THE LITTLE PINK PRINCESS

Once upon a time, there was a little pink princess who loved to dance.  She loved her little pink leotards.  She loved her little pink tights.  She loved her little pink ballet shoes.  And, she especially loved her little pink tutu.

She points her toes quite nicely...

...whenever she's in just the right mood.

She knows the "Fifth Position" of her arms, but her arms are just the tiniest bit too short.

She dances happily across the floor whenever streamers are involved...

...then compares correct streamer technique with her new friend.

She takes her turn.

She raises her hand.

She is altogether pleased with being a little pink princess.

DECEMBER WONDERS

In my world, small though it may be, nothing says December like the Annual Traditional Kindergarten Christmas Pageant.  This pre-program scene of kings, a star, shepherds, angels, sheep, innkeepers, Mary and Joseph...as seen above, took place recently at a private school in California.  There were a few pre-program jitters:

The Innkeeper is hoping against hope that he will remember his line:  "Now Joseph, he insisted that his wife have some place to stay."  All the while Joseph himself, who has no lines, is totally relaxed and happy in the background.

Mary, however, has a heavy responsibility.  Hold the baby and don't drop him.  Mary has taken her directions seriously and will not be distracted.

The Star is a bit uncomfortable and encumbered, but content with his pageant role...especially since stars are seen, but not heard.  The Kings are quite happy...they have crowns which, after the program, they will not want to give back.

The Angels are thrilled with their glitter, their sparkles, their hoops, and their feathery wings.  They have been  flitting around the auditorium with great enthusiasm.

The sheep, after glimpsing the angels, have immediately concluded (and quite correctly), that life is NOT fair.

Mary (every teacher's dream) has continued to hold tight to Baby Jesus.  He's a bit uncomfortable, but secure. 

"My Mom told me we get ice cream after the program...Chocolate, vanilla, AND strawberry...with sprinkles!"

The program has begun and is going quite well  as the angels recite their lines.  These angels, completely in character, know that, as messengers between heaven and earth, sturdy tennis shoes are a must. 

Part recitation, part song (with sign language included), the program has reached its climax with "Joy to the World."  The Innkeeper, who performed flawlessly, is uplifted by the atmosphere of it all.

And is now happy to pose for his very proud GG.

THE CHECK'S IN THE MAIL

When we were in New York, surrounded by the Glitz and Glitter, the Glamour and  Excitement, the Bright Lights and the Bad Boys of Times Square, it all had a magical quality to it.

And I loved every marvelous minute of it.

WHAM!!

Go away, reality...this is New York.

I think you could find a quieter neighborhood somewhere away, far away from here.

What!!!

What's with that "Your Family Share"? 

BC--It's time to go home...

THANKSGIVING--2011

Today, we're having Thanksgiving at home with our California Kids.  They arrived yesterday and leave tomorrow.  It's a short trip for them and a short visit for us.  But...they're going to meet the Polar Express tomorrow in Williams and will be taking that magical train to the North Pole.  It's a wonderful adventure with Santa Claus and 'jammies, and songs, and hot chocolate, and chocolate chip cookies, and at the end of the journey...a bell for each.  Collin and Lauren will love it.

Jackson will also join in the festivities...he's terribly excited...as will Lauren and Collin's crazy parents...

You gotta love 'em--and we're oh, so glad they're coming for Thanksgiving.

BC and I find ourselves thankful everyday for so many, many things, but Thanksgiving is when we sit back (maybe with a dainty--and fragile--little glass of champagne) to remember, and honor, what makes our days worth living, our lives worth celebrating, and our world worth saving.

For us, it's New Jersey family and unfocused photos.  Meet Christopher, front and center on Confirmation Day.  He worked two years to be confirmed as an adult in his church.  His parents, his Aunt Susi and his sister, Caitlin, have each helped him reach this goal.  Congratulations, Christopher.  Good job everyone!

And...it's Kansas family on Cyd's special day.  This is the first time her Daddy has visited her first church and met her first parishoners and witnessed Pastor Cyd deliver an official sermon.  She rocked!  Sweet husband, Chris, daughter Quinlan, and son, Taylor supported her through this journey.  Good job, all!

And...it's my sister Mary who lets her little sister plan sister-type adventures and actually says, "OK, let's go."  She's a beautiful miracle and my inspiration.  I've spent a lifetime trying to be exactly like her, but age and stage have finally taught me that long-waisted, thin women will always look better in their clothes than short-waisted, squat women.    

And...it's our wonderful, welcoming Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma Families who try so hard to be together on special occasions--including Christmas, holidays, birthdays, remodeling projects, and cold, wet, Saturday afternoon football games.  Thank you, kids, for your efforts, your love, your hospitality, and your great good spirits.

And...it's all of you who read my scratchings and musings and allow me to fulfill a dream I've had since I was a pre-teen trying to capture the essence of my feelings.  Thank you for reading, for commenting, and for hanging in there for me.  I love you all.        

A PEEK AT OCCUPYING WALL STREET

I spent the first two years of the 1960's locked in a Catholic High School--St Mary of the Plains--run by an iron fisted group of nuns from a branch of the Sisters of St. Joseph.  It was the era of woolen black habits, clinking rosary beads, below the knee cheerleader skirts, modesty at all costs, and boys allowed in only if they stayed on the opposite side of the room.  It was a dark time.

I escaped to a state university soon after graduation, only to find myself pledging a sorority that forbid PDA (public displays of affection) on its well-lit, grandiose front porch; smoking cigarettes while walking anywhere on campus or in town; and, entering any bar, tavern or club within fifty miles.  In addition, we were locked in by 10:00 p.m. when beds were checked, and required to attend study hall from 7:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. if our grades fell the itsiest, teeniest, tiniest amount from the sorority ideal.  I had descended from teen-aged purgatory to young adult hades.

During these historic years, I didn't march in Mississippi, I didn't riot in Chicago, I didn't smoke pot in Haight-Ashbury, and I didn't do you know what at Woodstock.  But I watched it all happen.  And, the good little girl from small town, midwest, conservative America missed the moment and the movement.  I didn't have a single story with even a trace of scandal about "what I did in the '60s."  That deficiency has always bothered me.

So--imagine my excitement when our New Jersey hostess suggested that we wander by Zuccatti Park while we were in New York City so that her kids (our grandkids) could see the Occupy Wall Street protesters.  YES!  Let's do that.  It's historic, they should see that, and it would make me feel I was back in the '60s.  Yes it would.  Let's go.  Now!

Every major movement needs a greeter and he's the perfect guy.  Perched on a corner of Zuccatti Park, he's non-threatening, friendly and, I suspect, getting as big a kick from the protesters as he is from the thousands of visitors snapping photos as they pass by.

Yes--the entire 33,000 square feet of this Privately Owned-Public Park was covered with tents. Mostly little green, blue and yellow igloos.  We visited at mid-afternoon and, according to the schedule, we were here at meditation time and it was very, well, meditative.  Yes, it was a scheduled protest.  Drums, announcements, lectures, classes, etc...were organized on an hourly basis.

 

Whereas, we know the Occupy Wall Street movement is primarily concerned with social and economic inequality in this country, it supports many sub-groups.  Wall Street sins, various types of greed, union rights, fraud and etc.  This particular corner was for those folks with student loan issues.

The press was everywhere interviewing, filming, and requesting that the protesters do their thing.  Fortunately, this protester acquiesed and re-enacted the human microphone activity...although it took many participants away from their meditation.  However, it was fun to watch and hear.

A few days ago, the NYPD moved the protesters out of the park temporarily and their tents permanently.  Some were arrested, many returned, and others have wandered on to another day and another issue.  They were a peaceful group, friendly, organized,  polite, and rather quietly enjoying themselves.  Some did hold signs with naughty words written on them, but many others did not.  Children were present in the group, the protesters accumulated a library of 5000 books, and erected a tent specifically for medical care.  They were a civilized group expressing--in their way--what most of us just rant about in the privacy of our living rooms.  I'm glad they did it.   

THE NERVOUS COOK RE-EMERGES

We will be attending a Pot Luck this evening, given for our friend Vicki, who has just retired.  She's been the last holdout among our Thursday evening "Small Group", so it's appropriate to celebrate her capitulation to the neighborhood status quo.  I've volunteered to bring a salad because, as you long-time readers may remember, cooking, quite frankly, just isn't my thing.

As always, I scoured various foodie web sites and eventually chose "Mexican Chopped Salad with Honey-Lime Dressing" from epicurious.com ("for people who love to eat").  It seemed to be a relatively classy site that wouldn't lead me astray.

I made the dressing first...a combination of lime juice, honey, olive oil, garlic, jalapeno and cilantro.  I seem to have overbought on the cilantro for two teaspoons, so I pushed  it up to three.

Despite the fact that cooking isn't my thing, I do have a goodly supply of really neat cooking gadgets (thanks primarily to BC, who loves such things).  These are the latest purchase, and the best ever for slicing up leaves like cilantro, parsley and etc.  Trust me--they can slice quite a pile of cilantro in nothing flat.  You may have to control yourself.

This is as close as I'll ever come to creating a semi-still life, but really I'm just organizing the chopping orgy that's about to begin.  I've chopped every vegie in this picture at least a hundred times before, but  I'm about to meet my first...

JICAMA

I must admit I needed help to find it at the grocery store.  I made a run at the rutabagas and the pomegranates before the Produce Manager found me and led me to the Jicama.  I haven't figured out the Jicamas yet.  They're certainly not pretty and, at least this one, didn't have much taste--but they're not offensive nor anything negative.  I guess Jicamas are just what they are and we need to accept their presence and include them as often as we can.

We've made it to the party, we're nearly ready to serve and at such moments I like to camouflage my cooking nerves with hysterical laughter.

Here's the finished product.  Doesn't it just scream Mexican Chopped Salad with Honey-Lime Dressing?  At least it's presentable.  Kind of like when my mother told me that as long as I was neat and clean I was OK.

WHERE DID THE DAY GO?

Today, I have every hour planned down to the last minute, but I've just been waylaid by an errant decorative plate slipping from its perch and sliding across the shelf taking three wine glasses to the floor with it.  D---.  I'm sweeping glass from every nook and cranny in our breakfast room/kitchen combination, all the while fuming about this unscheduled interruption.  When on a time sensitive roll, I can be more than a little anal retentive.  There...finally finished.

But, as I glance at the cool decorative basket that holds my treasury of little used cook books, I see that it's also littered with wine glass shards.  D---.  I carefully pull out each book, wipe it off, then finally dump the glass from the basket and vacuum it with the tiny vacuum...the one with very little suction, but enough to do this job.

I begin to creatively place the books back into the basket--Tall books down to short?  Short books up to tall?  Mixed?  Messy?  Neat?  What would Pottery Barn do?  D----.  I pick up a newish cookbook simply titled "Pasta" that  I bought at IKEA a few months ago but haven't looked at yet.  At the time I had some reservations about buying a Pasta cookbook that was produced in Germany, printed in Slovenia, then sold at the ultimate Swedish bastion of coolness, but threw all caution to the winds and put down my $8.00.

And now, I'm thinking that pasta would be good for dinner tonight--quick and relatively easy.  I scan the Table of Contents, settle on "Pasta and Meat", Page 62, and begin skimming the recipes.

I'm brought up short by Page 84--Fettuccini with Rabbit.  That is just sick and wrong, but I do continue to look at the list of ingredients which seems fairly inocuous if you leave out the various rabbit parts:  fettuccini, salt, herb butter, garlic, cream, parsley, pepper, 16 Vineyard Snails.  16 Vineyard Snails?  What are Vineyard Snails?

So now, I must fire up the computer to visit my new good friend, Wikipedia.  But, Wikipedia is as stumped as I am...no entries for Vineyard Snails. 

That, of course, means I have to go to Google, which I was trying to avoid because I have a scheduled day and it can take so long to really find what you might be looking for...and, sure enough, Google has returned 521,000 entries in 0.19 seconds.  They're tremendously proud of that fact, but it's another 0.19 seconds out of my day which, if I haven't mentioned, is a busy one.

OK. Vineyard Snails, known to some as Helix Pomatia (Latin?) are quite the delicacy in Europe.  "Highly valued" as a matter of fact.  They are exported from Lithuania in great numbers.  Apparently, according to an entry farther down the page, some slimed right off a container at the Port of Tacoma which, as of late 2010, was locked in a life and death battle with the little buggers.  They (the Vineyard Snails) are quite fond of cereal grains and, left alone, could decimate the fields of Washington.  Not something to be sneezed at.

Now, where was I?  Oh yes. Don't worry, little fellow in my back yard, I wouldn't cook you even if I had 16 Vineyard Snails, so I'll put the cookbook away and go back to...what was I was doing when this all started?

CHARLESTON, SC--PART TWO

Within a day, Mary and I had our routine fixed.  We set the alarm at 8:00 a.m., pulled on our clothes and hurried to the hotel courtyard for breakfast.

We staked out this table on our first morning and ever after considered it ours.  We humans can  be feistily territorial...especially when it is hot, humid, and there is a well-placed fan nearby.

On Monday, our driver told us this was the former slave market...on Wednesday, our tour guide told us it was the former meat market.  Whichever it might have been, it is now home to a Confederate Museum on the top floor, but only when the Confederate flag is flying.  The lower level provides an entry to the several blocks long historical Marketplace.

The Marketplace is a fun shopping area.  The Charleston specialty is sea-grass baskets and they are as lovely as they are pricy.  By the third day, we had become sea-grass basket conoisseurs, separating the great from the good from the so-so.  Many of  the Marketplace vendors change from day to day, so it's worth a daily stroll to see what's new.

We tried a different restaurant each day for our late lunch. Considering we lingered over breakfast until 10-ish, lunch needed to be late.  But not too late, as most of the restaurants close for the afternoon, re-opening around 5:00 p.m.  On our first day we went in search of  the recommended "Slightly North of Broad", abbreviated to SNOB, which we finally found after a most circuitous hike from hell.  This was a great place with exposed brick decor, and a most well-priced lunch special.  I do think this was my favorite restaurant of all we tried.

 

This is another recommended restaurant--"Poogan's Porch"--in which we were given a 90 minute wait time for arriving at 8:30 p.m. on our first night (Monday) in Charleston;  from which we were summarily dismissed for arriving too late for lunch on Tuesday; but finally, on Thursday, allowed into the inner sanctum for Shrimp and Grits.  They're a tough bunch...I'd recommend reservations and promptness.

This is Poogan, for whom "Poogan's Porch" was named.  Apparently, Poogan lived in this house, but when his owners moved--leaving him behind--Poogan spent the rest of his relatively short life hanging out on the porch awaiting their 'not-gonna-happen' return.  It's not a good story.

Each afternoon after sight-seeing a little, shopping a little, enjoying a great lunch, and wandering a bit more, we hurry back to the Meeting Street Inn as it's time for the daily late afternoon complementary wine and cheese hour on the courtyard...and we have a table with our name on it.

 

 Charleston was a super treat for both of us.  Thanks, Mary!

CHARLESTON, SC--PART ONE

A few years ago my sister, Mary, and I decided that we would get together at least once each year, select a nice location in which to meet, do a bit of sight-seeing, relax, and enjoy non-stop conversation.  This year we chose Charleston, SC.

At the recommendation of one of Mary's friends, we booked a room at the Meeting Street Inn, and it was exactly as advertised, which is to say...perfect for us.

Granted, it's a bit pink, but extremely well located just across the street from the historic Charleston Marketplace, and around the corner from great shopping and the antiques district.

This is my sister, Mary,  just after our arrival at the Inn.  Whereas we were thrilled with our room and the inn, we were saddened to learn we were thirty minutes late for the afternoon wine event. However, we soon hit the street, and quickly discovered we were close to a number of very nice restaurants.

Charleston is a great city in which to wander, which we did each day.  I was particularly taken with the little gated side gardens dotted here and there through the historical areas.

As well as the perfectly decorated doors and/or gates in some neighborhoods.

Of course Charleston is full of old buildings but, should you decide to purchase one, there is apparently no regulatory agency nagging you to apply paint. It's part of the charm.

Charleston is home to an inordinate number of protestant churches apparently because, as a colony, they promoted religious tolerance...as long you were a non-Catholic.  This particular church is really quite ornately constructed as you study the details, but so comfortable to look at.  I think it was my favorite.

Most Charleston sightseeing is done courtesy of a horse or a pair of mules.  But, lest you worry that the streets might be messy because of these equine beasts of burden, rest easy. Charleston has a solution.  Each horse or mule has a little bag artfully attached to his or her posterior to catch whatever he or she might accidentally extrude.  And, if your horse or mule drank a little too much water before the trip and is short-taken, the driver stops, drops a marker on the wet spot, then quickly texts the office to request a clean-up crew--stat!  Very southern charm-ish.

   

As mentioned before, Charleston is extremely old, and as such, it's in constant need of repair here and there.  But as any good farm boy knows, sometimes all it really needs is a little bit of duct tape.  

Yes...Duct tape.