The Derby

My pick to win: Tiago!

The puppy next door.

I've been meaning to snap a few photos of Spanky, the dog who belongs to my next door neighbor, for a while now. Spanky is possibly the cutest puppy EVER, but dang, he does NOT like to sit still.

I first thought Spanky was a West Highland Terrier, but actually, he is a Scottish Terrier. He takes his duty of patrolling his porch very seriously.

Spring Bounty

For me this morning: a breathtaking riot of velvety rich pink from the S-man's balcony garden. Romantically juxtaposed with Death in Venice purely by happy accident (click pic for a larger image).

Pop Quiz!

Q: What editor of a local magazine is currently shamelessly high-jacking my idea for next issue's cover WITHOUT having EVEN the common decency to thank me?

A: I'm too classy to say.

But the magazine sounds like Uh-Juke-Uh-Wife.

Happy Hour

We had fun tonight. AND there was a rainbow.

Grey Gardens Revisited

Really, it's not much of a surprise that I'm a HUGE fan of Grey Gardens.

I mean: documentary: check; filmed in a neglected overgrown estate at the hamptons: check; eccentric characters: check; distant relatives of Jackie Kennedy Onassis: check; women who burst into song at a moments notice while seemingly oblivious to the squalor surrounding them and, at the same time, managing to look fabulous draped in nothing but fabric remants: check and CHECK. What's not to love?

I saw the original movie a year or so ago and was completely mezmerized by the the two Edie's. Last night I enjoyed "The Beales of Grey Gardens", a film pieced together in 2006 from unused footage shot by the film makers, brothers Albert and David Maysles, in the mid seventies. This sequel is no less interesting than the original. It has a behind-the-scenes feel as it does show some interaction between the film makers and the Beales. More amazing costumes from Little Edie; more heartfelt recitations from Mama Edie. More eccentricity. More...MORE!

Of course, in my usual stumble-across-it-a-decade-or-two-after-everyone-else fashion, I'm far from alone in my love for the Bouvier-Beales. There's the Broadway musical starring Williams Sledd's good friend, Christine Ebersole, and I hear tell there is a feature film in production.

I suppose it was inevitable that I'd do a search and find Edie's obituary.

Even so, I prefer to imagine her still running around at Grey Gardens in her amazing get-ups with her signature broach, reading her horoscope through a magnifying glass while musing about her old beaus, and reflecting on the wonders of a "staunch woman".

IT'S A GIRL!

Please welcome Miss Heidi Elizabeth!

The happiest days are when babies are born. It's life renewing itself.

-Melanie Wilkes

Naming Names

Don't ya just LOVE a good scandal?!

The Heartbreak of Hail Damage

It's been a rather difficult day in Bizzyville. I was brought low by a Tsunami of a sinus headache that began last night and lasted well into the day. Many aspirin and a 24-hour prescription Clarinex later, I am, thankfully, recovered.

Earlier, while still on the couch, I caught the Tyra Banks show. Her theme today was "Hot Legs" and how to get them and look great in summer shorts. I have to admit that, in my headachey condition, I wasn't paying too much attention. Or I wasn't, that is, until they began discussing Nivea "Good-bye Cellulite" patches which, even through the fog of my headache, caused my ever-sensitive beauty-product-junkie-ears to perk up. (Annoyingly, I cannot link straight to the product, but you can get to it by visiting the Nivea website and clicking to it for more information.)

Because, let's face it girls, is there anything more annoying than or as impossible to get rid of as cellulite or, as it has come to be known recently, "hail damage" (a tragically appropriate moniker). Now, I realize that no doubt Nivea is paying through the nose for Tyra's endorsement but, I have to admit, for some reason, I don't think Tyra would showcase a product with faked results. On the show today, she profiled three different women who had used the patches for four weeks in before-and-after videos.

And the results were nothing short of amazing. Providing they were real. There was one woman? At least 300 lbs. Trust me. Initially, she had a case of hail damage so bad that it was present both on the backs AND fronts of her thighs. Four weeks later? Gone. Totally gone. (And, by the way, she was no thinner than she had been when she started the process).

All three of the participating women stressed that you have to use the product as directed for the FULL four weeks to get the results and that nothing much changed the first two weeks. BUT, if they are to be believed, after a full four weeks of treatment, their hail damage was NO MORE.

What if it really does work? Is all I'm saying.

Also, you're probably wondering what's new in my world organizationally? Well, funny you should ask. My friend Christina rolled into town last week and wrought an organizational miracle in my barn during her stay. Alas, I did not take "before" photos, so it would be hard to fully appreciate the miracle that after really is. I think I can adequately illustrate the situation by telling you that Christina unearthed FIVE SEPARATE GAS CANS. You know, the kind you fill up your mower from? Evidently, when Satan was too traumatized by the state of the barn to search for the gas can, he just went to Wal-Mart and bought another one.

FIVE TIMES (not that I blame him).

Maybe now you can understand why we have a barn AND a semi trailer. Which, by the way, I'm planning to take you on a tour of soon. So--something to look forward to, eh?

Sunday Musings

I just re-read yesterday's "Love in Bloom" post and it hit me why I was so obsessed with the garden cottage: it's tiny! Of course!

Long time readers will recall my obsession with the tiny. Tiny Christmas Village. Tiny pumpkins. Let's hope I don't suddenly become one of those people who paint intricate pictures on a single grain of rice with a tiny one bristled paint brush. ("Tiny Crafting" Horrors!)

Otherwise, let's be honest, I know you're all wondering about my take on the Alec Baldwin/Ireland Baldwin/Kim Bassinger controversy of late.

While I think we can all agree that the message is completely innappropriate, over the top, and a really, REALLY bad idea, at the same time, I think all divorced parents can probably relate to the frustration poor Alec is experiencing here. The guy just wants to talk to his daughter, has gone to the trouble of pre-arranging a time to do so, and then finds her phone shut off. I get the feeling that this isn't the first time Alec has had a problem reaching his child. I'm thinking that, like Rodney Dangerfield, Alec just "ain't getting no respect at all."

In fact, Alec has gone so far as to try to wriggle out of his contract on 30 Rock in order to devote himself "full-time to the issue of parental alienation". And, along with an appearance on The View, has consulted with Dr. Phil on the matter. NOT TO MENTION he is writing a book. Clearly, we're talking about a desperate father here.

The solution? I think these two crazy kids need to give it another try and head on over to Dr. Phil's couch with their daughter to once and for all work this thing out. A relationship that's really over doesn't continue to be quite THIS dramatic and is probably indicative of repressed feelings Kim and Alec continue to harbor for each other. After all, they were possibly the cutest, most well matched couple ever to hook up in tinsel town.

Whaddaya say?

Love in Bloom

We had a little love celebration tonight.

I became innappropriately enthralled with Stephanie Young's charming garden cottage and now aspire to run away and make it my permanent residence.

Love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction.

-Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Saturday Morning

It's another perfectly gorgeous spring morning here in Lower Town. The sun is shining, the temperature is a balmy 75 degrees, and life is good. I've just managed to force myself through another strenuous session on the BowFlex. It just doesn't get any easier. My muscles seem to burn worse with each workout. I do, however, so love the self righteous feeling that comes from knowing I have adequately attended to my physical well being. Also, my "Running w/Scissors" has become the perfect soundtrack for my sessions.

Satan and I were treated to a lovely dinner last night by Steve and Karen of Philosophy Gallery. They have such a fabulous place and are such fun to be with (not to mention great cooks). We were so giddy with tasty food and wine that we didn't drag ourselves home until TEN THIRTY, the absolute MIDDLE of the night by Paducah standards.

Karen let me take a picture to share of her fabulous dining room light fixture. I have long admired it from the street while walking FurGirl, but this was the first time I'd ever seen it up close. It is absolutely beautiful. I'm not sure if the picture conveys just how large and cha-cha it is. Karen told us when they first moved in they were surprised to find people regularly stopped in their cars in the street to point at and admire it.

No wonder!

On the Walk Home

Flowering

The first of Satan's roses.

(Edited to add: This and all my images are made possible through a grant from my Dad and Satan who graciously funded my camera, perhaps the most exciting gift I've ever gotten. If you click the flower image you can see just how large and detailed this photo actually is. It's nothing short of amazing even if I do say so myself.)

Three Things

First, are these two about the cutest Super Heroes you ever did see or what? I'm thinking when the villanous bad guys see these two coming after them, they'll immediately stop trying to run away and, in Otis-the-Drunk style, just go ahead, lock themselves in the jail and swallow the key.

The magazine looks to be a publication of the Metro Chamber and is a summer vacation guide to the surrounding area. My congratulations to the Chamber on their obviously superior taste in very super girls.

***

In other news, I was completely riveted by this story in the LA Times today. Mike Penner, sports writer for the newspaper, comes out in his column and annouces his plan to undergo sex reassignment surgery after which he will continue in his position only this time as a woman known as Christine Daniels.

I don't know about you, but when I think "sports writer", I picture a very manly guy in rolled shirtsleeves hunting and pecking away on a manual typewriter chewing on a cigar. And, while I'm sure that's pretty much a stereotype that doesn't hold true anywhere anymore, still, I can only imagine the courage it took for this guy to step up and tell his co-workers about his plan. Wow.

To their credit, it sounds like the LA Times reacted in the best possible way and kudos to them for it. I hope Mike, or actually, Christine, will keep us posted on her progress. I would be fascinated to hear how the transition goes.

***

Lastly, I've recently been made aware of a groovy new website in our area known as iList Paducah. I've thought for some time that this town was sorely lacking by not having a centralized site for events (can I get a witness, Rhonda?) and even briefly toyed with the idea of doing it myself. I'm glad to see that Nikki May and Mary Thorsby have done such a bang-up job of it. You should sign up THIS minute.

I'm actually planning to work with Nikki to redesign this blog as well as on another exciting project that I hope to be linking to in the near future. It's all very exciting.

The Whole Truth

Today, I was asked for a book back that was loaned to me by a good friend. I had taken it from her about three months ago with every intention of reading it. Instead, the book never made it out of the car and has lurked there lo these last three long months.

And, having been patient with me for so long, this same friend now asked for the book back in order that she could share it with another friend who might actually, oh I don't know, maybe read it?

For those of you still with me, you know that this meant that I was going to have to fish the book out of my car.

Is that a problem you ask? Is there some reason why you, the most organized blogger EVER (reference my last post), would have a problem retrieving a book from your car?

And the answer to that question is yes. Yes, I actually would consider that a problem. Because while my skivvies are folded and organized by color and type and my collectible textiles are righteously tucked away in air tight bags, and my junk drawer is a sight Martha Stewart would envy, the hatchback of my car?

Well, the hatchback of my car looks like this:

I have no explanation. I really don't.

It's been this way for at least four months. No kidding. I can't even GROCERY SHOP with my car because I can't actually WEDGE grocery sacks in there. I have to borrow Satan's car if I want to do stocking up of any major proportion. Unless, of course, I'd like to rent a u-haul.

It makes absolutely no sense that my linen closet somehow became a near constant and totally undeniable irritant while the state of my car, a virtual rolling trash can that I ride around in every single day, just does not phase me.

I will say that there are advantages, though. Let's examine the contents, shall we? Petrified Rice Crispy Treats? I hate to state the obvious, but you never know when you might need a snack. A spent container that used to house a Bath and Body Works Christmas candle? Hey, when it gets REALLY hot, my car might start to smell like Christmas again. A pre-stuffed briefcase? Will do nicely as a makeshift pillow on those long, boring road trips. The box my cell phone came in two years ago? Can I just say a thousand and one uses?

Too bad I can't gas up my linen closet and drive IT around. Because, the truth is, I just am sort of unable to deal with vehicular clutter. Always have been. It brings to mind an incident that happened about twenty five years ago before even my starter marriage.

Actually, it was on the occassion of my starter marriage that my cousin David came up north to where I was living at the time to attend the ill-fated nuptials. Once he got to town, the starter husband and I roared over to his hotel in our 1974 Mercury Marquis, certainly one of the biggest American made cars ever manufactured. The car had recently lost a muffler and the resulting engine noise was so loud that one couldn't actually converse inside the car while it was running. (Seriously. We had to shut it off to place an order at any drive-thru. And we did that alot.)

Anway, at the hotel, we explained to him and my other cousins that were along about the engine noise as we were heading to the car. We all piled in and the SH turned the key and the engine roared to deafening life. I don't think that, up until that moment, they actually BELIEVED the car was that loud. What I had neglected to mention was that the car MIGHT HAVE BEEN just a TAD messy as well.

We drove to our destination amid the trash and the deafening noise. When we arrived, and the SH finally turned off the key, I turned to look back at my passengers who were, the three of them, sitting in the back seat knee deep in MacDonald's fast food burger containers, empty cigarette packs, and about a case or two of empty beer cans.

As the engine noise finally died away and the ringing in our ears subsided, David took a look around car (remember, it was big) and partially lifted one foot out of the rubble. It just then occurred to me that, yah, maybe I should have at least shoveled out the car. In the shocked silence that followed David looked at me and said,

"Well. I will say this for you guys. You for sure don't litter."

Yep. Still don't.

Obsession: Organization

I've been bitten by the organization bug for a while. It was maybe a year ago that I spent a couple of weeks finally organizing a huge bag of photos I'd been dragging around with me for years into an album of at least a near approximation of chronological order. Alert readers will remember that around that same time I organized my junk drawer.

A short time later I got turned on to The Container Store and, most recently, I've been into Real Simple.

In the past, my idea of being organized amounted to congratulating myself if my socks matched or feeling smug if I could locate my tax records in under an hour. This whole disorganized condition was exacerbated by having a son who, it turned out, somehow possessed the ability to retain an almost encyclopedic knowledge of where everything was located in our chaotic household. Many is the frantic morning before work I can remember pacing around smoking nervously while a five or six-year-old Chase unearthed my car keys from behind a throw pillow or found my favorite black flats after I'd somehow managed to kick them off behind a door.

When Chase grew up and moved on, among the swirl of emotions I felt was also, very incidentally, the fear that I would never, left to my own devices ever, be able to find anything again.

But, gradually, I got better. And lately, I've been on what can only be described as a tear. I went from my junk drawer to the back porch, from the back porch to my dresser drawers, from there to the utility closet, to my own closet which has, at this point, undergone several organization attempts that haven't entirely taken.

This passed week has been a little nuts.

I've re-done my dresser drawers, my closet, and, saints preserve us, I've even finally tackled the dreaded Linen Closet. And all I can say about that is two words: Space Bags.

Run, don't walk to the nearest WalMart and invest in some yourself. It really is true, you can cram a TON of CRAP into them, vacuum the air out, and store said things in a third of the space they used to take up. Check out the top shelf of my linen closet:


In total, those bags contain four blankets, two quilts, a queen sized bedspread, assorted textiles, some curtains, and one hideously ugly afghan made by Satan's insane (and quite possibly color blind) Aunt Ruth. Actually, you can see the afghan in that middle bag? That bright yellow, maroon, orange and white thing on the left? Yah, that's it. We're saving that. No, NO you can't have it!

ANYWAY...the point is that before these items were space bagged, they were taking up approximately one half of my shelf space and they are now stored in less than one half of a shelf.

Here is the finished linen closet and, please note, EMPTY SHELF SPACE, the Holy Grail of organization.

I've also purchased shoe storage boxes which are storing my out of season and little worn footwear.

And, finally, a partial shot of my closet.

I'd love to stay and write more, but my frozen foods need alphabetizing and after that I need to re-stack my paper clips.

Reflections

Missy Jenkins looks back on the Heath Shootings.

News Bulletin: Dave-Dave Sighting

I'm interrupting my normal posting schedule to bring you this special report.

Dave-Dave the Party Wave was spotted by me at Walmart just a few short moments ago. He was pushing his cart and minding his own business.

The encounter went something like this:

ME
(Looking at Dave.)

DAVE
(Looking at me.)

ME
Dave-Dave!

DAVE
Hello, beautiful.

ME
(Damn, I'd forgotten how smart Dave always was!)

So, it turns out Dave is now divorced with a seven-year-old son, Austin, a straight-A student and ball player. Dave now lives with his girlfriend, Emily (a mere child of 25), somewhere nearby.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled blog reading.

Gardeners are Pretty

My gardening breakfast simply couldn't have gone any better today. It was heavily attended by many of my very favorite people, I didn't burn anything, and the weather was gorgeous. On the menu was fresh fruit, blackberry muffins, and my go-to company breakfast dish, Bacon and Asparagus Quiche. Pitty Pat contributed some melt-in-your-mouth chocolate covered peanuts.

Bacon and Asparagus Quiche

Yields one 9 inch quiche
PREP TIME
25 Min
COOK TIME
35 Min
READY IN
1 Hr

INGREDIENTS
1/2 pound fresh asparagus
4 slices thick slice bacon
1 (8 inch) unbaked pie shells (I use Pillsbury that come rolled up)
1/2 egg white, lightly beaten
2 eggs
3/4 cup half-and-half cream
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
salt and pepper to taste
1 cup shredded Swiss cheese

DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C). Snap asparagues into approx. 1 inch pieces discarding tougher bottom pieces. Line a shallow jelly roll pan w/tin foil, spray w/ nonstick cooking spray. Place asparagus on foil, drizzle w/olive oil, sprinkle w/salt and pepper and roast for 15-20 minuties or until tender. Cool.
Place bacon in a large, deep skillet. Cook over medium high heat until evenly brown. Drain, crumble and set aside.
Brush pie shells with beaten egg white. Sprinkle crumbled bacon and chopped asparagus into pie shells.
In a bowl, beat together eggs, cream, nutmeg, salt and pepper. Sprinkle Swiss cheese over bacon and asparagus. Pour egg mixture on top of cheese.
Bake uncovered in preheated oven until firm, about 35 to 40 minutes. Let cool to room temperature before serving.

As is our way, we chatted away at about 90 miles through the entire event. Satan, who mysteriously disappeared at the time of the first arrivals, spent quite a bit of time sequestered on his porch sprucing up his plant collection and no doubt feeling smug about his already beautifully blooming Clematis. At one point I went out to get him (so he could say hi to our guests) only to find the porch desserted. No one had seen him traverse the living room, which could only mean that, at some point, he actually leapt to the ground (a one-story drop).

Despite this disappearing act, he still managed to point out to one guest his rose bushes which are on the verge of mad crazy blooms.

I myself could not help but ponder this morning how lucky I am to have such bright, intelligent, articulate women in my life.

I am truly blessed.