the ugly earring

ug‧ly [uhg-lee] offensive to the sense of beauty; displeasing in appearance

Month: December, 2009

stolen

“Everyone has talent at twenty-five. The difficulty is to have it at fifty.”

~Edgar Degas

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He didn’t come out of my belly, but my God, I’ve made his bones, because I’ve attended to every meal, and how he sleeps, and the fact that he swims like a fish because I took him to the ocean. I’m so proud of all those things.

~John Lennon

fatherly advice

“Hippies are so phoney and fake.”

~george harrison


and then it shifted

In Fleetwood Mac, Christine and Stevie are like the Dashwood sisters in Jane Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility,” although not in the way you’d assume. McVie is an accomplished, respected musician. Her singing is self-possessed and serene. But she’s the one writing vulnerable lyrics like “You can take me to paradise/But then again you can be cold as ice/I’m over my head/And it sure feels nice,” and “Oh Daddy … I’m so weak but you’re so strong.”

Nicks has the flighty, passionate image of a girly-girl pirouetting in a fairyland of crystal visions (“Dreams”) and snow-covered hills (“Landslide”); onstage, she pulls her velvet cloak around her and becomes “Rhiannon,” the sensuous witch who “rings like a bell through the night” and “rules her life like a bird in flight.” But her love songs are tough and clear-eyed and almost always about the ends of affairs. She does the leaving, and the getting even. She does not beg. (from here)

(listening to this a lot lately)

feline mystique

failing miserably

“The problem lay buried, unspoken for many years in the minds of American women. It was a strange stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction, a yearning that women suffered in the middle of the twentieth century in the United States. Each suburban housewife struggled with it alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, lay beside her husband at night, she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question: ”Is this all?””

~ Betty Friedan

***

a recent visit with the in-laws spawned the realization i make a horrible housewife.

grade: a big red F-

luckily, the other half compensates where i fail. househusband is a wonderful cook and even cleans the kitchen. but i discovered he won’t take out the trash (… is this common?)

i did try to redeem myself with this recipe:

Roasted Cauliflower & 16 Cloves of Garlic

Ingredients

1 large cauliflower (trimmed and cut into bite size pieces)

16 garlic cloves, peeled and lightly crushed

1-2 teaspoon minced fresh rosemary

1 teaspoon salt

1/4-1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1/4 cup olive oil (the more the merrier, is what i say!)

Directions

1. Mix oil, rosemary, salt, pepper and garlic together.

2. Toss in cauliflower and place in a large casserole dish in one layer.

3. Roast in a preheated oven at 450 degrees for 20 minutes; give a toss and bake for 10 more minutes.

(not bad for finding my other half wouldn’t you say?)

her grown up face

one day you wake up, look in the mirror, and suddenly you’re wearing your grown up face.

what they leave behind

A small night storm blows
Saying ‘falling is the essence of a flower’
Preceding those who hesitate
-yukio mishima’s death poem

dearest

Did you clean the bathroom today?
Yes, Mommy.
Yes, Mommy what?
Yes, Mommy dearest.
When I taught you to call me that, I wanted you to mean it.