...where I have root and the fare is liberally seasoned with pith and vinegar.
| The Digital Hausfrau ...where I have root and the fare is liberally seasoned with pith and vinegar. |
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Don't you just love a day when everything kind of meshes? Emily had a play date yesterday, and the plan was to get her friend and go home to decorate pumpkins. But it was almost 70 degrees out, and I couldn't bear to waste the day. So, off to the farm stand we went.
Yes, I'm back. and it was terrific. Totally mellow and relaxed...no one calling my name for 48 hours.
We got there on Friday at about 2 or 3 and, fortunately, the room was ready. It was a very excellent room for the three of us because, in addition to the two double beds, dresser-style furniture, tv, and all that, it had a really nice sitting area with a couch, coffee table, and two club chairs. This worked well for us, as we'd brought an abundant supply of wine and cheese and crackers and other goodies, and didn't feel like eating them sitting on beds. Oh, and the sitting area was next to the fireplace. We'll get back to that.
Ok, so we get there, check in, and have some snacks. Then Lisa and my mom headed down to the spa for their facials, but I had an hour to kill until mine, so I went to the indoor pool, read some of my dreadfully boring book club book and fell asleep. I woke up a bit later when some blowsy old broad pulled out her cell phone and started yacking on about her mother's feet. So I had a dip in the hot tub.
Then off to the spa. It was a very nice facial...no extractions necessary. Lots of steam and creams.
That night, we had dinner in the hotel dining room. I had a fish that I'd never had before called escolar. It was served backened, with avocado and tomato salad and lobster mashed potatoes, and I loved it. After dinner, we went back to the room, drank a little more, had the nice front desk boy come up and light a Duraflame log (at the Saybrook Point Inn, one is not allowed to do that for one's self!), and fell asleep early.
A bunch of insomniac freaks the lot of us, we were up in the morning before 7. We called room service for some coffee and hung out and watched tv. My mom headed down for a hot stone massage at 9, while Lisa and I went back to the dining room for breakfast. Lisa is on some cockamamie diet du jour that prohibits most of anything good, so she just had eggs and multigrain toast. I had eggs, too, but with the potatoes off of both plates. Bonus for me. To pay for my carboholic sins, I went with Lisa to the morning's Pilates and body sculpting classes. Enough exercise to feel virtuous, not enough to actually make me sweat and/or suffer. Perfect.
We all rendezvoused and dressed, and headed out on an adventure. We tried to go shopping in Old Lyme, Connecticut, a lovely old-style beach town but, given that it was late fall, things there were pretty much boarded up and ghostly. We had much better luck in Essex. I got two hotsy-totsy stretch nylon shirts, Lisa got a chenille scarf, and my mom got something, but I forget what. Then back to the room for more snacks, and off to the spa again!
Lisa had a Swedish massage, which I'm sure was very nice. But, wowee, did I love what I did! It was my best thing all weekend. I had the SPI Signature Treatment. First, the nice lady schmeared my entire body with some kind of coarse sea salt wax suspension. Then (this is the best part of the best part), I got into the shower. The Swedish shower. Imagine this: you're kind of blissed out, in a semi-dark room with some New Agey music piped in, and you get into the shower, which is basically six fire hoses shooting hot water at you. I so did not want to get out. But get out I did, back onto my heated table, where the nice lady then schmeared me with mud stuff, wrapped me in a mylar blanket, put some kind of feel-good tingly oil and a shower cap on my head, and left me to cook in my own juices.
It was at some point during this cooking process that I had my joyful epiphany: I was going to have to get back into the shower!
The lady came back, unwrapped me, and back into the shower I went. Five minutes? Twenty five minutes? Somewhere in between, I guess. I got schmeared once more, with moisturizer, and was done. I dressed and headed languidly back to the room.
We got sold out of the movie that night, which was probably just as well, since it was the one that really no one wanted to see, because we couldn't agree on a good one, so we went for dinner. We ended up at a charming little Vietnamese/Thai place, where we shared a bunch of stuff, rolled our eyes at the goofball waitress, and headed in for the night. The nice desk boy lit us another fire.
As you might expect, we were all asleep very very early.
As you also might expect, we were awake the next day very very early. We read the Times and went grubby to breakfast. Bluberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and lots of coffee for me. Lox and bagel for mom. More eggs and multigrain toast for Lisa.
A slow time getting packed and dressed, happily watching CBS Sunday Morning, my very favorite show of the week, which I rarely get to view uninterrupted, if at all. Then back down to the spa.
Manicure, pedicure, brow shaping, and bikini wax. "Brazilian"? she asked. "No," I said, "but it's ok to be a little, you know, enthusiastic." Note to you all: don't do that.
And that is the story of my weekend.
Happy Birthday, Mom! Thanks for the vacation.
See the woman on the right? if I knew anything about Photoshop, I would have stuck my face on her body and then uploaded the image to this entry. But I don't so you'll have to use your imaginations.
At noon, I leave my humdrum life here in sub-rural-urbia for 48 hours of complete decadence...my sister and I are joining my mom in celebrating her recent 60th birthday at The Inn at Saybrook Point on the Connecticut shore.
Plans include facials, salt scrubs, seaweed wraps, scalp treatments (whatever the hell that is), manicures, pedicures, waxing...the works. One dinner in the dining room, one dinner in the room, enjoying the patés, cheeses, and other assorted yummies I picked up this week. And some of the wine I hauled back from California this summer. Yoga class, reading, maybe a dvd if we get around to it.
No children. No housework. No nothing.
Lisa's bringing her laptop, so I may check in to gloat, but don't fret too much if you don't hear from me for a couple of days. I'll be busy not being busy.
To celebrate the new furniture, we had a fire in the fireplace last night. Nice.
This morning, I asked Lisa to please close the flue. But something hinky happened and, next thing I knew, she was calling me over because the flat panel that is the actual flue had somehow come loose from the hole that it blocks and was threatening to drop into the fireplace itself. Much swearing and contorting ensued as Lisa held the flashlight and I squeezed myself into the fireplace and used both hands to somehow angle the stupid thing back into place.
I knew I was getting dirty, but what can you do? I was just bummed because I had already showered and put on makeup.
When we were done, I looked like a chimney sweep. I washed my hands like a surgeon, and came upstairs. A little while later, i said, "That's odd. I know I washed my hands." But they were dirty. So I washed again. A bit after that, I said to my mom, "My hair feels so funny. But I don't think I forgot to rinse my conditioner out." Then I looked at my hands, which were magically filthy again. And I realized that it was not Silk Groom that was making my hair stick out like that...it was ash and creosote and smoke and grease.
Not such a beautiful look.
Let's just say that I am back in a bathroom.
Did I ever tell you all about the best present I ever got Emily? Cost about $50 bucks total, which is not an inconsiderable amount of money but, compared to what weve spent on some junk that she barely sniffed at, it's not so bad.
Anyway, one day I made my way to Michael's, the craft supply homeland, and I bought a big plastic storage tub. Then I filled it with what around here are known as "glueables"...you know, feathers, pompoms, pipe cleaners, googly eyes, foam shapes, etc. I got some glitter glue, some magnet tape, some papier maché boxes...all kinds of stuff.
This stuff keeps her busy for hours. Hours. You're bored? Go get the craft box and make a birthday card for Papa!
Just a little something for those of you with small people on your lists to keep in mind as the holidays approach.
We're getting the carpets shampooed today, in preparation for the delivery of the new family room furniture on Thursday. Wonder why? Wonder no more. Between the kids and the dog, it's really quite imperative.
But Terry, you ask...what did you do with all that stuff?? And, in response, I answer:
Julie has thrown down the gauntlet and started the discussion of the holiday baking. Never one to let a challenge, even a totally imagined one, go unmet, I offer these lists:
already in the freezer:
still to come, all or some of the following, based on mood, free time, and the price of butter:
I'm planning a trip to Big Lots in the coming weeks for a couple of dozen plates to put them on, as I give them to the teachers, garbage men, etc. Between family, friends, and holiday thank you gifts, I've got a list of about two dozen names.
Really, this could end up anywhere. Watch for photos and more lists in the weeks to come...
*These all seem just so-so. Fine to the average palate...not perfect to mine. We'll see if they make the final cut. This is as much about trying new recipes as anything, I figure.
Everyone has a guilty pleasure. When it comes to reading, mine isn't anything as obvious as romance novels, it's a little genre that I'll call YaYa Wannabes. Novels by women, about women, for women. When these novels succeed, they are The Bean Trees or even The Secret Life of Bees. When they don't, they are everything by Fannie Flagg except Fried Green Tomatoes and the entire oeuvre of Lorna Landvik, one of my personal favorites.
So, today at the library, I was thrilled to see a new book by Ms. Landvik, this one with the catchy title of Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons. Only this particular copy was the large-print version. I was tempted to check it out, because words are words, after all, but I figured I'd leave it there for someone who really needed it. I contented myself by placing a hold on the regular copy and snatching up the new Peter Straub novel (see the link in the right hand column).
Wish me luck with that one, because, if I'm not done in 7 days, I owe a $1/day fine, and I'm hanging out here instead of reading.
Remember when Emily called the babysitter "stupid"? Part of her punishment was to write a letter of apology. When she showed it to me on Sunday, it was all I could do not to come running up here to scan it right then and there.
There's a bit of a debate going on in my head right now.
On one shoulder, the devil says "Go ahead! You could WIN 50 POUNDS OF LOBSTER!
On the other shoulder, the angel is reminding me that it's all a big scammer's ploy, and I will be innundated with junk mail for the rest of my life.
I know she's right, and yet I am tempted. Oh, how I am tempted.
A big expensive prize (well, really just the glory) to the best caption for this picture. After you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine, and then we can all decide together.
Four things with nowhere else to go:
1. Please everyone, notice Julie's new banner. It's rather stunning.
2. I heard the best new phrase ever tonight. one person was posting to another, joking and teasing, essentially calling her a pussy, and then told her that she'd better "cowboy the fuck up" if she wants to cut it in this world. Isn't that great? I am going to have to try to work that into my repertoire whenever possible. At least for the next two or three weeks.
3. Sam took me for an autumn sunset cruise in his fancy schmancy BMW convertible tonight, thereby reinforcing my 50 year plan to someday drive a cool car. For a car like that, I'd even learn to drive a stick.
4. Emily went nuts tonight and called the babysitter "stupid." Anyone wants a piece of her, come on by tomorrow morning around 8. She'll be in the stockade around then. Bring your own rotten vegetables.
For the first time in about 72 hours, Jonah and I have nowhere to bo, no one to meet, and nothing to do but clean the house and maybe bake. It is a lazy day around here*.
Jonah slept until 10:30, and I only bathed him because he asked me to. Well, and he was starting to smell a little fun-kay.
*note the glazed stare at the Teletubbies.
Here is today's Fifty Dollar Purchase I Don't Need to Make:
With this nifty piece of software, you can use your handy-dandy Palm Pilot to take care of such vital and impossible-to-handle-on-your-own-with-a-piece-of-paper-and-a-pen tasks as:
and, best of all,
Every once in a while comes a story in the news that just makes me shake my head and go "huh." The big flashy stories, like Lacy Peterson and the California recall hold my attention, but these smaller ones blow my mind.
Like, for example, the story in today's news about a man charged with impersonating a doctor. It seems that the gentleman in question castrated a transgendered woman, at her request, causing massive blood loss and a host of other problems. But here's the thing...He did the surgery on her dining room table.
And I'm reading this thinking, how holy-fucking-mother-of-god flat out stupid can a person be? Like, hey, Renée Richards...news flash! Most surgeons come with tables of their own. If he asks you to bring the leaves up from the basement while he's washing in the downstairs john, something just ain't right.
top to bottom: Honey Pecan Bars, Cranberry White Chocolate Chip Drops with Pecans, and Mini Pumpkin Cheesecake Tarts
Well, the Big Yom Kippur Dinner Party is history. All went well, except for the moment that I used the word "tits," referring to my own, not realizing that someone's 13-year old son was in the room.
Anyone for dessert?
My mom's 60th birthday is next week and, truthfully, Lisa and I have not yet decided what to get her. For the record, in case my mother is reading this, it's entirely Lisa's fault. The conversations, like so many I've had with Lisa in my lifetime, go like this:
Me: How about this?
Her: No.
Me: How about this?
Her: No.
Me: How about this?
Her: No.
Me: Well then, what?
Her: I don't know.
At this rate, I'm going to give my mother Lisa's head, wrapped in a box, like Gwyneth Paltrow's at the end of Se7en. No, no spoiler. If you haven't seen it by now, tough crap.
Anyway, now I'm thinking we should get her one of these. The fancy one, of course. Perfect for the woman who's already bought anything it's occurred to her to want, don't you think?
From this week's issue
of the New Yorker,
some 21st Century
books for kids.
Click the cartoon
for a bigger image.
I hear she's going to be all the rage at the holidays in Utah this year, despite the fact that she's clearly a Glamour don't.
Check out the new Emma Smith Barbie.
This week, Sunday and Monday are Yom Kippur.
Weeks and weeks ago, we made plans with our friends David and Mary to come over on Monday and break the fast. No big deal. 4 adults, 5 kids.
Then Karen mentioned that they had no plans because Bob's family doesn't really do that. Ok. 6 adults, 7 kids.
Then I went out with Janna, whose family we haven't seen in ages. 8 adults, 9 kids.
Then I felt guilty because I know that Ann and Kevin have no family in the area and not too many Jewish friends handy. 10 adults, 12 kids.
Then it seemed kind of out of control, so we hired a couple of youngish sitters to work cheap and keep the kids amused. 10 adults, 14 kids.
The good news is that it's Yom Kippur, and the food is easy-peasy...
Of course, the mimosas will be flowing. They'll have to be.
