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Category: daily life

  • Yellow Roses for My Birthday

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    These beautiful roses came on Saturday for my Birthday.  Unfortunately, my birthday was not this past weekend, it is next weekend.

    When G went to order the roses, he told them the date and was informed that they aren't open on Sunday so they would deliver them on Saturday.  He said that was fine.

    This past weekend the phone rang and someone said she needed to speak to G, it was important, and she couldn't tell me what it was about.  From his end of the phone conversation, and the subsequent arrival of a delivery person at our front door, it quickly became evident what had occurred.

    G had told the florist that my birthday was the 5th.  He was told they would deliver the previous day. Apparently no one thought to mention that they would not be open on the 4th, as it is a holiday.

    When they called, they told him that since they weren't open on the 4th, they thought they would deliver the roses this past Saturday instead.  He said it was okay.  I might not have been so generous.

    Now I think there was a double mistake here.  If the florist was going to be closed on Saturday the 4th, they could deliver the flowers on Friday the 3rd, and that would have been acceptable.  Having a birthday next to a major holiday, I have long since learned to accept these minor inconveniences.  But I think someone messed up again, and ordered the roses early.  If they weren't able to order the flowers for the proper time, they should have told him before they placed the order. Since they had the flowers in the store, and they obviously could not hold them another week, they tried to cover-up their mistake and deliver them early.

    What if I needed flowers for a party, getting them a week early would not be acceptable.I used to love this particular florist, until the proprietor decided to retire and sold the shop to one of her employees.  Since then this kind of mistake has become far too common.  G thinks he will have to be finding another florist.

    But I love having the flowers anyway, they are large and glorious and fill my office/sewing room with their perfume.

  • Terror in the makeup aisle

    NMC074C_mn I needed to replace a lipstick and I went to the mall yesterday.  I was thrilled to have a couple of hours available to myself just to wander around, although the local mall is mostly disappointing.  I did need to stop in Macy's to replace a favorite lipstick (Chanel Sirocco) but they were out of stock.  Still I am admittedly rather fond of lipstick and took the opportunity to look at other colors. I had noticed the sales representative when I asked for the desired shade, but really wasn't paying attention to her (mistake #1).  She came over with two new colors, that she said would be lovely on me.  She convinced me to try both on my hand, telling me that I really needed more warmth on my face and the colors I was wearing were all wrong for me.  I liked the both, but I worried that one was a little two warm, it looked very orange in the glaring yellow light of the cosmetic counter, so I said I needed to go outside to look at  them in the sun.  I probably should have used this opportunity to escape, but I really did like both colors, she was right about the warmer one, and I will wear it with certain things, but the one with more pink is the one I will wear the most, so like a fool I went back.

    I don't know what it is about the cosmetic counters that brings any lurking feelings of inferiority to the fore, but I should have seen it coming.  I went back, and I tried to ignore the chatter about what the sales rep had for lunch; I wasn't really interested in whether she should drink a caffeinated diet soda on afternoon break or try diet green tea, or decaf soda.  Apparently she is trying to get off caffeine (why?) but feels a slump in the afternoon (don't we all?).  I don't know what it is about my face that makes me so approachable, that everyone I meet thinks they can just come right up and start telling me about the chicken mcnuggets they had for lunch and what-have you, it must be the wide silly smile and the big round cheeks,  the hollow eyes.  Really my smile is more like Ronald McDonald's than just about any chic elegant role model you can name.  

    And I suppose that is precisely the problem.  It doesn't matter what I wear, and I've done the whole uptown-girl, polished thing, I just can't pull it off.  As soon as I smile it is all over, and I always smile, or laugh, or (even worse) just plop myself down on the floor when there is no chair readily available.  Whatever it is chic is not my number, but that doesn't mean that I am not secretly a little intimidated by those who seem polished and pulled together.

    And I looked up at her face while she returned my credit card and I realized that she looked like she had replaced her head with a life-sized Barbie doll.  Despite this, despite the fact that I would rather look like a person than a plastic doll, I left the mall thinking that the deep circles under my eyes were far to noticeable even as I acknowledged this was because they put the mirrors so low that you have to look down at them, all the better for seeing any sagging under the chin and bagging under the eyes.  And although I started out thinking my new messy haircut with the wonderful layers was just perfect and cool and hip and I left thinking it was sad and messy, just as I was sad and messy.  I was ready to go home and bury my sorrows in a vanilla latte.  But I did not go home.  

    I went to another boutique, not in that mall, one where the lighting in the dressing rooms is much more flattering, to try on a blouse I had ordered.  The blouse was awful.  It looked great but it itched like crazy, I felt myself shrinking up inside trying to pull away from the fabric the instant I put it on, as if my skin was trying to withdraw into my body just to avoid contact with that fabric.  I am not sensitive to wool or most things, but give me cheap silk organza, actually any kind of  silk organza but the finest tightest weave, and it drives me crazy, just crazy.  However I tried on a jacket that I saw in the store, and it was perfect.  The style was perfect the fit was perfect, it made my hair look good again.  In short that jacket was just right for me.  Technically it is for the fall season, although I could have worn it out of the store yesterday and been perfectly comfortable.  

    By the time I got home I was myself again, and I knew that my intentionally mussed hair was perfect for me and my intentionally mussed personality and silly, wide-eyed smile.  Sam and Tori greeted me at the door, and as I walked in the house, G rose from his chair and Moises came barrellling across the room and took a flying leap at my knees.  I happily sank to to the floor and greeted my family and realized I had found perfection.

  • Chocolate and Coffee for Breakfast

    I had chocolate and coffee for breakfast this morning.  It is the antithesis of everything I know about a good breakfast but it certainly works for me today.  

    I was up at 1 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM, and again, finally, at 6 AM.  The air-conditioning service team has just pulled into the driveway; we always have our annual maintenance after cottonwood season rather than in the early spring.

    I think it is going to be a long, long day.

  • Happy Memorial Day

    Every year my town has a big parade on Memorial and it is one of those local events where everyone turns out and all the local organizations and groups march along, the town police drive slowly flashing their lights, and the firetrucks sound off their sirens and horns for the town's children.  It is not big on floats, although there are a couple, but it is big on community spirit.  The young people at one of the local churches sell refreshments, and a large sample of the town's children participate:  the scout troops, the karate and marshall arts classes, the dance students, everyone is ready to march and perform and the crowd of mostly local residents is happy to cheer and applaud their efforts.  Really, it is just right in terms of parades, and it was just right for a small child's first parade. 

    IMG_0571 So this Memorial Day morning Owen and Grandma capped off a lovely morning of playing and counting and helping Grandpa gather up the cardboard boxes for recycling with a trip to town to watch the annual Memorial Day Parade. Mom was able to join us as she returned home from the walk-in clinic, where she found out she has strep  (poor Mom),  just before they closed the main street town so the parade could begin. 

    Owen had a good time watching all the hullabaloo which included some dance and karate demonstrations, balloons, flags, candy, and the aforementioned fire trucks.

    Grandma noticed that the high school band ambled along in a way that would have never been acceptable for band members  at her high school in Texas, where marching drill was an important part of band culture.   But the parade was fun nonetheless despite the lack of precision and fanfare.

    After the parade we all convened at home where, sun-dazed and hungry, we fell upon a luncheon of gazpacho and Bouchons au Thon  and then collapsed, ready for the first lazy summer afternoon.

  • Wearing my Grandma Hat, Day 1

    I'm wearing my grandma hat and am having a wonderful, if exhausted
    time.  First I was up too much getting ready.    Then there was the 4
    hour drive home fromLGA yesterday, a trip that normally takes two hours or less.  I console myself by thinking that the first half of the trip, LGA to the city of Scarsdale
    , took 2 hours, a trip normally in the vicinity of 30 minutes.  This
    makes the last half of the trip seem more reasonable.  No need to
    remind me why I am happy to no longer have to commute anywhere near NYC.

    IMG_0554 Grandson
    Owen has arrived with a cold and has been short on sleep for two days. 
    So we are planning very quiet days to start off. So far though he has
    been patient and very kind to the kitties and has made kitty-friends. It helped of course that he gave them treats and picked out presents for each of them at the pet store.

    Today we baked a birthday cake for Grandpa, and Owen decorated it.  Later he helped Grandpa blow out the candles.

    Grandma's camera battery died just before the big candle-blowing scene
    though, so she only got a picture of the cake. Needless to say, the
    cake was just as yummy as it looks.  Owen can come apprentice in
    Grandma's kitchen whenever he likes.

  • Moments of Perfection

    It was a rather hectic, hassled, and harried week.

    There were, however, moments of perfection

    1.  A perfect lemon meringue pie.  Not a crumb remained.

    IMG_0538 2.  Irises

    IMG_0547 3.  A kitten.

    It seems we both have a weakness for foundlings.  His name is Moisés.  He is currently about 5 weeks old and has been home with us for a little over a week.

  • Yesterday

    IMG_0475 Yesterday was the first truly warm, sandal-worthy, day of spring.  We took full advantage of it having a leisurely of frippery, frivolity, and function.

    Yesterday was also the day the maples leafed out and as we drove around town the full glory of spring was unfurled around us.  The light yellow green near transparence of new leaves almost thickening before our eyes and dancing in the sunlight was almost magical.  The magnolias were thick with blossoms.  The daffodils are everywhere, yellow and white and cheery, dancing in the sun.  A few early tulips are up but not chez dooney.  I don't seem to have any of the early tulips this year, an oversight I am sure, although I do tend to prefer the more exotic later varieties.

    A minor note of interest.  I have lived here for almost 30 years.  For most of that time the maples fully leafed out consistently on May 2 or 3.  You could count on that like you could count on the day that ice would first cover the Hudson.  Neither of those "old" dates hold true anymore.  Leaf day has been creeping forward, first toward May 1st, then gradually a few days earlier.  The last two years it was nearly a week early, but this year the leaves suddenly opened on April 24,  a full 9 days early.

    Yesterday I finished reading Gwen Ifill's book "The Breakthrough".  I enjoyed reading it, and I learned a few things about politicians I knew nothing about.  Her portraits were insightful and she was able to capture the quality of each politician she discussed in a way that made them memorable.  Ms. Ifill's prose is just like her voice on "The Newshour": fair, direct, and to the point.  As I read I could imagine her speaking. The book reads like a series of interviews with a varied and interesting group of black politicians who show much of the change, variation, and conflict taking place in politics today. I think I personally would have liked a little more analysis, but then again, analysis is dry and it is really to early to determine what any of this "means". Ms. Ifill is a journalist not an analyst.   There is a lot to think about in these profiles of the changing face of politics. It was a good, timely book, but not something I will come back to or read again.

    Yesterday I went back on antihistamines after a week's reprieve.  And I fell asleep to quickly to read any  poems of Christopher Middleton.  This volume of poetry has provided us with a lovely bedtime ritual, a poem or two or three before bed; read aloud, discussed, savored, shared.  Tonight we shall have a poem before we "slumber in our sleep" to quote my Grandpa.

  • Rainy Day Post

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    Rain, Rain, Rain.

    That seems to be the pattern so far this spring, a day of rain followed by a day of full or partial sunshine followed by more rain.  In one sense this is nice as it gives my poor achy muscles time to recuperate from their time in the yard.  

    In another sense it is annoying.  I would like to paint the deck during the cool spring weather but I need more than one clear day. 

    But still, spring is progressing and the weather, when it is not raining, is delightful.  I love being out working in the yard even if I pay for it in the evenings.  It seems that the consequences of not letting the yard go wild for two full seasons following two seasons of only partial work due to workmen, has taken a toll on more than just my flower beds and landscaping.  My body is also feeling the pain of being whipped back into shape. At 50 it is not as easy as it once was.

    It appears that I was wise not to get to ambitious with plans for the vegetable garden because facing that mass of weeds, shrubs and trees that have taken over that spot makes me feel something like a very small David attempting to slay Goliath, except that in my case a simple sling-shot will not do the job.  The peas aren't in yet.  With luck and good weather they may be my next weekend.  And so much work is needed that I am practically starting from scratch all over again.  The thought that I could use the existing garden beds without much work was really just fantasy.  There is too much work involved, and I need, for my own peace of mind, to have pretty things in front of the house to greet me every day. Repair and replanting the front beds will take first priority.

    I had a lovely day cleaning out flower beds, seeing what has survived (so far) and removing a few weeds who were hoping to get an early start.  There is also a colony of Sumac seedlings, now really strapping adolescents to deal with.  It amazes me how the Sumac always decides to come up right in the little gaps in the middle of a iris rhizome, so that it is somewhat tricky for me to extricate the invader without damaging or relocating the desirable bulb.  

    Today however it is raining and we have spent some time inside with books.

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    I picked up the book of poetry I had been reading a while back, but had abandoned due to lack of concentration, the Collected Poems, by Christopher Middleton and was happy to sit and read, contemplating the poems, while looking out at the rain and fog.  I continue to find some the references to German literature and authors incomprehensible, but that is due to my own ignorance.  I am still reading the fairly early poems, and I still find some obscure and forced. But I am getting more of a feel for the irony and wry humor of many of the poems, of the rather philosophical bent, and the occasional bits of pure beauty. 

    Above  is the view from the living room sofa.  The large barge spent the night and had just finished turning around, probably to accommodate the change in tides.  The tug is hidden now at the far right hand side of the photo, just beyond the corner of the house.

    These rainy days are good for me in that they remind me to slow down and enjoy life.  They remind me of the pleasures of whiling away the day in the company of my husband.  They remind me not to get carried away with my plans and visions of what could be and what I might accomplish.  Plans and visions are all good, but it is too easy to get wrapped up in the doing and forget to take time just for the living.

    I also went to the gym today and finished my short book by Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,  which I really enjoyed.  I actually think Murakami helped me hook back into my enjoyment of the monotony of my exercise regime.  I started a new book as well, I was very near the end, another historical fiction:  The Boleyn Inheritance. Really, I am always a sucker for books set in or about Tudor and Elizabethan England.  It should see me through many a happy mile.

  • Baby Iceberg?

    Not really.

    Most of the ice we see in the Hudson is flat, or the jagged upright broken pieces of sheet ice that have been knocked apart and pushed aside by the Coast Guard Cutters.

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    Most of the river is clear of ice now.  This piece was floating south this morning and drifted inward to the shallow water in the bay below our house.  After a few hours it melted enough to move upstream a little bit before the tide changed and it continued its course to the south.

    This is the kind of thing that G would love to manipulate to make it look more like a real iceberg.  This is much easier now with digital cameras and photoshop.  We have primitive versions, dating from when his kids were little, of an igloo and a large piece of ice with a polar bear.

  • A Mingus Interlude

    Long, long line at the post-office.  Of course, the one day I have to go to the desk is the day the line circles around the lobby twice.

    I should have expected the phone to ring.  G is at home expecting me, and is probably wondering at the length of my absence.  I should have put the phone in my pocket.  I have a package under one arm, all the mail crammed into my large hobo-bag type of purse, and I'm trying to find my cell phone without dumping everything.

    After I hang up the gentleman behind me says "That was a treat; a Mingus ringtone is so much nicer than the awful stuff one usually hears."

    I can only thank him and compliment his taste.  After all, it is not often that someone recognizes Mingus, even a popular tune like "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat". 

    If I have to have a phone, it might as well play something I love.