Who Put These...Snakes on my...Driveway?

I won't include the universal adjectives that make this paraphrased quote from a notable movie starring Samuel L. Jackson so memorable, but I think you get the message.

Today is seven days before our wedding. Our home wedding. Our OUTDOOR wedding at home. In the yard. I'm in the kitchen making 300 grissini, chocolate classic buttercream frosting to frost the groom's cake I just assembled, and I've got a pot of homemade tomato basil soup on the stove just in case anyone should want. The Norwegian is off playing golf. Miss Baby is layering double chocolate cake with raspberry preserves. The dog is at the door staring at the driveway and whining.

Miss Baby took her out and suggested I come outside and see the snake. I'm thinking grass snake. Ha. That would be easy.

The neighbor's brother, a naturalist, came and caught it in a trash can for us. It's still out there and I'll upload pictures later, but please tell me how I can host 75 people at my house next Saturday if there's a nest of COPPERHEAD SNAKES somewhere in the yard????

Just this morning at the Farmer's Market I ran into an old friend from school and she remarked how calm and collected I am considering my wedding is in seven days. I recounted the tasks I'm trying to finish up and she laughed out loud at me. I do still have to bake the wedding cake and decorate it, hem my daughter's slip, teach Sunday school tomorrow, bake 300 grissini, mold fondant decorations for the groom's cake, make about 35 gallons of variously flavored buttercream frosting and iron all of the cloth napkins in the free world. But I really do have have it all under control.

Until now. Snakes in the yard. If anything could turn me into Bridezilla, this would truly be it. I bet Martha Stewart never had to plan a wedding with reptiles in the yard.

Recent Stuff

The past month has been full of all kinds of exciting things. We went to New Orleans twice in July--once to drop Miss Baby off for art camp, and then once again to pick her up. The Junior Norwegian was with us by the time we went the second trip. Since he'd never been to New Orleans, he had an adventure. He trekked through the French Quarter with his dad to see the wonderful D-Day Museum and the Aquarium of the Americas, while Miss Baby, my sister and I went to Crabby Jack's and had this:

If I could only eat one thing for the rest of my life, Crabby Jack's roasted duck po boy would definitely be a contender. Miss Baby ALWAYS opts for the catfish, but I also love the half'n'half (half oyster and half shrimp). Pour on the Louisiana Red hot sauce and stand back peoples. Crabby Jack's is small, hot and crowded, but so worth it. The photo above represents HALF of what you get for $9. You couldn't buy that much duck to roast for sandwiches for nine bucks, much less the crusty bread and dressings. I believe a fully dressed and wrapped sandwich could be used as a weapon, much like a Louisville Slugger. And in New Orleans, sometimes that is a good thing.

Baby Britta is now teenager Britta, and that means we finally had to make the decision to have her altered. This was not an easy task, since she is truly a terrific little dog and would have beautiful and smart puppies. However, an excellent personality is not always a guarantee that a dog will be a good mother, and we do think there are enough animals in the world who need good homes without us operating as amateur breeders. The Norwegian made the appointment and took her to the vet, where she was pampered and loved. Two weeks later, she's doing fine and has regained the weight she lost. Saturday she basked regally in the sun on the side porch with her dad.

Somewhere about that same time (early August), Miss Baby had a most eventful orthodontist appointment. After being in the chair for about an hour, she went downstairs to the parking lot and completely tanked. She swears she didn't really pass out, but the Norwegian had to fireman-carry her limp, unconscious self back upstairs for a mop-up of her bloody knees.

By the time they got home, she was bleeding again. I took her on a circuitous tour around town, in an un-air-conditioned Subaru in 100 degree heat (while wearing panty hose, no less), of some of the nicer minor medical clinics, one of which didn't accept our health insurance and the other which had closed mysteriously. We finally ended up at a hospital emergency room 15 miles from home (did I mention we live two miles from an excellent teaching hospital?) where she took seven stitches in her right knee. There was some high drama for a few days surrounding pain, itching and the general novelty of having black thread in your kneecap, but she healed up pretty nicely, and even removed her own stitches in the bathroom, much to my combined relief and disgust. Plus, showing up on the first day of seventh grade with a gaping wound apparently earns you all kinds of kid-cred.

Domestic Tranquility

Continuing with the theme of being happy at home, here are some more recent photos. They are in no particular order, and represent nothing except a few of the reasons why "East, West, home best."



I call this painting "Mommy and Me." Dear Daughter painted it two years ago at school during a workshop by a visiting artist. She and the artist really clicked, and DD still raves about what she learned in a 45 minute session with this woman. I love this painting--it's simple, happy and sweet. It will always have a special place in our home.

Sleepy space. The paint was chosen by the previous owner, and we simply love it. There are plantation shutters along one wall. I open the top shutters to let the morning light in. It's beautiful. Oh, and Mrs. G, please note the Laura Ashley comforter and bed set chosen by the Norwegian (who is about as gay as Mr. G!). Not bad! The furniture is a matched set dating from the 1940s found at an estate sale. The pieces still have the tags on the back from the factory. The bed is in an upstairs bedroom awaiting the arrival of the Norwegian's son, but we love the dresser, chest and twin nightstands. It's all very Ozzie and Harriet, kind of like us.

This is our downstairs family room. Yes, we also have an upstairs family room. It's not conspicuous consumption; it's delight in finding an antique house with tons of room for both adults and teenagers. This room is 19 x 28, and features "vintage" flooring (that's pronounced "funky old linoleum"), a giant window overlooking our sweet, green backyard and gardens, and a long stone hearth with a gas fireplace. I have trouble picking a favorite part of this room--there's so much to love in here. It could very well be the stunning view. It could be the built-in cabinets on three sides of the room. It could be the lovely old tongue-and-groove panelling. It is very likely the half-timbers in the ceiling that were milled from a tree that once grew in the backyard several decades ago. This is the Norwegian's Man Cave, and is gradually filling up with memorabilia from his thirty year career in the United States Navy.

This is the Mom-cave. It's really the living room, but upon seeing the wooden radiator covers and the gorgeous paint, I staked this out as my own little piece of paradise. There is a wood-burning fireplace and a set of French doors leading to the side porch (where the Norwegian and I will be married in 88 days or so). There are two built-in cabinet/bookcases on the wall leading to the dining room. This room has a set of antique mahogany and brocade furniture we found at an estate sale for a ridiculously cheap price. It is perfect for this room.

My piano will go in this room eventually. This is such a peaceful and sweet room.

Cinnamon/brown sugar raisin bread, cooling on the kitchen counter this morning. Can you understand why I hate to leave this place to go to work?

Most of us. The Norwegian, Dear Daughter, Baby Britta and me. Not pictured are Alix Bunny, Roselle Rabbit, Eulalie the Lovebird, and the Norwegian's son, who will join us in September. Do stop by and see us sometime!

St. Joseph lives in the Mom Cave, watching over our family. I found him in front of a small shop in Franklin, TN weekend before last. He has been our family patron for many years now. If you really need something, ask for his intercession. Here he basks in the early morning sunlight. We visit often. Unfortunately, Britta thinks he's after her Secret Squirrel and unleashes her Dachshund sailor language on him. You can click here (I hope) to see more objects in the Mom Cave.

Peaches from a local orchard fill my giant pottery mixing bowl. Can you smell the sweet scent of summertime?

This silver ewer held holy water for our house blessing last Saturday. I love how it looks against the blue slate of our back door foyer in the late afternoon sunlight. After everyone left and we were cleaning up, the Norwegian and I added the water to our backyard waterfall. We have birds and squirrels that make daily visits. Nestled in the shady southwestern corner of our backyard, it is a haven of beauty and serenity.

The built-in butler's pantry in the kitchen. I've posted a photo before of this, but it had some stuff placed there by the decorator hired by the realtor. That's my antique tole platter with a giant shrimp painted on it. The rabbit tray often holds bread for our family meals. Behind the glass is my modest collection of Blue Willow ware. I pick up occasional pieces when I find good, old ones. I don't want an entire set, but the tiny bowls and dessert plates are graceful and delicate. I love the old colors and the sound the china makes when it clacks against another piece.

Spring Snow

I'm late blogging about this, but I was so busy enjoying the weather, and then recuperating from the cold/sinus infection/walking pneumonia thing I got as a result of the weather that I just haven't made time until now. Last Friday, after a few warm days, I was sent home from the Major Military Installation where I work as an Anonymous Paper Shuffler on account of...snow!

This was a particularly lovely snowfall--big crunchy flakes that were moist enough to compact well. While it was cold outside, the ground wasn't cold enough for it freeze into ice. The roads stayed passable, the power remained on and we hunkered down in Midtown for a nice dinner of homemade soup, good bread, broiled tomatoes and warm rum drinks. The Brother of the House made an appearance, and we even took Britta to the local branch of the National Chain Demon Video Rental Retailer to help us select some entertainment.

The snow continued into the night until about six inches had fallen. Outside the world was hushed and beautiful. The backyard was coated with a thick, soft layer of white. The next morning we set out for a local park to play before it all melted away.

Britta enjoyed romping in her first snow. As it was nearly up to her shoulders, we had to pick her up frequently, but she chased snowballs and helped Dear Daughter and the Norwegian sculpt a larger-than-life "maxi-Dachshund" that earned them all a spot on the local news broadcast. Dear Daughter, the original snow-bunny, played until her cheeks were rosy and her shoes were sodden.

By day's end, the snow was gone, and with it, the last hurrah of winter. It's 60 degrees today and the sun is shining. Spring really seems to have sprung at last. The snow was a delightful treat and a happy way to mark the end of the season.

Well Baby Checkup

Like all good parents, we realized this week it was time for Baby Britta to visit her physician. The ever-efficient Norwegian made an appointment for her at a local veterinary practice, and we collected Dear Daughter and Best Friend and, of course, Baby Britta.

Cute puppies create quite a stir wherever they go, and Britta was certainly no exception. The staff carried her about and made a nice fuss over her. Dad took care of the paperwork:

Dear Daughter and Best Friend kept Britta entertained and calm while we waited:

Her Serene Highness, Britta Leafslayer listens for her name to be called:

A proud, but somewhat nervous dad checks out the exam table:

Treats make shots and exams a little easier to tolerate:

All went well and we were reassured of what we already felt: we have a wonderful, healthy and happy puppy. We celebrated by sneaking her into a local grocery store where she so charmed staff and shoppers alike that no one thought to point out the various ordinances we were flagrantly violating by bringing her in!

Signs of Spring

The first two days of March were warm and bright, so naturally those of us here at Chez Redblur spent as much time as possible outdoors. Even the animals got into the act. It was necessary to spend some time on Saturday on errands, odious tasks and being away from home (my trivia team failed to place, but I had an excellent time and ate the best piece of wedding cake ever; the headlights on the Stealth Outback both went out, but I was saved by the Norwegian; Dear Daughter went to a party and seemed to have a good time).

Sunday dawned bright and glorious--perfect for Laetare Sunday, or Mothering Sunday, as I was raised to think of it. The mid-Lent lightening was both literal and figurative, as we saw temperatures in the high 70s, lots of sunshine and plenty of good times. We had a brunch at church (wherein Mme. Redblur ate the equivalent weight of her left leg in bacon) and were rejoined by a dear friend who recently received a heart transplant. A scant five weeks post-surgery he was at church looking healthy and well, albeit behind a mask and latex gloves. He will have to continue taking infection precautions for a while yet, and of course, will be on anti-rejection drugs, but thus far, he is doing so well, for which we are truly grateful.

Sunday afternoon was spent clearing up some of fall and winter out of the backyard. I am so grateful to be back in my own house with its little yard. Scattered throughout the back we found all kinds of signs of the changing seasons.

Behold the first solar Dachshund of the year:



Glorious daffodils. The smaller ones were here when we moved in, but the giant pale ones are an heirloom legacy from a great (but tiny) lady I once knew and loved dearly:



Bunnies on the grass, alas. Actually, Alix loves being outdoors. She has her own playpen for the backyard.

All of winter's deadfall burning in the grill, to be later spread on the compost heap (after cooling, naturally).

My forsythias, which came to us from a yard in Belle Meade, are blooming. My tenant managed to kill my other bush, but this one has survived a year of neglect and is bravely putting forth blooms. I always thought these looked like banana peels:


Baby irises peeping their way through the leaves in the very back of the yard by the fence. This area of the yard is fondly known as the "Pet Cemetery." The late, great Peaches, the Mousy-Faced Hamster Girl is interred here, as is at least one cat belonging to the previous owner. I have to be careful not to hit the bricks marking their final resting places when I mow.


Lastly, the dear, kind Norwegian Bachelor Farmer tilled up my garden while I ran the lawnmower. This was no easy task, and for nearly four hours he bravely piloted my dad's small tiller through the Bermuda grass and weeds. We're both excited at the prospect of tomatoes, eggplant, onions and herbs growing in the backyard. We still have a way to go to get the garden completely ready, but he certainly made a good start of it.

Squeaky Fish Must Die

This video says it all.

No Joy In Memphis

Why no, actually I don't want to talk about the game. I'm not even an alum, and I am truly sad. The Tigers have been the Little Team That Could this year.

Read it and weep.

Britta is showing her displeasure by murdering Squeaky Fish. At least he's purple and not orange.

Don't worry, Tigers. We still love you. Even if your head coach's annual clothing allowance more than doubles the salary of the average English professor.

And besides, there's still the C-USA Tournament to play.

Puppies In Action

Here are a few clips of Britta with her puppy family. Two of her sisters have yet to move to new homes, and we had the sheer joy of playing with them for a half hour before heading for home with our new girl.

Here the three girls discover the Norwegian:

Britta, Patches and Holly carry off Mom's camera case and kill it dead.

Meet Our New Arrival

This weekend we road-tripped with the Norwegian to the mystical land of Alabama. My mother grew up in the northeastern part of the state, and you still can open just about any door on any block in any small town for a 200-mile radius and find someone standing behind it to whom I can claim kinship. Mother went with us and we stayed with one of her sisters in a tiny retirement community so newly constructed on a block of former farmland that some residents carry baseball bats and even firearms to ward off the coyotes they're likely to encounter on the way to the mailbox.

The main purpose of the trip, besides hanging out with family and eating fried catfish, was to pick up this little darling. Meet Britta, a nine-week old miniature Dachshund. She's slightly smaller than my bedroom slipper, and even the ND bunnies have about a pound and a half on her. Despite her tiny size, she's loaded with personality and charm.

Britta was born to Dixie and Elvis, who are owned by these very nice people. She lived with her four sisters and three aunts and uncles in what can only be described as Dachshund heaven.

We brought her back to the homestead across a hundred miles of twisty, country roads, through one of the worst rain storms I've ever been in. The Norwegian drove while Dear Daughter and I took turns comforting Britta. She whimpered a while, most likely as much from the noise of the rain as from the trauma of leaving home. Soon, though, she snuggled down in the baby quilt she brought from home and curled up for a nap.

Despite the many changes she had yesterday, she did really well. She played in the yard, she slept on her new bed on the rest of the trip home. She visited her new grandma's house and met her new human uncle. She met her bunny sisters and decided that they were definitely big enough for her to submit to.

Finally, it was time to go to bed. Dear Daughter pulled out the trundle in her room and put Britta's bed next to it on the floor. They snuggled in their respective quilts and sacked out. Fortunately, there was no howling or whimpering from either of them. I guess both little girls were so worn out that sleep came easily.

When I woke up this morning, I was surprised to not hear crying from either of them. I was amazed. Could it really be that such a young puppy would sleep the entire night through on her first night in a new home? I tiptoed into Dear Daughter's room and found this sweet little sight. Apparently, Britta felt that she'd just make her very own puppy pile and climbed up into the trundle with Dear Daughter. Oh well. Crate training begins today.