Grey, not gray.   Befitting pretty dresses past.

What is the difference between gray and grey?  A nuance.  A slight shift in temperature or light (I’m totally making this up).  Gray is nice enough…when I was little and worried about the inferiority of my green eyes in a blue eyed family, my dad told me they turned a beautiful gray when the sky was cloudy.  But gray is also sweatshirts and battleships.  In deeper hues, it holds the cold intensity of imminent storm and the Rockies in winter, while grey is evocative and gentle, reminiscent of Austen mist in the north of England (I like to imagine), or Ingrid Bergman, trying to remember.  Fine wool, diffident tweed.  Grey is the color of doves nestling in the eaves of an ancient library, or a Whistler painting.  Grey hints at things vintage, imbues its own patina and romance.

Plus grey is a little wry (think Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant).  Grey works for Maurya’s Winter Ball dance dress.  And dance she did…her date (Jamon), is a very good dancer (his moves include ballroom, Maurya tells me.  Though for some reason he wanted to keep that a secret?). [continue reading…]

The other night I made Cream of Stone Soup, by the seat of my pants.

Have you ever concocted a meal out of thin air?

On a song?  Off the top of your head?  Out of hand and low on supplies?   I cook like that a lot.  Sometimes it’s great, sometimes… not.  It is always an adventure though.  No plan, no recipe–no heels or lipstick.  Just blue jeans and an empty pot.

And an onion.

So, it was after five and I hadn’t even considered dinner options.  And I was facing Hubbard-like cupboards.  But.  Inspired by the Stone Soup story, I’ve learned not to panic.  Plus I love to experiment.  So I quickly took the creative plunge (I have to be fast, or people start foraging and the whole dinner concept disintegrates into disheveled self service stations all over the kitchen).  [continue reading…]

Perhaps you’ve heard?  Saturday is a Special Day.

Here is my very first Saturday Special.  Hope you enjoy the random dapple, and I’ll see you again on Monday!

Early Morning Neighborhood Lamplight.  Welcome.  Hello.  Love morning walks.

Birds on a Wire, later.  Felt so lucky to catch this moment on my morning walk.  A meeting, maybe.  Birds are one of my favorite metaphors. [continue reading…]

Our smallest hen lays eggs the color of unbleached flour.

She is the only chicken in our flock whose name we can remember.

Which is kinda funny, since our flock isn’t even a year old yet.

And we see them (and chat with them) every day.  Why we’ve forgotten all the other’s names, I cannot say.  Maybe because there was never a general consensus on all of the names thrown out there (when our hens were chicks, Nora and Meisha were coming up with new names on a daily basis).  Maybe because we see the hens as a flock rather than as individuals.  And yet, some personalities are definitely distinct, like the buff-red one (is Margaret a good name?) that rushes up and pecks our toes, or the two white ones (leghorns) who are unabashed, intrepid, and  enterprising (in their case, I do agree with Mr. Tweedy; chickens are organized).   Well, I cannot explain it. I just toss names out into the crowd whenever I visit.  Hello, Beatrice!  Hello Beulah!  Gertrude, Jessamine, Agnes.  Oh, there you are, Primrose! [continue reading…]

My daughter, Maurya, asked me to post pictures of some of her past pretty dresses.

She called one day to announce that she is going to a winter formal (imagine a winter formal in Hawaii), and she wanted me to ship “The Cream Satin” from a past formal out to her.  “I looked on your blog but I couldn’t find it anywhere,” she lamented.

I think I understand the lament.  Girls want further proof of their own prettiness.  [continue reading…]

Two ideas I love: originality and thrift.

Both concepts coalesced in a pair of patched jeans.

I bought the jeans for Nora last year at Target.  That’s thrifty, but also a little homogenous.   Not unique (which is ok—after all, the person standing in the jeans is plenty original).  She looked darling in them, and still does…even though initially I bought them a little too big, hoping she’d be able to wear them longer (more thriftiness).  Alas, she wore holes in the knees, just when they began to fit perfectly.  Which shouldn’t surprise me–at least half of her playtime is spent living (galloping, pouncing, slithering, stalking) on her knees.  There is lots of knee time in Wonderland.  Which isn’t thrifty so much as it is delightfully free spirited.  You might say…. original.  I just had to point that out.  That sweet connection.   Back to the jeans—

[continue reading…]

Let’s talk about milkweed.   I choose it today as my tribute to Thanksgiving.

A favorite plant,  a favorite metaphor, and a favorite decorating element,

showy milkweed (Asclepias speciosa- aka butterfly weed) grows wild here in Northern Utah.  Wildflower, or weed?  Not sure; I should look it up.  I’m actually more in favor of its being a weed (let’s just call it that, then), with the same disposition towards immortality (or at least self perpetuation) that is native to all other weeds.  The more the merrier! [continue reading…]