Category Archives: General

In the doorway between what might as well be two worlds is a pair of shoes. No one, at least no one to the discernible eye, inhabits these shoes. Motionless, they stand uneven sentry on the threshold of rooms. It is a ghostly place, this space that is neither here nor there, a sort of limbo where the path lies before and after. The end of the year approaches, as does the beginning.

A week from today is Black Friday (the day when everyone in the world except for me goes shopping – or, as I like to think of it, amateur hour). When I was in New York I made the big mistake of going into Macy’s – just to get a feel for the holiday start. Of course I only ended up finding a new coat, new socks, new underwear, and three pairs of pants for myself, but you celebrate your way and I’ll celebrate mine. No matter how Scrooge-like I may seem, I still get a child-like thrill when the holidays get underway. It was no different this year.

Despite my embracing of the holiday season, there are limits. Like this Cutest Dog in the World display of a pooch named ‘Boo’. Gag me. Poo on Boo.

The neatest thing, in my more-dorky-than-you-would-think head, was this life-size rendering of a Christmas Yoda, looking pixelated because it was made entirely out of Legos.

And now, without further ado, I present this year’s outfit for the Beaujolais Nouveau Wine Festival, to benefit the AIDS Council of Upstate New York. Believe it or not, and those who know me should believe it, this is actually a rather simple ensemble. I think it’s the bold color combination, and the simple fact of a cape, that garnered such notice. (And according to Andy, there was ample notice.) Personally, I didn’t put much effort into it. In previous years I’d spend weeks working on my outfit for this special evening, sewing tulle into coats, gluing sequins and mirrors onto suits, crafting a thousand chiffon rosettes – but this time around I winged it and put it together at the last moment. A necklace of pearls was a birthday gift from Andy many years ago, the shoes were a nod to Pee Wee Herman, the cape was an homage to Little Red Riding Hood, and the juxtaposition of the fuchsia pants against the red was a Pucci-inspired combination that has always thrilled me.

I had not quite made up my mind to start giving into holiday music and mayhem when my brother and nephew visited earlier today. On this sunny Saturday of November, when Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away, and Christmas songs are already plastered over the radio, I decide to stop fighting and indulge in the season. It’s an early start, but it will burn slowly in these first few days. My Mom stops by a little later, with an early gift in tow, so it seems this was indeed the time to begin.

A scarlet cinnamon sandalwood candle burns in the middle of the dining room table, and a cozy batch of fennel chick peas warms on the stove. Butternut squash awaits roasting in the kitchen, and a quartet of strings plays ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ in the background. A six-pack of Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale chills in the fridge (if I’m going to get into beer, it’s going to be through pumpkin flavoring). It is a perfectly-pre-holiday moment. I will finish up the holiday cards today (all that remains is putting a last touch of blood on the envelopes – you’ll see…) and then the first stages of holiday prep work will be complete. It may not seem like a lot, but I’m doing the little things earlier to have more fun later. In the words of that great lady Mrs. Peacock, “I am determined to enjoy myself!”

This is my pal Pete waterskiing in the late afternoon sun. While hanging out with him and some of the Cape Cod crew, I saw the photo of the sunset and the water skis and said I had to post it. Taken on Pete’s iPhone by his friend Julie Johnson, they came out surprisingly well when you consider the tricky light and the fact that a moving speed boat isn’t the most stable of tripods. A simple reminder of summer days – something we need right now as the weather goes from bad to worse. As for whether I’ll ever get up on a pair of water skis, it’s highly unlikely. I would freak out bobbing up and down in the middle of a large body of water. That’s just asking to be eaten by the Loch Ness monster.

To see us through the lunch-time hour, the artful out-of-focus side of a bath time photo shoot, and how best to hide the twig and berries. With some creative cropping, a few fortuitously-floating islands of bubbles, and one disappearing sponge, these shots should be safe for work. The next set may not be, so come back when you get home.

Talking politics always makes me feel dirty, so there’s no better time to take a bath than today. Actually, it was the other day, so hopefully I’ll have some residual cleanliness to see me through what will likely be a very long evening. When we redid our master bathroom a few years ago, both Andy and I decided a tub was unnecessary. Neither of us took baths, and the lines of a shower-only bathroom were much cleaner and more open. Though I still prefer this, every once in a while I find myself craving a long, hot bath, particularly when we approach the winter, and cold nights aren’t staved off by hot showers alone.

When I’m lucky enough to be staying in a decent hotel, I’ll scope out the tub, fill it with hot water, and add a few drops of tea tree oil and some lavender bubble bath. Throw in a new sponge and I’m happy as a pearl being rescued from an icky clam, re-purposed for some pretty lady’s sweetly-scented neckline. It’s the poor-man’s version of a massage – an indulgent moment of pampering that takes the edge off of the day.

The comfort of bubbles, the way they tickle the nose and the ears, adds to the playful notion of taking a bath. All that’s missing is a rubber ducky.

The only thing that sometimes creeps into my OCD head is the thought that by the end of it you’re basically sitting in a pool of dirty water. That’s why I have to take a quick shower afterward. There was actually once a doctor who said that was actually the best way to get the most clean – a bath followed by a shower. Works for me.

In honor of election day, and my intention to stay far from politics, there will be nothing but bath posts coming up later – as per a promise I made to the Duchess. Now then, who’s a dirty boy?

Continuing in the tradition of crazy-ass half-delirious blog posts concocted in the midst of fever-like delirium – wait, delirious delirium? Damn! – I offer a Monday morning entry to ease us into the work-week. With a few days of missed work last week, and an already-behind-schedule holiday plan, I’m just going to wing it for the next few days, pray that Madonna makes it to Madison Square Garden and the show goes on, and do a little Noreaster prevention dance. I did manage to make it to Boston and Falmouth this weekend, to see Kira for a belated birthday dinner, and then my friend Kim in ‘Sunset Blvd.’, but I was still slightly under-the-weather and just trying to keep my head above-water.

As for those holiday plans, it’s just the usual mayhem and craziness. Doing the holiday cards, the party invitations, the outfit planning, the gift buying, the decorating, and, yes, even a bit of the cooking (hello candied yams) has already amped itself into a most onerous list of tasks. Each year I tell myself that I will get it done early and just enjoy the season. And each year I fail – not miserably, but enough. We’ll see if I can get this train back on track, or if it’s going to go all Polar Express on my ass. Toot-toot, beep-beep.

And PS – To all those people I texted in the feverish states of doped up drunken madness I reached this weekend, I warned you. You all wanted me to get texting, now you deal with the monster you created. Don’t call me Dr. Frankenstein.

The notion of gaining an hour of time has always fascinated me. The myriad ways and manners one chooses to use that hour is an imaginative playground in which my mind could romp for the days before and after Daylight Savings Time makes its change. Only once did I forget to move my clocks back. I was in college, and probably not minding much news (I didn’t have a TV in my dorm, nor the internet – it was early 90’s!) On the Sunday of the time change, I went into Boston to catch a matinee. As I handed the guy my ticket he said it wasn’t time for the movie yet. I looked at my watch and said that the movie started in five minutes. He shook his head. I was adamant, telling him what time the movie started, showing him the time printed on the ticket, and again explaining that it was going to begin in five minutes. He shook his head again and pointed at the clock over his shoulder. As he did so it dawned on me that I missed the time change. Sheepishly, I smiled and excused myself, telling him I’d see him again in an hour. He wasn’t amused.

Dedicated to Kristi Gustafson Barlette.