I just realized that if you click on a photo and get the super size version, you can also click again on a detail and see very close up!
So, if you care at all about seeing the photo of the barbershop where the cabinet lived a good part of its life, you can click in the photo of the cabinet filled and then on the small photo that’s just behind the china on the second shelf from the bottom. That’s all. Just if you have any interest.
One of my favorite quotes from Lao-Tzo is engraved on a small book like necklace made by Janine Payer. Part of the quote is this: “Do you have the patience to wait till your mud settles and water is clear? Can you remain unmoving till the right action arises by itself?”
I like to tell myself that for the past several months I’ve been waiting for the right action to arise by itself. I’ve been trying to decide what to do about Church attendance in light of the Church’s aggressive stance on Prop 8. Husband and I have not attended since August of last year. I won’t speak for Husband – he is perfectly capable of speaking for himself on this issue – but as for me, I believe that continuing to attend services in a church that urges its membership not only to vigorously oppose gay rights, but to raise money and knock doors to further their anti-gay position is something I cannot do. I feel that just by sitting in a service I would be giving tacit approval to the actions of that church and its members. So, I simply cannot attend.
I believe it was Mark Twain (or maybe Groucho Marx) who said they wouldn’t want to belong to any club that would have him as a member. Over the years in my membership of the Church, I have disagreed with the position of the General Authorities. Had the blacks not been given the priesthood, I would not have joined. As a working mother, I was not happy with the Church’s opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment. I find it the ultimate conceit to proclaim that this Church is the only true church on the earth, but if it makes you happy to believe that, then have at it. After about 20 years in the women’s meetings, I just could not bring myself to go anymore. There was just so much to do about, “the appearance” of things that I thought I would scream. Don’t go into a coffee shop and come out with hot chocolate because someone who knows you are a Member will see you and think you are drinking coffee! Don’t order hot tea in a restaurant because someone will see you and think you are drinking coffee! Growing up Baptist, I had enough of, “what will people think?” to last me several lifetimes. I do not give a good god damn what you think is in my cup – it is not your business and coffee is not the drink of the devil. Who, by the way, I don’t believe exists.
So, you may rightly ask, why on earth have you been a member of this Church for 30 years? Good question. The simple answer is that it is a way to facilitate a spiritual life and at the time I joined, it seemed a good way to live and bring up children. You will notice the past tense.
Until recent years, and in many ways, the Church served me well and I served it rather faithfully. A church exists, I think, to provide a vehicle for faith building experiences, service and to provide a sense of community for its members. There is help to be found and solace to be had during hard times.
More and more, however, that help and solace is offered only to those who adhere to the rather strict religious principles of the Church. Oh, sure, the Church gives millions of dollars and food and sustenance to third world countries and steps in with admirable disaster relief. And, I’m good with that. Really. Good for them. And I don’t have any issue with the Church telling its membership how to live, behave and conduct their affairs. Really. If you want to be a member in good standing, then you do what you are told, spout the party line and reap whatever the rewards may be.
What I do take issue with is when the Church decides it’s going to tell the REST of society how to live. Listen, just because the gay/lesbian/transgender community doesn’t have sex like you do, you don’t get to deny them basic civil rights. You just don’t.get.to.do.that. When you raise $40 million dollars to stop someone who loves someone else from having a legally recognized, committed relationship, something has gone terribly awry. What’s it to you? Neither you nor your organization is harmed in any way by the actions of those in society who do not have sex in an “approved” manner. Do NOT even begin to suggest that gay/lesbian families don’t count. That their children are being harmed or perverted in some way. I know these families and they are every bit as loving, committed and caring as your best temple-married folk. Family dysfunction occurs in your families, including incest and domestic violence and, as the scriptures describe it, “unrighteous dominion.” So, no holier-than-thou attitudes copped here. Not having any of it.
And, another thing! One of the foundations of Church theology is free agency. That is, we are free to choose our actions. Well, that is true, in a very narrow way. As long as you go along with the admonitions of the leadership of the Church, you are in good stead. Woe unto you if you depart from the paths of righteousness and vote Democratic. And, celestial woe unto you if you support gay rights.
I was never a mainline Mormon. I don’t have it in me. I was comfortable on the fringes. In a recent post, I quoted an article in the Sun where the author felt that while he had not lost his faith, it was, he believed, seriously misplaced. Well, that about sums it up for me. My decision to refrain from church attendance has clearly had an impact on my family. And, for as far as the impact has been a negative one, I am sorry. However, my conscience will not allow me to give support, even tacitly, to an organization that actively works in deceitful ways to deny any member of society their God given civil rights.
So, I have been waiting these months for the mud to settle and for a right action to arise. It occurs to me that perhaps the right action is the one I have been taking. And though I have had messages from members saying they are praying for me, I don’t really think I need praying over. I am untroubled by my apparent choice. Whether I am energetic enough to pursue a personal spiritual path, remains to be seen. God is all around us and She likes us and wants us to be happy and useful in our lives. She likes to hear from us and enjoys giving us advice. Perhaps it’s just time to go to the source and not let some old men who purport to speak for Her (how can they? They think She’s a HE!) tell me what to do.
Will I ever return to active membership? I truthfully don’t know. Will the Church stop discriminating against homosexuals, I doubt it. Looks like an impasse to me. For now.
I got one of those “messages from beyond” the other day. It instructed me to, “Bring the china cabinet in from the garage.”
The china cabinet had belonged to my grandmother. It resided in the dining room of her little house on Austin Street in Sherman, Texas. It was a funny little house. There were 2 front doors. When standing on the porch (which, of course, had a porch swing as all good southern homes did) you could turn right and enter the living room or go straight and enter the bedroom. We never used the living room door and I always wondered why there was a door that opened directly into the bedroom. The rooms in the house all connected – there was no hall. The living room and bedroom were at the front of the house, the dining room behind the living room and then the kitchen and a “sleeping porch” made up the back of the house. (A sleeping porch was a room with windows on 2 sides in which you slept in the summer with all the windows open to take advantage of the slightest breeze.) Between the bedroom and the sleeping porch was the bathroom complete with claw foot tub and a small, open linen closet. The house was heated by a gas heater in the living room – there may have been others in the house, but I don’t recall where they were. The house was cooled by windows. My parents and I lived in this house with my uncle and his wife and my cousin and my grandmother. Do the math: 7 people and 1 bathroom. I was too small to be concerned but my mother has some hilarious stories, particularly since my uncle was such a character. We moved when I was 4, but I spent a LOT of time with my grandmother. But, as usual, I digress.
The dining room had a large table, a sideboard, the china cabinet, a cedar chest and one of those large radio/record player consoles that was common back then. I used to pull the tuning knob off the radio and push it through a hole in the window screen with exasperating regularity. It would fall to the ground outside and someone would have to go out and scour the bushes and flower bed to find it so the station could be changed. Fortunately, I was a cute little girl with big brown eyes and curly hair and doted on by all the family as the first girl grandchild – which I can only assume saved me from bodily harm over this annoying habit. I don’t recall what was in the cabinet other than a few dishes but what intrigued me was that my grandmother told me that she had gotten it from her brother who used it in his barber shop. In those days, men would come to the barber shop for a shave and a haircut and each regular customer kept their own shaving mug and brush at the shop. This cabinet housed mugs and brushes and the narrow drawer under the shelves held combs, scissors and straight razors. My grandmother’s brother’s name was McClain Price. He was one of 7 children, my grandmother being the youngest. I have a photo of the shop that was located on Travis Street, the main street of town. The cabinet is not in the photo but McClain and 2 other men appear, along with 3 barber chairs.
When my grandmother died, I asked for the cabinet. I was living in Richardson, TX at the time and it was transported the 60 miles in the back of a station wagon. In my apartment in Richardson, it held wedding presents. Back then, when marrying, one registered for china, crystal and silver patterns and it was not unusual to receive a good selection of all. When moving to California, the cabinet came along in the UHaul. Here it took up residence in the dining room for many years. Keeping such fragile items on display in earthquake country was not particularly wise, but there was a fair amount of QuakeHold on each piece and during the infamous earthquake of ‘89, I lost only 1 piece of crystal. The front door swung open and Jason, who was in the living room at the time, had the good sense to run and throw his body in front of the cabinet to keep it from falling over. A not too subtle indication of the regard with which this piece of furniture and its contents were held. As it happened, it was situated on a wall that didn’t shake violently – unlike some of the cabinets in the kitchen that flung open and spewed out all their contents onto the floor.
Over the years, the contents of the cabinet had grown from wedding gifts, to sets of baby china and silver, decorative plates sent by my father from Greenland, hand painted plates, wedding favors, and other delicate pieces. When my maternal grandmother died, the silver service eventually made its way to the top of the cabinet.
Every time I went out to the garage, the cabinet looked longingly at me, but never scolded. It just waited, patiently. I missed it but it the dining room was just too crowded with the newer furniture to accommodate the cabinet. So, it remained and I tried to ignore it. Until the other day. The message was undeniable and unequivocal: bring the china cabinet back into the house! A couple of days after, I figured out where I could put it.
So, the living room furniture was flip-flopped and the painting moved and display box removed from the wall. The cabinet was moved back in the house and took its place at the far end of the living room just by the hallway. Dog slobber and hair was removed and the boxes that held its contents were brought in. It must be refinished – the job was started at one time, but like so many of my “projects,” aborted early on. This summer, I promise. Silver serving pieces were unearthed, unboxed and polished. Crystal was removed from packing boxes and replaced – they need a good washing and I’ll get to it.
The sideboard was full to overflowing, so the majority of the Apple dishes were transferred to the cabinet and some of the pieces that had originally resided in the cabinet will be hidden away in the sideboard. I hope they aren’t upset! I’ve bored you long enough with words, words, words, here’s a few photos of the cabinet……
You can see the previous attempt to refinish in the lighter shade of the drawer at the bottom. The glass is very old and kind of wavy. It’s entirely possible that the cabinet is almost 100 years old. It wasn’t fine furniture when it was made and time and moves and earthquakes have not improved its appearance. But, it has the power to evoke so many of my childhood memories – of my grandmother’s house and the enormous backyard with a huge plum tree and the bar-b-que my aunt built from bricks. The house was built on a slope and you could go “under the house” through a door under the kitchen. The stairs from the back porch down to the yard were fearsome for a toddler. But, the only way to reach the dog and the tree and my uncle’s workshop. “Under the house” was a scary, mysterious place. The first thing I planted when we moved to CA was a plum tree. I was stupid and planted it on the north side of the house where it doesn’t get enough sun and never gives any fruit, but I only wanted it for the wonderful fragrance when it blooms in the spring, so it’s fine. One of my favorite things is standing in the limbs of the tree, closing my eyes and just breathing. I’ve read that smell is one of the most potent memories one has and I believe that with all my heart. Complete contentment can be found breathing in the plum tree limbs.
Here are some of the details of the cabinet..
This motif was common in the early 20s and I saw it used architecturally on a building in The Sting. Again, this piece was stripped in the first attempt, so it’s lighter than the rest. The decorative piece runs down the side pieces, as well. The finish is really grainy and kind of sticky. I think the stain might have been mixed with the varnish when first applied. The key to the door long ago disappeared and the drawer pulls will need to be replaced.
Here is some detail from the bottom where the leg joins. You can see it’s veneer, as some of it has chipped away on the piece below the drawer.
The value of the cabinet obviously does not lie in the wood, workmanship or finish, but in the ability to take me back to a most wonderful part of my childhood – my grandmother’s home. Since it’s been back (only a few days), I’ve been flooded with memories of the old house and the people who lived in it. I feel warm and content whenever I see it. Here it is filled to overflowing! I sure hope the supports on the shelves hold! For a better look, click on the photo and you can see the contents better.
A funny thing about the Apple dishes. We had been using old Blue Willow dishes for some time when the children were all here and the dishes were not faring well, so as to avoid losing them all, I decided it was time to replace them. I began a search for new dishes and was just not in love with anything – but I kept coming back to the Franciscan Apple pattern. My mother has the Desert Rose pattern, but I’ve never been particularly fond it. I couldn’t understand why I was so drawn to the Apple and really kind of irritated that I couldn’t fine something I really liked for everyday use. I mentioned my aggravation to my mother and she said, OH! you like that pattern because they were Granny’s breakfast dishes! Granny was my maternal grandmother – and I don’t have any conscious recollection of having eaten from them at her house, but I surely must have. I quit looking and just bought them. As I am a “dish whore,” I am now 2 generations down the road from the Apple, but I hope one of the kids will want them someday. I know they will remember eating many meals on them. I hope they are fond memories.
Finally, in replacing the contents, I came upon a set of Wedgewood Peter Rabbit dishes and realized they belonged to Jason. Jenifer’s set of Peter Rabbit was Royal Doulton. So, at the baby shower for Staci next Saturday, the Wedgewood will be passed down to Lucky. Perhaps Peter was tired of being packed away and knew that opportunities awaited him shortly in Portland. Thanks, Peter!
On Thursday last week, we spent most of the day in St Helena, and while there are many fine restaurants in this little town, we chose a known entity rather than try some place new to us. We went to Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen
Cindy’s is located on a “backstreet” in St Helena – one block east (?) of the main street – I assume this had something to do with the name. The first time we ate there, I can’t remember what I ate – I remember the floor! It was a wood floor that had been painted in large black and white squares and I loved the way the foot traffic had worn the paint. I decided right then that was the resolution to the age old question in our house: whatever are we going to do about the kitchen floor? See, some years ago the dishwasher sprang an invisible leak resulting in seepage that rotted the subflooring. Which was, at the time, more than fine with me. I hated the flooring and now the insurance company would replace the entire floor. I chose a new option at the time – wood flooring impregnated with a finish that was supposed to be impervious to water, wear and tear. And, it was…..impervious to water, wear and tear. But not to dog slobber. I don’t know the chemical make up of slobber from a Great Pyrenees but let me tell you, it’s wicked. Every time Bo would drool (and that was non-stop) on that floor and I wiped it up, it took the finish with it. The salesman swore the floor would need no more than a quick swipe and occasional damp mop. Not so much. The preparations to restore the shine were toxic. First a cleaner, then a spray that made you lightheaded as soon as you pressed the nozzle……….if you didn’t leave the door and windows open, you’d be out like a light in no time. So. I inquired about other options, but nothing seemed to work – you couldn’t take the floor up because it had been foreverglued to the subflooring. If you tried to put tile over it, it would not only be an inch or more taller than the rest of the house, it also wasn’t a “good idea,” I was told. Cindy’s floor was EXACTLY the answer! I would paint that damn floor and it would look awesome! Only, to get to the TV den, one must walk through the kitchen or go outside and come in the side door to the garage. If I can ever decide on a color scheme for the kitchen/den and actually execute a redo, that floor will be the last item on the list. I expect it will have to be when Husband is on a trip to MN or some such far-flung place when he will be gone for a long time. Oh, and they’ve completely changed the floor since we were there! It’s now wide planks, 2 stained a dark, dark brown and 2 stained black. Not nearly so cheerful. But, I digress.
Lunch at Cindy’s. I had what was called a Small Plate on the menu – had it been any larger, I would have had to been carried from the restaurant. Not so much for the size of the portion but for the richness. Roasted wild mushrooms with a sherry sauce over grilled polenta and topped with a dollop of fromage blanc. Dear lord, that sauce was devine. I did not take a photo as the seating was too close to others, but it was as beautiful as it tasted with those tiny little mushrooms swimming in that dark, rich sauce. Husband had a sandwich with contraband meats – 2 or 3 of them if I’m not mistaken. But, we had decided that if we were going to be in the Wine Country and not drink, then, by God, we were going to EAT.
We had dinner reservations at Bouchon Bistro back in Yountville. Here, I took photos and because I’ve decided that the photos are much more interesting on a large scale, I’m going to post them at full size. Thomas Keller (he of The French Laundry fame) owns this place and the Bouchon Bakery next door. The Bistro is a place for the common folk and for that, Mr. Keller, we thank you. The two buildings are directly behind our inn and so a pleasant walk. The Bistro building is a dark red and the bakery a soft yellow. Here is the entry to the Bistro and here is the link to the restaurant.
I’m crazy about mosaic in any form – floors, walls, wherever it can be found. When I was in Paris, I took photos of all the wonderful mosaic floors….people would look at me like I was nuts, but I have to tell you the floor at the Opera is as beautiful as any of the walls, ceilings or stairways. Anyway, when you walk in, there is a semi-circle of heavy red velvet drape to keep out the draft from the door. We had a table for 2 by the front windows. The menu is folded around the napkin on the appetizer plate. When we stopped in at the bakery before dinner, Husband was advised that the steak frites was unparalleled and, since he had already invited the Angel of Death at lunch, what the hell, he went for it. We both had the roasted butternut squash soup with sauteed apples and hazelnuts topped with creme fraiche. Et voila!
The texture was perfect – like liquid velvet. You can see a small piece of apple and a tiny hazelnut just to the right of the creme fraiche. You can also see a bit of the cute epi baguette in the upper left corner that was served on a folded napkin with butter and a little cup of pistachios. At the bakery, they sell a circle of epi baguette that is so darn cute! Needless to say, the soup was delicious – perfectly seasoned.
Next, Husband’s steak frites and my gnocchi with vegetables. I bet there was a pound of frites on Husband’s plate! The steak was about fist size and topped with herbed butter. I was expecting a pasta gnocchi but it was potato! The vegetables were red chard stems, turnips, carrots and mushrooms. Now, one typically removes the red stems when cooking chard as they are tough. Not these, and, as I learned from the food section (the article was entitled “Food Scraps”) of the Chronicle are the “in” things these days. Although a vegetarian for well over 20 years, I confess that turnips have never been in my kitchen. I found the little cubes that appeared in this dish quite tasty! The mushrooms were dark and earthy and the carrots sweet. The portion may not look that large, but believe me, when all this wonderful stuff is sauteed in what had to be European style butter, it is rendered so rich that – well – I was unable to finish it, try as I might.
When we took a look at the menu and I saw profiteroles in the dessert section, I knew that come what may, I was going to have dessert. Husband was hooked by the lemon tart. I really did not know how I was going to actually eat dessert when I was finished with the main course. But, there must be some connection or synapse thing going on in the innards, because as soon as I took the first bite of the profiterole, it was as though I had not eaten all day! I had room to spare! And, who wouldn’t – look at these beauties….
I can actually make a decent profiterole – the dough is pretty easy to whip up. I think the secret is the quality of the ice cream and chocolate sauce. I’m sure this was made from scratch vanilla, although no bean specks were to be seen. The texture was as smooth as could be – could have been frozen cream. The sauce was, of course, perfect, as well. I would have licked the plate, but we were in a fancy place, you know? We had quiet a lovely dining experience, Mr. Keller. And the service was exactly right – a young man even came over and refolded Husband’s napkin when Husband left for the restroom. Husband’s lemon tart was a generous piece and just right – fresh and not too tart. We could get used to this but I think we wouldn’t live very long.
The next morning I popped over to the bakery before we left and got a bag full of goodies: 6 croissants, 6 macarons, chocolate croissant, and a loaf of brioche. Here’s a photo of what was left on Saturday at home.
I ate the caramel macaron in the car almost immediately. Had some help later. These are ‘macarons of unusual size’ I think. Probably twice the size of what you usually see – not complaining – no sir! There’s a bakery at the Ferry Building that must have 20 flavors…….we need to pay them a visit real soon! The brioche loaf, along with a jar of my blackberry jam, went to Husband’s cardiologist the afternoon we returned home. Husband had a 6 month check up – needless to say, his BP was somewhat elevated! I wish I had bought 2 loaves………..it makes the most wonderful toast. But, the croissants were wonderful. Husband doesn’t like them – says they are like eating air………all the more for me! I had some apple butter and some praline hazelnut jam. There are 2 left and I think there’s an open jar of spiced fig in the fridge somewhere…….
Well, I need to be off to my pilates class. I REALLY NEED to go, as you can see from what I ate recently. Before I leave, tho, a few photos that prove spring is on the way.
Somewhat blurry, but it’s a blackberry bud. Followed by fig buds! And, then, as a benediction – prayer flags.
Namaste!
The window display of a men’s store in St. Helena. After arriving in Yountville in the early afternoon on Wednesday, we spent Thursday driving up to Calistoga then back to St. Helena to do some “window” shopping…and, um, some of the traditional kind, too. Although it rained briefly in the morning, it didn’t rain again until Friday, so we enjoyed our day outdoors. The box that this top belongs to was filled with large paper cups that held men’s shirts and matching ties……see…….
I thought this was kind of clever – most of the emphasis around this holiday is on women’s lingerie, so this window caught my eye.
On the other side of the door there is a similar window with a mannequin wearing a shirt that caused Husband to exclaim, “That’s a MAN’S shirt?”
Uh, yes…….although certainly not one that Husband would be caught dead wearing. Husband’s clothing almost always has some sports insignia, some reference to Minnesota or something that proclaims him to be the BEST dad.
St. Helena is a cute little town with some fun stores. When we parked along the main street, I looked out the window and saw a sign for Baksheesh – A Free Trade Store! I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, my heart was pounding and my breathing became shallow. You know the feeling. If you don’t, then perhaps you should skip to the food part of this post.
Here’s a photo of the ceiling in this wonderful little store…
Let’s just say that I was very happy for some time. The woman who owns the store is so very wise. In the front of the store is a chair and the day’s paper open to the sports section. God love her. After a very heady experience, we headed to the chocolate store.
These are made of chocolate. The store was very, as A would say, “shee shee.” Husband was intimidated and so we made a round and drooled (well, at least I did) on the glass cases, snapped a few photos and headed for the door. Here are some samples of what we saw….click on the photo for a larger version.
My personal favorites were the ones that looked like little morel mushrooms….aren’t they adorable?
The store was very white with large mirrors and chandeliers. The matching tapestries on the walls were quite large and elegant, as you can see………
Between Yountville and St Helena is a little store that I look forward to visiting when we are in the vicinity. It’s called St. Helena Olive Oil, although I believe it is actually located in Rutherford as the Rutherford post office is directly across the street. But, nevermind.
The little store has this warehouse location and an uptown location in St Helena proper, but I prefer the warehouse one. So much more interesting. Here are some photos…….
The store is filled with various kind of olive oil, flavored basalmic vinegars, gourmet salts, hand lotions and delicious smelling soap, rustic dinnerwear and the like.
This is the local honey display.
And the local forsythia.
Bottles of olive oil……..I actually came away without any olive oil, but I did bring home some strawberry basalmic vinegar that I plan to use in this summer’s version of the Strawberry/Raspberry/Basalmic jam. And some soap, sun dried tomatoes in oil that will be in polenta with goat cheese and scallions in the very near future, and a t-shirt that proclaims the oil to be only extra virgin.
Between St Helena and Calistoga is the world famous Culinary Institute of America. The building is quite imposing………
And the view across the highway…
I have some photos of the inn (Maison Fleurie) where we stayed but I think the link is better as I’m having an unholy time trying to get the photos and text in some pleasing format. So, just look at this – it’s a nice place and we enjoy other Four Sisters Inns – Gosby House in Pacific Grove (for over 20 years) and our newest and maybe favorite, Seal Cove Inn. We stayed in the Carriage House this time, but I think I like the main house better – closer to the food and fridge!
Finally, we went to the Napa Style store in The Marketplace. There I found the silver by the pound they offered in the catalog in person – and – upon reading the label which said: Hand wash or use a dishwashing detergent that is chlorine and phosphorous free (a piece of information they left out of the catalog), I bought 8 place settings. They were on sale so I got 8 for the price of 7. The photo isn’t very good – flash reflected and such, but they are all unique.
So, now I’m tired and fussy about the formatting. I’m going to make something for dinner that isn’t horribly fattening. There will be a separate post about our dining experiences at Cindy’s Backstreet Diner in St Helena and Bouchon Bistro and the Bouchon Bakery in Yountville. Dear lord, such food.
This is a long story and I’ll do my best to be brief. About 100 yrs ago when I was going through a divorce, my ex and I were arguing over the division of certain items of “personal property.” We had been married when crystal, sterling and china were reasonably affordable wedding gifts, and we received a good supply of all 3. Ex easily relinquished the china and crystal but balked at the silver. His reasoning was that I would surely inherit my grandmother’s Francis I and so he should have our Burgundy flatware. I caved on the promise that Jenifer would eventually get the Burgundy.
Years and years go by. My dear grandmother passes away and I find that in her last days, it became an economic necessity to sell the flatware. The Grand Baroque tea/coffee service remained, but the flatware was gone. Now, lest you think I was more interested in her stuff than her, let me disabuse you of such a notion. I adored her and thought she was the most elegant and sophisticated and well dressed and well shod woman I ever saw. If that sounds shallow, so be it. But I digress.
I absolutely love silver flatware and serving pieces. I just get weak in the knees looking at some patterns and I will not apologize. In my opinion, this is art of the highest order and indicative of the wonderful creativity and workmanship of man/womankind. The deep rich, yet soft glow of perfectly polished silver speaks to my soul. A form of house porn, I think. I used to keep pages of flatware from catalogs stashed away so I could covertly take them out and drool. Well, OK, I still have them. Whatever.
I also love to set a beautiful table. I have been wanting some sterling flatware for many years. I could not, however, decide on a pattern. I thought for a bit that I might buy 1 or 2 place settings of the patterns I like best and mix them. But, as silver prices increased so did the many places that my disposable income needed to go.
Then, a few months ago, I was looking through a copy of Napa Style and saw they were offering silverplate they had collected in many different patterns – a kind of hodgepodge. I liked the idea but the admonition that they should be hand washed gave me pause. A long pause. The reality of the people who live in the house with me hand washing silverware is akin to peace in the middle east happening tomorrow. Still, I yearned.
I’ve had some experiences that taught me that if you really want something, you need only hold a picture in your mind, ask that you find it in a way that is best for all concerned (so you don’t lose a hand in an accident and the $$ you get from insurance is exactly the amount you needed to buy whatever) and then just wait. And listen. The listening part is important. So, that when you are driving down a street and a voice from beyond says to turn into this parking lot and go into that junk shop – you do it. And, there you find a copy of Elbert Hubbard’s Scrapbook in the original box! And one of the original printings, not the reproduction.
So, every year the first weekend of February St. Christopher’s Catholic Church has their annual antique show and fundraiser. Haven’t been in years, but it has been the source of some wonderful finds over the years. This year I was impressed to go again. And, take a look at what I found…………….
Let me just mention that the original deco box looks perfect, just perfect, on the craftsman sideboard.
Yes, that’s the actual total price. I felt like that woman in the Ikea ad. If you haven’t seen it, nevermind. Anyway, I wrote the check before she could change her mind.
And, yes, they are engraved with an E.
And Husband is pacing the floor waiting for me to leave for Yountville. So, hopefully the next post will be full of the beauty of the wine country and photos of fabulous food!!
It’s 2am. I’m not asleep and haven’t been for awhile. Sometimes my brain decides it’s just not having any of the sleep stuff. It’s busy, busy, busy. Tonight, various issues are plaguing me, one of which is tax related. For the first time, we filed electronically and early. Too early. The day AFTER I hit the Send button, a 1099-R arrived in the mail. Tax had been withheld and Husband opined that the IRS could just let us know what they decided to do about this new piece of information. Uh. Before I moved to CA, I worked for a tax attorney in Dallas. I have a healthy respect fear of the IRS because one of my tasks while employed there was to prepare a memo for our clients listing all the nasty things the IRS can do to you if you don’t OBEY to the letter. I think an amended return is in order to avoid penalties, etc. So, that’s preying on my mind, along with what looks like another flare up of gout for Husband. The first one postponed our trip to Yountville earlier this week and there’s something about being at work when you really aren’t supposed to be there. Particularly when the partners both seem to have their tails on fire. So, I’m in bed and NOT sleeping tonight.
I decide to get up and whip out that amended return. Well, it seemed like a good idea. For the life of me I cannot figure out how to do that with TurboTax………..so after the printer spits out about 50 pages of crap, I go to the den and try to read. I’ve been toying with The Enchantress of Florence for months, now, and just can’t seem to get to the end. What is that sound? It’s the damn toilet in the hall. It’s been running off and on but now, it’s just.running. When I’m like this any noise will make my hair spontaneously combust. Not conducive to sleeping. Failing at amending a tax return or paying attention to Rushdie, I Google, “fix a running toilet.” Only the insides of my toilet don’t look like the insides of any of the toilets on the screen. I really can.not.stand.that.noise another minute. I go to the kitchen and bring back the string. I’ll fix that son of a bitch!
I tied the float to the handle! And, I am NOT making this up, just when I finished the knot and was congratulating myself on such McGiver-like ingenuity, the water purifier in the garage started its cycle! The cycle that lasts for.&*^%ever. I would get drunk but I don’t drink and besides, I tasted the little bottle of “dry red wine” that I bought for the Spanish Braised Lentils and although it smells quite lovely, it tastes like swill. Well, maybe not swill, but it definitely has no legs – tastes like a funky flavored water. But, what can you reasonably expect from a 4 pack that cost about $6? That’s right: swill. The lentils weren’t bad, tho. Saved by the smoked paprika, I assume.
Anyway, so here I am remembering a scene from The Love Letter where all the women in the house are up in the middle of the night. They ate ice cream, I think. Too cold for that, although I did buy some new WW ice cream bars that are excellent! I need to sleep – I have a nail appointment at 9 and am picking up Jen at 11:30am for a bit of fun and lunch. Am tempted to snag one of Husband’s vicodin but know better – I wouldn’t wake up until Sunday. Have eaten all the fruit from my beautiful Incredible Edible basket that A&J sent me for my birthday. Delicious! What could be better than fruit dipped in dark chocolate? The spinach dip in the fridge is kind of nasty, although it didn’t keep me from eating some before bed. Maybe that’s it. Naw. Well, I guess I’ll go lie down next to soundly sleeping Husband and worry about something.
Was my birthday. I find that the more I have, the more ambivilent I am about them. This last year was a good one for me, personally. I maintained my attendance at the gym 2 times a week for pilates and yoga and toward the end of the year added a 3rd time with Husband for cardio stuff. Although a nasty cold we both caught pretty much knocked out the 3rd visit for me over the last few weeks. I was over my cold in about a week, but Husband was not so fortunate, and then I also was out of town, etc. Managed to drop about 10 lbs. Anyway.
61 is not as old as it used to be. But as you age, you start to participate in a “what if” kind of fantasy and that’s not always productive. What if I had actually finished college has always been the big one for me. What if I had actually gotten that degree in art history? Would I have been able to work in my field? Would I be heading off for a museum every morning instead of a law firm? I guess for some people, working in a museum sounds dreadfully dry and boring, but not to me. Being surrounded with works of art on a daily basis would be heaven…….well, let me give that a little more narrow definition. Not so much the new stuff as the REALLY OLD stuff. I would loved to have been involved in the restoration and maintaining of antiquities of all kinds. I wonder if I would have actually had the patience for the work, but would have liked to have had the opportunity. This is what comes of not taking your life by the horns and making what you think you want of it.
That said, I’m incredibly content with life as it has worked out. I wish my kids didn’t have some of the challenges they have, but I know that without them, they wouldn’t have the chance to prove themselves – which I know they will.
I just need another 61 years to do the things on my Bucket List, ya know?
