tollipop

picky petrova

They were talking about her again.  Not that she had actual proof, mind you, but wasn't it a tad suspicious that the minute she went outdoors for her morning constitutional, everyone else in the village made a beeline for the town hall?  Picky shrugged and hunched her shoulders, trudging steadily through the falling snow.  Let them talk 'til they're blue in the face!, she thought, smiling at the idea of Big Smirnov and his goons turning the same color as their uniforms.     

Village life.  What was all the hype about, anyway?  Picky wished she'd thought this one through a bit more judiciously before cashing in all her chips and bidding St. Petersburg adieu.  But that was Picky. Impetuous to the core.  And also, well...picky.  Which is a weird combination, when you think about it.  How many matchmakers had she gone through in the fortnight since she'd rolled into town?  Ten?  Twenty?  Thirty?  Really, she'd lost count.

All she knew was--no one was going to pair her up with that fat, aging butcher no matter how many ancestors came back from the dead to make cameo appearances in her dreams!  And what of the thin, starving tailors, the camp of Prussian soldiers, the hordes of wild-eyed revolutionaries?  Puhlease, would it kill that Yenta to come up with an original candidate?

Perhaps it was asking too much of this cloistered community to visualize, to dream, to think outside the box.  Undoubtedly they'd never seen Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, nor even imagined the possibility of such cinematic paradise to exist, because in all the dismal tea ceremonies she'd endured--and trust me, there'd been a few--no one had brought up the name of Chow Yun Fat even once!

p.s.  The Tollipop print giveaway is still going on!  You can enter by leaving a comment in yesterday's post (below).  This has been so fun and I can see that I am hugely indebted to my sisters for drumming up support.  Thank you for so many kind words and humorous comments!  I'll announce the winner on Friday and allow me to assure you I will be doing this again.  For one thing, I have all three girls maneuvering to see who gets to draw the name...

tollipop print giveaway!

I've always wanted to do one of these...but it's a bit nervewracking considering the entire party hinges on whether anyone shows up, if you know what I'm saying.  And as my husband's out of town at the moment, there's no one here to advise prudence or remind me that possibly only my sister reads this blog on a regular basis. 

So here's how it works: to enter, all you have to do is leave a comment at the bottom of this post.  It doesn't have to be profound--you don't have to quote Goethe, for crying out loud.  Although now that I think of it, you could say just about anything and tell me it's Goethe and I honestly wouldn't know the difference.  Unless you try to pass off something from Gone With the Wind, or The Parent Trap, or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers for that matter.  Then I'll know you're faking!

But I'm side-tracking again.  You seriously don't have to quote anything.  Just say hello and I will add your name to my little jar of raffle tickets.  On Friday, Caroline will stick her pudgy hand into the jar and draw an entrant's name at random.  And the winner may choose a Tollipop print of his/her choice and we can chat via email as to where it should be sent.

Doesn't that sound like fun? 

And just so you can see how pretty these prints look in real life, here are a few photos of some I recently framed for my girls: 

At any rate, you have from now until Friday to leave a comment.  Please do stop by and say hello!  It would be tragically funny if only my sister shows up and starts singing "Bless Her Beautiful Hide" in her lovely soprano.  Not that it would be all bad, mind you--she seriously has an amazing voice.

get me out of this stinking fresh air!

Just kidding, dear reader, I would never say that!  But who can resist the opportunity to quote dear, sweet, precious Vicky--that pluck-faced child bride and her electric hips!

At any rate, my apologies.  I do know how tedious it can be to have someone corner you with a gigantic photo album that requires a fork lift and take you inch by excrutiating inch through their vacation (and if any of my friends are reading this--not you, darling!  I'm talking about someone else altogether!).  That's why I'm breaking this field trip into two posts...so we can pace ourselves!  We've got a long way to go, dear reader.  Let's all remember to stay alert and hydrated.

Just a few more photos.  Here's Izzy looking out to sea, waiting for her ship to come in:

I brought lots of good old fashioned family games for the trip--Scrabble, dominoes, checkers, but when it came time to retire for the evening, my girls straggled in from the woods and said, "Get out the cards, Ma."  Kids being what they are these days, I thought it best to oblige.

The particular game my girls are cutting their teeth on is known as Rook and I like it, not only because it conjures up memories of a bygone era (my childhood of gambling and divination, for starters), but also because the cards come in the prettiest shade of blue and the caption on the box reads: It's only a card game, but I'm feeling an odd chill in the air!  An odd chill--how perfectly delicious!

 

On Saturday we packed up our fishing rods and headed back to civilization.  It was an incredible drive, one which crossed through Zion National Park in places, only there was no toll required because guess what?  Apparently these are the homely views of the park!

  

I know, I know--heinous, right?  I myself thought, at first, that this was some pretty impressive scenery until I found out we didn't have to pay to see it.  Then I realized it must not be such a big deal after all.  Thank goodness for market economics to keep me informed on the true value of things!  How else would I know nothing is more important in this life than a Hollister hoodie??

As usual, I have sidetracked myself beyond repair.  What I wanted to tell you, dear reader, indeed the very reason I made you sit through another boorish post about my vacation in the first place, is that should you ever happen to find yourself in the charming hamlet of St. George, you simply must check out their theatre company Tuacahn.  This is where we attended the production of Les Misérables and it was brilliant!  I can't stand it when I start gushing, and since it's late and I'm tired, trust me--I'll go nuts with the superlatives.  Suffice it to say it was pretty much the most gorgeous experience of my entire life.

Unfortunately I didn't bring my camera to capture the grandeur of the outdoor theatre and in retrospect, it was probably the best decision I've ever made.  No one wants to get accosted by those sweet, elderly ushers, no matter how engaging their smiles!  I bet they can pinch like the dickens.

we're off to the woods today!

I hope we don't meet up with any unsavory characters! 

I'll be back on Monday.  In the meantime, here's to wishing you a lovely week filled with adventures of the good sort.  Thank you so much for visiting this little blog.  It's perfectly swell having you here!

when the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums...

I'm fairly flush with excitement today, dear reader!  Later this week we are heading up to the mountains for a little brush with nature--cool summer evenings, afternoons idled away in a canoe, card games, checkers, exploration.  I hope we catch some frogs. 

We will also be catching a production of Les Misérables.  So this morning I downloaded the musical soundtrack and hashed out the plot with the girls.  And it wasn't ten pages into my narration before I found myself getting all choked up over the part where the priest helps Jean Valjean loot his entire silver collection.  Then I segued into the circumstances of the tragic Fantine and it just got me as if I was hearing it for the first time.  Izzy was all, "Would you like a tissue, Mom?  And by the way, what does out of wedlock mean?"  Unaccording to plan, our conversation spanned a wide array of topics, but the worst part was I could barely go ten seconds without quavering like an aging soprano and breaking flat down, while my girls exchanged glances and Caroline rolled her eyes.

When I got to the part about the revolution, you'd think I was sharing my personal memoirs, for crying out loud.  I built a barricade with the furniture and practically shouted the rest of the story, brandishing my fist in the air for emphasis.  It was pretty stirring, if I do say so myself.  Liberté, égalité, fraternité: I don't know what it is about you three musketeers, but you make my mascara run like a pair of sunny side up eggs.

Side note: remind me sometime to tell you about the miniature, perfectly functional guillotine my older brother constructed when we were kids.  It looked so cute with its matching set of gallows! 

And because I'm under the impression it violates the NAFTA treaty to blog without posting an accompanying photograph, I'll leave you with a visual of something I'm eating nonstop these days.

the antwerp sisters

As debutantes go, the Antwerp sisters were moving a wee pinch in the wrong direction.  Though their governess, a cloth doll named Miss Biddy, constantly admonished them to lower their voices and sit with legs crossed at the ankles, during yesterday's luncheon Meg guzzled her tea so loudly that Millicent laughed and sprayed crumbs everywhere.  It was enough to make you revoke your subscription to Town and Country altogether!

Miss Biddy was simply incensed on the carriage ride home.  "Propriety, girls!  Modesty!  Decorum!," she blustered, "The hopes of a dynasty are pinned on your behavior!"

"Oh Biddy, darling," drawled Meg, "You'll sing me to sleep with that old refrain!  Be a dear and see if Papa has any spirits hidden beneath those cushions." 

Miss Biddy swelled with such indignation that her button eye threatened to pop off.  "Margaret Eloise Antwerp!  I'll come apart at the seams before I see any charge of mine dip into the sauce, especially before the dinner hour!"

"Boring old Biddy," groused Millicent, who followed her older sister's every move. 

It was about this time that the carriage pulled up to the Antwerp house, a palatial spread that no one but Mrs. Antwerp called "Lilac Heights" (though she was relentless in her campaign to make the name stick).  The Antwerps were nouveau riche, darling, which tells you just about everything you need to know. 

Mrs. Antwerp was out on the tennis courts, taking lessons from an instructor named Gustavo.  Which was a funny thing, because only last week Gustavo had been just another gardener tending the maze of lilac bushes that ran rampant over the grounds.  Well, but this was Pittsburgh, darling--no one could deny it was the land of opportunity! 

"Oh, girls!" she called, smiling in a way that took years off her actual age, "Tell me about your luncheon!  Who did you see?  What were they wearing?"

Miss Biddy trudged up the pebbled pathway ahead of the sisters.  She stepped onto the court, hands on her hips, and glared at the new tennis instructor. 

"Now Biddy," said Mrs. Antwerp hastily, "Do be a dear and fetch us some lemonade from Lilac Heights."  She turned to Gustavo and could not suppress a giggle.  "And make it fizzy, will you?" she called back over her shoulder.

It was no use, thought Miss Biddy, as she spun on her heel and marched down the path.  She could no more gentrify the Antwerp sisters than sew a silk purse from a sow's ear, and make no mistake about it! 

The fine line between "want" and "need"...

Continues to narrow as I contemplate purchasing this lovely curiousity from aminyitray...

Dear reader, can't you just think of a thousand and one uses for a tiny seahorse encased in glass?  For starters, it would make me so happy! (...assuming this intricate specimen didn't meet with foul play, mind you).

It's not terribly practical, I admit, nor is it ever likely to be considered the "it" accessory of the season, but I can't help myself from gazing longingly.  

I can't help myself from wanting to be friends.

thank you, english 101

While eating these for breakfast, I thought of the following excellent poem by William Carlos Williams:

This is Just to Say

 

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

 

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast.

 

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold.

 

All I can say is if Roger ever left me a poem like that, he would be so forgiven! 

 

It's a funny thing, the difference between my husband and I when it comes to food...and by "funny" I don't mean "funny"...I'm not really sure what I mean.  I guess you could say my tastes are simpler than his.  This thanks to a childhood of fending off wolves for a meal, while his unfolded against the backdrop of every buffet from here to the end of the Strip.  When I was hungry, I'd take my Fisher Price bow and arrow and bring down a caribou, for crying out loud.  Then, and this is where it gets iffy, I'd make an incision along its belly and climb inside for the winter.  It was close quarters, mind you, but there was always something to eat. 

 

As upbringings go, there's no denying mine was utterly precious and surprisingly well suited to survival in this town.

 

At any rate, what I'm trying to say is, especially in this sweltering heat, I don't really care what I eat.  Sugarplums could pretty much hold me all the live long day.  Roger, on the other hand, has such a penchant for the entire food pyramid!  Which is why on a night like tonight, with him being out of town, I set just two dishes on the table--one laden with steamed broccoli, the other, roasted sweet potatoes. 

 

"Is that everything?," asked Sophie brightly, a bit too brightly.

"Will there be any meat?," ventured Isabella, eyes like Oliver Twist. 

"I don't think so!  Who needs boring old meat anyway?," was my hearty reply.

"Chicken's good!" piped Caroline, who was about ten seconds behind the conversation and hadn't yet processed the dim reality of it all.

 

There was a long pause as the children each mentally composed a journal entry detailing their arduous existence as my daughters.  Finally I could take it no longer and broke the doom and gloom by promising an after-dinner trip to the yogurt shop for all good little vegetarians, which seemed to do the trick quite nicely, indeed.

old red barn co. quilt give-away!

My lovely sister Julianna just informed me that Dana over at Old Red Barn Co. may or may not have lost her marbles because she is giving away the most deliciously scrumptious quilt known to mankind!  And before you say I'm being redundant, you simply must check this out for yourselves.  See what I'm talking about?  It will set hearts racing, guaranteed. 

Also, I am just as delighted to be acquainted with Dana's blog.  It is vivid, charming, filled with lovely words and pictures...I think I really owe my sister for making this happy introduction.

my little red hen

The other day Izzy came into the kitchen and said, "I'm hungry.  What is there to eat?"  I wracked my brain and said, "I'm not sure, exactly."  Then she asked, "Can I make some rice pudding?"  

So I thought about rice pudding--how it's sweet, starchy, refined, and nostalgic--everything I look for when contemplating my children's diet and said, "Go for it." 

She stood there a moment, stunned by the carte blanche so casually bestowed upon her, and asked, "Will you help me?"  But I was pretty much engrossed in my seventieth reading of The Catcher in the Rye and didn't really hear what she said.  So she made it all by herself (and I swear I did not art direct this photo).

When it was done, it looked rather tasty.

So I sidled up to her and said, "Mind if I have a bite?"  And boy, did she give me a scolding!  I've never seen anyone's feathers get so ruffled!  To lighten the mood, I made the mistake of saying, "Who let the fox into this henhouse?," which put her, of course, in a right tizzy.

 

Before long, however, she was at her favorite perch clucking happily over a bowl of warm pudding.  "I'm going to eat this all by myself!," she crowed.  And so she did.  But she quite graciously allowed me my own dish in exchange for a fresh straw ticking and with the understanding that I empty her share of the dishwasher not a day shy of an entire fortnight!