This is fun! I'm on Kirtsy the website formerly known as skirt.
Thanks to editor karey m. aka the beautiful ( and so smart) person behind the blog mackink, which is where I go when i want to laugh, and also when I want to cry. Thank you Karey.
15 years ago I was prescribed glasses under the premise that I could not see at a distance, distance being loosely defined as anything further than five feet ahead.
So not true! I can see. I can see everything. Only I see everything as though my eyeballs have been coated with oil. You can try if you want. A drop of olive oil in each eye: that’s how things look to me, minus the sting.
Yes it’s a bother to ask my passengers for the names of streets we are passing. Yes it’s limiting not to be able to tell Paula from Simon. But I was afraid that glasses would make me look like a Jesuit school teacher, so being legally blind was always worth it to me.
But this little league season, when I realized I had been cheering for the wrong child the entire time, I had to come to term with the fact that I had a problem and step out of my comfortable denial.
I went to the doctor. He prescribed glasses, and now, low and behold, everything looks amazingly SHARP! I just can't get over it.
But I have a new problem. I look like a Jesuit school teacher. And I am not happy about it.
This is the four-eyed me, with Dusty, who loves me just the way I am. Especially at dinner time.
Eat right away, because I can't put them in the refrigerator. (More on that below)
The cake she threw together for her daughter's birthday.. no biggie.
Butterflies made out of sugar paste.
Kylie made one hundred of those for a charity bake-off.
And if I had to get married all over again:
So, my refrigerator/freezer is playing a sick joke on me. It's not cooling and it is FULL to the brim. The repair shop is generously offering to come NEXT THURSDAY. What to do! What to DO!
Well, this could be the gods of refrigeration telling me it is silver lining time?
$1999? That would be morally reprehensible.
...Oh but baby blue Smeg, how do I want thou!
To ease into the week, some eye candy. When a blog is barely two months old and receives fifty comments per post, you know there is a certain magic happening. The blog Les Fifoles is in French and I believe the blogger writes from Switzerland (the French speaking side probably, where one of my sister lives.)
The combination of poetry of words, images and colors is just beautiful. Here are some of the images that thrilled me:
I don't know if I want to laugh or cry:
"An individual's sexual orientation-like a person's race or gender- does not constitute a legitimate basis upon which to deny or withhold legal rights."
California Supreme Court ruling.
No? seriously? We needed a supreme court ruling to figure that out? How terribly embarrassing.
Secnd: Tenderness, because God knows this world needs more of that, here are pictures of an interior in ??? (Help! Can't read the language) I fell in love with today via tante tia.
I believe this is the blogger's house, if someone speaking the language could confirm that, it would be great.
I love the simplicity, the clean, bright feel of it, and at the same time the coziness. Interesting how they chose to paint the floor white and keep the rest of the wood work dark. I think it's striking and so personal.
And notice how few pieces there are, and how simple, and how functional.
Where do artists like to go on their birthday? Well they go to Lake Shrine, and better yet, they pry me away from my computer and take me there with them.
Them being Isabelle. Joyeux Anniversaire girl.
What was once a movie set is now a botanical paradise, with a large lake full of Koi and swans. There are grottos, statues representative of the various religions. There is even a dutch windmill. (?) It's a mishmash of architectural style with a wildly tropical feel, and perfectly manicured. Just what my tense, Chinese earthquake-obsessed mind needed.
Oh I wish I could show you pictures of Isabelle with her chinese paper sun umbrella but she would not forgive me.
Shhh. People are meditating here.
Some of Mahatma Ghandi ashes are buried there. (am I actually rhyming?)
Virgin Mary. Is that You up there?
This morning I awakened to see photographs of China after the earthquake and I can't find anything clever or funny to say. Somehow images of mothers weeping over their dead children's bodies did not seem appropriate for this blog, but that's pretty much the only thing on my mind at the moment.
Will be back soon.
This reminded me to write a post about 'One Painting a Day'. Those are incredible, entirely humble paintings that capture how luscious food, fruit and everyday items are when you know how to look at them. Why humble? Because those artists just whip up one lovely painting after another, charge a ridiculously low amount for them (we're talking under $200 for the most part, often for $100.) post them, then move on. There is no pretension in those paintings a day and they allow people who love nothing more than owning original art to indulge without breaking the bank too much. My guess is that they paint like I blog, just to keep things loose, keep the juice flowing.
So here there are: a few of my favorite of the moment found on the Daily Painter site. Most of these artists have their own blogs too.
and last but not least, Felicitiy's find: the work of San Francisco born and French resident artist.Rebbeca Loulou. ( I have to admit that I don't know if this qualify as a painting a day work but it reminds me of it, so that's good enough. )
Warning: do not look at this art on an empty stomach.
There are so many more painters a day I love. I might have to do another post on this.
I thought I would tell you about my life (for a refreshing change.)
I think there is a lot of pressure being a good mother on Mother’s day, don’t you? As a friend of mine gently puts it. “Fathers day is HiS day and he should be able to spend it any way he pleases, and what pleases him is to be ALONE for father’s day’s sake!”
The week-end started with a terrible knot in my stomach as my 15 year old’s rock band was performing live-in-front-of –a paying–audience during the Topanga Children’s festival. Oh I might have looked calm and composed but inside my nerves were like this:
See, my boy is the singer of his band, tough he is only the singer for lack of another volunteer. That is one scary thought. Did I mention this was going on live? Actually unfolding before my tightly-shut eyes? Oh the bleeding for our children never stops. But they did it! The band was really impressive when you consider their age and that this was they first real gig. And my son actually blew me away me with his self confidence. I was proud. But mainly, I'm still here to tell about it.
That night we had dinner at our favorite place in Topanga Canyon, the Canyon Bistro. We ate outside, I had pea tendrils (!) for the first time ever (only in Topanga) and duck with corn flan and the most delicious mystery sauce, followed by an unbelievable chocolate soufflé. In front of me was this plant? Whatever this is I must own it.
The next morning, Mother's Day started painfully early with this gorgeous breakfast in bed and melted chocolate all over the beadspread. I will spare you the image of me caught in the act of waking up on Mother’s Day and being surprised with breakfast in bed and photographed against my will. A face only a child could love.
My nine year old was beaming for putting this amazing spread together, his joy so enormous my heart ached. In his card he praised me for "always being in a good mood" As I read it, i wondered if this might be was a case of mistaken identity and Could Someone Get Me Strong Coffee NOW.
How good are you at receiving presents? I’m terrible. I have to control it all, chose the what, when and how much, while my husband only delights in surprising me with the worst, most ill-colored, ill-fitting and mistaken items. This is a bad mix. Bad mix. The two of us. married. together. Over the years I have learned to receive the gift(s), thank him coldly and return the stuff the next day, but I wasn’t always that philosophical about the whole thing, oh no. But this year my husband made a very outlandish claim. He said he was going to get me something I would never want to return, that he would search far and wide and find ‘it.’ The gift of all gifts. This was a very arrogant statement to make. I said it was not going to be possible. It became a dare. But I was wrong! This is what he got me: the one thing I will never return! “gotcha”, he said.
And good mood I definitely needed as Mother’s Day was tainted with the terrible looming shadow of a certain AP biology test that was obviously all my fault and warranted a long face an terrible mood on the part of a certain lead singer of a certain rock band. And patience! As my nine year old used his lego skills and helped build this cute table and chairs bought for $69 at Lowes.
We had lunch under the blooming pergola which really cooperated this year.
We (mostly not me) dug huge holes and planted roses, climbing Joseph's Coat, which one day will look like this:
And maybe even like this:
I had a great mother's day week-end. Practically collapsed under all the love. My Mother is in France and I'll celebrate hers later this months. She there, me here. Such is life.
I did manage to go see the Iron Man Sunday night. I went alone on Mothers day. That’s right! With my children’s blessing and my husband’s pouting about me sending the wrong message of rather being alone than with my children and yaddi yaddi yadda. And I enjoyed every guilty minute of Robert Downy Jr, bless his nuclear heart thingy and clanking metal suit.
Leah at More Ways to Waste Time is so on a roll right now she makes my head spin. This time her post has sent me in a flurry of research to find out more about artist Oksana Badrak whose work is sold on Poketo.
Oksana Badrak isn't Japanese like her images might suggest. She is Russian born. She calls herself an "image maker" and is part of a generation of artists who have had digital technology to use as an added medium. I dig this idyllic world where you feel that something could go terribly wrong at any time.
here are a few images from her website.
I have in mind to see Iron Man this afternoon if my nine year old lets me take him there. My husband will only see experimental/intellectual movies preferably in foreign languages with Serbo-Croatian subtitles, my fifteen year old would rather go blind than be seen in a movie theater with his mommy, my girlfriends think I'm insane and point blank refuse to go and I am totally embarrassed to see an action movie alone. So my nine year old (who'd much rather see Narnia) is my one chance to see the love of my life, the alcohol imbibed, drugged-up and aging but STILL SMOKING HOT Robert Downy Junior!!! This will take some motherly cunning on my part so wish me luck.
A few hours later: Isabelle just sent me the following e-mail and I LoL'ed my tushy off: "....je viens de lire ton dernier post (super d'ailleurs la gonzesse) mais tu as epele son nom avec 3 orthographes differentes. Barak? Barack? Badrack? I am konfiouzed."
Sorry but her names sounds a LOT like a certain presidential hopeful so yes, I was Konfioused indeed, as I usually am. I warned you not to count of me for the facts.
I feel too lazy for words. Images are different. I'm never too tired to look at pictures.
A silver couch, how about that... but somehow, it works.
The Style Files has a rocking post about silver.
A Beautiful Living shows beautiful flower arrangements, so simply and prettily put together.
Swiss Miss found those amazing laundry baskets made out of recycled rice bags.
Was this blogging or cheating? Anyhooo, 20 minutes typos and all... gottago...
Remember Nicolas Mathéus, the brilliant French photographer I was just telling you about? Here are my favorite pictures borrowed from his portfolio. I figured he needed his own post.
I'd nap there!
Gorgeous floor, but better not come home drunk on a moonless night.
Amazing concrete table.
‘Awakening of a sleeping house’ says the translated title of the côté Maison article.
I woke up/renovated a house once. Only I'm the one who had to take sleeping pills afterwards. Was it worth it: yes. Was it nightmarish? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Are yah OUT OF YOU MIND ?! But I remember those were my exact words right after childbirth, and then I developed convenient amnesia about the whole ghastly affair and couldn't wait to do it again.
Decorator Eva Gnaedinger, known for her exquisite provençal/minimalist style, has remodeled several properties. The following images are of place in she renovated and decorated in Provence between Avignon and Uzes. They call it 'une maison de village.' I call it a gosh dang castle's what I call it. And boy oh boy.. ohs and ahhs… If you had any doubts whatsoever about visiting Provence one day, this should convince you.
The billowy simple white curtain makes this picture, no?
And tell me if I’m wrong but isn’t it the same property than can be rented here, I recognize the rooms but not all of the architecture.
Thank you for all the lovely b-day comments you guys! Awww...
I have had four birthday cakes so far. FOUR! Saturday dinner because my sister was coming over. Sunday Lunch (it was really a birth-O-cado, or avocado with a candle in it. Don't ask.) Sunday dinner when friends surprised me with one of those gooey-icy number that will give you diabetes just from being in the same room, and this morning a banana bread fresh from the oven at the crack of dawn (my husband is a romantic-insomniac-who-bakes.)
With each birthday cake came the full-on birthday song, delivered with gusto.
And the day's not half over.
My presents: Bougainvilleas and roses I got to choose at the nursery. Also, my three men dressed up in full tennis regalia --hats, sunscreen, water bottles... the works--yesterday and left the house looking mysterious. Only they were just pretending to go to tennis. To fool me. Because what they did instead is go to the bookstore to get me a gift. My question is why? Why the complications? Why the secrecy? It's not like I didn't know they might have to go shopping for my b-day. Go figure.
They got me the collector's edition of Battlestar Galactica.
Yes. I am a dork, i confess.
The diminutive asian buttock you've always wanted can now be yours for a small fee.
Have a soft spot for stone and I found some gorgeous ones in the French Côté Maison
Let's have a pastis here, some olives. Some baguette and paté would do us good. Sit down. kick off your sandals.
These last two are my own. We built it to look like Provence but I can't even fool myself. Thank you so much Liberty Post for your beautiful post on my humble garden!
Today is the first day of May and all over France people are exchanging tiny bouquets of the most exquisitely scented of all flowers: the Muguet, or Lilly of the Valley. This is a lovely custom I took for granted. Streets vendors materialize at every corner with large baskets filled with the 'little clochettes blanches'. This is just for one day, for good luck, and to claim that spring has arrived (or better have).
I don't think I have smelled real muguet in years. Sigh...
I'm sending this picture to my mom.
Limiting myself to to ten blogs would be like limiting myself to ten countries to visit, ten pastries to eat, ten roses to plant, ten ice cream flavors, ten artists to be inspired by, ten books to read, ten beaches to walk on,
ten positions of the kamasutra, ten colors to play with, ten people to love. I don't think simplification is in my genetic makeup.
And now I'm hooked to yet another blog:
Images borrowed from Paul Pincus's blog.
Also, than you Ariane for pointing out that my links don't open in new windows. DuH! Working on fixing this.