Thursday, June 30, 2011

My Father AKA Superman

My Papa has a problem.  He thinks he's superman.  No matter how old I get, he's constantly trying to fly to my rescue, fixing this, buying me that.  (This is not a complaint!)  I think I know why...I'm encouraging the problem.  This Father's Day, I was about to dash out of the driveway with my babies, but my car wouldn't start.  My hubby was out of town, so I did what any rational Polish girl would her Papa.  He was there, of course, and had lots to say about the car.  Even though the stroke of repairing genius came from my Mom, somehow he managed to get the credit for it.  Maybe because it was Father's Day, maybe because we all feel sorry for him because he looks so weird from chemo couldn't be that...he looked weird before chemo.  I think it's because he often is the superhero in my life.  Some things never change.  My Dad will always lose his glasses, he'll always scare the person sitting by him at dinner with his wild hand movements, he'll always have a hankering for disgusting onion sandwiches, he'll always drive away with his coffee cup on top of his car...and he'll always be superman.  As part of their driver's education, I'm going to teach my daughters how to dial his phone number.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Words of Wisdom From a Favorite Prez...

photo courtesy of Wikipedia

"One way to make sure crime doesn't pay would be to let the government run it."

--Ronald Reagan

Ever read his autobiography?  It's great.  It's fun and interesting, and brings tears to my hubby's eyes.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Word of the Week, Spanish edition

Translating can be a tricky business.  There are so many cultural idioms that we as Americans just don't get, so when the words are translated, they make no sense.  Some do strike a chord more than others, though.  My incredibly smart, almost Dr.,  Spanish teacher brother told me this interesting translation. 

Do you know what the Spanish word for 'handcuffs' is?

It is esposas.

Do you know what else esposas means?  Wives.  Yup.  Apparently in the Spanish speaking world, getting married to a woman is the symbolic equivolent to handcuffing yourself.  I'm sure no man in our culture would think that way... especially not my hubby....right?

No sentences this week...too busy eating el chocolate.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Ellen Bartelle, Woman of Mystery, Part 2

It was a dark and stormy morning.  Ellen quickly closed her pink lip print umbrella and placed it in the rack in front of the school.  She walked through the tiled hallway, her shoes squeaking with each step.  So much for creeping through.  As she passed each classroom, some junior high student or other looked up at her.  She took the stairs up three full flights to the school storage area.  She had discovered this nook during her high school years.  She would occasionally sneak off to read Nancy Drew novels instead of attending Geometry class.  Rounding the corner, she neared the banged up lockers.  She ran her hand over each locker as she passed, just as she used to do in high school, listening to the ping as she passed from one door to the next.  Aah, number 231, her last locker number.  She spun out the combination and opened the door, reaching a hand up to the shelf.  Ellen smiled; the mayor had brought her supplies and initial payment.  She closed the locker door with a clang and squeaked her way back down the stairs.  She tried to imagine the billious mayor hiking the three flights up here with the $100, Godiva bar, and Fit for Life admittance badge.  Did he come himself or send some poorly paid government lackey to make the trek?

Ellen was leaving the junior high wing, nearing the front door when she glanced toward the school offices.  Sensing the presence of someone, she paused and glanced toward the vice principal's office.  There he was...just as she always remembered him from junior high days gone by.  He was tall, with curly dark hair that spilled a little down his forehead despite efforts to tame it.  Their eyes locked for a moment; her hand instinctively touched her fanny pack.  She could feel the color coming to her face and she looked down in embarrasment.  He spoke quickly to his secretary, then began walking toward her with purpose.  She began her escape, squeaking out the heavy school doors.  She immediately located and grabbed her umbrella...this was why it always paid to have a unique pattern.  She fled, without opening it and the vice principal stood at the doors watching her run through the rain, fanny pack bouncing with each stride.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

More Chocolate...

I found this yesterday and I thought it was true-to-life enough to post...

Have a decadent weekend!

Friday, June 24, 2011

To my other true love...

(It seems that some of my blogging friends have needed this too, come to think of it!)

                                you so
                                  in the
of your

--Arnold Adoff

No, I didn't mess up typing.  It's actually written in this strange e.e.cummings-esque jumble.  Doesn't it make you feel smart to read it, though?  Hungry, too, .

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Victorian Ladies

Don't you think Victorian pictures really celebrate womanhood?  I have tricked my mind into thinking that my world really looks like this.  Look at that lovely gate!  I want to put one of those in my garden some year or other.  Then my yard will look like this.

Me at my blogging efforts.  Serene as always (cough, sniff, sigh).

Me on Sundays.

And of course my three angelic babies, who smile like this all day long...
                                               Scott's hair isn't really that long, though.

Then there is what I look like in the late afternoons after a vigorous round of weeding my lovely garden. 

All my efforts haven't been in vain.  My house is now fit for Queen Victoria herself.

****Editor's Note:  This was a minorly sarcastic post.  I may save the real pictures of me doing these activities for posting around Halloween, so brace yourself.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Cyrano de Bergerac, Master of Description

 If ever there was a vocabulary superstar, it was the character Cyrano de Bergerac from the play...Cyrano de Bergerac.  (Very creative title, what?).  His nose description is downright inspiring!  Let's take a lesson from a professional as did the Vicomte who is just about ready to be out-fenced.  An ineloquent insult is the most unpardonable affront.

"Vicomte de Valvert: Monsieur, your nose... your nose is rather large.
Cyrano de Bergerac: Rather?
Vicomte de Valvert: Oh, well...
Cyrano de Bergerac: Is that all?
Vicomte de Valvert: Well of course...
Cyrano de Bergerac: Oh, no, young sir. You are too simple. Why, you might have said a great many things. Why waste your opportunity? For example, thus: AGGRESSIVE: I assert that if that nose were mine, I'd have it amputated on the spot. PRACTICAL: How do you drink with such a nose? You must have had a cup made especially. DESCRIPTIVE: 'Tis a rock, a crag, a cape! A cape? Say rather, a peninsula! INQUISITIVE: What is that recepticle? A razor case or a portfolio? KINDLY: Ah, do you love the little birds so much that when they come to see you, you give them this to perch on. CAUTIOUS: Take care! A weight like that might make you top-heavy. ELOQUENT: When it blows, the typhoon howls, and the clouds darken! DRAMATIC: When it bleeds, the Red Sea. SIMPLE: When do they unveil the monument? MILITARY: Beware, a secret weapon. ENTERPRISING: What a sign for some perfumer! RESPECTFUL: Sir, I recognize in you a man of parts. A man of... prominence! Or, LITERARY: Was this the nose that launched a thousand ships? These, my dear sir, are things you might have said, had you some tinge of letters or of wit to color your discourse. But wit? Not so, you never had an atom... 
Vicomte de Valvert: Insolent puppy, dolt, bunpkin, fool!
Cyrano de Bergerac: How do you do? And I, Cyrano Savinien Hercule de Bergerac.
I think this blog falls somewhere between descriptive and literary.  Cyrano is a Crazy Creative Magazine contributor of note!

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Word of the Week

This week's word is in honor of Garrison Keillor and his radio program, A Prairie Home Companion.  We used to tune in on Sunday afternoons or evenings for as long as our reception would last out in the middle of nowhere.  I wonder if Lake Woebegone is a real place?

woebegone: [woh-bi-gawn, -gonadj.  beset with woe; affected by woe, especially in appearance.

Does it strike anyone else as odd that a word composed of the three words woe, be, gone, means beset with woe.  You'd think it would mean carefree or something.  Oh well.  So anyway, the sentences...

Stella found it hard to hide the fact she was fasting from chocolate; she was perpetually seen with a woebegone expression, walking past the Hershey section of the grocery store.


He was a zarf, she was woebegone...they were perfect for each other.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Ellen Bartelle, Woman of Mystery, Part 1

It was a dark and stormy night, but then it usually was in Seattle.  Ellen Bartelle sat alone in a deserted ice cream shop.  She was moodily slurping her usual double dark chocolate peanut butter malted milk shake with whipped cream, absentmindedly glancing toward the street every moment or two.  She took another slurp and fought the urge to belch.  She began rummaging through her fanny pack for her Tums bottle.  After digging around for a while, she began the inevitable unloading of her belongings onto the table in order to locate her missing meds.  She smelled the cigar smoke before she saw it.  She looked up, just as she laid her hand on the bottle of antacids.

"I thought I'd find you here," the large man said, eyeing the unfortunate placement of the feminine product on the table.  Her free hand shot forth like a missile, retreiving the object; they mutually denied that it happened.

"Well, you've come to the right place then,"  Ellen said in dark tones.  She saved her dark tones voice for business, as it inspired client confidence.  She continued, "I thought you said 8:00...I was just about to leave."

The fat man was perturbed.  He snipped, "Well, if you carried a cell phone like any normal business person I could have called you to let you know I'd be late.  I've told you and told you that over and over again and again!"

Ellen was not put off.  It was for safety reasons that she didn't carry a cell phone.  She didn't want her mother calling her when she was on a case.  There's nothing more awkward than spying on someone when your mother keeps calling you to ask why you didn't make your bed this morning.  She looked again into his pimpled, zarf-like face.  It was hard to keep looking at him full on, but she knew eye contact was keenly important when dealing with a man of his magnitude.  She slowly intoned, "What kind of business do you have for me today, Mayor?"

His green, piggish eyes darted about, looking for someone to overhear.  The ice cream store owner had gone to the back to mop up, and like I said before, the shop was deserted.  He hastily extinguished his cigar on the table, "I thought I told you and told you not to call me that in public!"  Ellen's brown eyes snapped with excitement, but she kept her demeanor calm.  He was like butter in her a whole lot of butter.

He exhaled violently, his alliaceous breath filling the too small void between them.  Ellen knew better than to back was a sign of weakness.  She swallowed hard, trying to keep her eyes from crossing.  He began again, "I've called you here today because I need your help.  Someone has been embezzling money from my non-profit organization and I can't find out who it is.  And yesterday this was taped to my office door."  He flung a piece of notebook paper forward for her inspection.  She noted the ultra neat cursive writing and the small red smudge at the bottom left.  The mayor continued, "Will you help me, Ellen?  If I can't find out who is stealing from the organization quickly, the note says he'll go public with the photos from last year's Manwich competition.  That would be know how I've gone on the record against meats with nitrates!  If the people of Seattle see me eating that footlong, my career will be over!"  He was waving his arms dramatically and the sweat was beginning to dribble down his bulging cheek.

"I'll help you...for my usual fee.  I'll need this note and an access card to the Fit for Life building."

His plump face broke into a grateful smile and he thanked her again.  The irony of the mayor's fitness organization struck Ellen anew as he pushed the overtaxed chair from the small circular table.  She began to reload her fanny pack to make her exit.  Unfortunately it took longer than she anticipated, so the drama was quenched.   She finally finished, scooped up the remainder of her shake and began to walk out.  At the door she paused, turned to the fat man, and repeated, "my usual fee."  He nodded and she left, using her signature umbrella...light pink with lip prints all over.  She was relieved.  She had new business, she was away from that breath, and she could finally eat her Tums.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Cute but Sad

My daughter Cara had a cute but sad quote this week.  We saw a small baby and she looked at me and said, "Mom, I wish Allie was a baby again."  So sweet and innocent, but timing is everything.  Today my baby turns 1.  I can't believe it!  Even her siblings don't think she's a baby anymore!  Looking at her now, crawling, standing, playing, talking, it's hard to see the tiny innocent helpless bundle we brought home just one short year ago.  Time goes by too quickly!  Happy Birthday to my sweet little one, the gentlest, happiest, easiest baby I've ever met.

My heart hurts today!  She's almost one of the big kids...

Friday, June 17, 2011

A Real Life Mommy Love Poem

And thus my love grows and grows...

I know you little, I love you lots,
My love for you would fill ten pots,
Fifteen buckets, sixteen cans,
Three teacups, and four dishpans.

Anonymous, you must have been a woman to understand that true love is washing his dishes!

****Editor's Note:  Anonymous is now an official Crazy Creative Magazine contributor.  Read more on our "Meet the Contributors" page located somewhere over there on the left.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

An Arbitrary Sports Fan

I'm an arbitrary sort of sports enthusiast.  I choose my favorite NASCAR drivers based solely on the type of chocolate he supports.  My favorite baseball player is the one whose Mother's Day interview had the most grateful, tear-jerking, over the top sentimentality.  (You're a good boy, Brandon Phillips, we love you, too!).  I've chosen favorite teams based solely on color combinations many a time, and secretly, I'm proud of my hubby for choosing a favorite college football team with such a nice color palate.  Coordination of limb may be his criteria, but coordination of colors speaks more often to me!  It's impossible for me to be a true enthusiast, but the little things are truly fascinating to me.  Hockey is all about the names and spotting missing teeth, of course.  Golf is interesting for the ridiculous tear-jerker sob stories they always have, complete with orchestrations.  Is golf for the emotional guys to watch?  Maybe.  I have to say, it would be more intriguing if they had a big Reese's cup plastered on their polos.   Oh yes, it's also very fun to listen to baseball or basketball just to make fun of the very unimaginative commenting of its commentators.  Do they really pay these guys to make these observations?  Knowing as little as I do about sports, I could come up with comments such as, "He just needs to carry the ball" or "what they need to do is concentrate on defense" when a team is being soundly thrashed.  It's the little things that bring joy...

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Word of the Week

Here's an intriguing word I had never heard or read before.  It really has some flair.  Try to work it into your dinner conversation tonight to impress your children.

zarf: [zarf] an ugly or repellant male.

I'm so relieved that no one can call me a zarf!

Here are some sample sentences:

"Her blind date was a definite dissapointment; Gregory had been a complete zarf."

"Because of the alliaceous breath,  pock-marked complexion, and  neanderthal hair, the science professor had a definite zarf-like quality about him."

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

A Real Life Love Story

Can I tell you something?  I'm the heroine in a real life love story.  Today marks eight years living with the man of my dreams.    We've been traveling life, mile by mile, through thick and thin (that was a subtle nod toward pregnancy pounds!), through ease and hardship, always with joy and togetherness.

I used to think true love was like parallel lines.  You were always together, side by side, never wavering, never veering away from each other.  The longer I'm married, though, I realize that true love is always changing.  We aren't parallel, we're two different lines, with our own angles that are nearing closer and closer together, until one day, I think we will touch.  You never think you can love each other as much as the day you get married, but the truth is, a good marriage teaches you to love and appreciate each other even more every year.

My Andy means everything to me.  His love has not only charmed my emotions, it has made me a more complete person.  He has given me three beautiful children and has sacrificed so I could stay home with them.  He's made my most secret dreams come true.  Being married to me can be backbreaking work sometimes.  No, I'm serious actually...we're waiting for a neurosurgeon to call as I write this! 

Love changes us.  It grows us in so many ways, and yet the essence of who we are remains the same.  My true love accepts me, quirks and all, through the days of unknown ahead.  My real love story is for the long haul, but makes the haul seem too short. 

I love you, Andy, my husband, my friend, my hero!  Happy Anniversary to us!

Monday, June 13, 2011

So Cute, Yet So Hazardous...

It's been a while since it's happened to me.  I'd forgotten.  My daughter took a happy bite of baby oatmeal cereal and applesauce combo.  She was so excited about it!  She wiggled, she flapped her hands, I smiled, then...

                      ...... she  SNEEZED!  .....

Splats of applesauce/oatmeal/something else that I'm too polite to write spewed forth and adorned my face, hair, and fresh change of clothes.  This is why there is a day dedicated to Mothers.  I need a bath...

Friday, June 10, 2011

Ode To An Extinct Dinosaur

I'm not quite sure why, but this poem makes me giggle. 

Ode To An Extinct Dinosaur
by Doug MacLeod

Iguanodon, I loved you,
With all your spiky scales,
Your massive jaws,
Impressive claws
And teeth like horseshoe nails.

Iguanodon, I loved you.
It moved me close to tears
When first I read
That you've been dead
For ninety million years.

****Editor's note:  Crazy Creative Magazine does not endorse evolution just because this poem is here, so just chill out, would you?

Thursday, June 9, 2011

The Saga of Stinky Beauty: A Hygenic Fairytale

****Editor's note:  This is a family favorite dedicated to our lovely princess, Cara.

Once upon a time, in a land far away there was a beautiful princess who lived in a tall and glorious castle.  She had golden ringlet curls, a lovely, sparkly crown, and twenty-three fancy ball gowns.  She lived an enchanted, privileged life. However, the princess had one shortcoming that thwarted her hopes of a 'happily ever after'.  She hated to take a bath.  She had an enourmous claw-footed bathtub with scented salts and flower petals, but she hated to take a bath.  One day, as a young lady, she decided to stop taking baths.  It was then that the people in the village began to call their beloved princess 'Stinky Beauty'.

There were many handsome princes around in those days, and many wanted a chance to woo the beautiful and wealthy princess.  Winning her hand would be a prize for any young prince, so the palace was regularly full of these hopeful lads, polished in their best attire, wearing the finest stockings, riding the whitest of chargers (not in the palace, though, that was against the rules).  One lucky young prince was talented enough and qualified enough to pass the King's multi-faceted daughter-dating examination.  He was granted an audience with the fair maiden.  The guard opened the door with a strange salute.  In his kingdom, the guards held their hands above the eyebrow, but for some reason the custom here seemed to be over their noses.  He thought this was very curious, indeed.  He walked into the princess's sitting room and gazed on her in wonder.  She was wearing one of her finest silken ball gowns.  She was loveliness indeed!  He skipped lightly to her chair, leaning into a deep bow.  As he anxiously raised his torso to smile at his future bride, a wave of smell came over him.

He paused.  His muscles stiffened, his eyes bulged, his knees knocked, and he uttered, "OOOOh, stinky,stinky, stinky!"  He then made a hasty escape, never to darken her door again.

Another young prince experienced the same acceptance, the same anticipation, the same trek past the oddly saluting guards.  She was wearing pink that day.  He entered the room with a serenade, walking toward the lovely damsel as he sang.  He neared her chair just as he began the chorus, but instead of singing his sweetest song, he took a deep breath.  He paused.  His muscles stiffened, his eyes bulged, his knees knocked, and he sang a soprano rendition of, "OOOOh, stinky, stinky, stinky!" and made his hasty escape.

The princess was worried.  Why had the princes left so swiftly?  She felt a little insulted and anxious.  What if she couldn't get married to the man of her dreams until she was old?  She was already seventeen...time was running out.

She decided to take a walk through the village to clear her mind.  She donned her stunning crown, looked her best in  a gown of burgundy, and meandered through the main street.  For some reason, the commoners who loved her so kept disappearing shortly after she smiled in their direction.  They hid themselves in their homes and buildings and wouldn't do much beyond a curtsey and scurry.  She walked through the rest of the deserted street and saw an old man sitting alone at a chess board.  She sat across from him, appreciating his smiling, not-quite-all-there face.  She did not realize that the man's olfactery skills had been permanently damaged due to the over-ingestion of coffee.

"Kind sir,"  she began.  "I am searcing the village for a wise person to give me some advice."

He nodded and smiled in his half-witted way.

She continued, "I want to marry a handsome prince.  They seem excited to see me, then when they get close they run off and never come back.  Can you help me, my friend of reduced circumstances?".

The man said with his squeaky old voice, "I think Farmer Jenkins got a skunk caught in his wagon again.  It sure does stink, heh?".

This stellar unintentional advice was all the charming girl needed.  She ran to the palace with purpose.  She entered her lovely suite, loaded the bath with salts and flowers and jumped in.  She scrubbed her hair, she scrubbed her body, she brushed her teeth, and especially scrubbed and exfoliated her disgusting man feet.  She dressed with a glow about her, and awaited the arrival of the next fortunate young man.

He came, and saw not a stinky beauty, but a striking beauty.  He cried, "Hot diggity, y'all are the most beautifulerest girl I ever seed!".  He was a prince from the Southern provence of Hill.  His name was William the Younger, but his constituents called him Hill Billy.  And that's where we get the modern English word, of course.  He proposed rapidly, as was the custom in those days.  She accepted and they united the kingdom in sweet smelling harmony.

The moral of this story, my princesses, is to always take care to take a bath.  No beauty can mask a foul smelling foot odor.  Wait, come to think of it, this isn't really a saga, but more of a fable.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Chore Time

It's chore time in our house.  The big kids have several things to do every morning, but my son has a definite favorite.  He LOVES to clear the table.  Do you know why?  Because he loves to eat.  Yes, my never-full, meat-loving little man loves to act as a garbage disposal after eating his breakfast.  He manfully stuffs every last morsel left by Mom or Cara into his already full mouth.  This is gross and shocking, I know.  I'm a terrible Mom to let things like this go on.  The truth is, though, I'm somewhat satisfied with his improvements.  It wasn't too long ago that we'd find him grazing the floors after every meal, the human vaccuum cleaner.  It was kind of like having a dog.  There are times when I worry how on earth I will get him house trained enough to get married some day.  But mostly I wonder how we'll be able to pay our mortgage when he has a teenager appetite.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Word of the Week

In honor of my little one, whom we call Allie...
alliaceous:[al-ee-ey-shuhs]  Characteristic of or resembling garlic.

Resembling garlic?  What resembles garlic other than garlic?


How about this...

"Much to Lucinda's horror, when she peered into the mirror on the morning of her interview, the largest, most alliaceous pimple she had ever seen was staring back."

Or here's another one...

"She would recognize her father-in-law's alliceous breath anywhere."

Anyone out there have another alliaceous suggestion?

Monday, June 6, 2011

My Humble Suggestion for Gitmo...

Forget the waterboarding down at Gitmo, Mr. President.  I say to make terrorists talk, we begin using this...

A good, old-fashioned corset.

This could really solve some national security problems!  Besides the humiliation of wearing pink rosettes and ribbons, the terrorists will develop a mortifying womanly figure.

Can you imagine sweating in the hot Cuban sun in one of these?   Bowing toward Mecca will never be the same.

I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure between wearing a corset and willfully withholding chocolate, I'd blab every bit of information I'd ever come across.

Friday, June 3, 2011

A Poem for My Laundry Pile

Is there a companion so steady, so loyal
   So constant amid life's stress
   As my laundry is to me?

No friend on earth is so unwavering,
   always growing, as the mound
   upon which I dwell so continually.
Who is she that is eternally there?
   Of whom do I think when I rise
   And when I sleep?

She's there, you know, she'll ne'er be gone.
   Waiting to greet the lonely soul.
   My heap and I shall never part.

As sure as the sun and moon and stars,
   as faithful as the waves of the sea.
   My laundry pile won't leave me.

I know I have a friend, an unrelenting friend
   Through life's sorrows and joys
   and cleaning mounds of toys.

I have a fixed companion that ever clings to me.
   A most allegiant and resolute connection,
   That large enbankment of  laundry.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Treacherous Waters, Part 7

Barbara sat gazing dreamily into her mirror as she twirled her blonde curls between her fingers.  She couldn't believe it could be true.  It was actually her last date, er, lesson with Heathcliff.  She sighed, then began to capture the reckless curls into a low bun.  The room began to darken and Barbara moved to the window just in time to see the storm begin.  She opened the window to let the fresh rain scent take over her bedroom.  She sighed again.  The calm rain seemed like a mirror to her as well.  It reflected the sad, steady dread she had about finishing his lessons.  She wasn't sure how it happened, but she loved being with him, loved having a project to work on, loved not having dinner with Jeffrey in front of the big screen television.  She was really going to miss Heath when he began his dating in earnest.  She sighed a third time, then decided to dress.  She chose a pale pink silky blouse and white starched pants.  Heathcliff always liked  a sharp crease.  She paused, returning to the mirror to pin two lovely daisies to her bun.  He had sent them early, knowing her girlish passion for wearing flowers in her hair. 

She was ready when the doorbell rang.  They smiled at each other.  She took the arm he offered her and held it close.  As they drove to the lakeside restaurant, she listened to him, gazed at him, and politely didn't notice the overuse of cologne.  She should have taken out her floral notebook to mark the offense.  After all, this was his final exam and the stakes were high for him, but her heart wasn't in being critical tonight.  She took no joy in jotting down his faults as she once did.  In actuality, he had few faults to notate.  Heathcliff had always been a model student, and he had adjusted himself to fit her model of masculinity with ease.

They had arrived.  He smiled at her and held every door.  He chose this restaurant not only for the elegant seared duck breast specialty, her favorite rare treat, but for the strikingly beautiful view of the lake.  They talked and ate at a leisurely pace and Heathcliff didn't check his watch even one time.  Just as they finished the raspberry truffle cake, the musicians he had hired gathered for a serenade.  It was downright artful.  She began to tear up at the beauty of the moment, and the gentleman took her by the hand.  They stood together as the music began.  She smiled.  She had never thought of herself as a fantastic dancer, but to tango with Heathcliff was enough to make anyone feel like a star.  He was tall, stood up straight, and wasn't socially conscious enough to be embarrased.  It was incredibly fun.  She began to laugh when the other diners applauded.

He suggested a walk along the damp boardwalk now that the drizzle had come to an end.  Naturally, she agreed.  They walked close together, smelling the earthy wetness of the wood beneath them, admiring the smoothness of the lake.  They paused, leaning against a railing, to watch the sun set.  They were quiet as the subtle oranges first kissed the waters of the lake.  In a moment, those waters returned the burning color with fervor.  Barbara turned to Heathcliff.

"Heath," she began softly.  "I think this has been the best date of my entire life."  He looked at her, surprise showing in his eyes.

"You really thought everything was adequate?" he asked as he turned to face her.

She smiled softly. "Absolutely.  Nothing could have been more lovely.  It was romantic, it was thoughtful, it was meaningful, it was..." she stared into his eyes, "perfect.  You are perfect."  She felt defeated for some reason.  She continued, "I have no doubt that you could get any girl to marry you now."  Her tears began their lonesome trail down her blushing cheeks.  She knew it was time to make the final break.

He reached for her hand.  "But, I don't want just any girl.  I want you, my helper, my friend, my love."  She rushed to him, her soft tears dripping onto his shoulder. 

Heathcliff whispered to her, "Barbara, marry me and help me all my days."  She managed to croak out an affirmative answer before the next round of grateful tears began.  He held her happily sniffing the time away.  After a few minutes, while still holding his lovely sweetheart, he began to maneuver his wrist up to eye level.  The sleeve of his tan suit coat covered his watch.  He tenderly extended his arm again, shifting the material free of the watch's face.  He peered with caution, then began to smile broadly, quietly, with Barbara's head still on his shoulder.  He felt supremely satisfied. It was exactly 11:59 pm on May 15.

"I can't believe it!" Heathcliff whispered excitedly.  He was in love...and right on schedule.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

For those of You with a little Fru-fru in your soul...

I have to say, I'm not much of a girlie girl.  Pink and I have been on questionable terms for the past few years, but every now and then, I go back to my little girl roots.  Have you ever seen the artwork of Degas?  Here are a few examples (eat your heart out, Cara!).

 I love the semi-translucency of the skirt in this picture.  Also roses...what woman doesn't love roses?

I think the coloring on this skirt is really interesting.  Looks feathery, doesn't it?  I think it's interesting how much focus and detail he put into the skirt and how little he put into the actual girl.  The contrast really draws your eye.

Eeeek!  I think this one came straight out of my daughter's dream from last night!  Dressing like that would be my worst nightmare, and her greatest delight.

This was actually painted later, but I prefer the depth of the pencil sketch.  I especially like the shading around the shoulders and back...looks so delicate.

I'll occasionally have some more layman's art reviews.  This was my attempt to make my scrub-a-dub Mommy lifestyle a tad more couture.  Sometimes I eat Belgian chocolate, too.

images courtesy of