Mental Meatloaf

My mother arrives today, Hamlet soon to follow

2012-01-31T09:03:00.004-05:00

"Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper, sprinkle cool patience."

The last sip of my coffee is always cold - and I never seem to be able to get through a whole cup before that "ugh" sip. Perhaps should invest in a desktop mug warmer, as I can't stand to gulp coffee. Morning coffee is meant to be sipped. But I digress.

It's now 9:00AM. I must get to the airport to pick up my dear mother at 11:14AM. Which means I have two hours to do the following:

1. Scrub the tub, toilet, and bathroom sink.
2. Change the linens on the bed and clean the bedroom.
3. Grocery shop for last minute things like cream for the coffee, etc.
4. Clean the cat box.
5. Shower and wash my hair.
6. Stop faffing about with this blog and get to items 1-5.

Am so excited because Mom has planned to watch Kenneth Branagh's "Hamlet" with me while she's here... all 5 hours of it... and I can't wait! It's the best thing EVER, and I'm so happy to be able to share it with her, especially as she's taking a Shakespearean literature class just now, so it's super relevant.

Okay, must stop typing and get to that list.

Nevermind who's bearing the fardels,
scrub that tub!

And now for something cheerful... JURY DUTY!

2012-01-30T08:50:00.005-05:00

Knowing my sarcastic tendencies, you probably thought that title was tongue-in-cheek. Not so, my little chickadees! I am actually looking forward to jury duty. I hope I get chosen for a really juicy, extended case in the court closest to my house. (Gas prices, darlings.)

Yes, it's all because of my strong sense of civic duty. That's it, you see. I'm dedicated to the furthering of justice! My patriotic inclinations to support this fine country's government and its inner workings, my neeeed to be a part of it all - that's what kindled this burning fire in my soul!

It has nothing at all to do with the fact that I will have actual weekends off during any week(s) that I'm serving on a jury. (That's SATURDAY AND SUNDAY for you folks keeping score at home.) Nope, nope, nope, nothing like that. It's all about civic duty. Yep.

Kismet is alive and well in my world, and so the very week that I received my summons to beautiful, wonderful jury duty, I stumbled across this movie on TCM. It's called "Perfect Strangers" - with stars Ginger Rogers (as in "Fred Astaire and"), and Dennis Morgan (best known as the handsome soldier in "Christmas in Connecticut").

This movie was a tap on the head from the cosmos. The very first scene shows the 1940s version of the jury selection process. No computers or button pushing here, folks. We're talking one person counting drawers and another turning pages... OH, the RIVETING ACTION!!!

What's more, Ginger Rogers plays a lady who is summoned for jury duty!

The TCM website was kind enough to provide embedding codes for these two clips so that I can share them with you, but you have to make your own popcorn.

Stay tuned for more exciting updates on my quest for personal fulfillment through ~~getting weekends off~~ serving on a jury!

Marcheline's rant: The Library

2012-01-29T08:37:00.008-05:00

There's something that's been sticking in my craw lately... and it has to do with my local library.

See, if I took a book out, and found that pages 23 through 40 had been torn out, and I took the book into the library and showed them the damage, what do you think would happen?

I'll tell you. The nice library lady would take the book back, perhaps put in a request for its replacement, and she would dispose of the book - however library ladies do that. Not sure if they burn them, repurpose them, throw them in the bin, recycle them, or use them for toilet paper... but what I can tell you is that they would not put the unreadable book back on the shelf.

Now, that precedent having been established, let's move on to the next media format. Movies on DVD. Time after time after time, Bear and I have taken a movie out of the library, curled up on the couch after a hard day at work to watch it, and upon taking it out of the plastic casing found the discs inside looking like they'd been mauled by a pit bull. Or perhaps attacked by an angry three year old armed with a screwdriver. And, right on cue, said movie would hang up, freeze up, refuse to go forward... usually right smack dab in the middle of the crucial scene.

We have taken these movies back to the library, shown them the damaged discs, and told them that the movie is unwatchable due to said damage. And what do you suppose they do?

They put them right back on the shelf for someone else to take out and not be able to watch.

WHAT IS IT WITH THAT?!?!?

Does the library get popularity points for how many movies they keep on the shelves, regardless of whether you can actually watch them or not? Is there some local regulation stating that no library can discard a DVD once they have accepted it into their collection?

I mean, some people look at me and say, "but it's free." As if that makes it worth watching eighty percent of a movie and then not being able to see the ending. Please notice I am not railing against the people who are careless with, aggressive toward, or downright abusive to the DVDs... I know better than to expect the general public to give a crap about their fellow man. I'm not expecting people borrowing free movies to actually keep them in nice shape so that other people can watch them... no, no, much too jaded am I.

But the library should take some responsibility to remove damaged materials from the shelves when they've been advised by their patrons, am I right? And the library isn't exactly free, you know... we pay taxes! And late fees, on occasion.

Thus endeth my rant. Anyone want to weigh in on this?

*******UPDATE*******

Prompted by a comment-section discussion with How I Roll, I made a phone call to my local library and found out two interesting pieces of information.

1. All those books and movies I've donated to the library over the years? They don't go on the shelves! They get sold. All the books/movies in the library are purchased new. Hard to believe, but apparently true.

2. When DVDs are turned in and reported damaged, they get sent to "the workshop" where they are "buffed out" and "repaired" and then put back on the shelves. Obviously an exercise in futility, ineffective, and pointless... but there you have it.

Happy Saturday!

2012-01-28T13:38:00.001-05:00

I would sit here and type a luscious, fascinating blog post, but I have to go and get ready for work now.

That sound?

Never mind, it's just weeping and gnashing of teeth. I'll be fine.

Why?

2012-01-26T13:25:00.002-05:00

1. Because I didn't have anything better to do.

2. Because I missed Rabbie Burns day with nary a bagpipe, a haggis, a shot of single malt scotch, a poem, a neep, or a tattie in sight.

3. Because no one should go through life without watching the movie "Vampire's Kiss"... or at least the best scenes from it.

You're welcome.

All is well.

2012-01-23T16:25:00.004-05:00

The reunion was a resounding success. Handsome father brought flowers to fair daughter. They had so much in common - a love of reading and an aptitude for foreign languages, drama, and drawing... emails are being exchanged, and future visits are sure to come.

Bear is relieved beyond words that his daughter has turned into a sweet young woman - no trace of the jaded, gum-popping teenage angst that is so prevalent on Long Island. She's involved, interested, active, and when asked for the name of her best friend, she had a whole slew of close pals. She's well adjusted, has a great sense of humor, and made her dad very proud, indeed.

I look forward to the day when she is old enough for unsupervised visits, so that she can come to our house (assuming she wants to meet me, that is...) and we can get to know each other. Maybe in the springtime, when everything is blooming in the garden.

Thank you for your kind thoughts and hugs and well wishes yesterday. I'm not very good at that kind of suspenseful waiting, and I just didn't know how things were going to play out. I feel much better today. It's good to know folks out there in the blogiverse are pulling for you, isn't it?

Everything changes

2012-01-22T12:19:00.002-05:00

Bear left the house just fifteen minutes ago, on the way to see his daughter for the first time in over ten years. She will be 16 this year.

I have always been comfortable with my choice not to have children, but I guess I never fully realized until now that life comes with deep, pulling emotions no matter what side of that fence you end up on.

I am a daughter. I had a father. I know the intricacies, the complications, and the unbounded love that can go along with that relationship. And after today, Bear will have a connection with his daughter. His.

It is an odd thing to be a link attached to a circle that you will never be on the inside of. I so wish I could be there when they meet, laugh and cry and hug and take pictures, but I don't belong there. My presence would detract from their reunion. Knowing this makes it difficult to concentrate on washing and drying the dishes, which is what I always do when I am waiting or thinking, or both.

It makes me so happy that he and his daughter are finally getting together. The circumstances that kept them apart were far from good ones, and the fact that everyone is older and wiser now, willing to let bygones be bygones and move forward, is a cause to celebrate. The reasonable, mature part of me is glad, so glad.

There is also a part of me that mourns, I think. Mourns that which I will never have, that literal, physical connective tissue that Bear and I will never share. That child with big eyes, a wise mouth, and a great sense of humor that will not exist in this lifetime.

It is a fact that nearly every man that I have ever loved has had children with another woman. It's not like today is any different than any other day, really.

But, of course, it is.

Here we go 'round again - WINTER'S HERE, Y'ALL!

2012-01-21T13:24:00.008-05:00

The above photo was borrowed off the interwebs,
as I am too hungry to photograph my own dinner.

Awoke this morning to the sight of soft, white drifts over cars, driveway, and houses. Flakes came down out of the steel grey sky, adding to the pile.

Happily, our new tenant (a young whippersnapper who teaches shop at a local high school) was feeling very energetic and came outside to shovel the entire parking area! I think he did the driveway, too, but as I cannot see around the front house I won't know until I leave later on. He is a sweet kid, very respectful and nice in that way people from Illinois often are. He also has a lovely family, who all turned out to help him move in back in the summer.

Of course, on second thought, if your entire family turns out in the middle of the hot summer to help you carry furniture up to a second story apartment, that could also mean that they are anxious to be rid of you. I prefer the first thought.

I've been on a Paleo winter food roll lately... when I got home from work last night, my hands were frozen solid (the heater on my truck didn't warm up until I pulled in the driveway... result of having an old truck and living very close to work) and I was craving HOTNESS. So I ~~called up Antonio Banderas~~ whipped up an impromptu batch of pumpkin soup, and Bear and I had huge bowls of it with leftover roast chicken while we watched the first episode of the first season of "The Tudors".

This morning, after coffee and blog reading, I went down and made a delectable batch of "Paleo spaghetti"... a kick-ass meat sauce with yellow squash and zucchini and mushrooms in it, and boiled up a spaghetti squash for the "pasta" part.

The trick to making perfect spaghetti squash is not over-cooking it (boil it for about 25 minutes, or until a fork will just stick through the flesh to the skin), and then to suspend it over the kitchen sink on a rack for a few minutes before serving it so that the water can run out. Nothing worse than a bowl full of watery spaghetti squash under your kick-ass sauce, I always say!

Spaghetti squash has exactly the same consistency of al dente pasta, and exactly the same ability to take on the flavor of whatever sauce it's served with. And, best part, none of the harmful-to-your-health properties of pasta. This is one guilt-free dish that makes your mouth as happy as your tummy.

*Note to non-Paleo eaters: This is only a guilt-free dish if you are not eating bread, processed flour, and sugar the rest of the time. Paleo eating only works if you do it exclusively. It does absolutely nothing for you if you eat a Paleo lunch in between french toast for breakfast and hero sandwiches for dinner. Eating Paleo "once in a while" is like being "sort-of pregnant". It doesn't exist, and you're not getting into those skinny jeans any time soon. It's an often misunderstood point, and I didn't want to mislead anyone. *cough*PAULADEEN*cough*

On a completely different topic (I can hear the sighs of relief from here), I am SO EXCITED about something, I just have to share. My dear mother is currently taking a college literature course studying Hamlet! (Get ready for lots of !!! in this part, I love Hamlet more than is recommended by the USDA.)

And, what's more, she has NEVER SEEN Kenneth Branagh's version of said play (full length, I might add) in movie form!!!

WHAT?!?!? Shocking!!!!

aaaaaAND... she is coming up for a visit on SuperBowl weekend and has promised to watch it with me!!!!!! All five hours of it!!!!!!!!

I'll drink to that!

I am anticipating this viewing with thumpings of the heart. It will be like introducing your beloved to your parents for the first time. Like an artist's first gallery showing. Like the first time your dad gives you the keys to his car.

The shades will be pulled down, cell phones silenced. There will be pillows and cozy throws aplenty. There will be illicit popcorn with "shake cheese", and there will be wine. It will be a hedonistic party of Danish proportions, I warrant.

R.I.P. Etta James

2012-01-20T23:16:00.000-05:00

Marcheline on the rampage

2012-01-20T10:43:00.009-05:00

Yesterday, I went to get my mail. Alongside the requests for donations, the bills, and the... bills, there was a soft, squishy package. When I unfolded it, I saw that it was my sister's Christmas present. The one I'd mailed in December, before... you guessed it... CHRISTMAS! There, in the upper right hand corner, were my holiday "forever" stamps (perhaps that indicates how long your mail will take to get there), uncanceled, as perfect as when I'd stuck them on. All over the envelope were ink-stamps saying "returned for postage". The real kicker, however, was the hand-written note with a big arrow pointing at my stamps. It said "these stamps were cut off of another envelope".

I was accused of stealing stamps!

You can bet your sweet bippy that I hauled my... my own bippy, and that much-abused padded envelope, right down to the post office where I had mailed the dang thing from and demanded to know why my perfectly accurate number of postage stamps THAT I BOUGHT MYSELF, thank you very much, were not deemed acceptable by the U.S. Postal Service. The same service (term used WAY loosely), by the way, that is in danger of going out of business. Customer service much?

The lady at the counter took my package back to the postmaster's office, and he proceeded to come out and try to make it my fault. "Well, you know, if you would have come in here and had us stamp it with our machine instead of using these stamps"... to which I replied "it was CHRISTMASTIME, like I had time to stand around for two hours in holiday postal lines for you to machine stamp a simple padded envelope? Have stamps become illegal? Unusable? Why are you still selling them, then?". At which point he back-pedaled, and said, "Well, with an envelope this size, if it's above a certain weight it's not legal to use stick-on stamps, anyway."

I rolled up my sleeves. "Sir, I am 45 years old. I have been mailing things for at least thirty years, and I have never in my LIFE had a package returned because I put stamps on it. Please don't try to tell me that this is my fault. Besides, the accusation is that I stole the stamps off of someone else's envelope, NOT that the postage was the wrong kind." There may or may not have been some foot tapping on my part at this juncture.

Meanwhile, postal lady behind the counter had put my package on the scale, and she said "Oh, it's only 9 ounces... that's way under the weight limit." I turned to the postmaster, who resembled an inbred version of ex-wrestler Jesse Ventura (in case you were wondering), and raised my eyebrows.

Only then did he say, "Well, I'm sorry this happened. No doubt it was the North Carolina post office that did this, because it took so long to come back to you. We'll take care of it." See, even though that sounded like an apology, he managed to (yet again) push the blame off on someone else.

Honestly, I don't have much faith that my sister will ever see that Mystic Pizza tee shirt.

Queen of Denial

Paula Deen, long-time host of a cooking show on the Food Network, has recently come out with the news that she was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes... three years ago. She says the reason she didn't tell her public sooner was because she "didn't have anything to bring to the table."

I am not a follower of Paula Deen's show, I don't use her recipes, and she in no way impacts my daily life. But there is a reason I'm ranting about this. A few reasons, actually. Millions of people DO use her recipes, watch her shows, and listen to what she says. No matter what she says, there is some responsibility that goes along with that - and the megabucks she's pulling in as a result.

According to Mrs. Deen, a lucrative partnership with a diabetes drug company is "something to bring to the table." And she has gone on national television (looking like the above photo) to spout the following garbage:

1. Diabetes is "not a death sentence".

Um, honeychile? Yes, it is, if THIS is what you consider a good meal:

Yes, that is a bacon cheeseburger and fried egg on a glazed donut. Yes, that is a Paula Deen recipe. I really shouldn't have to say anything else, but I'm steamed up. You might want to push your chair back from the monitor a little.

Oh, and here's a little factoid-o-rama from the Department of Health:

Among U.S. residents ages 65 years and older, 10.9 million, or 26.9 percent, had diabetes in 2010.
About 215,000 people younger than 20 years had diabetes—type 1 or type 2—in the United States in 2010.
About 1.9 million people ages 20 years or older were newly diagnosed with diabetes in 2010 in the United States.
In 2005–2008, based on fasting glucose or hemoglobin A1C (A1C) levels, 35 percent of U.S. adults ages 20 years or older had pre-diabetes—50 percent of adults ages 65 years or older. Applying this percentage to the entire U.S. population in 2010 yields an estimated 79 million American adults ages 20 years or older with pre-diabetes.
Diabetes is the leading cause of kidney failure, nontraumatic lower-limb amputations, and new cases of blindness among adults in the United States.
Diabetes is a major cause of heart disease and stroke.
Diabetes is the seventh leading cause of death in the United States.

2. "Since my diagnosis, I've given up drinking sweet tea and I walk on the treadmill."

Um, darlin'? You just said you were diagnosed three years ago.

If this is what you look like three years after diagnosis, you aren't doing it right.

3. "I'm not going to change the way I cook... I'm not your doctor. And I've always said to use moderation."

Um, sweetpea? This sounds a whole lot like passing the buck. If you were just cooking artery-clogging junk for your own family, swilling down drugs with your un-sweetened tea and plowing through glazed donut cheeseburgers in private, I'd say you were well within your rights. But because you are a national TV celebrity and people are buying into your shit, don't you think it might be a better idea to say, "Hey, folks... I'm going to get healthy. And here's how you can get healthy with me!" Your current tactic is selfish, and you are trumpeting to the world the fact that you basically don't care if the people of your country end up as bloated and disease-ridden as you are, because you makin' da fat dollah, boo-yah!

One more thing, Paula. I have a right to voice an opinion on this topic because my husband was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. The disease has affected my family. It's a scary thing to have to deal with, and your refusal to admit that your crappy cooking advice has an adverse affect on people's health is a slap in the face.

The light at the end of the tunnel is this little quote by my husband's doctor: "Un-managed diabetes is one of the leading causes of death in our country. Managed diabetes is the leading cause of NOTHING."

Immediately after his diagnosis, my husband started researching the best diet and lifestyle choices for diabetics, and came across the Paleo way of life. He gleaned important information from Robb Wolf's website, also from Sarah Fragoso's, and from Mark Sisson's. And he started doing the right thing.

Two months (not three years) after his diagnosis, he walked into the doctor's office, twenty pounds lighter. The doctor took him off all meds, and asked him how in the world he had managed the amazing transformation. My husband has now lost 80 pounds, and is still medication-free. His blood sugar is under control. We are joyful.

See, when someone like my husband does the right thing and gets healthy, he benefits, I benefit, and the folks that he meets on a daily basis might benefit, if they ask him about how he did it. But when someone like Paula Deen, who has viewers across the country, passes up the opportunity to help inspire a gazillion people to get healthy by doing the right thing, and instead says "just take drugs and keep eating junk", it's not only disappointing, it's downright disgusting.

Here endeth my rant.

Don't talk

2012-01-18T00:29:00.001-05:00

JUST LOOK

Okay, so I was wrong...

2012-01-16T10:21:00.018-05:00

Sadly, this promo poster for the Golden Globe Awards was spot on... minus the scissors, that is. Ricky was hardly even IN the darn show, and his jokes sounded like they came out of a tin can bearing a Dharma Initiative label. No telling how long they'd been in there.

Possibly his funniest joke of the night (and that not so much) referenced the movie that Mel Gibson made with Jodie Foster. He said he was told not to mention Jodie Foster's beaver... then added an aside that none of the men in the room had seen it, either. It was as uncomfortable as the armpit area of the dress Ms. Foster was wearing.

In the "credit where credit is due" department, we have a trim and handsome Ricky Gervais, in a gorgeous wine-colored suit with black accents. He did his best, as always. I blame the writers and producers for hog-tying his performance.

Easy on the Eyes Awards go to:

Kate Winslet, who is still so creamy and fresh you just want to spread her on a scone and eat her up.

Gerard Butler, whose tousled locks and sparkly eyes combine perfectly with his Scottish burr to create the effect of a recently imbibed glass of champagne.

Oh, Those Awkward Moments Awards go to:

Madonna, (her dress was truly lovely, if very boob-punishing) who managed to turn her acceptance speech for an award for a SONG she wrote into an acceptance speech as though the movie she directed had won an award.... which it didn't. If I had a dollar for every time she said "MY MOVIE" during her speech, I could buy a pizza. A big pizza.

To Ricky's credit, he really did try very hard to get a comedic exchange going with Johnny Depp, but the fact that Mr. Depp was a) stoned out of his mind and unable to form a cohesive sentence and b) suffering from a case of lice sort of put a damper on things.

It was difficult to concentrate on Ricky's desperate attempts to get an intelligible answer from Johnny, because Johnny kept reaching up to scratch various areas of his greasy, degenerate hairdo. I just hope there were little bottles of hand sanitizer in the gift bags that night. Ew. Seriously, dude - you make a meeeeellion dollars every time you fart, do you think you could, I dunno, SHOWER before an awards show? Shampoo is cheap!

Classiest and Most Moving Presentation and Acceptance Speech Award goes to:

Honestly, I can't tell you which was more emotional for me... the presentation of the Cecil B. DeMille award by Sidney Poitier and Helen Mirren, or the acceptance speech by Morgan Freeman. It was a warm moment in an otherwise awkward program, with respect and love emanating from both sides. Very touching. Reminded us all, just for a brief moment, what it means to dedicate your life to a craft, and to be appreciated for that dedication. It's so gratifying to see anyone being encouraged, being told that their life was well lived, that people all over the world are looking forward to their next endeavor. Sniff...

David Bowie Wannabe Award goes to:

I started out this paragraph ready to trash Tilda Swinton for her style choice here... and as I kept writing, I realized that I actually admire her for not giving a good goddamn that she showed up for a "beautiful people" awards show looking like one of David Bowie's 1980's alter-egos. So I erased that paragraph, and now you're stuck with this one.

Most Comfortable, Funny, and Titillating Presenter Award goes to:

George Clooney! I don't think he even read a word off the prompters. Earlier in the night, Brad Pitt had come onstage using a cane due to a recent foot injury. George stole the cane for his presentation later in the show, and since the two of them are great friends in real life, the gag came off funny but warm and enjoyed by all. I get the feeling George Clooney is a pretty nice guy. But that aside, he smattered his chatter with a little titillating tittle-tattle regarding Michael Fassbender's part in the new movie "Shame".

Apparently Mr. Fassbender (who I developed a crush on in the recently-remade "Jane Eyre") appears sans fards (I believe the actual words used were "full frontal") in the new flick, and George even went so far as to say Fassbender could play golf with both hands tied behind his back. Hmmmmm.... wonder if "Shame" is at the library yet?

Stunning Queen of the Night Award goes to (as if you didn't know what I was going to say here):

Angelina!

She really pulled out all the stops with this one. Class, elegance, an absolutely perfect fit. Just the right shade of red in the accents: perfectly matched lipstick, dress collar, handbag, and toenail polish. Sexy yet sovereign. The dress hugged her every inch without a trace of trashiness. She looked like an empress from another dimension. As if her timeship awaited departure just behind the big Golden Globe banners...

Queen of the Night runner-up:

When the cast of the TV show "Homeland" got up on stage to accept an award, I zeroed in on this statuesque beauty. Having never seen the show, I'd never seen her either, and I didn't know her name. Thanks to the interwebs, I now know that Morena Baccarin is the synonym for "exquisite".

Happy birthday, Dadder

2012-01-15T12:24:00.004-05:00

Miss you.

A pensive, pre-work post

2012-01-14T13:23:00.007-05:00

There's something so pre-emptive about having to work on a Saturday. Yes, since I work in the evenings, I do get to sleep in and enjoy a cuppa (or two) and breakfast with my hubby. All that homey goodness mostly just serves to get me in a completely relaxed and lazy mood, after which I am not remotely tempted to get in the shower and go to work.

Having yummy, fuzzy kittens taking turns snuggling on my lap doesn't help my motivation, either. Nor does the fact that I just got some new yarn in the mail (to be turned into a present for a friend's birthday, which was on the third of this month) that I am "yarning" to start work on...

Another reason I don't want to go to work today is the book I just took out of the library, which I am in love with even though I've only read two chapters so far. It's called "This is Where I Leave You", by Jonathan Tropper. It was suggested by Holly of "Nothing But Bonfires", and I am heartily glad I picked it up. However, I'd much rather read it curled up on my antique sofa, surrounded by kitties and a husband, instead of between radio contacts at work. C'est la vie.

In other news... I've just received my very first summons for jury duty. I am actually sort of excited about it, because my employer not only pays me full pay for the duration of my service, but also CHANGES MY DAYS OFF TO SATURDAY AND SUNDAY so that I don't get ripped off having to go to court Monday through Friday! I'm kinda hoping I get chosen for a really long trial. A long, very interesting trial. Maybe it will be so intriguing that I will have a ready-made topic for the 2012 NaNoWriMo that is only ten months away and closing fast.

Not that I'm panicking, or anything...

***** postscript*****

Another thing I'm looking forward to is tomorrow's Golden Globe awards. (Which I will have to record and watch later because I am W-O-R-K-I-N-G.)

Not because I care who wins what, but because it will be another chance to see Ricky Gervais laughing and slamming people. Or is that slamming people and then laughing? Either way, I love his laugh, I love his smile (very wolfish) and watching him do either is high up on my entertainment scale. For those of you who agree, don't miss the upcoming return of "Idiot Abroad", which airs on January 21st! More laughing! More Ricky! More Ricky laughing! Good times!

Marcheline's fabulous day off

2012-01-11T10:52:00.020-05:00

Yesterday was a day off for me, and I was feeling liberated and particularly saucy. I donned my orange Fluevogs and my fedora, consulted my magic weather vane, and headed due east.

I found a comfy bench that invited me to sit and relax the day away, but I politely declined.

I met a friendly fencepost, but instead of stopping I just smiled and sang "Don't Fence Me In" as I walked by.

I saw a beautiful, wintry chapel cheerfully raising its hand so as to be seen above the treetops. I waved right back and kept on walking.

I nearly tripped over this very important boulder, bearing a plaque in honor of a very important invention. I think boulders may be second only to ball bearings on the list of things that impede walking. I stopped long enough to take this picture, and then resumed my journey.

I greeted several still-festive houses, understandably reluctant to hang up their Yule ball gowns:

I found a magical place where the sun shines up from under the water instead of down from the sky:

I discovered evidence that some people really do respect nature:

And then there was the nursery rhyme:

This is the church...

This is the steeple...
Open the door, and see...

Rosemary's baby?!?!

Ah, well - one should always remain alert when rubbing shoulders with nursery rhymes. They have a tendency to be a bit on the rebellious side.

Back in December when my mother was up for a visit, she gave me some birthday money. As always, she told me not to do anything practical with it, but instead requested that I get myself something that I really wanted, something frivolous and fun and completely unnecessary.

Happily, this year I was able to do just that. I pointed my bright orange oxfords towards my favorite antique shop, hoping against hope that the items I had been longing for were still there.

And...

They were!

When things "Taint" what they seem

2012-01-10T11:36:00.006-05:00

Say it Taint' so!

Before those of you with dirty minds get all het up, let me 'splain. On the left, we have my 2011 Anne Taintor retro calendar. On the right? Not so much. You see, I didn't buy my 2012 Anne Taintor calendar in time, and now the bloody things are selling for upwards of FIFTY DOLLARS on the interwebs! Methinks not. Retro and cheeky though her calendars may be, Anne Taintor's pimps ain't makin' no fifty simoleons off of my cherry-apron-covered arse (yeah, I wear it backwards - so what?) for a damn wall calendar.

So I looked for another retro calendar, and found it on ebay. It arrived the other day, and as you can see it's about a quarter the size of a regular wall calendar. It was listed alongside all the other normal sized wall calendars, and nowhere in the description did it say "wall calendar for Mickey Rooney", or "tiny wall calendar", or "this wall calendar is only six inches square" or anything of the sort.

I smell a negative feedback coming down the pike for a certain ebay seller... and yes, I learned my lesson. I pre-ordered my 2013 Anne Taintor calendar (just eleven smackaroonies and change) from Amazon.

Marcheline hits the big time

2012-01-09T23:25:00.003-05:00

Whoa, dudes... it's like... Kismet! You know how I was telling you about the good stuff that happened to people I know lately, and I was spreading the good vibes around like peanut butter, and thinking maybe I would create a scenario of spiritual osmosis and partake cosmically of the nectar of success?

Well... when I got home today there was a CHECK in the MAIL! A CASH SETTLEMENT from some class action suit that I don't ever remember being a part of! FREE CASH! FREE MONEY! With my name on it!

Okay, it was a check for eighteen dollars.

But still.... FREE MONEY, PEOPLE! After taxes, I can get a hamburger or something!! (See, it's good to get excited about good things, so the universe will see how appreciative you are and send more good things. Maybe good things with a couple of extra zeroes, who knows, hmmmmmmm?)

Spread 'em!

2012-01-08T13:42:00.007-05:00

(Good thoughts, that is.) Yesterday, within about a half an hour of each other, two people contacted me to tell me something great happened to them.

My sister got a huge promotion at work. She is now the Regional Director of Something (she works in the world of finance and I can never get my head around what it is that she actually does... one of the side effects of never having any money, I guess). Her salary was increased by 70% and she now has a built-in pay increase schedule, so she no longer has to wait and wonder if and when she will get her next raise. No, I don't know what her original salary was, but I can only imagine that ANY salary raised by 70% has to mean a great deal to the person earning it.

A co-worker approached me and turned sideways, pointing at his non-existent belly. He told me he started "going Paleo" at the end of September (after talking to me about how I'd lost my 30 pounds), and he has now lost 30 pounds! He was very happy, bouncing on his toes, even, and he kind of psyched me up to get back with the program (read: get back to the gym) and lose the next 30 that needs to go.

A mural in the town park amphitheatre

It was very uplifting to hear two tales of glee in a row, and it left me feeling kind of hopeful. Like maybe I might have a tale of happiness or success of my own just around the corner. Since I just bought two lottery tickets, I sincerely hope that's true.

In any case, I thought it would be cosmically prudent and generally generous to spread the good news around, to say something uplifting in lieu of my usual curmudgeonly grumblings about the things that annoy me.

One of my neighborhood favorites

Don't get spoiled, though... I will no doubt be ranting again soon. In the meantime, enjoy some more photos taken with my Rebel!

Road tar

A day off

2012-01-07T13:24:00.016-05:00

Yep, I took the day off yesterday. Just called in and did it. Bear did too, and we walked down to the docks and I practised with my new camera. Then we came home and made the best batch of chicken and sausage fajitas that ever graced the planet, and ate them with a side of fresh avocado slices while curled up on the couch (next to our still green Yule tree), watching movies. HEAVEN.

Click the pics to see them in their full glory!

Yes, it is possible...

2012-01-05T12:48:00.002-05:00

... to have a crush on your own shoes.

Something to leave behind

2012-01-04T00:25:00.006-05:00

Chair Cat isn't buying your line of shit.

Right now, bloggers all over the 'verse are posting about New Year's resolutions. Whether or not they have them, what they are, what last year's were, whether or not they kept them, ad infinitum.

For the most part, I am happy to read about other people's thoughts on this subject, but I have no interest in joining the discussion. I am pretty sure that I over-think and re-evaluate everything I do, every single day, without making a yearly event out of it that I have to waste valuable capital letters on. People are worried about the rain forest, but no one is paying attention to the callous squandering of capital letters in today's world.

However.

I have recently realized that I am guilt-tripping about my own Christmas present. And it occurs to me that this is a stupid thing to do, but I cannot seem to STOP doing it.

Your collective brows now have more furrows than a Shar-pei puppy, indicating confusion, or possibly a secret case of constipation. Of course you don't understand what I'm on about, because for the last three posts I've been all "CANON REBEL" this and "CANON REBEL" that, and oh, did I mention that my husband gave me a "CANON REBEL" for Christmas? Sure I have! I've told you all about it. I've posted pictures I took with it. I am superlatively, ecstatically happy about it, and am taking a lot of time and effort to make sure that you all know about it.

However. I didn't give any of you presents! See where this is going?

Example: We had some friends come over for dinner tonight. Friends that we wanted to buy presents for, but could not come up with a) a good idea or b) the money, pre-holiday, to do so. They came over and not only gave us a really nice present (gift card for a local restaurant), they also gave me a birthday present (tickets to go see the Glenn Miller Orchestra this spring).

We decided to take them out to a nice dinner at a fantastic restaurant we know of. At some later date. Which is great. And yet, because we didn't actually get them a Christmas present, I felt guilty about telling them that Bear gave me this great camera for Christmas. Because I know the camera cost a lot of money, and it's like in my head there's this ghostly cash register kind of chinking and chiming away, singing "Oh, sure, they could spend money on gifts for themselves, but no-o-o-ot for you-u-u-u-u" in a Jacob Marley sort of way. (No, Jacob was no relative of Bob's, in case you were wondering. Jacob had no rhythm.)

I do the same thing with my family. I mean, Bear and I honestly don't have a lot of money. We just barely scrape by most months. Bear saved and scrimped for a very long time to get me the camera he gave me this year. Neither one of our jobs gave us any holiday bonus AT ALL... not even a cookie or a piece of cheese, never mind a taxable check. My family knows this. And because of this fact, if we ever find ourselves able to go out to dinner, or do anything special or above and beyond... go to a concert, or what have you... I find myself almost unable to mention it to my family.

It's not like any of them have ever jumped up on a table and pointed an accusing finger, screaming, "SURE, you have no money, but you can afford to (fill in the enjoyable experience of your choice)!!!!" but I feel some reluctance to admit we did anything that costs money, lest they think we've been faking it all along.

My family has no such compunction, I can tell you. My sister drives a brand new red Mustang, and bought her husband a Ford 250,000,000 Diesel super-extended-fifteen-wheel ULTRA pickup rolltop towbar whammy with six fuel tanks. Or something like that. Whatever it is, it costs $500 a week to drive it to work. Is she apologizing or hiding it? Nope.

Does anyone else but me do this? Feel obligated to remain mentally cached in the proper financial substrata of their friends and family?

If I was the sort of person who made New Year's resolutions, leaving this particular self-imposed guilt-trip behind would most likely be it.

For those of you who cannot relate to my psychosis, here's something to watch several times in a row:

Some new photos to share!

2012-01-03T11:31:00.016-05:00

Click these pix to see them livin' large!

This is how I am going to look to everyone in the foreseeable future. Like a Canon Rebel with arms and legs. It will certainly save me money on makeup!

A vignette of the top of my antique kitchen cabinet. It's like a circus, without the smell of elephant poop.

Here's looking at you, kitty.

The windchimes I gave Bear for his birthday this summer. Just about the only thing in the garden that still has any color!

The shell that lives by the cherry tree.

I call this picture "The Survivors"... they are the few, the brave... blossoms still going strong from my birthday bouquet.

The mutual adoration society meets regularly in my kitchen. All together now... AWWWWWWWW!

A self portrait.
If you don't see it, click the picture and you will.

Beauty berry!

Our Thai temple bell, by the front gate.

Hydrangea skeletons.

My dream man!

Black on white, in color.

An antique ornament my mother gifted me during her recent visit. I am absolutely crazy about the old Shiny Brite ornaments!

2012-01-01T11:15:00.004-05:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

This is one of the very first pictures taken with my new camera... right now I'm in the cursing and pulling my hair stage (mostly with figuring out how to get the pictures from the camera to my computer, which thankfully is now a done deal). I'm looking forward to having a day off to go out and play, visit some photo-worthy sites, some bone yards, etc.

For the first time in years, Bear and I got to ring in the New Year together last night. I got off work at 11pm, and so was home in plenty of time for the big countdown. We were watching an episode from the final season of LOST, but we switched over to the NYC ball dropping in Times Square just five minutes before midnight. We counted down, and kissed (wowowowow!) at the stroke of midnight, and they played Auld Lang Syne, and I actually got a bit weepy. A lot of stuff has happened this year, and who knows what's around the corner. Am hoping it's good stuff, but I know it will be a mix, as it always is.

Hoping you all had a great New Year's Eve wherever in the world it came to you, and looking forward to another year of blogging and sharing our lives with each other!

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

Marcheline's short-lived stardom: Part Deux

2011-12-29T12:49:00.022-05:00

A while back, I did a post all about my fifteen seconds of fame as a dancer in the music video for Ricky Van Shelton's song "Wild Man".

Well, there were one or two other little projects I did while I was down in NashVegas, but since they were of the movie type, and very off-off-Hollywood, I never knew if my little scenes made it safely past the cutting room floor.

Over the years, I've searched for these projects on DVD, but for a long time it was no dice. The first was a TV movie called "Following Her Heart", starring Ann-Margret (yes, the one who slept with Elvis Presley), George Segal, and Brenda Vacaro. I finally got hold of an uber-crappy copy of it, and I think I see myself in one or two background shots, but honestly it's so blurry I can't be sure.

BUT... (dun dun DUNNNNNNNN!)

The other project, "Crocodile Shoes", was a TV series from England done by the BBC (who else) starring (and written by) actor Jimmy Nail. Just recently I found a website selling copies on DVD. When I popped it into the machine today, I found out I am on screen for several minutes! Very exciting.

My scene (right, it's mine) happens in Series 1, Episode 4, called "The Trip". I'll set the scene before showing the pics. Jimmy Nail's character and a friend of his go to a bar in Nashville, where some rednecks beat up on a black guy and Jimmy Nail steps in and defends him. During this entire exchange, yours truly is line-dancing in a black leather biker vest and pants in the background. Hee hee!

Here are the pics, labeled professionally so you don't miss the really important bits. (Smell that? That's sarcasm!) Since you've all seen recent pictures of me, use the picture at the top of this post to ~~wash your brains of the awful truth~~ refresh your memory of what I looked like in 1994... you'll see that skinny girl with the long hair in the pics below.

(You'll notice that I stopped labeling Jimmy Nail after one photo.)

I wish I could provide a link to a clip of this scene in motion, because one of the funniest things about it (aside from how earnestly I am enjoying the hell out of fake line dancing) is the sound of our shoes. The "country music" (just repetetive guitar riffs with no vocals) was turned way, way down so the actors' voices could be heard, but with girls line dancing directly behind the main characters, you hear the "tap tap scrape scrape" of our shoes quite loudly... something you'd never hear in a real bar.

Between takes, Jimmy Nail sat outside the club on a bar-stool height canvas director's chair. (Nail is upwards of six feet tall so I guess they gave him that chair for the extra leg room.) I leaned up against the wall next to him and we chatted a while. He told me that Harley Davidson of Nashville had loaned him and his fellow cast-mates some bikes to use while they were in town, and I thought that was the coolest thing ever. Mr. Nail, despite being the writer and star of the show, was very personable and not at all stuck on himself.

I suggested that he and his crew stop over at The Sherlock Holmes Pub for a bite to eat... not only because it was my favorite hangout, and located literally five minutes from where we were shooting, but also because I was friends with the Brits that owned and worked the place. I gathered that Jimmy Nail was a pretty big star in the UK, and they'd probably get a huge kick out of meeting him. Unfortunately, Mr. Nail said that the last thing they wanted to do while in the US was go to an English pub... they wanted to do "All American" stuff. I guess I kind of understand that. I would never go to Scotland and eat at Burger King.

I kept a few shards of the sugar-glass bottles that Jimmy Nail broke against the bar (there were so many takes of that scene, they kept having to sweep the floor) as a memento of the day. Just that one five or six minute scene took us all day to shoot.

Well, folks... that's about it. My big fifteen minutes of fame. Unless I find something else to get myself into. Stay tuned.

Bear's response to my comment about his reaction to my new shoes.

2011-12-28T23:33:00.001-05:00

Post-holiday blues

2011-12-28T11:26:00.007-05:00

I can't recall if I go through this every year, or if this is the first time I've had the post-holiday blues. I didn't think I was particularly "geared up" beforehand, which would seem to precipitate an expected downward slide later... and yet, since Monday ended, I've had a face like a dog's dinner.

Maybe it's because now that the jingling and merrying and ho-ho-ing are done, my grandmother's death is sort of sinking in. I dreamed about my father last night, though he's been gone for nearly three years. It wasn't a good, heartwarming sort of dream, either, and it left a hollow feeling in my heart when I woke up. Sometimes it really irks me that we can't "dial-a-dream" and ensure our sleeping hours are full of laughter, calorie-free sweetness, flying without wings, and winning the lottery.

I'm usually a pretty cheerful person, so this slump thingy is just as annoying to me as I'm sure it must be to Bear. We were supposed to have a couple of friends over for dinner and a movie last night, and just as I was putting dinner into the oven, the power went out. I called the local police precinct, and they informed me that there were wires down in town and lots of people were in the dark.

As annoying as the power outage was, I was actually relieved to be able to cancel the get-together... I just wasn't feeling social at all. Bear and I lit some candles and played chess in the kitchen. That was lovely, even though I lost (as usual). Later, the power came on and I went ahead and cooked the very late, albeit very tasty, roast.

"I wish to report a mutiny. I can name fingers and count names."

Bear and I ate dinner while watching "Pirates of the Caribbean - On Stranger Tides", and we enjoyed both with gusto. It's almost impossible to spend an evening with Captain Jack Sparrow and not smile.

But this morning, again with the blues. I didn't want to let Bear go out the door to work. I wanted to keep him here and wrap up on the couch with him and disappear into another imaginary world on dvd. What I did instead was curl up on the couch with the fluffy tan cat and the last few chapters of Nelson Demille's "Night Fall". Good book, but as it centers around the suspected terrorist activities to do with the explosion of TWA flight 800 and the actual terrorist activites of 9/11, it did nothing for my mood. I'm glad it's finished. I have upheld my side of the book-reading bargain with my mother. Now to see if she ever finishes "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone"...

In the face of the doldrums, I am focusing on two cheerful thoughts.

1: I ordered the memory card for my new Canon Rebel - it should arrive here on Friday. I can't wait to get started taking pictures!

2: I used the gift card my family gave me for my birthday and ordered my very first pair of Fluevog shoes. Here they are:

I don't expect anyone else to like them (I wish I had a photograph of Bear's carefully blank face when I showed this picture to him), but they make me smile. True, they aren't the ones I really lusted after, but I would have had to add more than a hundred non-existent dollars from my anorexic wallet to get those, so... these shoes are the coolest ones that could be paid for entirely with the gift certificate. I mean, the other ones were dress shoes... and I rarely dress up. They would probably have sat in my closet looking pretty. But these? I can wear these to work with my jeans and bowling shirts and my fedora! I will wear the HELL out of these.

Trying not to think about going back to work this afternoon... it's totally killing my camera/shoe buzz.

YULE 2011 - a review

2011-12-26T15:33:00.016-05:00

Those of you who are fans of "LOST" will recognize how much this looks like the character John Locke...

... from the back. Those of you who don't watch the show now know what the hell I'm on about, anyway.

DESMOND

Every year we name our tree. It's always a Scottish name. Since there is only one Scottish ~~hottie~~ character on LOST, we chose his name this year. Anyway, he kind of looks like a Desmond, don't you think?

Someone whom we won't mention by name has once again adopted the tree. If she is not behind it, or next to it, she is striking adorable poses under it out front where it can be photographed. She may be distantly related to Phoebe Price, now that I think of it, but with naturally poofy cheeks (Phoebe's are implants).

A totally natural, un-posed Christmas kiss.

Our very first Yule together, back in 1999, Bear took a photo of me sticking my head out from behind the tree while hanging lights. It made us laugh, and he called me the Christmas Dryad. Every year since then we've taken another one. I must dig them all up at once sometime and make an album... "The Christmas Dryad Through the Years". I'm sure you'll all be holding your breath for that one.

I'm HELPIN, Dad!

The loot!

Movies: Ip Man 1,2, and 3 (martial arts). The most recent Pirates of the Caribbean. The last Harry Potter. Pillars of the Earth, entire series. Spartacus, entire series. Robin Hood, starring Russel Crowe and Cate Blanchett. Cranford, entire series.
Tasty goodies: A stack of free trade, dark chocolate bars (70% or higher cocoa content) especially for the very special, very occasional snacking joy of a certain diabetic husband.
Wearables: A bunch of man-type underwear, appropriately gifted in a "Chock Full O'Nuts" can. HA! Raunchy holiday humor! Also, a pair of new work boots for the man (not pictured).

Most Awesome Gift EVER: A CANON REBEL DIGITAL CAMERA, Y'ALL!!!!! Bear totally snowplowed me with this one, after telling me that this year we should only give each other "little" gifts. He got underwear and a couple of movies. I GOT A CANON REBEL!!! This thing has so many great functions, you can practically drive it to work. I'm ecstatic, and boy are you guys in trouble once I figure out how to use it. This blog may well be re-named "Marcheline's Photo Blog" ... but probably not. You'll just have super amazing photos to enjoy with my usual, stunningly witty posts. HA!

Yuletide Greetings
from the whole famn damily!

Yuletide Greetings!

2011-12-25T09:42:00.001-05:00

Wishing all my blogfriends the
veriest merriest of all!

A Christmas miracle ... or close enough

2011-12-24T11:56:00.001-05:00

And now for something completely different...

2011-12-23T11:05:00.002-05:00

A Christmas card for you all, from Terry Gilliam of Monty Python:

T'was the week before Yule, and all that...

2011-12-22T08:59:00.004-05:00

First, a thought about Christmas. It always confuses me that everyone, including myself, gets in a holiday tizzy. I have no guests coming for the holidays, I have no kids, and my tree was decorated a week ago. But still, I have found myself telling people I can't _________ (insert your favorite chore or responsibility here) "until the holidays are over". As if the holidays, merely by existing, preclude my ability to get my arse to the gym, or clean out my bill drawer, organize my closet, or any of the other things that need doing. Is it just me, or does everyone use this time of year as a huge excuse to lay about eating and drinking too much? I mean, those folks who are having the family to their house, and actually DO have loads to do... those people aren't included, of course. I just think there are very few of them.

My mother came to visit us last Friday morning, and stayed until Tuesday evening. She took us out to dinner for my birthday, and while I was at work she went shopping and stuffed our freezer chock full of food - roasts, chicken, ground beef, you name it. She's a wonderful, generous woman. We treated her to showings of our newest Brit series love, "Cranford" and "Return to Cranford", starring Judi Dench and Imelda Staunton. She fell in love with them, as we had.

Towards the end of the visit, as usual, there were a few "crispy" moments, such as when she pointed out that there was cold air coming in around our front door and asked why we didn't just go to the local DIY store and purchase weather stripping for a few dollars and fix it, and did we realize how much money we were throwing away on heating bills... and when I woke up on Tuesday morning with my throat still sore she started with "why didn't you gargle with salt water last night like I told you to".

I'm not proud of it, but when such things are put to me my temper gets very short, peeps. Yes, I know my weather stripping is shot, and it's cheap to replace, and I should buy some. But I don't like it being pointed out. Yes, I should have gargled with salt water last night. But since I didn't, let's just get on with today and maybe I'll work it into my schedule this evening, what do you say?

That sort of thing always makes me feel guilty, because here's my lovely little mother traveling during the holidays just to spend my birthday with me, stocking up my pantry, and I can't even prevent myself from getting irked when she nitpicks me? No, I can't. Sigh.

One rather amazing thing happened while she was here. We were out to dinner, and were discussing books and authors we liked. She has been after me lo, these many years to read Nelson DeMille. I am sure he's a fine author, I just don't have any interest. So when she brought it up again at dinner, I figured I had just the thing to stem the tide. I said, "I will read any Nelson DeMille book of your choice if you will read the first Harry Potter book."

You must understand that my mother is a dyed-in-the-wool religious person, living in the "Bible belt", and the Harry Potter books have been roundly condemned as evil witchcraft by the majority of her peers. She has shown no interest in the books, and promptly fell asleep the one time I attempted to show her the first movie in the series.

And you know what? She accepted my challenge! She took "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" with her on the plane back to North Carolina, and texted me later that night that she was enjoying it!

Will wonders never cease?

What's up, doc?

2011-12-19T07:31:00.004-05:00

Here it is, the first day of my "weekend", and I'm up at 7AM. Why? Because, after being sick since the end of November, I am heading back to the doctor's office to find out why.

Sore throat, swollen tonsils, and no sick time left at work. I've been sucking down hot tea, trying to make my voice last for 8 hours at a time. Working air traffic on the radio is not easy when one is completely healthy, but when your vocal chords desert you, it's moidah, I tell ya!

My mom, a retired nurse, is up visiting for the weekend, and she was livid that the doc didn't test me for strep when I went in there the first time. So now I go back, to request to be tested. Apparently, untreated strep infections can weaken your heart valves... scary stuff! I hate what antibiotics do to my stomach, but better that than a bad ticker.

Thanks to all of you who came to my birthday party last post, it cheered me up immensely to see all of you here! I hope some of the first-time visitors come back again soon. I promise to be more interesting next time and not talk about my ailments like an old lady... HA!

Am looking forward to going out with my lovely mother and my handsome husband tonight for a birthday dinner. There's this wee little town just west of here that's all decorated up for the holidays, with antique shops and gift stores and cafes and a big outdoor live pine tree that they always festoon with those dark blue lights that I love so well. We're planning to go in and walk around a bit, enjoy the ambiance, and have dinner at one of our favorite cafes, which has delectable food.

Merry Yuletide, y'all!

Happy Birthday to me! (And Beethoven)

2011-12-16T07:28:00.006-05:00

Well, folks, here it is... or, rather, here I am, forty-five (that's 45 for you non-analog viewers) years on the planet! I am visiting all the blogs I know and announcing that fact, in hopes that everyone will come by to say hello. And also because I'm 45 and I don't give a crap anymore! 8-)

Grab a party hat and a cocktail weenie, have a whiskey sour (or two), and press play:

Annnnnnnd.... thanks to Holly over at Nothing But Bonfires, here's the newest (and funniest) German star of YouTube:

FLULA BORG!!!!

It's beginning to feel a lot like rugby! Yes, that, thank you Libby!

2011-12-13T17:29:00.003-05:00

Well, last night we pulled out all the stops. The tree had had a whole day to relax in the stand and open its branches to the warmth. It was my first day off, and so I spent the early part of the day decorating the front windows with garland and lights and over-sized ornaments. Pulled all of the tree ornament boxes out of the attic, ready for action. Washed all the dishes, trimmed all the window plants of dead leaves before putting them back in the windows between the ornaments.

I also managed a trip to the post office, sent off my Yule cards, and went grocery shopping. By the time Bear got home, the Santa hats were by the front door, ready for action.

Bear ordered us some Chinese food to give us more time to decorate, and we watched "A Christmas Story" while we ate. Then we decorated the tree. It was gorgeous! The kitties were happy to help, and Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby chimed in to make the spirit bright.

Just towards the end, Bear got a glass of iced tea and settled on the couch, while I bustled around finishing up the last of the tiny blue ornaments that we always hang on the very tips of all the branches.

I was standing on the piano bench, as I have done for lo, these many Yuletides, hanging some of the tiniest baubles on the highest branches.

Then, suddenly, I wasn't. I was face down on the floor, with pine needles up my nose and a horrible crashing sound around me.

I'm still not sure whether I overturned the piano bench or whether the broken bench leg happened first and overturned me... but whatever it was, it happened all at once.

I broke the curved glass door on our antique book cabinet. That is the worst of it. It will probably cost more than we paid for the cabinet to replace. I broke one large ornament on the tree... but happily not one of the really old ones. It's a miracle that more didn't break. Thank goodness we have carpeting, because several large ornaments fell to the floor... it was the rug that saved them, no doubt.

It's also a miracle I didn't break my leg, or worse. I came down directly on top of the overturned bench, cracked my left shin something horrible, wrenched my left shoulder, and got a good bruise on my left hip to boot.

I also scared poor Bear out of his mind. He didn't know if I'd had a heart attack or stroke, or been shot through the window, or something else awful, and he leaped out of his seat and tried to physically haul me up out of harm's way. Not easy to do when the haulee is heavy and face down in the Christmas tree, I can tell you.

It took us about an hour to clean up all the shards of glass and get the tree back in order (thank the gods our tree stand was one of those heavy duty Martha Stewart jobs - the tree didn't budge an inch!). The cats fled the scene at the smashing sound and didn't reappear, which was handy since I was afraid of their little paws getting sliced up by broken glass bits.

Then we turned off the lights, lit the tree, and tried to get our heart rates back to normal before heading off to bed. I put an ice pack on my shin and took a couple of aspirin.

I spent today watching old movies, and trying to count my blessings instead of moaning and feeling like a total eejit. Truly, things could have been a LOT worse.

Ah, the joys of the holidays...

I dare you not to smile! P.S. Hi Margs 8-)

2011-12-10T12:05:00.004-05:00

Living a financially challenged life is a tricky thing, but can be very rewarding as long as you remain open-minded, never give up the search for magic, and learn to seek out the myriad small treasures that the universe offers free of charge.

I am going to share one of the very best of those with you, dear blogfriends. And I dare you... DARE YOU... not to come away with an uplifted heart and a smile on your face.

I'm sure most of you have heard of the free music website called Pandora. If not, now you have.

The instructions are simple. Go to Pandora's website and click "create a station", then type in "African Essentials". Then turn up your speakers. No matter how bad your week has been, this music will fill your heart up to the brim with joy. This is the kind of joy that comes from the soul of people who have nothing in the world but music, and it is powerful magic.

Ladysmith Black Mambazo

This joy, this magic, transcends musical taste - it doesn't matter what kind of music you listen to in your home or your car. I have yet to find the person whose face does not light up when they hear it. The urge to dance while smiling is also a regular side effect. Sometimes laughter and tears join the party.

Another way to access this particular wonder is through YouTube... search for Ladysmith Black Mambazo or the Kenyan Boys Choir, for starters. Here's a taste:

I'm not a joiner, so it's starting already

2011-12-09T07:23:00.013-05:00

Panic is one of those words which, if stared at long enough, seems to be spelled wrong. If you just say it quickly in a phrase, like "hit the panic button" or "keep calm, don't panic" it seems okay... but just stare at the above picture for a few moments, turning the word "panic" over in your head while you keep reading the word. In a few moments, it will seem to be written in French, it will whisper that perhaps it needs a "k" on the end, or it will simply cease to mean anything.

Maybe I just didn't get enough sleep last night.

I should still be asleep right now. It's 7:30 in the morning, dudes. I didn't go to bed until almost 2AM. WTF? The answer to this is that I am not a joiner. (For my British blogfriends, this does not mean that I cannot wield hammer and nails to great effect. I actually can.) No, what I mean is I make it a point not to join things. I am a strictly "no strings" individual. When I owned a Harley Davidson, I refused all offers to join the "Harley Owners Group" (H.O.G.). The whole point of riding a motorcycle, it seems to me, is to be autonomous - to get out there on your own. Sure, ride alongside whomever you like... but the moment you want to be somewhere else, zoom off into the sunset. No ties. For me, the sure fire way to quit doing something is to sign up, join a group, or in some way obligate myself to a mass mind.

(What's a skrink?)

That being said, I have recently "joined up"... made a commitment and spoken it aloud... and it's already eating into my brain. There's this thing called National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) that has been haunting me ever since I started blogging. Several bloggers that I follow have either participated in it or written about it, and up until now I have batted the acronym away like an annoying fly. I mentally skipped over any mention of this thing, being almost as allergic to acronyms as I am to joining up.

The first hundred times I saw it mentioned in print, it was always called "NaNo" or "NaNoWriMo", so I never really had a clear idea of what they were on about anyway, other than that it involved writing, signing up in a group, having to write a lot, yada yada yada. At some point someone actually wrote the whole name out, and then the 40-watt bulb floating over my head blazed to life for a few seconds, and I got it.

Because I am so against committing to things in the future rather than just doing them now, it took a real kick-in-the-arse inspiration to consider getting involved. My inspiration is Erin Morgenstern's book "The Night Circus", which she wrote the first draft of during said NaNoWriMo a couple of years ago.

My first impulse was to explain to myself how committing to participate in next year's NaNo (it happens every November) was not actually "joining", as there is no sign-up fee, no dependence on anyone else to do anything, no responsibility to anyone but myself to complete the task. "See?", I said, "You just do it. Like that." I also consoled myself with the knowledge that I have a whole year to ponder ideas, think up a unique topic, find my muse, form at least a vague plot line in my mushy kruller.

And so it begins.

The very first time I seriously pondered what to write about, I was faced with a huge, misty expanse of space that, sadly, turned out to be the inside of my brain. Ask me to find something for a good price, tell me you need a brick patio laid in three days, wish for a hand-crocheted whatsis or a ride to the airport, and I'm on it. Give me an open-ended writing assignment, and I go completely blank, apparently. Suddenly that "whole year" seems really, really short.

Then a few ideas started coming. Excitedly, I jotted them down. After about an hour of seriously considering each one, I also came up with several hundred reasons why they were completely stupid. Everything's been done before. Everything. Except the things that haven't. J.K. Rowling took the absolute last great book idea. Oh, gods, I should have spent more time reading! If I'd read everything ever written, I'd know if my plot idea has already been used! Sigh.

And the internet? Easy access to huge amounts of information? HUGE curse, people. I can, in three quick seconds of tappity-tap-tap on the keyboard, find out whether a book title has already been used, by whom, and whether that book sucked or not according to the New York Times. Instead of being a mind-easer, this access to information has narrowed my choices considerably.

Then there's the whole "genre" issue. You know, is it going to be a fictional drama portraying imaginary characters in the real world, or is it going to be a fantasy? Is there going to be a mystery, will there be a murder, are there aliens involved, or is it going to be an emotional journey? Will there be men in trench coats, or will there be dragons? Or both?

Gaaaaaahhhhhh. Honestly, I think the best way to write a book is to be born on a desert island and have a shipment of pens and paper air-dropped in. All this thinking, all this information, all this comparison to other writers before the fact... it does nothing for one's creativity.

The thing is, NaNo itself is not to blame for my crushing self criticism. There is no rule that says what you write during NaNo has to be good. There is no rule that says you have to write only the next best-selling novel. The only rule about NaNo is that you write a certain number of words in the allotted time. But my brain is insisting that there's really no point in starting something like this if the story is not going to be really, really good. Really unique. Really publishable.

Which brings me to yet another obstacle. Am I joining up to write a story for "the masses" or for myself? Am I writing to be marketable, or writing to fill a page? Am I going to be concerned with what age group or layer of the social strata may or may not be interested in my topic, or is it bugger 'em if I feel like writing about the little pink fairies that paint the stripes on candy canes? It's sort of like blogging, in a way. What started out as an online format of my personal journal, written to myself, has morphed into a sort of collection of letters to the blogiverse. Something I write with my readers in mind.

I know I can write. I've always written, I've been published in very small, very unpaid venues a few times, and I've won a few writing contests. But that was always when a goal, or a topic, had been set out for me. Challenge me to write a poem or story with any number of limitations or rules, and I'll charge in screaming a war cry. The greatest challenge, it seems, is not having any rules. No box to fill in. The empty page.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not quitting. Come next November, all things being equal, I will write! I will not cheat and write anything ahead of time. I will do NaNo the way it was intended to be done.

I just wonder if I will get any sleep at all between now and then.

Combining passions

2011-12-04T23:14:00.010-05:00

While some of you probably watched "LOST" when it was actually airing and no longer care about it, and others of you who don't live in the US have no idea what "LOST" is and don't care to know, there are probably also some who live in the US, know what it is, didn't watch it, and don't give a hoot.

To all of you, my brief apologies. Which means I just said "I'm sorry" to your underwear. Nevermind.

I tend to like to mix my passions, when possible. I mean, if one is passionate about chocolate, and also passionate about, say, peanut butter, then... you get my drift, certainly.

As Bear and I have recently been watching - no, devouring is the more correct term - episode after episode of "LOST", this in no way precludes my regular stream of Turner Classic Movies on the side. Lately, it has come to my attention that several characters from "LOST" resemble actors from classic movies. How lovely!

Here are a few of my LOSTpelgangers:

On the left, Libby from LOST, played by Cynthia Watros. On the right, Evelyn Keyes, who starred in "Mr. Soft Touch" with Glenn Ford in 1949.

On the left, Kate from LOST, played by Evangeline Lilly. On the right, a young Katharine Hepburn.

On the left, Claire from LOST, played by Emilie de Ravin. On the right, Marian Marsh, who starred in "Under Eighteen" with the dashing Warren William in 1931.

And lest we leave out the fellas, here on the left is Desmond from LOST, played by Henry Ian Cusick (who just happens to have a gorrrrrrgeous Scottish burr). On the right, Dustin Hoffman. As it turns out, I was not the only one to notice this particular similarity.

Last but certainly not least: On the left, Hurley (aka Hugo Reyes) from LOST, played by Jorge Garcia. On the right, John Belushi.

Vintage bangs - living on the fringe!

2011-12-03T12:38:00.013-05:00

A recent comment from Libby pointed out the US/UK difference in nomenclature for a certain hair style. In the UK, they call it a "fringe". In the US, it's "bangs". Wikipedia gives a full description of why.

Rather than go into semantics, I thought it would be fun to do a pictorial of famous vintage beauties sporting the "do". The undisputed queen of bangs is, of course, the lovely Bettie Page (above). She became such an icon for vintage pin-up lovers everywhere that you can now walk into any hair salon and ask for "Bettie bangs" and they will know exactly what you are talking about. Or, if you're a non-salon-er like me, just google it and see how many hits you get.

Bettie bangs are not for the faint of heart. A good portion of the hair is committed to these bangs, leaving a lot less hanging down in back than one may normally be used to. Folks with super-thick hair can pull this one off with ease. The rest of us use teasing/rolling to make the rest of the hair look fuller.

Audrey Hepburn carried off "waif" or "pixie" bangs to perfection... sometimes combined with longer hair in the back, sometimes short all over, the intentionally wispy, uneven edges complemented her sharp oval face and brought attention to her luminous eyes.

****

Sophia Loren really owned the sixties fringe - she wore it both straight and side-swept, with long hair and with poufed bee-hives as well.

I like to think of Elizabeth Taylor's bangs as "noncommittal". She basically had short haircuts, sometimes brushing the front forward into bangs and sometimes curling them upward as part of the rest of the "do". The hair she used for fringe was not cut solely for that purpose... "occasional" might be another good word for it. Sort of like her men...

Some vintage bangs are hard to classify. Here, Lana Turner sports the classic side-swept romantic curling bangs which almost don't qualify, due to their length and the way they blend into the longer hair. The longer the bang, the more "just out of bed" the look can be.

The actress that wore the most varied array of bangs styles would have to be Barbara Stanwyck. Above, the classic "roll". Similar to Bettie bangs, but they sit a lot higher on the head, especially at the sides. They are a crashing wave on the forehead shore.

Here, Ms. Stanwyck sports bi-level, pin-curled bangs. The top layer is combed in a similar way as the "roll" but the bottom layer is pin-curled and placed carefully with styling lotion so that each curl remains distinctly visible.

I like to call this bang the "pompadoodle". All the bangs are pulled forward into one swooping twist, resembling a reverse pompadour. On a poodle. I'm guessing a pin is holding that massive chunk of hair in place.

Well, hope you've gotten a bang out of this little foray into the vintage fringe. I sure had fun!

Breaking the rules

2011-12-02T12:55:00.004-05:00

It's possible that I noticed him because he was also wearing an army field jacket (I was wearing Bear's), but I don't think that was it. I think I noticed him because he was trying so hard to be invisible.

The grocery store was fairly crowded, and I am sick with the flu and was just trying to get in, grab a few necessaries, and get home to my medicine, my hot tea, and my Turner Classic Movies.

I was in the soup aisle, looking for the Lipton's Chicken Noodle packets. There were several other people with shopping carts in the way, so I was maneuvering and searching at the same time.

He was tall, and his thin shoulders poked tents in the dirty field jacket. His hair was long, and he kept his head down or turned toward the shelves, so I couldn't see his face. He picked up a few items, read the packaging closely, then looked at the price and put them back. I tried to convince myself that he was just an old soldier taking his time with his shopping.

I couldn't find my soup, so I went on to get the other items I needed, and then asked a grocery store employee for help finding the soup. He said he was pretty sure it was in the soup aisle, and walked back there with me to show me. Sure enough, it was - but they had relocated the dried soup mixes to a different shelf than they used to be on. Funny how much we depend on routine. I thanked the grocery guy sheepishly, grabbed my boxes of soup, and turned to go, and there he was - field jacket guy. Still in the soup aisle, still picking up one thing at a time and putting it back.

I thought of my rule. My helping rule. Since I'm not one of those people who has enough money to send donations to all the charities that send me pre-printed address stickers at the holidays, I have instead vowed to help anyone in the here-and-now, face-to-face world... anyone who asks. And helping is helping, whether it's reaching the top shelf for someone in a wheelchair, or whatever - it's not necessarily money.

But he hadn't asked. He hadn't even looked at me. He hadn't looked at anyone. I left the aisle, then backed up and looked at him again. I know from experience that talking to "street people" can be an iffy thing. Some of them are mentally challenged, and feel threatened when strangers try to interfere, even to help. Some of them just want money for booze or drugs. Some of them are looking to take advantage of other people's kindness, especially if that other person is a female without a companion alongside.

Keeping all of this in mind, I walked down the aisle until I was just next to him. I said, "Excuse me..." and he looked at me. His eyes had the look of something hunted. He said, "Yes?" His voice was clear and he didn't smell of alcohol... just dirty clothes. I asked if he could use some help. He half-smiled, saying, "What kind of help?" I was trying to maintain some dignity, to keep from insulting him, so I just shrugged and said, "You know... help."

He looked down at the floor, then at me, and said, "I'm living in the woods right now. My brother is dying of cancer, and I just... I don't... I'm trying to make this work. I've got about three dollars and I was just trying to find something...". I handed him some money, and he shook his head, and I asked him to please just take it. He stopped again, and took the money, thanking me. Then he asked if I had been in the military. I told him the jacket was my husband's, and we chatted a moment or two about the service.

As I walked away, my self-critical brain reminded me in a sarcastic voice that the liquor store was only two doors down from the grocery store. It also threw in a few laughs about how gullible I was, that this guy probably took in every bleeding heart that went down the soup aisle. I mentally put my hands over my ears and hummed along with the holiday music playing on the loudspeakers, and tried not to think about what living in the woods was like with December coming on.

I grabbed the rest of my items and headed for the checkout. On the way, I passed my friend. His arms were full of food, and he wished blessings on me as he got in line. I smiled and waved.

Sometimes breaking our own rules is exactly the right thing to do.

Mystic, CT - Day Three, Part I ... or, Would You Want This Woman at the Wheel of Your Submarine?

2011-11-30T09:59:00.025-05:00

On our third day in Mystic (the rainiest of them all) we pulled ourselves reluctantly from our down-topped, king-sized bed at the inn and went out to find adventure on the high... make that LOW... seas. The first half of the day was spent at the Submarine Force Museum / Nautilus Submarine. The above photo makes me laugh. I look crazed.

The museum was very museum-y, full of neatly labeled displays and gobs of information that went in one eye and out my ears... not much to take pictures of. Except this wonderfully steampunky diving helmet. I was trying to figure out how to get it into my handbag without anyone noticing.

This item is called a quaich. Sadly, no one who sees this display will ever know that, because the display card underneath calls it a "bowl". Things like that annoy me. It's a missed chance to expand cultural awareness. Scottish culture in particular. Which is verra close to my heart.

From the back windows of the museum, you can look out (across the train tracks - ???) to the Nautilus submarine.

1803 USS Nautilus 1954
World's first nuclear powered ship
The sixth ship of the fleet to bear the name
Keel laid 14 June 1952 - by
Harry S. Truman, President of the United States
Launched 21 January 1954
Sponsored by Mrs. Dwight D. Eisenhower
Commissioned 30 September 1954
Tripoli 1804, Derne 1805, Midway 1942, Makin 1942
Guadalcanal 1943, Attu 1943, Gilbert Islands 1943
Leyte 1944

14 War patrols 1942-1945
Presidential Unit Citation 1942

I will admit to a small stab of worry about boarding the Nautilus, as I am a bit claustrophobic. With me, it's not about tight spaces, but being surrounded by people in tight spaces. I was very, very glad that we went during the middle of the week on a very rainy day in October - we practically had the entire sub to ourselves. The tight quarters didn't bother me one bit, as Bear and I were able to traverse the entire sub without anyone in our "A.O." (area of operation).

I fell in love with the depiction of submarine life "back in the day", complete with old sweetheart photos and pinups in the sleeping quarters. All of the areas on display had the outer walls cut away, with thick plexiglass installed to give a good view. It also helped make the place feel a little roomier. If you look closely, you can see the photographer in the mirror.

Here's another pinup picture, but I like this one because you can clearly see Bear in the reflection, listening to his hand-held audio tour thingie, facing in the opposite direction. And the reflection of his face in the plexiglass on the other side of the hallway. It's like a picture within a picture within a - yeah, like that.

If you click to enlarge, you'll see this is a daily schedule for the submarine... and the movie of the day? "Love with the Proper Stranger". I'm such a sucker for the old stuff! Wait a second. This movie came out only three years before I was born. Uh, what I meant was "the really good stuff."

The above periscope room portrayal reminded me immediately of the scene from 1936's "Born to Dance", starring my all-time favorite, Jimmy Stewart - who, incredibly, sings and dances pretty well for someone who wasn't famous for it.

See for yourself! Jimmy comes in at around
2:23 .... but the whole thing is pretty hysterical with the
tongue-in-cheek naval humor (especially the bit about
polishing someone's torpedo). HA! They sure pulled the
wool over the censors' eyes in this one.

This photo was included not only to show how narrow the stairs were, or how steep (very!)... but also because these were the very first stairs ever installed on a submarine. Before that, it was all ladders. Narrow, steep ladders.

No cause for alarm, folks.

Me, down the hatch, Betty Page bangs askew. It's difficult to keep one's bangs properly arranged when ducking and climbing through small openings.

I am, apparently, inordinately fond of catching myself in reflections while taking photos.

Even though I know those are plastic hamburgers, I swear I can see steam rising off the griddle in this photo. Is it my imagination, or does the chef look as though he's planning murder?

Had no idea that Nixon used to wash dishes on a submarine...

View from the deck of the Nautilus on a rainy day.

I love train track photos. These tracks run directly between the Nautilus and the museum (weird) so this one was "natch".

This one is just too easy. I'll let it go.

I thought it only proper to end a bawdy nautical post with a full frontal.

Happy/Sad Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T13:25:00.004-05:00

My grandmother died this morning. I am thankful that she is no longer in pain. I am thankful that my poor mom is relieved of the immense burden she has been under the past three years. I am thankful that Gram was at my wedding back in 2002, and that Bear and I were able to go and see her one more time last week. The last thing she said to us was, "Hope y'uns can stay longer next time." I wonder if she knew, as we did, that there wasn't going to be a next time.

And even though I am also thankful that I have a good job, I have to say that the last thing I feel like doing today is getting dressed and going to work. But it must be done.

Side effects of "LOST"

2011-11-23T08:27:00.008-05:00

Bear and I, in our usual stubborn fashion, had refused to get embroiled in watching the TV series sensation "LOST".... until it was all over, that is. We do this regularly, trying hard not to listen in on people's conversations about the plots at work. We did it with Battlestar Galactica, Dexter, and a few others.

Once the series is over (however many years that takes) or at least seriously under way (hi Dexter), we get the DVDs from the library and are able to watch the series in about one quarter of the usual time, due to the fact that we watch three or four episodes at a gallop, and can watch some every night as opposed to having to wait a week between each episode.

One of my favorite things about LOST is Evangeline Lilly, who plays Kate. I mean, holy cow - why haven't we heard of her before?

She's sassy and funny and pretty, while simultaneously kicking ass. Sort of like Angelina Jolie used to be, back in the day.

She's one of my favorite characters, and contributes heartily to my current "LOST" addiction.

Marcheline reviews "The Night Circus"

2011-11-21T17:02:00.009-05:00

Well, today I finished listening to it on CD - read by the dulcet-toned brit Jim Dale (who also reads the US version of the Harry Potter books on CD).

The characters are well formed and intriguing - from the Asian tattooed contortionist, to the man in the grey suit known only by his initials, to the red-haired psychic twins. The main characters, magicians Celia and Marco, are consumed by a love that is vibrant and palpable, even though they spend much of the story barely touching fingertips. Perhaps it is the modern media trend of protagonists falling into bed with each other on the first date that caused some of the tepid reviews that I read concerning these two. Their restraint (despite obvious longing) was rather titillating... the way courtship was meant to be, back when ladies wore gloves and hats and men carried canes and wore spats.

The circus itself is really the main character. Does it have magic? In spades! To describe the circus here is really just an attempt to take the author's place - and Erin Morgenstern does it better than anyone could, so I won't attempt it. I will say her description is like walking through a wonderland. No sense is deprived. Scent and sensation, taste and touch, vibration and veritas... all mingle with anticipation and sometimes dread. Even in a world where the physical world can be manipulated and crafted by skill, there are mishaps and dark days. Those who cannot be trusted.

What I drank while listening

Things I especially love: the references to Hamlet (and Shakespeare in general), the quotations from Herr Thiessen, the steampunk elements of clockwork and Victorian ambiance, and the use of tarot cards and playing cards as indicators. Ms. Morgenstern writes about what she knows, which is a real joy when compared to the plethora of authors who try to write about occult things based on nothing but popular opinion.

Note: Because I am obsessive, I took the CD back to the library and checked out the book, which I took home to satisfy a curiosity of mine. The answer? 16.

Fluevog lust, or thank you very much Ms. Morgenstern

2011-11-18T23:21:00.004-05:00

These lovelies are called "Pearl Hart". They can be found on the Fluevog website, which I only know about because Erin Morgenstern wrote about it on her blog. As you all know by now, I'm besotted with Ms. Morgenstern, so it's only natural there should be side effects.

The shoes at Fluevog are as ridiculously expensive as they are fascinating, so I am actually relieved that these particular shoes are only left in size 11.... which precludes me from ordering them, since I am not a Percheron stallion. Of course they do have them in black in my size, but I am conveniently remaining adamant that the coral color is the only one that will do. I lie a lot.

As if the Pearl Harts weren't enough to keep me up nights contemplating selling my body for profit and fun, there are these:

That loud clunk you just heard? It was only me, feverish and passing out from an accute case of the Flu(evog).

Six degrees of Ingrid Bergman

2011-11-18T07:31:00.006-05:00

One of my favorite actresses from the good old days is Ingrid Bergman. The movie "Gaslight" is one of the best ever made, and "Notorious" is also a great flick. She's in both. Need I even mention "Casablanca"? Of course I need.

Ingrid Bergman's daughter, Isabella Rossellini, lives on Long Island. When I was waitressing a few years ago, I was fortunate enough to serve her a small garden salad and a massive order of calamari, which was sold as an appetizer but eaten as her main course. She was lovely in person, and had interesting friends - gaunt women wearing large rings, and men in black turtleneck sweaters.

Ms. Rossellini has a line of perfume. I bought a bottle of Manifesto. It smells like herbs and green things. I like to think wearing it connects me to Ingrid Bergman, in a cosmic way.

Postscript: My mother just gifted me this little bathroom book. One of the authors was the screen writer for "Gaslight". The six degrees of Ingrid Bergman continues...

Shadows

2011-11-17T12:24:00.002-05:00

No matter how creatively we sometimes layer our lives with positive thinking, no matter how we focus our intent on the good, how often we declare the glass half full, we inevitably come upon days when we just have to face the other side.

On Monday, Bear and I flew down to see my grandmother, after a sad phone conversation with my mother which indicated that Grammy might not be long for this world.

We were only able to stay the one evening, and blessedly my grandmother was in a pain-free, conversational state while we were there. It was a wonderful visit, both with her and other members of my family that we rarely get to see.

Leaving was hard, wondering if we'll ever see Grammy again. Hoping her days of pain are few, hoping what days she has left are filled with love and light instead.

Home now, watching the leaves fall off the trees under a grey sky, pondering the way we have control over when someone comes into the world, but none over when they leave it.

Crushing

2011-11-13T10:37:00.016-05:00

You know how life is like going through huge piles of unsorted paper, and every once in a while you come across a torn piece of map, and when you find it you whoop loudly and pour a glass of your favorite wine, and then you spend an hour scrutinizing it (the bit of map, not the wine, silly) to see if anything looks familiar or gives you a clue to where you are or where you might like to go, and you see that there are not one, but several familiar waypoints on this particular scrap, and it gives you a warm, happy feeling in your gizzard, and you quietly dig through another pile of paper until you find a suitably blank piece of parchment, and you write down the list of familiar waypoints before you carefully smooth out the section of map and add it to your collection, which you keep in an old leather map case from France that your true love bought for you on your last trip into New York City?

This is like that.

It's not that I don't have friends, or that I'm not a friendly person. It might just be that I believe in quality rather than quantity. I can count on one hand the people that I consider dear - or even actual - friends. One would think I'd be inherently immune to the emotional roller-coaster that is the "blog friend crush". You know, that non-romantic type of crush where you find someone's blog and become absolutely certain that you would be the best of friends, if fate were ever just kind enough.

Immune? Not so, not so. I'll admit that it only happens rarely, due to the odd specificity of my specific oddities. Perhaps I am actually more susceptible to it because none of my female friends live anywhere near me - thus I am deprived of gossip over a cup of tea, girl talk at the wine bar, regular rambles through the vintage dress pile at local antique stores with someone who will definitely tell me my butt looks big in that satin number, and then completely agree that it was way too expensive anyway and suggest a latte as a viable alternative.

Well, it's just happened again. And I haven't even read her book yet. I've just spent the last few evenings reading her blog, from the very first post to the most recent. This is how it starts, you see. You read, and then your brain starts picking up more and more similarities, until you reach the last post completely convinced that this person is your lost twin, your sistah from anotha mutha.

Then, as if you aren't already feeling enough like a stalker, you make a list. Of all the things you have in common. The list is an important part of the friend crush, sort of like doodling hearts and initials on desktops in school. Any one of the items on the list, taken singly, would seem silly and insignificant. One sign post pointing at an empty field. But count all the similarities up like calories, and they put a couple of pounds on your theory, however incorporeal any actual friendship may be.

The List:

* We both have two cats. (See? Silly. Just wait - there's more.)

* We wear old skeleton keys around our necks.

Hers, above. Mine, below.

* We feel it's important to have a special, artisan-made mug for tea. Handmade = special.

Hers, above. Mine, below.

* We are fans of Harry Potter, The Princess Bride, Tori Amos, LOST, Neil Gaiman, Rob Brezny, The Hunger Games, Etsy, and Stephen King.

* We are artists and writers.

* We have odd sleeping habits.

* We regularly use words like "waxing", "waning", and "widdershins" ...and we know why.

* We both love and use tarot cards.

* We have absorbed words from "Lord of the Rings" into our everyday lexicon. Example: tricksy

* Our go-to writing implement of choice for regular stuff is the Sharpie. For fancy stuff, it's the fountain pen.

* Antlers are acceptable interior decor. Of course.

* We have both written about wanting to "squee" about something, and then immediately added a disclaimer saying that we are not the squee-ing type.

* We have both posted photos of trees covered in birdhouses.

You know the deal by now.

* We both over-use the word "lovely" when describing people and experiences, most likely because it subconsciously lends a lovely brit flavour to any sentence. You know, without actually speaking in a fake british accent, which Madonna and Angelina have proved is a sure way to be mocked forever.

* She knits. I crochet. Neither one of us deign to use patterns. Or, more honestly, patterns scare the bejeebers out of us so we pretend they don't exist. Sort of like clowns.

* She collects vintage luggage, I collect vintage tablecloths.

* We both have a thing for old hats - she likes bowlers, while I gravitate towards fedoras. Top hats rock, across the board.

Well, that's as far as I've gotten with the list. You must admit that a list like this would definitely get us matched up if there were a platonic friend version of e-harmony.

I am not so naive as to harbor any real hope that a friendship will spring up between us. After all, she's just hit the big time, she's becoming famous. Her eyes are full of stars, and flashing cameras. She's being courted by magazines, TV shows, and Hollywood itself. She probably doesn't have time to keep in touch with the friends she already has, never mind come over here and hang out on my insignificant little corner of the blogiverse.

But just in case...

Hi Erin! In gratitude for your introducing me to BPAL, goodreads, BloodMilk, and Fluevog shoe lust, here are some things I think you will love.

The Enchanted Doll site!

This movie.

These books and the ORIGINAL movies
(not the US remakes).

This art website.

And, last but not least, an answer to your question "Who eats just one Milano cookie?": Former flight attendants, that's who. As a matter of fact, after gorging on the ever-present Milano cookies in the first class cabinet for a month or two, you don't even want to see the package any more.

Mystic, CT - Day two!

2011-11-11T11:16:00.045-05:00

Day two... it was cloudy, but not raining - so we spent the afternoon at Mystic Seaport. I was thrilled to find out that it was not just a historical re-enactment village, but an actual working shipyard! Shipwrights are constantly working there to restore and keep historic ships seaworthy.

The Charles W. Morgan is currently completely out of the water for hull restoration, but we were able to climb some very tall scaffolding and get inside her anyway.

Rudder nonsense!

A harpoon handle.

Click these for a closeup - the view is worth it!

Bear talking to Mel, one of the volunteer staff
members.

Screw this!

Me, trying my hand at using a manual augur,
which worked surprisingly well.

This is called the "rope walk". Men would wrap huge hanks of raw hemp around their waist, and then walk backwards down this aisle, spinning rope with their hands as they went.

Upstairs, spinning wheels for making hemp into strands later to be woven into huge ropes for the ships.

Dan, information guru aboard the Joseph Conrad.

Ginger, that diminutive girl in the green sweater, climbed all the way up onto the yard arm, as seen below:

She had to lean backwards to get over that platform just above her, and my stomach dropped out just watching her. Yikers!

Geoff Kaufman, sea chantey singer extraordinaire. Bear and I volunteered to help hoist the yard arm, and he taught us a chantey to sing while we did it. Total geek heaven!

At the blacksmith's shop.

Inside the 1800's seaman's home.

Barrels and buckets being made
at the cooper's shop.

The printer's shop. They hand-print all of
their own pamphlets and things for
events held at the seaport - something I
especially liked.

At the bank.

Where Ebeneezer Scrooge must have sat. 8-)

The woodcarver's shop - a nifty pedal lathe!

After a day of wandering around in the salty air, we headed over to the Voodoo Lounge for a cup of hot New England clam chowder and some crab cakes. This enormous mask was hanging directly above our heads. If the crab cakes had not been so deliciously distracting, I might have been nervous.

Quote of the day, overheard at work:

2011-11-10T08:30:00.002-05:00

"I can't read this smut anymore... it makes me want to drink!"

A perfect day for the boneyard

2011-11-09T07:51:00.011-05:00

Yesterday, by happy chance, Bear had home training on the computer instead of having to drive in to work. When the "webinars" (my least favorite non-word currently banging around the universe) were over, we still had plenty of warm, sunny, leaf-filled afternoon to ourselves.

I'd just accepted two more assignments from the Find-A-Grave website to photograph headstones in a local cemetery, so we headed out a-hunting. I put in a call to the cemetery curator, got her voicemail, and left a message asking for the plot numbers and directions to the headstones. As it turns out she didn't call me back in time, so it was going to be a "by eye" foray.

Harry Rooge
Drowned at Fire Island
July 20, 1874
Age 30 years 7 months & 5 days
Native of Bremen, Germany

Hunting gravestones by eye is enjoyable when you just want an excuse to ramble through a boneyard. You drive once through the entire cemetery, slowly, scanning the largest standing monuments for the target names, really not expecting to come across anything because there are so very many stones that are lying flat in the ground, only readable when standing directly over them. But it's the quickest way to "hit the high spots", after which you park and start covering plots on foot.

Because gravestones tend to face in both directions, I suspect we "photo tomb raiders" look rather like someone watching a tennis match when we're on the hunt. Look right, look left, look right, look left, so as not to miss any names and have to cover the same area twice.

William H. Pratt
Co. "C", 9th Regiment
U.S. Infantry
Veteran of Mexican War
Died 1890

However - the spirits favored both of us with a find from the car! Within fifteen minutes of our arrival, Bear spotted the first stone and I spotted the second. Since neither of us were ready to go home yet, we parked the vehicle and did a little sight-seeing on our own.

Note: The photos I am posting here are not my assignments - they are other stones I found interesting or beautiful or touching in some way.

Headstone of Gloannah Terry
Bottom of stone reads:

Could tears or prayers have held her here

She had not passed away

Could love have bound her to the earth

She had been ours today

But tears and prayers and love were vain

The messenger to stay

This last stone I bring you, belonging to Captain William Liscum, was beautiful to look down at...

... but just as interesting to look across, as the area within the wreathing was rounded - odd for a stone lying flat in the ground. Almost as if Capt. Liscum had a pot-belly. Not likely for a seafaring man in the 1800s, and only 33 years old, at that.

It made me wonder if perhaps that stone used to be standing up, and no one bothered to raise it again. Or perhaps it broke, and was unfixable, so they left it lying where it fell.

In any case, it's lovely, and added pleasurable moments to our boneyard foray. We thank you, Captain Liscum. And I'm sorry you missed Christmas.

Today's enchantment

2011-11-08T10:06:00.005-05:00

Found another favorite Erin Morgenstern tale here.

And this makes me certain in my as-yet-unconfirmed belief that she changed her last name because of the faux author "S. Morgenstern" mentioned by the grandfather in my all-time favorite movie, "The Princess Bride".

Marcheline's retro kitchen, continued!

2011-11-07T16:34:00.013-05:00

Some of you more regular wanderers in the halls of Mental Meatloaf may remember my obsession with making my kitchen "retrolicious". Well, folks, another step forward has been taken!

After much dithering, shopping, comparing, extra dithering, and final caving to my 1940's sense of thrift, I decided NOT to buy these expensive cabinet handles that I found online:

Instead, I decided to go with these handles, which are actual, original vintage hardware from a real 1940's or 50's kitchen... and they were also less than one quarter of the price of the above handles - yay! Practically speaking, they also free me up from being "tied" to one color in particular. I can switch out the dish towels and other doodads in the room, change the whole color palette if I want to, and never clash with the cabinet handles.

In a fit of complete generosity on Fate's part, my handsome and handy Bear was home today - with me, on my day off! - and proved willing to partner me in the Great Cabinet Handle Caper. He's a wonderful man. And here is the shiny, happy result of our afternoon's labor:

Begone, cheap plastic handles, begone!!

Those of you who click on the picture to embiggen it (a Tess-ism I picked up at Willow Manor) will be able to pick out a number of otherwise too-small details:

1. The mead I'm drinking this afternoon

2. The paint chips on the wall in colors I'm dreaming about painting the room.

3. The nifty fall dish towels my mom gave me.

4. I didn't put away my drying dishes before taking the picture, thus hampering your view of my vintage porcelain cannister set.

5. This photo was taken as the sun was setting, whereas the first one was taken in broad daylight.

6. I'm running short of onions. We eat a frickin' lot of onions around here.

7. The fact that my cabinets are, in fact, hung quite crooked. If you squint your ears at the picture, you will most likely hear the cabinets screaming "former rental unit!!!!".

If you join me in a few glasses of mead, you won't notice a thing.

Whaddya say?

********

Added note for my fellow DIY-ers... the most incredible and indispensable gadget for this project is available at your local Lowe's or Home Depot for TWO DOLLARS:

It's a drawer and door handle template, with a drill bit included! Does life get any more exciting?

You first hold your new handle up to it to find which holes match up, then you put masking tape over all the wrong holes, because you think you'll remember which ones are the right holes but you never will, and you use the un-masking-taped holes to make marks on your cabinets to drill... you guessed it... new holes!

These are great for when the handles you're buying aren't available in the same size as the handles already on your cabinets.

Which is, like, ALWAYS.

Marcheline is waiting to read... The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

2011-11-07T10:01:00.007-05:00

While toodling around the CNN website at work last night, I came across a two-month old article about a girl named Erin Morgenstern who wrote a book called "The Night Circus".

This is Erin's first novel, and apparently it's hitting big. There was a "bidding war" for publishing rights, and she made a huge pile in advance from Doubleday, who won said war. The producers who made the "Twilight" movies snagged the movie rights to her story, and David Heyman (Harry Potter movie producer extraordinaire) is in talks to produce the movie.

Intrigued equally by the book cover(s), the plotline, and her Bjork-esque mien, I did a little plot researching, a bit of review reading, and a little library sleuthing. I now have the CD recording of her book on request.

Her website/blog has now been added to my blog list on the left there, for any who care to visit - it's an intriguing place. My favorite part of her site is called "flax-golden tales", in which a friend of hers takes photographs and Erin writes ten-line stories to go with each. My favorite so far is this one. Gave me a downright chill at the back of my neck. In a delicious way.

So, there you are lovelies, enjoy. Back soon for more adventures in Mystic!

Mystic, CT - Day 1, Part Deux: Welcome to Stonecroft!

2011-11-06T09:55:00.038-05:00

After a delicious and 1980's style joy-filled lunch at Mystic Pizza and rambling around the local neighborhoods, we headed on up to Stonecroft Inn. It's located on the Octoberly-named Pumpkin Hill Road, which gave me a soft warm feeling towards it from the start. Pumpkin Hill Road, like much of Mystic, was under some kind of repair. This ended up being a good thing because it's a hilly, winding road with lovely houses and forests all the way, and we were having such a good time seeing the sights we might have missed the inn if we hadn't been forced to slow down and pay attention. Thanks to photoshop, you don't have to see the road crew in the above picture - ha!

This driveway looks lovely at night, with the lamps lit all the way down. There are two main buildings at the inn. The one you can see at the end of the drive here is the newer one, called the Grange House. This is the house we stayed in. It used to be the barn, and has been refitted beautifully to contain the breakfast room (downstairs) and two exquisite luxury suites (upstairs), the Schubel and the Sarah. We stayed in the Sarah suite.

There's a small parking area right in front of the Grange House where we left our vehicle. Then we meandered down this small drive to the left, which leads to the main house, looking to check in with our hosts.

I was enchanted by this pairing - wood and stone.

As with most houses I photographed in Mystic, the main house also bears a historical plaque. I do love me some old houses, and will choose a B&B in a historic house over a chain hotel any day of the week.

This hand-painted mural going up the stairs in the main house is just one of the unique touches that captured my artistic heart.

Foyer of the Schubel House.

As we sat in the front room waiting for our host (we were, to be fair, at least an hour early for check-in) we soaked in the beauty of original wood floors, the color on the walls, the beginnings of Christmas decorations, and the lovely old fireplace... not to mention a rather odd statue of a Rottweiler.

A confirmed skeleton key addict (I wear one on a chain around my neck), I couldn't resist taking a photo of this piece, which was hanging on the wall of the front room. It seemed to confirm my feeling of connection with the place.

The host was kind enough to allow us to check in, early as we were, and so we meandered through the grounds a bit on the way back to the Grange House. Stone walls everywhere... this place was truly well named!

If you click to enlarge, you will see a massive burning bush at the back of the yard... one of many we saw while driving through the area. On Long Island, our burning bushes are usually small and hedge-like. Up in Connecticut, they're more like trees!

Walking around behind the Grange House, we passed a lovely yard containing a hammock (featured later in the story), a pretty garden shed and stone trough, and...

... situated just behind the breakfast room is a lovely arbor...

... right next to which is an ENORMOUS tree, surrounded by outdoor seating, and a firepit with a view to the gardens. This place would be an amazing spot for a wedding!

This beauty sat near the loft railing just outside our bedroom door. It faced out an upper front window, and when I peeked through it, I found that it was trained on the Stonecroft Inn sign at the head of the drive, which made me smile.

Someone who will not be named is showing off by proving that he can (nearly) hide behind a skinny wood post. Hee hee! The ceilings in our suite were nicer than most floors I've ever walked on. Made the room smell absolutely woody-wonderful.

To quote Julia Roberts from her other smash hit, "Pretty Woman" - "THE BATHROOM IS BIGGER THAN THE BLUE BANANA!" The above shot was taken standing in the center of the bathroom facing west: a huge walk-in shower room to the left, a huge two-person jet tub to the right (with french shutters that open to allow a view of the fireplace while in the tub).

Standing in the same spot, I turned east and took another photo. Massive, massive bathroom. Bear is blocking a view of the bidet, which is not necessarily a bad thing I suppose. I was just in ecstasy that I had four whole days' exclusive use of a bathroom I could do cartwheels in.

Two comfy (if greatly worn) armchairs faced the gas fireplace and flat screen TV. We had some lovely evenings watching Hallowe'en movies by firelight! Nothing makes one sleep better than a nice hot bubble bath followed by a cozy robe, a warm fire, and some Michael Myers stabbings and Jamie Lee Curtis screams. Bliss!

We stayed here just days before Hallowe'en, so there were plenty of seasonal flicks on television, but even if there hadn't been, there was a nicely-stocked DVD library on the main floor of our building. Sweet!

The windchime on our balcony.

View of the main house from our balcony.

From our balcony, another view of that side yard with the hammock. That hammock tempted us to grab our books and go outside, where we promptly got into said swinging rope bed, started acting silly and laughing instead of reading...

... and then took a nap!

Later, of course, we ventured out for some victuals - had a tasty Mexican dinner at a place called Margarita's (and they made great ones, too!), after which we came back to enjoy the Sarah suite. Completely. Ahem.

Get yer seafarin' clothes on and stay tuned for Day Two.

Midday rant...

2011-11-04T12:41:00.008-04:00

... in which I go all "R. Lee Ermey"

Can we just agree that it's easy to be a decent person, and that people who are shitheads spend more time and energy doing the wrong thing than they would have if they just did the right thing to begin with? Can we agree that people KNOW the right thing to do, and it's not over the top to expect them to do it?

Sigh.

Lately I've been hit with a plethora of small discourtesies by friends and coworkers, and it's starting to wear on me. As you might have gathered by now. Somehow these little expressions of disregard upset me more than if someone just walked up to me and shoved a cream pie in my face.

Here are some things I believe should apply to everyone.

1. If you owe someone money, say RENT, for example, pay it on time. Without being asked. Without making someone, say ME, for example, have to text several times in order to get it. Without telling me you're bringing it over, while I sit on my couch wondering when or if you're coming by, wondering whether I should just give up and go out to do my errands or not. If you know you can't pay on time, just send me a text or an email letting me know. I'm not an ogre, I will of course give you reasonable time without any hassle at all, but I JUST FREAKIN' WANT TO BE GIVEN THE COURTESY OF A HEADS-UP.

2. If you make plans with someone, those plans stand unless one or the other party actually calls and changes those plans. Does it get any simpler? No. I think it does not.

3. If you hold a job and you are required to be there at a certain time (who isn't?), especially if you are relieving someone who has just worked an eight hour shift and wants to go the hell home and see their own family, it's your responsibility to get there on time. Consistently skidding into the parking lot with three seconds left on the clock, calling the office and asking other people to stay late for you because you have so little regard for anyone but yourself and your life makes you a complete shite.

4. If someone tells you something personal, no matter who it's about, no matter how juicy it is, and even if they don't make you cross your heart and swear not to tell anyone, never - ever - repeat it to anyone else. With the possible caveat of a plot to murder. If someone tells you they're going to kill someone, it might be nice to let the authorities know so they can warn the intended victim. But besides that.... keep your trap shut. The only possible side effect to this courtesy is that once everyone realizes they can trust you, they will all tell you their deepest secrets. Which may lead to feelings of somehow having been involuntarily inducted into the clergy.

5. Please, please, please.... don't cut your fingernails at work. That's a personal, at-home-in-the-bathroom kind of activity. Your fingernails contain a plethora of unspeakable germs, and the thought of little bits of someone else's fingernails all over my keyboard/desk/workspace makes me nauseous. Not to mention that I can hear the annoying half hour of "snip snip snip" sounds across the room, no matter where I'm sitting. We all have to share our work stations at my office, we don't have "our own" desk... so cutting your fingernails at work is tantamount to picking your nose and wiping it all over the keyboard. Egads, people... seriously. Gross.

And that's it, really. See? Not even a long list. Being courteous has never caused anyone to pull a groin muscle. As a matter of fact, it makes life more pleasant because other people don't want to put their hands around your neck and choke the life out of you. They're actually happy to get the rent! Happy to see you at work! Happy to know that they can count on you!

The additional thing that gets my goat about the work issue specifically is that management is so willing to overlook this crappy behavior for particular individuals, and give me the side-eye when I get upset about it. I guarantee you this: if I ever started paying my bills whenever I felt like it and showing up to work late every day, they'd be on my ass like a hawk on a rabbit. It's just certain people that are allowed to be inconsiderate assholes, it seems. I must have been in the loo when they distributed the "get out of jail free" cards.

Thank you for listening, dear blogfriends. I will be back with a contrastingly upbeat post about our trip to Mystic soon.

Mystic, CT - Day One

2011-11-03T08:16:00.028-04:00

So, back from vacation, with over 200 photos from our trip, you can probably understand how overwhelmed I feel trying to blog about it. But then I thought of just writing about one day at a time, and only using the best photos... pictures that people who didn't take the trip with us might possibly appreciate. That means no shots of the interesting crack in the sidewalk. Try to hide your disappointment.

The ferry ride itself was a bit of an adventure, starting with the lovely prelude of driving all the way out to the North Fork on the east end of Long Island, past all the wineries and lavender farms, past the farm stands resplendent with mums and punkins, finally ending up at Orient Point. Then we drove up into the belly of the ferry beast, climbed the big metal stairs, and spent a sunlit, breezy hour on the outside deck, enjoying the ocean views until we reached New London, CT.

This is always one of the most delicious parts of a vacation... the beginning. When you have all your time off in front of you, everything to look forward to, and that wonderful feeling of letting go and really relaxing. We were FREE!!!! Well, maybe not free, but reasonable. (If you're too young you won't get that joke. Serves you right.)

Driving into Mystic, I immediately fell in love with the wee drawbridge just at the mouth of town. We must have driven across it five times at least while we were there, and each time I had the urge to pick it up and put it in my pocket and take it home with me.

If you click that picture to see the larger view, you'll see an ice cream shop just past the bridge there. The fact that I did not eat ice cream at that shop is not due to my iron will and moral strength, nor my intestinal fortitude. It's because on the sunny days, there was sidewalk construction blocking it, and on the rainy days, it was too cold for ice cream. I have definite designs on that little shop for next time we visit!

Our first stop (of course) was Mystic Pizza. I was in movie geek heaven, with posters and photos from the movie everywhere, and flat screen TVs on every wall playing the movie (sound muted, sadly). The pizza itself was (of course) not as good as Long Island pizza... however, it was tasty and cheesy and just the ticket after a breezy hour spent in the October ocean air.

Julia Roberts grinned at us from every wall, and I grinned right back. Mystic Pizza is one of my favorite movies of all time, and it was a genuine thrill to be at "the real deal". Bear bought me one of the tee shirts (same as they wore in the movie), and of course I chose the red one... the color Julia wore! It was as close as I ever get to saying "Squeee!" I'm not really a "squee" kind of gal, you know.

The rest of the afternoon was spent driving around, seeing the neighborhood, and so I had Bear stopping the car every five seconds so I could jump out and take pictures. If you don't love old houses the way I do, you might as well stop reading here and go get yourself ~~stuffed~~ a cup of tea.

Those of you who do love old houses... I urge you to click on these to see the bigger version, because the trim, the trappings, the details, are all exquisite... and nearly invisible in the smaller version.

The Samuel Donnelly house, 1881

You may notice...

... that I especially...

... loved this house!

Oh, the stone walls!!!

This little cottage called to me
in a BIG way...

John Cheath house, 1862
He was a carpenter/builder.

William Wheeler house, 1853

A little "haunted house on the hill" thrill
for October!

A privately owned ship in Mystic harbor
(do click this one, it's FAB)

Daniel Edgcomb house,1835
He was a cutter shipwright.

Another click-to-appreciate view
of the harbor.

Waterfront property, anyone?
Yes, please!

I can't say I had no egrets...

Last but not least, a wonderful retro-turquoise
house sprawled out with a view to the lake.

And so, dear blogfriends, here end my ramblings about our first day. Of course... we did go to our lovely B&B and get "settled inn" (I slay me)... but that place deserves a post of its own. So, next time - to Stonecroft!

Yes, but now I have to get ready for work....

2011-11-02T13:36:00.002-04:00

See, I had all these great intentions of spending the morning posting about our vacation, but then I spent two hours working on the photos in my online gallery, adding captions, and etc.... only to find out that the captions didn't save! ARGH.

Now, it's time for me to get ready for work, my first day back after vacation, and I just want to lie on the floor and kick my feet and scream NOOOOOOOOOO!

But of course the cats won't be impressed, so it's off to the shower with me, I suppose.

Teaser... oh yeah, and... BOO!

2011-10-31T23:57:00.005-04:00

Yes, we're back from vacation. Am currently vacillating between getting over a nasty head cold, watching oodles of horror flicks with Bear, and prepping all my vacation pictures for publication.

Patience is a virtue! As Hamlet says, "Assume a virtue if you have it not."

Ha!

soooooooo excited!!!!

2011-10-24T23:41:00.002-04:00

.... heading off to Mystic tomorrow morning! When I get back I'll share photos and tell you all about it!

Bear's a grandpa.... AGAIN!

2011-10-22T13:01:00.004-04:00

Little Lily Anne was born to Bear's son and his wife just a few days ago, but I was unable to brag properly as we were not informed of her name until this morning. Apparently, the "Anne" portion is still under some discussion. Bear and I were tossing around "Marie", "Belle", and "Rae" as possible substitutes. Not that anyone asked our opinion.

And until we receive a photo of the little imp, you get to look at a sheep.

It's just the way life is sometimes.

KEEKS!

Just for "keeks"

2011-10-20T00:58:00.002-04:00

I watched this movie last night at around 3AM... it's aptly called "That Uncertain Feeling". It stars Merle Oberon and Melvyn Douglas, and I have been giggling all day (and night) about "keeks". I should be in bed right now, only I started thinking about it again and laughed so hard tears were running into my ears and I was afraid I'd wake Bear up.

Don't know what "keeks" is? Then watch this and howl.

If you have a little more time on your hands and at least half a bottle of wine handy, watch the whole flick!

Late October offering

2011-10-18T18:58:00.002-04:00

Lady, child, and spider.

I see the moon, and the moon sees me

2011-10-16T12:26:00.008-04:00

The moon has long been a source of fascinations and facts... of magic, mystery, and research. It is most interesting when lore and science collide, and even agree.

It was well-storied that the full moon was the catalyst that turned men into werewolves, and current hospital records and police blotters show that on full moon nights, the number of violent occurrences indeed does rise. From "luna" (moon), comes the word "lunacy".

The moon's pull on the tides was also found to have an effect on the water in human bodies, and especially women's bodies. When unencumbered by chemical influences such as birth control pills, most women's bodies will follow the moon's lead, aligning the reproductive cycle with the waxing and waning of that beautiful, luminous orb.

A few months ago, when we were making reservations and planning our upcoming vacation to Mystic, Connecticut, I realized with some annoyance that my own cycle was most likely going to fall right smack dab in the middle of it.

Aside from the obvious romantic obstacle that represents (I had such plans for that king sized bed, dammit!), it also throws a complete monkey wrench into our planned days of visiting aquariums and historic sites - having to run looking for a bathroom every two hours, carrying around a bunch of "supplies".... seriously?

I called my physician's office, hoping to be prescribed something temporary that might put things off a week, and was told that if that was my plan, I should have called three months earlier. Basically, they said they could prescribe pills but there was no guarantee at all that they would work. I said thank you, no... and set about drinking comfrey tea, which, according to Culpeper's Complete Herbal, "stays the courses".

Then, just before the full moon on the 11th of this month, I stopped drinking the comfrey tea. Happily, the full moon was my obliging ally. This is the first time in ages that I am actually thrilled to be walking around with cramps in my lower belly and seeking out the ladies' convenience every two hours. I am happy to be miserable this week, because it means that our vacation will be ever so much more enjoyable two weeks from now!

Thank you, Mystic moon!

If you do nothing else today.....

2011-10-16T01:51:00.001-04:00

... watch this short video

More retro dreaming...

2011-10-13T11:21:00.004-04:00

Had an odd day at work yesterday. They started me out with four hours of recurrent training videos, and then I basically sat around the rest of the time giving breaks... but it was such a slow night on the radio that no one really wanted breaks. So I spent a lot of time researching retro kitchen hardware and stuff... and lookie what I found!

Come One Come All to the Willow Manor Ball!

2011-10-12T11:09:00.008-04:00

My dear friend Tess over at Willow Manor is hosting her yearly ball today. Please feel free to drop in and say hello - her guest list is amazing, to say the least... I mean, darlings - who wouldn't want to rub shoulders with William Powell!

Here's what I'll be wearing:

And here's my date!

He does look scrumptious in a tuxedo, does he not?

Does tend to get a bit silly when he's squiffy,
but don't we all?

Also tends to exaggerate his masculinity a bit,
but a man's a man, for a' that.

I always was a sucker for a man in uniform...

Memories and dreams

2011-10-11T16:49:00.004-04:00

Sentimental mush that I am, I have dried and saved petals from every rose that Bear has ever given me. I put them in a huge mason jar with patchouli and sandalwood essential oils, making a personal potpourri that grows larger with each passing year. These three lovelies were in the arrangement he gave me last month for our ninth wedding anniversary. I hung them in the wrought iron of our kitchen lamp to dry, and thought they looked rather poignant in the mid-afternoon sun.

I'm in the midst of dreaming about furthering the beautification of our cottage, mainly in the kitchen. These two shots express my dreams for the future... this is the fun part, before any commitment is made, before any money is spent, and before the actual WORK commences!

In praise of my mother, and thrift stores

2011-10-11T11:28:00.005-04:00

Above, our living room, circa Yultetide 2006 (see the tree stand?). Same rug I'd had since the 1990's when I lived in Nashville, and it was still in use until yesterday. A quite servicable rug, but the green always had a bit too much blue in it for my taste. The perfect shade of red bits in it were the saving grace.

Thanks to my mother's keen eye while browsing at the Salvation Army (and her $50.... yes, $50 peeps!) this is what my living room looks like now! The lighter places on the carpet are from sun coming in the windows... the carpet is in perfect condition. And soft? There was never a better reason not to wear shoes.

Kudos also goes to Bear, who helped me remove the old carpet and install the new one yesterday in a record-breaking ten minutes! As you can see, I am loath to put back the coffee table and huge green foof chair, because I just want to sit and stare at my new rug.

Love!

My flutterby garden

2011-10-07T08:58:00.006-04:00

A friend gave me this lovely 18-bottle bud vase,
and I filled it with my zinnias and mums!

Click on the picture above and see
how many flutters there may be!

Click this picture... major WOW factor!

At sixes and sevens

2011-10-04T11:36:00.003-04:00

To be "at sixes and sevens" is an English phrase and idiom, common in the United Kingdom. It is used to describe a state of confusion or disarray. The similar phrase "to set the world on six and seven", used by Geoffrey Chaucer in his Troilus and Criseyde, dated about the mid 1380's, seems, from its context, to mean "to hazard the world" or "to risk one's life".^[1] In Act 2, scene 1 of Shakespeare's "The Tragedy of Julius Caesar", Portia, in confronting Brutus about his state of anxiety says: "Why you are heavy, and what men tonight / Have had resort to you; for here have been / Some six or seven who did hide their faces / Even from darkness."
- (Excerpt from Wikipedia.)

*******

Here it is, my "Sunday". A gorgeous, brisk, sunny autumn day. I have a wonderful book I'm smack dab in the middle of, but I don't want to read. I would mow the lawns, but it rained like the dickens last night. I should color my hair and get some shopping done, but I don't feel like it. It's nearly noon and all I've done is watch an old movie and play with my cell phone. The more I feel I shouldn't waste this day, the faster it slips by.

Perhaps it's the fact that my grandmother went back into the hospital with a heart attack day before yesterday. She's better, may be going home today, but all the harouche going on so far away where I can't help anyone has me jittery. Perhaps it's the fact that I've just come off of a more than ten day spree of intestinal illness, and I have grown used to lethargy. Perhaps I'm just a kook.

Drum roll, please....

2011-10-04T00:29:00.003-04:00

Campylobacter

Yeah, well... got a call from my doctor today. Turns out all those sick days from work were not just a good excuse to watch a lot of Turner Classic Movies. I had a real life, honest to goodness bacterial infection! I don't care if they are cute and squiggly and someone has painted them glow in the dark pink... I am horrified! I'm not going to go into the details of how you get it, what it can do to you, and the rest... you can google it if you're curious.

Suffice it to say that I will most likely not be eating chicken again any time soon. Just until I forget everything I read about this bacteria today. Maybe a bit longer.

Pork. It's the other white meat. Perhaps the only white meat for me for a while...

And now, a much-needed diversion from reality

2011-10-02T10:26:00.015-04:00

It was everything we hoped it would be... MAGICAL!
(Do click on the pix - the larger versions are best.)

I wish this photo was a video - so you
could see the eyeballs bobbing,
floating, swiveling around
and watching everything happening
on the stage.

I confess to actually screaming and pulling my feet off the floor during the Wheel of Death act. It was that good.

This lady created incredible works of art with just sand and light.
Truly amazing!

What this girl did with balls!
Heh heh heh...

No net, no wire.

The best thing about this show, oddly, was the "realness" of it, even though the surreality is the initial attraction. It was real, actual people, doing real, actual feats that most people can't do - it was like going back in time. Yes, they used technology to spice up the backgrounds, but the meat of the show was so touchable, so up-close. It's hard to explain, but easy to feel. Each character had a very distinct personality, and they brought the energy and the effort and the excitement right up to you and put it in your lap.

It was a day that goes in the books under "best dates ever".

Calling all prayers/good energy/well wishes/white magick/happy juju

2011-09-30T23:46:00.003-04:00

My 91-year-old grandmother is in the hospital, with a G.I. bleed. They're trying to find out where it's coming from so they can stop it. My 70-year-old mother is staying with her, overnight, getting no sleep, trying to take care of everything and tell the nurses and doctors what to do. This is all taking place fourteen hours (as the Ford flies) from where I live. I feel helpless, worried, and completely far away.

Please feel free to send up/out/along any good energy you can spare.

Thanks.

*** LATER NOTE***

It's working! The docs have figured out where the bleed was coming from, and they sewed it up and she's on the road to recovery! Thanks to all my blogfriends for your support.

Hope you brought crackers

2011-09-30T09:43:00.003-04:00

The above photo is what I came up with after googling "intestinal virus". It sort of makes the whole thing look like a funhouse, eh? Well, that's about as far as it goes. That picture up there in no way represents the last ten days. Other than the fact that it feels like golf-ball sized versions of those pointy things have been rocketing around in my guts.

I've officially reached the point in this little drama where I'd like to get off the ride, thank you very much. I've taken two sick days from work, and still don't have word from the lab regarding the SIX SAMPLES I was required to provide (you know what kind of samples so I'm not even going there).

While my symptoms are somewhat less than they were before, I'm still having stomach pain and am not exactly back to normal in the lower pipes department, either. I'm getting tired of clear liquids and would like to eat some regular food before I turn into a pile of dust. I get impatient and try to eat regular food, and pay for it in the end. (PUN!)

Now I'm forced to decide whether to go to work this afternoon, or use up another sick day that I may need later on in the year. I suppose I'll call the doc's office and see if there has been any word from the lab yet. They haven't prescribed anything for me, as it would have been unwise to do so without knowing what is actually wrong. So I'm sort of left adrift here in virusland (or is it bacterialand or parasiteland?) wondering how to best use my time. Egads, I hate being sick.

Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoyed your whine and cheese!

Nine Years Ago Yesterday!

2011-09-29T23:50:00.000-04:00

Look to this day:
For it is life, the very life of life.
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence.
The bliss of growth,
The glory of action,
The splendour of achievement
Are but experiences of time.

For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow is only a vision;
And today well-lived, makes
Yesterday a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well therefore to this day;
Such is the salutation to the ever-new dawn!

- Kalidasa

Cranked

2011-09-24T11:26:00.006-04:00

My mom's visit went swimmingly. She got to visit some dear friends who live nearby, and I took a day off on her birthday to spend it with her. Bear and I took her out for a delicious dinner up in a historic seaside town on the north shore, and we spent the cool, sunny mornings enjoying coffee on the patio outside. I had, with Bear's help, managed to get the house and yards in order in time for her visit, there was lots of food prepped and stocked, and all in all it was a stress-free visit. She even came to work with me one day and listened to me work the radio for a while. A good time was had by all.

However... after she left, Bear and I both came down with a particularly nasty (and confusing) ailment. Basically, for the past few days I've felt on the borderline between queasy and just bone tired, and my lower guts have been working overtime, shall we say (without going into too much gory detail). I feel as if my abdomen has been put through a wringer. Also, a thready headache sort of hovers at all times.

We've gone over and over what the causes might be, trying to nail down a food item that may have been wonky, or some other cause. My mom is fine, and we all ate the same things while she was here. The only thing I can think of is it must be some kind of flu bug or something, but unfortunately it doesn't just last 24 hours.

It's taking away my appetite for any sort of real food - the only thing I've been able to eat the past couple of days is scrambled eggs and soup. The brand new jeans I just bought are already too big for me (am planning to return the one pair that still has the tags on), but trust me - this is not the way I prefer to lose weight! Yuck. I think about eating regular food, and then I just want to go lie down.

Whatever this creepiness is, I hope it goes away soon. I have loads of things I need to get done, and I want to enjoy eating again too. In the mean time, I guess I'll just drape myself over some furniture until I have to go to work this afternoon. Bleeehhhhhhh.

**** LATER NOTE ****

Bear has done some research and found that it is, indeed, a flu that's going up and down the eastern seaboard like wildfire. So wash your hands and don't share drinking cups, y'all!

Lest I sound like a whiny weasel completely, let me leave you with a recipe I made up for some vitamin-rich soup that soothes the grumbly tummy:

Marcheline's Spinach and Onion Soup

1. Melt half a stick of butter in a non-stick frying pan.

2. Slice up three small onions and a couple of cloves of garlic. Add to frying pan, and then sprinkle in some powdered cumin and a bit of curry powder (just a wee bit) and some salt and lots of black pepper. Sweat the onions and garlic over medium-low heat until they turn clear.

3. Take a bag of spinach leaves and empty it into the frying pan. Use a spatula to turn the cooked onions over on top of the spinach to help it wilt faster. Add a splash of white cooking wine, which will add great flavor as well as help to steam the spinach leaves.

4. Dump the contents of the frying pan into a large soup pot. Add two large containers of chicken broth, and bring to a simmer. Five minutes or so of simmering should do. If you want an added shot of protein, drizzle a couple of beaten eggs into the soup while it's still simmering for an "egg drop" version. Also, if I'd had some mushrooms in the house, I'd have sliced them up and put them in the frying pan with the onions and garlic.

5. Enjoy! (Sprinkled with some parmesan cheese, this stuff is too heavenly!)

A git'er done day

2011-09-13T12:51:00.006-04:00

Whew... and it's not even over yet! Just taking a breather between:

1a. Cleaning out the shed and storage room, loading all extraneous stuff in my truck since I had to cart the old lawn mower to the dump today.

1. Taking the old lawn mower and a truckload of other junque to the town dump. My little old pickup truck felt downright dainty perching in line between those massive garbage trucks and tractor trailers! Damages? Six bucks. I'd have paid them ten to just let me in without waiting in line. For passenger vehicles, you think they'd have a separate line or a minimum dump fee, just to move things along a bit more.

2. Putting windshield washer fluid in my truck.

3. Grocery shopping.

4. Getting the mail.

Now I'm going to make myself a fat free greek yogurt smoothie with blueberries and raspberries, then I'm going to:

1. Fix the backyard fence (got torn loose by big branch falling in the next yard.)

2. Caulk my truck to see if I can stop it leaking inside every time it rains.

Tonight is "movie night" with our friends, but happily they are both hosting the event at their apartment AND cooking dinner! That means no cooking, cleaning, or doing dishes for me today.

Puzzle of the day: I seem to have misplaced my two-handled shrub lopper. I keep it inside, in the storage room, right next to my two-handled long shears, to keep them from rusting the way our old ones did out in the shed. Looked and looked, outside, inside, and upside down - can't find the dang things! Bear has no idea where they are, and I'm pretty sure the cats haven't been using them lately, so.... I guess I will give it one more look-see and then I'll have to give up and buy new ones. Directly after which I will probably find the original ones.

I am VERY excited - just got books 2, 3, and 4 in the new series I'm reading. The first book, "Game of Thrones", was so delicious and exciting I fear I gobbled it down fast enough to give me hiccups.

I've never read anything by George R. R. Martin before, but I adore his writing style. His stories are deep enough to catch your heart, but not so dense that they get confusing. There are just enough characters to keep things interesting, but he doesn't hit you with a million similar-sounding names (a-la-Lord of the Rings). There are swords and dragons and fair maidens, but the characters feel very real. It's easy to sink into the landscapes... to feel the dust of the road, hear the sound of wolves in the night, and taste the sweetness of summerwine in a drinking horn.

I heard of the HBO miniseries based on these books, but as books are usually better than the film version, I felt I should try reading the story first - and boy, am I glad I did!

Off to find out what happens next...

R.I.P. Andy Whitfield... aka Spartacus

2011-09-12T10:23:00.003-04:00

From the CNN website:

"Spartacus" actor Andy Whitfield has died, CNN has confirmed. Fans of Starz Entertainment's original drama "Spartacus: Blood and Sand" know Whitfield as the titular gladiator.

According to the New York Times, the 39-year-old passed away on Sunday in Sydney, Australia from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Whitfield leaves behind his wife, Vashti, two children, and a sister.

You fought well, gladiator. Rest among history's champions.

Marcheline's new project

2011-09-12T08:08:00.005-04:00

A dear friend of mine who lives in Italy has a birthday coming up in October. She loves vibrant color, and so I have just ordered this yarn to make her a neck warmer, or cowl. You can wear it around the neck like a scarf whose ends don't come unwound in the wind, or pull it up over the head like a hood when the winter winds blow.

Like dees:

I haven't done any crocheting in a while, and I've got the bug again. I hope the yarn is a soft as the ad says it is, because when you're wearing something around your neck, it's gotta be snuggly and comfortable. Nothing worse than a scratchy scarf/thingy!

Not much else to report today. It was supposed to be gloriously sunny and beautiful on this, my "Saturday".... it's gloomy and cloudy and misty instead. To round out this powerhouse of excitement, here's my to-do list:

1. Buy a lawn mower. Our old one rusted through and actually fell apart while I was using it the last time.
2. Cook sausage (to go with the peppers and onions that Bear cooked yesterday).
3. Go to the gym. (This list is obviously not in order.)
4. Trim the cats' toenails.
5. Wow, this list is really sucking, isn't it?

Remembering my cousin, Michael Otten

2011-09-11T12:04:00.000-04:00