Raising the Bar, Breaking the Bench

Breaking the Bench?  What?

I’ve been thinking about blogging lately. Thinking, but not doing.

Aside:  Blogging is a very modern word….and honestly, it sounds weird.  Nonsensical, Dr. Seuss-ish (or Dr. Who-ish) .  I wonder about its longevity, wonder if it might be even more transient  than “caboose”.  My children didn’t know “caboose” til we explained it to them, and as we did, I watched their eyes become distant and uncomprehending, and I felt myself once again regarded as a relic for knowing the word.  These same children, a few years younger, were actually surprised that peanut butter existed before I did, and once, one of my very young ones innocently asked me that great childhood cliche’:  Were dinosaurs alive when I was little?  Well of course, I told her. They still are, even now.  Behold the Rooster, aka Tyrannosaurus UnRex.  And  he likes peanut butter too.

Anyway, thinking about blogging, and how recently I haven’t, and feeling sort of distressed by that, but coming up totally blank when I considered actually writing something,  I reviewed my reasons for blogging (how New Yearly of me).  My ambitions and fantasies, and how they were still just that…ambitions and fantasies.  The realities of blogging have surprised me, often in pleasant ways…but in the end, as I reflected, I realized that I was no closer…not at all…to obtaining my more glamorous blogging dreams this year than I was last year.  Perhaps I’d even lost ground.  And thinking of anything to write seemed impossible, though I had promised to share much in the recent past. [continue reading…]

Home For Christmas, Dearly Beloveds, and A Nearly Dead Tangent at Year’s End (Ring Out, Wild Bells)

Well, Merry Christmas!  I know it’s late.  Actually, I know it’s pretty much over….But that’s ok.  Really.  In an obscure way, my belated holiday wishes sung in a deserted room might be stylishly edgy, like a minimalist independent movie  shot in a coat factory’s janitorial closet.  There might be meaning here, in my solitary, almost irrelevant words.  Truth.  Hope.  A narrow beacon of light. Possibly.  Probably not though.

And yet, I insist…Merry Christmas!  And I hope you (God Bless You, Every One) were all home for Christmas, in the best, warmest, happiest sense of the phrase. [continue reading…]

Happy Holidays!

Holiday Greetings,  Dearly Beloveds!  If Any Remain (Bon Jour,  Remains of the Day).  Let The Merry Bells Keep Ringing, Both for the Season, and also

Because  I am MOSTLY DONE  Making My House Pretty !!

(Mostly Done, as opposed to Miracle Max’s Mostly Dead— a grievous, less animated, almost-but- not-quite hopeless state).  At last,

I Can With Unabashed and Ebullient Narcissism Show Off My Life’s Work!

(ok, the work I’ve been up to the last couple of months).  Beginning (appropriately) with “The Hall of Days”.

House For Sale, and The Hall of Days

[continue reading…]

I was running with Mimsy in the wold yesterday

when today’s post title occurred to me.  Of course I was thinking in terms of  yesterday’s post, current to the modern moment that I dwelt in.  But I didn’t write it yesterday.  I’m writing today.  Actually, I could write it yesterday, with WordPress.  Write today and post yesterday.

So did you notice “wold” back there, at the beginning?  Doesn’t everyone long to drop “wold” into their everyday speakage?  Wold.  Wold wold wold.  Kind of like toe, when you say it over and over…it loses meaning, becomes nonsensical.  Which I know I’m not the first to notice.  Wold at first, though, sudden and unexpected!  Ah!  It is really lovely.  I might have been exaggerating when I used it, initially.  Thinking higher thoughts.  I’m a lowlander and travel in lowland settings; yesterday’s run  with Mimsy would have been a little more…in the fen.  Still  Always, always,  the bald, craggy face of Ben Lomond (Rocky Mountain, y’all) squints his granite eyes against the westward sun in the near distance.  So that yesterday I was sort of, yeah, running in the fen, beneath the wold.  With Mimsy. [continue reading…]

For Lack Of Better Words, it is Time For Apologies. And Confessions.

Dearly Beloveds (those of you who hold our connection, or my words or pictures anyway, in High Enough Regard to check in occasionally, and have been more or less  disappointed by the lack of anything new):  I offer my humble and slightly embarrassed apologies. And since I can’t leave well enough alone with apologies, I will also make an attempt at crafting a confession. Because of course confessions are always much more entertaining than apologies. [continue reading…]

The Gilded Branch, 3300 S 2300 E, Salt Lake (Holladay)

Elaine is my Thelma and Louise compadre. She is also my Longtime culinary (Sunday dinner) cohort and child rearing sympathizer. If you don’t know her, you should. She is many things to many people. She’s Memorable.  Distinct. And clearly, definitely a Maven.  Elaine is opening a one-of-a-kind gift boutique in Holladay, UT.  The Gilded Branch.  Right next to Silver Star Hardware on 3300.  When Elaine takes on a project, she does it Big.  It’s always Momentous.  A week and a half ago I had a sneak peek at some of her treasures.   Sweaters and jewelry, trendy but not faddish.  Christmas decorations handmade with antique ornaments.  Halloween decorations handmade with humor.  Artisan candy, gourmet cookies.  Good, possibly obscure books (Elaine could start her own Oprah Book Club, but of course it wouldn’t be Oprah it would be Elaine).   Silver Star’s facebook page has a picture of Elaine’s purse wall…candy bright colors falling confetti-like over one another.  No excessive bling, just pert, saturated color.  I understand there’s a creative display of colorful jeans (I think they’re on a ladder?).  Elaine’s taste is a local urban legend;  she’s a highly sought after consultant/contractor for renovations and new home design, not only in the Salt Lake area, but clear up into the Tri City area in Washington.   Her own homes (I’ve been friends with Elaine through five of them) are always beautiful, always classy, always warm and inviting.  There is no question in my mind that her boutique will be full of worthwhile finds. [continue reading…]

Remember Requiem?  Song of The Dead?  Or For The Dead…or was it…. By The Dead?

Well, anyway.  Summer’s over.  I mean really, really over.  Perhaps an autumn day (or several) will emerge from its frosty morning almost balmy, almost summery, but it will be esteemed by its more frigid sisters as a freak.  And will be forced to stand alone.  A lone, lonely loner.

The backyard zinnias are brown.  Dead.  The pumpkin vines are withered black/brown, dead.  Even the pumpkins are frostbitten.    Summer is gone.  And because I loved it, I (even though I’m not dead) will sing a wistful farewell to it.  In a dress.  Gray (not grey)… perfect for a summer requiem. [continue reading…]