One last blast of winter....

Or maybe I should say "I hope this is the last blast of winter."

When I woke up this morning, there was frost all over the pastures.... so white and frosty that you would think someone had dusted everything with powdered sugar during the night.  And I have to wonder what that frost has done to the bluebonnets that were peeking out from all the fields around here.  I don't know if last night's temperature of 34 degrees will turn the bluebonnet seedlings into dead weeds rather than glorious wildflowers.

As we're having this latest cold snap, my cousins in NY are scrambling around shopping for extra groceries for the next snow storm that's headed their way within the next few days. They've had snow up there every week since the first of the year.  It's nearly March, and winter is just not giving up the fight up in the northeast.  Clearly, some of them should be thinking about moving south. The winter weather is never going to get any better up there, and the older you get, the less you want to be dealing with all of the snow shoveling and ice scraping. I also have family living near Chicago..... their winters are worse than the NY winters, and none of them are looking to move either. I guess everyone just gets used to wherever they live, and they just learn to live with it, no matter how bad it gets and how much they complain about it.

Temperatures here are supposed to be up to 70 degrees tomorrow, and warmer still for the weekend. At least this "last blast" didn't stay around for very long.

"All good things...."

".... must come to an end."   And just who wrote that little rule, is what I want to know.

Last night was the final episode of Downton Abbey..... as the four of us girls sat down to watch it, we didn't realize it would be the end of the new season till they announced it.  Seems like the 4th season of Downton had just begun, and now it's over already. "What will we do now on Sunday nights?" was the question we were asking.  And we had just gotten into a nice rhythm with each of us taking turns with desserts..... and one night S even made dinner (salmon quiche, which was totally delicious).

And now it's over?  We need to send a letter off to Julian Fellowes and ask him to write more episodes for each of the up-coming seasons.  Downton Abbey is barely up to World War II, so of course we'll all hoping that there will be many more seasons of Downton to look forward to.

Between the dialogue, the settings, the clothing and accessories, and of course, the story-lines, it's been so wonderful to watch Downton Abbey.  We all keep waiting for Carson to serve us our tea and dessert, but the man just never shows up. With that in mind, I got each of us a small brass bell with the most wonderful sound.... whenever we have dessert and tea now, we'll ring those little bells and hope for the best.

Something tells me that Carson isn't going to be anywhere near the Hill Country, so the bells will just be wishing thinking. (Or rather, wishful ringing.)

Happy Birthday... sort of.

My dad would have been 95 today, if he were still alive.  Do they celebrate birthdays in heaven?  With angel-food birthday cakes?

Being that my Aunt Dolly (my father's sister) is 100 years old, I think daddy could have lived longer than 89 years.  He just didn't take such good care of himself for the last few years of his life, and he was so stubborn that he wouldn't let anyone else take care of him either.  Being sad and stubborn for years on end isn't such a good combination, and I think the combination of those two characteristics shortened his life some.

My dad lived with my husband and I for six months..... he seemed to like Texas just fine, but after a while he got to missing the rest of the family in NY.  Daddy told me "I was born in NY, so I have to die in NY."  He didn't think it was funny when I asked him "On which page of the Life Book is that rule written?"  So he went back to NY... and then eventually moved to New Jersey with relatives there.  I resisted the urge to tell him that New Jersey wasn't New York and never would be.

When I think of my dad, I don't see the old man that he became, I see the middle-aged father that all my friends thought was so handsome.  "That's your dad?! Wow!"   Daddy was good-looking and fun and hard-working. When I was very young, I thought he was perfect, that he could do anything and fix everything.  As I got older, I learned that he wasn't perfect, he couldn't fix everything and do everything, and some things got messed up royally and couldn't ever be put back together, and that's what made him sad as he got older.  As for the stubborn part, I think that trait runs in the family... we're all the same way, some more than others.

On my 40th birthday, my dad told me: "You can't be 40.... I'm only 39."   When I turned 50, daddy called to say: "You can't be 50... I'm only 49."  On my 60th birthday, daddy was gone, having died four years before.   So I whispered to myself: "You can't be 60.... your dad's only 59."

So..... Happy Birthday, daddy.  I wish you could have been here for your 95th.

And maybe you still are.

Spring fever.

While my cousins in NY have been digging out from this past week's snow-storm, and waiting for the next snow to arrive on Tuesday, it looks like we have turned the proverbial Texas corner here in the Hill Country.  The days have been sunny and warm, the birds are singing, new grass is growing, and the hawks are once again flying over the fields looking for mice to run out from under the brush piles. All is right in our little corner of this planet.  Or, as my cousins tell me--- our "little bubble" of the world.

Sometimes it does seem like we're living in a very small bubble, protected from the madness going on around the rest of the planet.  Lost in the 1950s... that's how I've always described this town, even years ago when we used to drive here for weekend trips.

We took a ride into Navasota today, to have lunch at Martha's Bloomers... another perfect example of bubble-living.  Martha's is a combination nursery, gift shop, and café, all tucked into a far corner of that town, visible from the highway, but if you didn't know Martha's was there, you'd keep on driving.  The indoor gift shop and the outdoor nursery has everything you might need for your garden and kitchen (flowers, plants, vegetables, country décor, and lawn ornaments).  Back at the far corner of the outdoor garden sits their small café... the interior is yellow and white, tablecloths and pretty napkins and tiny teacups are waiting at the tables for you, and the food is homemade and delicious.

Martha's is also home to two cats.... an orange and white one with a cute orange freckle on his nose, and a fluffy gray cat with dark ears and blue eyes who's clearly the king of Martha's kingdom.  Today after lunch, we looked around the gift shop and found the orange cat high up on top of a wooden hutch, sitting in the middle of a display of porcelain roosters and ceramic bowls. The fluffy gray cat was sound asleep in a wire basket filled with the tissue paper that is used to wrap delicate items... and I just knew that his nap wouldn't be interrupted if the clerk had to wrap up a glass vase.

Life goes on at Martha's.... cats jumping up on a ceiling-high hutch, or sleeping near the cash register... and you can hear the white doves making their sweet coo-ing noises in their garden cages.  As with the rest of the Hill Country, life at Martha's is easy and slow and usually uncomplicated.

There are days when I wish I could bottle all of this up and send it to my cousins in New York. Today was such a day.

Hope.

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all."     ...Emily Dickinson


I love those words.... discovered on my friend J's Pinterest page.

All wrapped up...

With all the cold temperatures that we've had since the first of January, I've become obsessed with shawls and wraps.  I have a heavy pink one that I wear just around the house and outside on the property. It's a pretty shade of pink and it's warm and soft, but not exactly a stylish sort of garment. I've also used it to wrap up Sweet Pea so he's as tightly bound as a kitty-sausage, and then I can easily trim the nails on his front paws.  This pink wrap, which I'm wearing as I type, has been washed at least a thousand times, but it's still as soft as the day I bought it.

I have a beige wool shawl that my grandmother crocheted back in the 1950s..... she made them for all of her daughters and daughters-in-law, and the one I have belonged to my mother.  It's a beautiful soft wool with gold threads woven into the pattern. I've worn it on special occasions, and I've also taken it out of the closet just to look at it and admire Grandma's talent.

Then there's the black velvet shawl that's lined with silk..... the soft velvet is studded with tiny rhinestones, and it screams 1940.  I bought it at an estate sale years ago. It was wrapped in tissue paper when I found it, and then covered with a piece of white cotton.  I could tell that it was a truly-loved accessory, and I bought it to sell at my antique shop at the time, but then couldn't part with it when I got it home.  I've worn it on holidays and to special dinners, but it spends most of the time in the closet on a special hanger that won't damage or crease the velvet.... and it's still in perfect condition.

I also have a gold/beige shawl that's very long, with fringe on the edges..... it's light-weight, but still warm, and very dressy-looking.  I'll wear that when we go out to the neighbors or out for lunch or dinner. I used to wear a lot of pretty wool blazers with my jeans when we lived in Clear Lake, but I don't wear those much out here. Being that they're still hanging up in my closet, there's no reason for those blazers not to be making an appearance out here in the hills.  That golden-beige shawl looks really city-pretty tossed over a blazer and jeans.

On one of these recent cold days, I was searching on the Internet for different types of wraps, shawls, and ponchos. I quickly ruled out the ponchos because I don't want to be bothered with something that goes over my head (and messes up my hair).  Plus a lot of them were plaid, and I just don't do plaids.

Neiman Marcus had a four-ply cashmere shawl/wrap that was really pretty.... one color on the outside, a different color on the inside... and totally reversible.  Also, totally expensive.  Even with sales at that store, the prices are still more than what I wanted to pay for such a casual accessory.  In addition to that, their wrap was very similar to the cashmere shawls that Oprah made so popular years ago. They're called Pashmina shawls, made in Italy. When those fringed shawls were all over the stores, with reasonable prices, I bought a couple of them. My husband's mother had also bought one, and I have hers also.

So there I was, looking at the Neiman Marcus two-color shawls and wanting one... and I got to thinking that if I put two of my own fringed shawls together somehow, I'd have the same thing without having to buy anything new.  And that's exactly what I did..... I took a light purple shawl and put it back to back with a peacock blue shawl.... and then attached them by putting a couple of knots into the fringes (every tenth bit of fringe got 'married' to its opposite color).  And my 'new' wrap looks perfectly pretty.  Too pretty to wear around the house, though, so for now, I'm back to this old pink thing that gets washed and dried about twice a week.

I'll know when Spring finally gets here, because I will be discarding this pink house-wrap, washing and drying it one last time, and putting it up in the closet till next December.  Until we get the warmer weather, however, I will continue to be all wrapped up because it's the only way to stay warm in this century-old house that collects drafts like Neiman Marcus collects money.  My friend up the road told me not too long ago that she's getting used to me "looking like a burrito."

On the good ship Lollipop...

I heard on "The View" this morning that Shirley Temple passed away, and it made me sad.  She had a remarkable life, without a doubt, and she could have written a book about how to be a successful child-star who grows up to be a sane and successful adult.  Good parenting (by sane and loving parents) surely must have had something to do with that.

One of the hosts of "The View" said that she heard a statement on the news stating that "Shirley Temple was like Honey Boo Boo with talent."   That made me cringe, to think that someone would even put both of those names in the same sentence.  

Before I started first grade, my mother signed me up for dance lessons.... ballet and tap.  I didn't much like ballet, but I loved tap... I loved the bright patent-leather black shoes, and I truly loved the sound of the silver metal taps.  I can remember putting on my tap shoes in my grandmother's house and walking across the wood floor of the dining room just to hear the tapping noise.  Within half a second,  Aunt Dolly came flying down the stairs telling me "Get those shoes off right now, young lady!!! This isn't the stage of Radio City Music Hall!!!" (Needless to say, I never did that again.)

Along with the dance lessons came the curls... my mother rolling up my hair in pink rubber curlers, hoping to duplicate Shirley Temple's blond curls.  My curls weren't exactly like Shirley's (and my hair was brunette, not blond) but my mother did a reasonably good job with those curlers.  I hated sleeping on them, but I liked the result in the morning. Even in the 1950s, every mother who had a little girl was trying to duplicate the magic and talent of Shirley Temple.

I watched all of Shirley Temple's movies when I was a kid...... mostly with my dad, and a lot of them with Aunt Dolly.  Daddy knew a lot of the words to her songs, and he'd sit on the sofa and sing along. I never did become an accomplished tap-dancer... my mother had also signed me up for piano lessons, and between the two, my practice schedule left me very little time for all of the books that I liked to read. (Yes, even back then, I was into books.)

On "The View" this morning, they mentioned the movies that Shirley Temple made with Bill Robinson (Mr. Bojangles).  That famous dance scene, with Shirley and Bill Robinson going up and down that flight of steps.... that tall black man holding the hand of the little white child.  Whoopi Goldberg said that no one back then objected to that hand-holding, no one made comments, no one had issues, and even in theaters across the South, everyone just smiled and loved both the child and the man.  Everyone just accepted the fact that two very talented people were dancing together and making everyone happy in the process.  How nice. Truly, honestly nice.

We'll never have another Shirley Temple on this planet.... and Bill Robinson's talent was beyond measure.  Today's world, however, could surely use a good strong healthy dose of that kind of nice-ness... where people can look at one another and see the person instead of just the color.

Maybe we all just need to tap-dance our way up and down the steps of life with a smile on our face and being truly happy in our hearts.

Give me a blessed break...

I have to keep reminding myself that while I sit here on this rainy day and complain about an outside temperature of 48 degrees (after a very warm and very sunny day yesterday).... my cousins in New York are still dealing with below-freezing weather and another onslaught of snow.

When I lived up in NY, I hated to go out in bad weather to be at work before nine o'clock in the morning.  As I scraped ice from my car windshield and tried not to slip and slide on the snow, I vowed that one day I would be on no one's time-clock but my own, and if I chose not to go out in bad weather, then so be it.

I've been on my own time-clock since 1993..... and I have often chose not to go out in the cold, or drive in the rain.  Today is one of those days. I had a list of things to do in town today, but one look at the blowing wind and the falling rain has kept me in the house.  So be it.  This current cold-snap (due to disappear in two days) is another frightful slap in the Texas face by the weather gods. Give me a blessed weather break...

But on the bright side, and there always is one, I've been doing a lot of reading.  I go up to the third-floor library to choose a new (used, really) book to read, or pick an already-shelved book to re-read...  and I look around my bookshelf-filled room with awe.  I have a library. I have a library. It is warm and quiet, with leaded glass windows looking out onto our property.                                                  
I can choose a book and sit on the sofa, or in one of the two vintage rattan chairs that were originally on my grandparents' enclosed front porch up in NY.  The two chairs are identical, but I can tell which was my grandfather's, and which was my grandmother's.  On my Grandpa's chair, dark stains are visible on the wood of each of the arms.  My grandfather smoked Di Napoli cigars for years (very dark tobacco, rolled very thin and gnarled-looking). With each touch of those cigars, the dark tobacco would appear on his fingers, which would then be transferred to the rattan of his chair.  On days when I sit in Grandpa's chair, I rub my hands along those age-old stains and in my mind's eye, he's still up there in his chair.

There are days that I look at my ever-growing stack of books that I find in used book stores and thrift stores... and then I look at my shelves filled with great-books-to-read-again... and I have to wonder if there will be enough days in the rest of my life for all of that reading.

When the angels come to get me, hopefully years after my 100th birthday (my goal is to beat Aunt Dolly's birthday-record).... no matter my age, I will probably be asking the angels for more reading time.  "I'm not ready to go yet.... I still have books to read.... and many more books to re-read! Give me a blessed break!"

Totally Frozen/Totally Stuck.

It's nearly one o'clock in the afternoon as I'm typing this and the temperature outside doesn't seem any warmer than it was this morning. I forgot to look at the outside thermometer when I was outside to get the mail, and I just don't want to open the door again to have a look.  Maybe it's better that I don't know the actual number.  Must be still below freezing, because the water in the birdbath is as frozen solid as it was at seven o'clock this morning.  Stupid weather. Totally stupid and uncalled for, not to mention un-wanted and un-welcome.

I got all the in-town errands done yesterday because the TV weather wizards predicted this cold day (and they were correct for a change) so I've been reading. And reading. And reading.  To take a break from the books, I popped an old VCR tape into the machine and watched the movie "84 Charing Cross Road" with Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins.  I've watched this movie about ten times, and I've read the story at least two dozen times over the years.  Beautiful book (true story) and a wonderful movie that gets you to reaching for tissues at the end.  One of the cats (Sweet Pea) sat in my lap during the whole film, and he watched most of the movie with me.  Sweet Pea was particularly interested in the cars and taxi-cabs on the NYC streets, the red double-decker buses in London, and the very pretty dog that was barking and running around Central Park.

I usually don't mess around too much with the DVD/VCR player.... when I have time to myself, I'm usually reading, and that doesn't take electronic equipment because I've absolutely refused (without hesitation) to resort to a Kindle, a Nook, or whatever else is out there trying to replace a beautiful book with soft pages that have been read and re-read over the years.

However... as a result of my non-existing talent with the DVD/VCR player-thing, the tape of "84 Charing Cross Road" is now stuck (STUCK!) in the VCR player.  How can that be?  I've pressed the 'eject' button at least half a dozen times, and nothing happens. I've opened that little horizontal door and I can see the movie tape in there, but it's not popping itself out no matter how many times the eject button is hit.  I even put a butter knife into the little door, hoping to dislodge the tape from whatever is in there holding it a prisoner.

Well, wouldn't that be a surprise for my husband?  Coming home from work and finding his wife electrocuted and laying flat-out on the floor in front of the DVD/VCR player?

I've turned off the television, and turned off the VCR thing.  I'll go back to my books for now, thank you, and wait till my husband comes home from work, and then he can rescue Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins.  I do know myself, however, and I'm sure that before this day is over, I'm going to try again to get that movie out of the player.

Maybe I should leave a note for my husband on the kitchen counter:  "In case you happen to find me dead and still sizzling in the TV room when you get home, can you please arrange to bury me in London, at 84 Charing Cross Road?"

Super Bowl Madness

I don't much like football..... baseball (in my opinion) is the quintessential American game.  However, you can't dismiss all the hoopla that goes on when it's Super Bowl time.  (Well, I can dismiss it, but sometimes you just can't avoid it.)

Yesterday, friends J & J had a Super Bowl party.... huge television screen, a dining room table turned into a football-buffet, and whistles in the shapes of little footballs had all the men in football mode.  The ladies were talking about everything under the sun except football.  It was a great party, not because of the football game, but because the game was a good excuse to get all of the neighbors together.

The ladies did, however, take a break from talking to watch most of the commercials and the half-time show.  I had never heard of either of the two bands who were up there on the stage, but of course I have comments on both.  First of all, Bruno Mars..... I was totally impressed that these men were dressed so nicely, danced so well, and took pride not only in their appearance but in their performance. However, on the flip side, those Chili Pepper people...... do they not get paid enough for their singing to afford clothes to cover the top halves of their bodies? (Which wouldn't surprise me, because their songs were horrible, and they all looked like they had rolled out of bed minutes before jumping onto the stage.)

As for the commercials...... I loved the one with the family and the little girl with the Cheerios.... there are so many variations of 'family' in this world, so it's about time that people out there began to acknowledge and celebrate the fact that love comes in all sizes, shapes, and colors.  I also liked the commercial with Jerry Seinfeld and Jason Alexander... it was nice to see part of  the "Seinfeld" group back together again, if only for a minute or so.

My favorite commercial was with the puppy and the horse.... one puppy from a litter of pups kept going under the fence to get to the horse..... then that puppy gets sold and all the horses come to his rescue to keep him on the property so he could stay with his friend the horse.  Brought tears to mostly all of our eyes, and when we got home from the Super Bowl party, I looked it up on the Internet and watched it three times.  I cried again, and thought of our dog Gracie.

Is there anything more heart-breaking than the expression on that puppy's face as he's looking over his owner's shoulder as he's being carried away from his horse?  More proof positive that love comes in all sizes, shapes, colors.