Thanksgiving Weekend Wind Down

All my guests have left and the house is back to its usual quiet.  Somehow, after all the fun and conviviality, it seems a little odd.  It was a fabulous holiday weekend.

As the weekend progressed, there were lots of stories - old and new - and some juicy lines:

"We are meant to spend the day being thankful yet at the same time have want, want, want, buy, buy, buy thrust down at us via circulars and the media."  - Astutely stated by one of my favorite friends.  So true.

"Take care of the joint."  - This from  our neighbor Mr. R., as he ceremoniously handed Mr. Weston the spare keys to his house before he and his wife left for their winter stay in Florida.  He says  this every year and I love it.  Mr. R. was a WWII bomber pilot and he has a lot of delicious lines like this.

"Does anyone sell a sled any more?" - This from Aunt Pen as she disdainfully looked through the various awful circulars  that came with the paper.

"Be a blessing, not a bore."  - One of Mom's standards to children who are rambunctious in the noise level arena.   It still serves to silence.


None of us set foot in a store and personally, I thought that the only line worth standing in over the weekend was the $5 Felines at our local Dakin Pioneer Valley Humane Society - the former home of Puppy Weston and The Boss of the House - our cat.

Bless these folks standing out in the cold on Black Friday
waiting for the Dakin to open.

Then, despite the cold we all traipsed outside to look at Orion in the night sky when my brother brought over one of the telescopes that he had made.  We also hiked up a local mountain in search of winter berries.

In contrast to the "no crop" last year there were thousands of them this year.




Some of what we picked.
Used for vases, wreaths, window boxes and urns.

 

Now, for the hard work of Christmas - not the gift buying but the trying to keep the reason for the season in perspective.  Along those lines, the Charlie Brown special is on tonight.





















































Thankfulness and Abundance

The house has quieted after a bevy of Thanksgiving Eve activity.  As I sit here typing, the kitchen is redolent of the leftover sage, rosemary, and thyme that someone arranged in a bowl and put on the kitchen table. 

Throughout the day, friends and family noisily arrived  - some celebrating how their plans were not thwarted by the storm.  For dinner, I cooked a massive tray of macaroni and cheese.  Something new for Thanksgiving prep night and overall, a wonderful discovery for Thanksgiving. 

Last week at my job, we had Thanksgiving lunch - yes, a turkey was cooked - and we all brought dishes.  New colleagues shared that in their culture macaroni and cheese is part of their Thanksgiving meal.  I am all for macaroni and cheese - any time.   Shakenna's recipe was amazing and I am grateful that she shared it with me.  It was devoured here tonight and the big tin foil tray is already rolled up in the recycle bin.

So tonight was a perfect example of the great abundance in my life.  We ate and talked, chopped and remembered, peeled and laughed.  I always love the happy sound of friends and family in my house.

Now folks are safely tucked in or assembled in various places - by the fireplace finishing that last glass of wine or in the den watching a movie.  I will join them in a minute.  I just want to acknowledge what a lucky gal I am and how much I have to be thankful for.

Take it away Bing. 

 A favorite tune for the season and always.

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Work Wear

There have been mornings, this morning being one of them, where I have ridden up in the elevator to my office and wondered if I was going to a bar or discotheque. 

Why? 

 I am often the only woman in the elevator who is not wearing things like:

•  Mini skirts
• Thigh high boots
• High heeled sandals topped by ankle bracelets
• See through blouses with strappy tops (thank God) underneath
• Those really tight pants that get narrower and narrower as they go down the leg - you know the ones that flatter no one and make one's behind look gigantic

This being said, I've also seen more than my life time's share of cleavage in the elevator.  Sad to say that this comes in many varieties:

• Fat and spilling out
• Old and wrinkled
• Tanned and tattooed

To paraphrase Jane Austen, I am being severe upon my own sex, but...
 
The impetus for this entry is the fact that this morning I rode up with a woman who was wearing a sequined top whose "wares were freely advertised."  (Dad's line.)

Sequins for work?  When did this happen and why?  I have no explanation and can only feel badly that my female elevator riders are compelled to wear club clothes to work.  In stark contrast, the men in the elevator are in suits most recently topped by nice wool coats.  This bothers me.  The women look like - well you know...

So what do I wear to work?  Mostly my travel clothes from my last job.  Meaning suits - with pants.  I like these because I can just blunder to the closet in the morning and put one on.  I don't have to bother with separates and that mixing and matching stuff.  I just do not have time now that I have a longish commute.  Plus, I am going to work to work - not to advertise certain charms.  Ugh!  How boring to be thinking about that kind of thing at work...

My suits range in quality and style.  I've bought really nice ones from various stores but have also found men's ones in thrift shops that I have had tailored.  This last has worked well for me - I have really long arms and legs and look like a silly gorilla in some women's clothes - most especially shirts. 

What's more - there have also been emergency occasions where I have had to venture into Mr. Weston's closet to "accidentally borrow" a shirt or some socks.  I then accessorize with a nice scarf, necklace, or bracelets.

Shoes?  Forget that loathsomely, stupid look of high heels with pants.  Loafers.  Nice ones. They last for years. - Mom and Gram are loafer gals as well.

So this begs the question of my style icons.

Marlene
 

Marlene's suit -
Close to what I wear to work but no tie
but some times a pocket square

Suit envy

I have one of these that I found in a thrift shop - with hat.
Have worn for Halloween and costume parties.
The cigarette holder looks great but no smoking here.

Casual Marlene
I wear jackets and pants like this out to the grocery
again sans the tie.

Katharine
This was featured in a Talbot's ad a few years ago.
Close to my work wear.

Katharine after the hurricane of 1938
Almost like my 'round the house duds.

 

 

 I know that everyone has a proclivity and right for their own personal presentation but why after all the advances that women have made, are women dressing as I have described.  Is it the media influence?  The lowering of standards?  Or a desire to look sexy and retain youth like magazines promote?  I don't have the answer. 

I'm sure that to the club women who share my elevator space, I must appear to be odd. Well that is just fine with me.

 

 

 

 

Street and Company, Portland

We were in Portland again for the weekend and may I just say how much I love Street and Co. We were there for Friday night supper. 


This time I had their mouth watering, signature Sole Francaise.  This was served with squash and potatoes.  I'm not fond of squash since most places usually boil it into a wet oblivion and flatten it onto a plate - but this was deliciously prepared with a tasty lemon concoction.  All of this was served in a frying pan that was set down in front of me.  Not only fun but the meal stayed warm for the whole dining experience. 

Then I just could not resist the bourbon pecan pie. All in all, a perfect way to start the weekend.






 

Halloween with Georgie

I have the Halloween decorations out and the pumpkin is inexpertly carved and lit on the front step.  Candy has been bought - and for now is safely stored in the linen closet - otherwise I would eat it.  All is ready for the big night.

On Sunday my little neighbor informed me that I would never guess what his costume would be - this after he told me his Dad bought him a big, red pitchfork.  So priceless and adorable.

It would not be Halloween without Georgie.  I love this story by Robert Bright about a little ghost, Georgie, who suddenly finds himself homeless.

Each year I put my childhood copy -
now  battered and masking taped bound -
out on the coffee table.

 

 

As Georgie looks for a new home, each house is already occupied.

The only house without a ghost is Mr. Gloam's place.
Don't you just love that name?

My favorite line from the book - since used for anything big and grand.

The Darling Georgie

Georgie and Miss Oliver, the owl.

Thank you Robert Bright for originally writing for
Robin and Beatrice but ultimately for the enjoyment of many.


Robert Bright 
Apparently a dog lover as well...
 

 

All illustrations from Georgie by Robert Bright.









 

Handcuffs Don't Look So Good on a Well Dressed Man

With my new job I now have what is known as a commute - meaning highway driving  - mostly watching every other car pass me. 

Speed limits aside, I had to find ways to entertain myself during the daily automotive hours.  I started with recorded books but found the changing of CDs annoying and lane waveringly dangerous.  So I resorted to the trusty Sirius radio and all sorts of genres -  some of them quite new to me.

Anyway, one morning I happened upon station 82 Radio Classics. "One Way Passage" was in progress with the divine William Powell (Dan) of "The Thin Man" fame. 

 

Not only was I immediately hooked, but the imagination was entranced.  Grumpily, I could not hear the entire program because I had to go into work.

Subsequently, a bit of research ensued.  The program was a Lux Radio Theater presentation from 1939.  Programs are available here. I listened to the whole thing on my iphone later.  Mr. Cecile B. DeMille was the eloquent host. Yes, he is referred to as "Mr."

Some highlights.

Dan and Joan drink paradise cocktails while on a luxirous ocean liner that is sailing from Singapore.  They then smash their glasses.


Kay Francis plays the terminally ill Joan. 

 

Kay was born in Oklahoma City.  Having spent a great deal of time there, I never heard anyone with quite the accent and enunciation that Kay employs.  The old time Hollywood "to", "do", and "r" as in "charrrming."  Rather nice to hear considering the bastardization of grammar in today's media.


Meanwhile, there are sponsor commercials which advise that:

 "Soft smooth skin is important in winning love and holding it."

"Lux toilet soap (that name by modern standards!) removes dust and dirt and stale cosmetics and thoroughly guards against the pore choking that causes cosmetic skin."  - Pore choking?

Lots of smarty pants lines such as:

• Handcuffs don't look so good on a well dressed man.

• My mother warned me against well dressed strangers.

• Paradise for two. - a toast by Dan and Joan

• Put the rod away, Steve.

• Baby, you sure stuck to my tails.

• He'll be swinging for murder.

• I got a chicken ranch in Petaluma.

• His mind is as sharp as his pencil.

 Since Dan and Joan, I've listened to a few other programs including "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" with Carole Lombard and Bob Hope(?). - more on this in perhaps a later post.  Anyway, I love the way these shows make my commute shorter and ignite the imagination.  I was there with Dan and Joan on that ocean liner...
 

Rock Music

Today I thought that I would treat myself to lunch and drove to a very pretty shopping center.

It is clear that a lot of thought was put into the design of the place because it is very colonial and in keeping with the overall tenor of the town.  It is quite nice with beautiful and well tended landscaping.  It was all so attractive that I practically skipped from my car in anticipation.

When I reached the sidewalk, I was quite startled to hear a man moaning at foot level, "Come back to me, oh oh." - then something about  a foreign movie. 

Thinking someone was intoxicated under the landscaping, I stopped and discovered the horrors of  fake-rock-garden-speakers. 

Discreetly placed behind a boxwood

The sound from this one assaults not only

passersby but this poor chrysanthemum

A well heeled lady, meaning that she had on a pair of Ferragamos, - noticed only because my attention was at foot level - stopped to ask what I was looking at.

I pointed out the fake-rock-garden-speaker.  We agreed that it was hideous.  Neither of us could identify the song, though the poor singer continued redundantly moan, "come back to me, oh oh."

So the question is, if fake-rock-garden-speakers must be placed in shopping centers, why can't they play sounds from nature instead of annoyingly bad songs?

 

 

 

 

 

Fancy Drinks and Short Orders

So last weekend I made a quick stop at the local flea market.  Sadly, many of the vendors display things that one does not want such as - really bad socks that look like they would incubate athlete's foot and scary looking robotic plastic toys. 

But still there are vendors who have what I call good stuff - old books, furniture that needs refinishing that I have no business haggling over, and boxes that contain a crazy assortment of stuff.  Of course, none of the stuff is marked with a price and the moment one picks anything up it is immediately worth a fortune.

That being said, I was digging in one of these boxes and found a little package of old matchbook covers.  I was able to buy them for one dollar.

There was this one.

Gee, I sure would like to "dance till !" to Lester Grant's Orchestra. 

 

Not entirely sure where the Bungalow is.  Did only cursory research and came up with this.

Love the names of the original owners, Milbert and Lilly, whose busiest day of the week during Prohibition was Sunday.  The secret room that was thought to "hide slot machines and moonshine" is intriguing. Still this place in MN is unlikely to be the one of my matchbook, since it was only named the Bungalow Inn in 1969...

Until I can do more research, the fancy drinks and short orders are fruit for the imagination.

 

Bat Aplomb = Great Hostess

 

So with a new job comes new social responsibilities.  Last Friday night I commandeered Mr. Weston and off we went to the home of the leader of my new institution.  I was giddy with anticipated delight.  What fun - more importantly, I did not have to cook.

We were having a delightful time sampling the hors d'oeuvres that were being passed around.  I was enjoying the baked Granny Smith apple slices with prosciutto skewered with brie in some kind of sauce - when a gigantic bat flew in.

I am not a bat expert, but I think that it had a terrifying 20 foot wing span.  This was discerned as it dived up and down amongst the guests.

It was one of those moments where people seemed to be frozen in time.  No screams, no panic. There was a stunned silence, a best behavior numbness.  Immediately our hostess, the institution's esteemed leader, put her skills into action and threw open the front door.  The uninvited guest soon exited.

No one dared to say anything.  Then, as if nothing had happened, our hostess exclaimed with a happy clap of her hands, "Now for something sparkling!"

Champagne for all!




 

Late Summer Mega Read

It seemed like I waited "a hundred summers" for this book when it finally came in at the library last week.  It is another mega summer read with a long wait list - which means definitely not renewable. 

No worries here.  I finished it last night. 

As I have mentioned, I don't normally read a lot of new fiction so my question is:  What is up with the trend of back and forth chapters?

This book, like the other work that I just read, goes back and forth from past to present by alternating chapters.  In this case:

Chapter 1:  1931
Chapter 2:  1938
Chapter 3:  1931
Chapter 4:  1938

I find this annoying.  By the end of Chapter 4, I went forward by only reading every other chapter then reading the chapters that I skipped.  This gave some order to the story. 

Then there was a boo boo.  Part of the story takes place at Smith College.  The characters go to a local breakfast place in Northampton.  The proprietress says,

           " Best pancakes in the Berkshires.  Ask anyone." 

Anyone here will tell you that Northampton is not in the Berkshires but in the Pioneer Valley.  Oopsie.

Then there are hysterical lines like: 

            "The waitress came in, a slaughtered lamb of a twenty-year old girl."

I pointed this bit of conversation out to Mr. Weston.  It was uttered by the male love interest: 

            "Where did you come from Lily?  You're a miracle."
            "Your miracle," Lily responds.

We have similar conversations daily.

Overall the book was entertaining enough and drama filled.  I did like the how the author's bio adroitly ended:

           "She lives with her husband and four young children in southwestern Connecticut,
            where she divides her time between writing and laundry."

The book concludes with the dreadful hurricane of 1938 where most of the characters we have come to dislike are conveniently swept off to sea.

At this point, I am heading back to the world of nonfiction. The author recommended "Sudden Sea: The Great Hurricane of 1938" which I have already ordered up.

 

The Day After the Fair

So we went to the fair yesterday.  Here are some photographs.

My favorite!
An erudite and white haired gentleman
had amassed a huge collection of milk bottles from
long defunct dairies -  when milk was actually delivered.
He was fascinating to talk to -
I took one of his cards to give to our Historical Society...

A sampling of the bounty of the county.

The winning gigantic pumpkin.
 

Preserves behind bars.
Apparently, a few years ago there was trouble -
not by misbehaving preserves but from fair patrons
handling them...
Too bad.

Hopefully the preserves had not been preserved in this kitchen.
Still, these old images were all around.

 

Another protected display.

Christmas tree vendors were advertising their wares.



Liked this fisherman's sweater in the craft hall.

Was impressed that someone actually had the talent to sew this!
Though one does not see any women
in our area wearing such things these days...

Great to look at - but oddly not locked up. 
Even better the recipes were posted.
 

Now speaking of food at the fair, I had a ton -  proudly all of it fried or sugary -  yet devilishly delicious!  There were chicken tenders in a crater of French fries, a fried oreo, a sundae, and something from a Cajun cart.  This was all washed down with a paper cup of really bad sangria in the beer garden.  I was grateful that I actually woke up this morning.

Historically speaking

 Visited with and petted lots of beautiful animals.  They were all locked up or confined.  Since they are not inanimate like the preserves, I always feel so badly for them and cannot bear to photograph them.

 

Meanwhile, thanks to Thomas Hardy for borrowing his title for this entry.

 

 

 

Call Me Lady!

So I was ordering some ballet tickets tonight and when filling out the form there was this drop down box for title.  Expecting the usual mundane, I was so excited to see this - my true title as already recognized by others!

. 

When I have I been called lady?  Here is a sampling:

• "Lady, it will cost $2,000,000 to have the pipe fixed."

 

• "Lady, you are asking me?  I'm only the cashier!"

 

• "Yo, Lady, learn to drive!" - the expletives deleted since this is a G-rated blog.

 

• "Hey Lady, you blew one!" - Not sure what this meant.  It was shouted from a car full of what had to be Mensas as I stood on a city street.

Given this, of course, I selected Lady as my official title.



















 

Don't Give Up The Garden

I was out early yesterday morning picking flowers.  It is a summer Saturday sublime thing to do.  Then one gets to feel extravagantly artistic when arranging.

Still, as I bent over with a grumble - OK it was a four letter word - to pull out what seemed to be the same piece of crabgrass that I had been pulling out all summer, I remembered the immortal words of the Greats - Aunt Pen and Aunt June,  the unintentional and infamous doyennes of this blog. 

"One must never give up the garden."

This was stated a few months ago when we went to a reunion.  As we sat at the luncheon table, a woman from their class was pushed by in her wheelchair.  The woman's name was Francis which the Greats pronounced as "Froncis!"

After appropriate noises in the way of greetings, there were the stage whispers once Francis had left.

"Poor darling thing."

"Remember when she dived off the bridge?"

"Who would have thought?

"Of course, it all started when she gave up her garden."

I inquired about this last and the general consensus from the Greats was that the decline of Francis began when she had her garden mowed down and replaced with lawn.  A veritable sin according to the Greats since "She had nothing to putter in."  Need I say that the Greats are great gardeners?

I adore my garden - most of the time and have accepted the fact that crabgrass is good for my health.

 

 

United by the Moon and Ithaca

Flopped on the sofa tonight with the intent to relax with a book of favorite poems.  But instead I looked out the window, then up, and my attention was captured by the burgeoning moon.  The book was momentarily forgotten in favor of pondering.

It occurred to me how, perhaps weirdly,  the majority of my family are Cancers. Most of us were born under that astrological sign between June 22 and July 22.  This being the case, we are moon children.  Now, please do not call me a zodiac girl.  I definitely do not dial up those numbers in the back of magazines for my horoscope.

Moving on...

Right now, given that it is summer and vacation time,  we are spread out -  oddly in places beginning with vowels - Austin, Ottawa, Ireland, and Australia.  Yet at some point and at different hours, we all see our moon.

This is the beautiful moon that I see now.

No matter where we are the moon - and nowadays, Skype - unites us.  Rather marvelous to think about.

So the book of poems that I was reading?

See page 36 for "Ithaca" which has been read at weddings, birthdays, and anniversaries.  Dad read it at my wedding...

"Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.  Without her you would have never taken the road."























 

By Today's Standards

So I was at the library recently and there was a pretty summer display of books and DVDs for children.  Featured prominently was a newly purchased set of Shirley Temple movies.  Since I like old movies, I thought that I would  try one.  I took out "Bright Eyes."

Later in the evening, I sat back and viewed shocker after shocker - that is by today's standards. 

Just see below and pardon all the exclamation points.

Five year old Shirley hitchhikes alone to the airport!!!

First, this friendly truck driver stops!
She declines.

Shirley tries again and accepts a ride from the man in this car!

This is Uncle Ned, the curmudgeon millionaire
who ultimately has a heart of gold.
He is confined to a wheel chair.

 

The house is not appropriately accessible so
this is how Uncle Ned comes down the stairs!!!

The Shirley Antithesis Character -
she is really mean and always screaming.
I think I saw her in the grocery the other night.

  

She screams that she wants a machine gun
and points gun fingers at her father while
making machine gun noises!

Planes were called ships!
So charming...

American Airlines where I formerly spent
a lot of time - this plane looks more glamorous!

A private party for Shirley is held on this plane and
it taxis around the airport!
News has come that Shirley's mother has been killed!
This car is just pulls on to the runway to flag the plane down!

At the end of the movie, the mean girl
makes yet another nasty statement and
receives a terrific slap on the face
- in a court house no less!

The Movie