And another thing...

A big happy birthday shout out to young Amicus, the number one son at Fine Old Famly. Twelve is a very good year. Enjoy every moment of it!

I've Been Busy, Seriously

I promise to write a proper post soon, but in the meantime, who wants to see wedding pictures? The Norwegian and I finally tied the knot good and proper on 27 September. Now we're just busy living happily ever after...

We're still waiting on the proper pix from the photographer, but in the meantime, here are a few taken the morning of the wedding and just after the ceremony.

Me and him...wow.

Dear Daughter.

The cake that nearly killed us all.

Dear Daughter of the Norwegian.

The beautifully decorated trellis on
our side porch, where we held the ceremony.

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.

More Food Porn

Some of my friends laugh at me for taking pictures of things I cook and eat. I'm sorry--I can't help it. In addition to being completely addicted to cooking and eating (kind of like I'm also addicted to sleeping and breathing), I am a very visual person. I love for food to look as good as it tastes. In the summertime, this is so easily accomplished with the bounty of local produce that is currently coming in.

Earlier this week, The Norwegian and I, newly divested of Dear Daughter (who is in New Orleans for three weeks doing her summer art camp thing), wanted a light, easy dinner we could enjoy at a civilized hour (8:30) with a nice glass of wine. As the temperature was still in the high 90s, there was but one clear choice: Caprese Salad.

I am growing four types of basil in the backyard. We have lush Genovese basil; tiny and delicate globe basil; opulent Purple Ruffles basil (also known as Opal) and spicy Thai basil. I pulled a few leaves of the Genovese and an equal number of the Purple Ruffles and set about building the perfect Caprese.
I layered beautiful fresh tomatoes from a local farm with the basil.

Next, I added slices of new buffalo mozzarella cheese. I haven't learned how to make this yet, but as soon as I find a reliable source for suitable milk that hasn't been shot full of hormones or pasteurized to death, I'll be adding that to my list of fun things to do.


I dressed the final product with some nice olive oil and balsamic vinegar. The Norwegian poured us a glass of wine and we tucked in. Simple and delicious. Life is really good.

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.

New Friends

Thank you all who stopped by yesterday to see my house. I'm sorry I didn't exactly follow the rules and explain about the heart of my home. When I think seriously about it, the heart of my home comes down to the people share it with me--the Norwegian and Dear Daughter. We're also getting the Norwegian's son this fall, so we'll expand outward and draw him in as well. Our house is a cocoon of happiness, partly because of the house itself, but mostly because of what we all bring to it.

I tried to answer all of the comments that were posted yesterday. I'm glad everyone loves the red paint in the dining room! It was here when we bought the house and we love it too. If you think that paint is great though, you should really see the original wood molding throughout the house. It's beyond words.

As I said, we're having a house blessing service today and then a more traditional (secular) house warming. I'll post photos as soon as I can. Please check out the new links from new friends, and do come back often.

Bye for now from Memphis.

Home

I'm behind the eight-ball today. I promised Mrs. G of Derfwad Manor I would post about the heart of my home. I meant to do this and Mrs. G is one of the people in my world that I truly hate to disappoint.

I especially wanted to be a part of her virtual home tour because the Norwegian and I have been making so many great strides in setting up housekeeping. Slowly but surely, we are creating so many warm and happy places in our "new" old place. I suspect that this has every bit as much to do with the people in the house as it does the objects, but we are certainly making a conscious effort to only bring "stuff" that we really need and love into our home.

Here are a few photos from when we were looking at the house, and maybe one or two since we moved in. I'll add some descriptions later. We're having the house blessed and warmed (read "Caddie Woodlawn" for details on this) tomorrow. I will try and get a more detailed posting and new photos up after this weekend.

Bathing Bird

Saturday morning was hot and muggy, and we turned on the sprinkler system—partly to see how and where it works, and partly to make the hydrangeas happier. We're not the kind of people who would actually install a sprinkler system, but we were amused to discover that the previous owners had done so. There are so many flower beds across the property it does make sense, if only to not completely wear yourself out hauling water. I must say, I do enjoy taking water to the herb and vegetable garden. Visiting my baby plants and seeing what they're up to is worth crawling out of bed before the humidity awakens. It's not bad exercise either. I was, however, glad when the Norwegian bought a length of hose to make the task easier.

Back to Saturday. We let the sprinklers run for about 15 minutes, checking to see what range the system had and what was not covered so we'd know where we still need to water. Out front, a small pool of water collected on the driveway near the front porch. The Norwegian spotted this lovely girl taking a dip. We watched her for several minutes before I collected my wits enough to grab the camera. Witnessing a few brief moments of nature acting without regard to the presence or interference of humans is a true serendipity.





I made a video clip of her walking around and splashing, but the file is too large to upload here. I'm learning and will do better in the future. We're so fortunate to have abundant bird life around our home. The neighbors have two purple martin high rises in their front yard. From my kitchen window I can see the parents congregating in the morning and the young peeking out of the holes on the painted gourds. The afternoon show is just as spectacular, as the adults wheel and zoom as they orbit the poles, bringing mosquitos and other insects for dinner.



Our backyard waterfall, which we all love as much as Britta does, provides water not only for the doves and martins, but for robins and crows. They take turns visiting the fall and slaking their thirst on these hot afternoons. They all take turns grubbing about in the garden. So far, nothing we've planted has been damaged, but I do wonder about what will happen when the tomatoes start coming in.

Extended Family

I’m not even going to try and explain the lengthy absence. There are simply too many factors and I won’t bore you with them. Those of you who live close enough to me have seen the impact of some of them recently. All is well. Remain calm.

I have been decorating and surprising myself along the way. The great spiritual two-by-four has been in action and I’ve come across some truly great additions to the living room. I’ve been intrigued with the concept of the Holy Family for a long time, and am finally realizing my goal of having their physical presence at home. The Norwegian and I were shopping for dining room chairs in an old shop, and I mentioned casually that I needed a St. Joseph or a portrait of the Holy Family to complete the living room. We walked down another aisle and found this hanging on the wall. It’s perfect and so sweet on my wall now.

I love these old images. There is such love and peace in them. They seem seem like they’ve been recovered from a school or church. I don’t really know, but they belong in our circa 1922 living room. They're made of plaster and look Italian, but I haven't been able to find out anything about them. If anyone recognizes the artist, I'd love to know the origin.

I saw the “big sister” to this vase in an antique shop last week, but didn’t get her. I really like this little one that I found at the same yard sale that yielded the two plaques above. Last night I cut a few blooms from the gardenia shrub behind the waterfall and stuck them in the vase. We call her “Our Lady of the Kitchen.” She’s very good company while I'm cooking or cleaning.

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.

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.

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.

The Care and Feeding of Blogs

I can't believe I've let an entire week lapse since last writing. I don't mean to go so long between posts, but work, home, family, cooking, unpacking, illness, death, life, etc. all just conspire to get in the way. If I take time to blog while I'm at home, I look around at the boxes I have yet to unpack and the floor I have yet to mop and the bathroom I have yet to organize and I feel guilty and lazy and worthless. If I try to sneak a few minutes at work to blog I look around at the work on my desk and my co-workers hammering away at their own assignments and I feel guilty. If I try to blog at the end of the day while Dear Daughter is up then I feel guilty for taking time away from her.

So, I'm reeling in guilt, trying to justify my need to write something, anything, if only to reassure myself that I have a connection with a world outside my immediate life. I read a lot of blogs pretty regularly. The kind that attract me are usually written by women, mostly other mothers, and a high percentage of those are homeschooling mothers. Some of the better blogs that match these criteria include Derfwad Manor, Fine Old Famly, SunshinyLiving, and Redneck Mother. I admire these women so much--not only do they haul out of bed every morning (this alone can be a trying chore for me some days), but they coax not just child, but CHILDREN (as in multiple, i.e., more than just one--although there are days when I swear Dear Daughter actually qualifies as more than one since I just feel surrounded by her) out of bed, feed them creative and nutritious meals, and then proceed to go about life, love and the business of acquiring knowledge (as opposed to mere education) in an organic and interesting way. These, and other formidable women inhabiting the blogosphere, manage to balance running a household; raising happy, healthy children, along with assorted livestock and pets; and at the end of the day write lengthy, interesting blog posts on an assortment of interesting topics as diverse as religion, politics, home life, what their kid pulled out of his pocket and the everyday minutiae that makes living so interesting..

I'm trying hard to not descend into a rant attempting to justify my life or cast aspersions on someone else's life. Given the opportunity, would I stay home and educate my daughter at home? You betcha. Do I cook? Yeah--and sometimes it's even good stuff. Do I wish my house was more organized and aesthetically pleasing? Well, maybe a little...just enough to be more comfortable having people over. Do I wish I had more time to write? Of course. I also wish I had more time to knit and unpack and hang out with my mom and teach my middle schooler how to ride a bicycle and to practice Scarlatti on the piano and teach my bunnies how to jump hurdles and so on...

I don't grudge these fascinating women their lives. I don't really dislike my own, for that matter. Maybe it's just a case of the grand ennui. I'm in a rebuilding phase. I'm rediscovering who and what I was before I let myself get lost in a long-term love affair. In my defense. I thought this was The One. I thought I could get comfortable and expand my idea of life, home and family. So, for three years, I muddled along thinking I was working towards a Happily Ever After. Turns out, of the six other people involved in it, I was the only adult who actually envisioned that happening.

So, here I am, back at home. Or at least, back at house. Despite having lived here for nearly five years before moving out, I'm still getting my head and heart around the concept that this is home. Of course, truth be told, I never honestly felt at "home" in the house we lived for the past year and a half. I tried to make it home, but you can only do so much with paint and shelf paper. No matter how many times you rearrange the furniture, if the hearts aren't there, it just isn't home.

I walked out in my backyard yesterday. It was an uncharacteristically warm day for February. It was a bit blustery and the ground is still boggy, but it was nice to walk around my own little piece of the world. I didn't see any bluebirds yet, but maybe once I get the garden retilled and the bronze irises come up and my gigantic Lady Banks rosebush blooms, it will start to feel more like home.

Nothing Stops The Wonder of My Hair, Part Deux

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Yesterday I attended a birthday party for a very dear little friend. Although the big day isn't actually until Wednesday, we celebrated the first birthday of Riley, the granddaughter of the Loved One, who although we no longer share the same space, is still very much cared for and loved in our hearts.

As first birthday parties go, it was fairly typical--crowded with adults and toddlers, lots of pink everywhere, and plenty of food. The birthday girl was rather uninterested in most of the proceedings. She needed a nap and the house was pretty crowded with lots of people making lots of noise. Still, when Dear Daughter and I came through the door, she laughed and toddled forward and relieved us of the bag we were carrying. It had bunnies on it, and she had a good time dragging it behind her.

The Loved One is back in Alaska, working, so it was somewhat awkward for us. This was our first encounter with his family since moving out. Naturally, there was a bit of confusion about how to introduce me to people ("This is Riley's dad's father's um, girlfriend, no, wait, um, ex-....ah. well,...um"). I just shook hands and said "Just call me Lalah. Riley does."

For the record, the guest list included the following: Riley's mother, Riley's father, Riley's father's new girlfriend (who is expecting in June). Riley's father's new girlfriend's dad (and his boyfriend), me (aka-Riley's father's dad's ex-girlfriend), Riley's grandmother (my ex-boyfriend's ex-wife), Riley's dad's stepfather, Riley's maternal grandmother, Riley's maternal grandfather (her grandmother's ex-husband), and Riley's mother's new ex-boyfriend.

Relationships and family used to be so simple. Contrary to appearances, I miss those days when parents and children all had the same last name and all lived in the same house, and at the same time. Actually, I know more couples and families for whom this is still true than not. I admire them and sometimes even have a little envy for them. I'm not good at this relationship thing. I try. I hope. I am always optimistic, but so far my average is pretty lousy.

Since Dear Daughter appeared in my life 12 years ago, I've kept a pretty stiff upper lip about it. She's had lots of questions about our family and why it's just the two of us, and I've always tried to answer them honestly and carefully. It hasn't been easy and we've both shed a few tears over the years about this.

Throughout it all, I've maintained the same position though. Family is blood, but it's also much more. We have so many wonderful friends who have, over the years, become very real extensions of our family. Luckily, we've discovered, family is so much more than just those with whom you share blood and DNA. It's the people who you co-op meals with, barter your hand-me-downs and extraneous furniture, you sing with them in church, you hold hands with at funerals, they yell at your kids, you pick up after theirs. You carpool with them, exchange recipes, crash on their couch, disagree with them about politics. You love them, you worry about them, they shake their heads silently over your latest relationship debacle.

For a while at the party I carried Riley around in my arms. I love that girl so much. She's so tiny and precious, and when she looks up at me and raises her hands for me to pick her up my heart almost bursts. We don't share anything except we're both hitching a ride on the same planet for a while. Still, she's my family, and that won't change, no matter what.