we'd like to go to bed before midnight, so I went looking for some cookies cutters.

Look what I found!

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A set of Easter cookie cutters that my grandmother gave me back in 1987!  I know this because I wrote it on the box. We do that in my family - annotate our possessions, photos, and papers. (We would prefer that some of our relatives had not decided to add ball point additions to original documents, like correcting the spelling of a witness's name on my grandparents wedding certificate from 1915, but what can you do about it now?)

Although my aunt may not have approved of this twist on tradition, the cookies made darling tulips, chicks, bunnies, eggs, and even crosses. 

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I  don't have room in my freezer to keep them till Sunday, so I went down to the basement to look for a cookie tin.  I found what I needed and came up the stairs with a round plastic rub that my aunt kept these very same cookies in.  And how do I know that?

Because in very faint script in faded pencil was her handwriting which said, "Vento cookies 12-22-99". Gave me goosebumps! She also had written "Tarala" in bold print, which  meant she had used it for those cookies last.  (Really, the woman should have been an archivist.)   "Vento" was my great grandmother's maiden  oops, married  (my editor, The Empress, caught the mistake post-pub) name and though I knew my aunt made them all the time, it was moving to find her faint script noting the contents of what was and what would be in her old container. (I took a close up of it, but it may be the worst picture ever taken; you can vaguely see it off to the left.

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These are a pretty good representation of the tarala cookies, swiped off the web:

 Tarala

As I washed out the tub which was grimy from the basement, I took off the wedding band I wear since I lost weight and my own doesn't fit anymore. I had to smile when I realized that I was wearing that the simple wide rose gold band belonged to Mananna herself.

So pay attention as there will be a test at the end of the post:

We made my great grandmother's cookies from my aunt's handwritten recipes with my grandmother's cookie cutters, stored them in my aunt's old cookie tin, while I wore my great grandmother's wedding ring on my hand.

Need I say more why food runs so deep in the cultural traditions of my family? Or why I simple isn't always better?

While I was writing this, my cousin in Albany just texted me that she was making the same cookie dough, but using it as a pie crust for casatta, which is a flat pie that is covered in cannoli filling. Too bad she's not coming to my house!

Check in tomorrow when I regale you with another long-winded post about quiche and hand-painting Easter eggs cause I'm crazy like that.