The Marmelade Gypsy

Grateful for Pet Therapy

2009-11-12T08:32:00.002-05:00

As many of you know, I have been having some medical challenges in recent months that have been trying and scary to say the least.

Sleeping is pretty tough and I'm not pleasant to be around with constant coughing so my regular bed buddy (aka Rick) has been sleeping down at his house.

Meanwhile, I have a pretty darned wonderful Bed Buddy remaining -- The Gypsy!

Mr. Gyps , I think it's safe to say, operates in great part on the base level of Maslow's pyramid. Give me food, give me shelter, give me a litter box, give me love.

Not surprisingly, this can make for a very sweet friend. Sometimes excessively so -- I have learned to knit with a 15 pound cat on my lap, read while being pawed and sleep through having this lump jump on or off the bed. I learned a long time ago that I can put on make-up better if he's not sitting next to me on the bathroom counter, meowling but having his breakfast instead.

Who's the master here?

I do this freely and fully of joy because he's the best pet therapy ever. Lay in bed struggling to breathe and reach out to feel the thick, soft fur laying beside you. Lay your head close to his body and hear his rhythmic purr. Breathe to that rhythm. Works for me.

Gypsy came into my world about twelve years ago, a six-week bundle of fur who had been dumped and decided my window well was as good a place to live as any. He and Stimpy enjoyed long cat conversations through the glass. It took time to get him to come to me, to allow me to pick him up. For some time, he lived in a wooden box affixed with a light bulb to keep him warm -- till a possum moved into the box and Gypsy moved into the house.

He was the tiniest thing I'd ever seen.

I named him Gypsy Rose after the Sondheim musical "Gypsy" and because he was a wanderer. When I finally officially adopted him and took him to the vet, I learned he was more like a Gypsy King -- it's harder to tell on kittens. Now he's uncommitted.

He and Stimpy were a dynamic duo till four years ago when we said goodbye to our orange and white angel boy.

I'd had intentions of finding a friend for him. Now, I'm pretty sure that would be a bad idea -- he's very possessive.

As an executive assistant, he's close to useless, sleeping on the job or continually disrupting my typing by trying to be a kitten on the keys.

He's also had a penchant for eating paper and chewing on yarn. Or chasing it. If yarn is near, Gypsy will find it.

Others would be fired for this behavior.

Traveling isn't his strong suit and his green thumb could use some improvement.

His avocation is bird watching. Not much skill required there.

No, his greatest skill is as therapist. Who listens better? Who loves unconditionally, doesn't ever erupt in anger, and realizes having his tummy rubbed is a win-win situation?

Yes, I'm grateful for pet therapy -- especially with this bundle of love.

A Gift

2009-11-10T04:58:00.002-05:00

Do you remember hearing about how after World War II, the Berlin Airlift dropped candy and sweets down on children in post-war Europe? (And food, I might add.) To those little ones, deprived of anything not essential (and even some of that) for so long, it must have felt like the greatest gift of all time.

Sunday was like a gift that Mother Nature gave our community. Trust me when I say November in Michigan never brings 60 degree weather. But Sunday was the exception, with a brilliant blue sky, unending sun and warmth.

One can't stay inside on a day like that (even though I did manage some art time indoors!). So, I went off for my walk to the ditch (thank you, Rick), unwilling to give up a moment of this beautiful day.

I couldn't help thinking of that super candy drop. Or of leaves that seem to pop out on the trees in the spring like magic. The leaves of early bulbs, shooting out of the ground.

That's what it was like -- people were everywhere, as if by magic. Children took over the streets on their bicycles. Men and woman walked dogs around the ditch, while others fed the ducks.

The ducks. They knew a good thing when they saw it!

I've never seen one like the big white-chested one before. It was larger than the others, so maybe it was a form of goose.

I don't know -- I just know that the little boy who fed these guys was quite possibly the most popular kid in the neighborhood.

Neighbors took the opportunity to do yard work they'd put off during the damp, cold days of late October. Piles of leaves seemed to mount up between my departure and return.

And everyone said hello, even those who were "plugged in." (For a great post on being plugged in, visit Shoreacres this week. It is spot on.)

Even Mr. Gyps got a walk in the yard! (Definite not aerobic exercise!)

Sixty in November? Am I grateful? You bet!

Grateful for Life

2009-11-08T10:57:00.005-05:00

As I was bloghopping on Sunday, I stopped by Shoreacres who has an extraordinary post that is primarily centered around a poem by Carl Sandburg that is absolutely gripping. It struck me with particular relevance, as our city is reeling from unemployment, the end of manufacturing autos as we know it, and so much more.

In the comments section, Janell mentioned a scene from "Our Town" (Thornton Wilder), which I will print below. In the play, Emily has died and making her goodbyes.

Emily (in deciding to return to the grave:) “Good-bye, good-bye, world. Good-bye Grover’s Corners…Mama, Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking…and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths…and sleeping and waking up. Oh earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”

(Then, to the stage manager) “Do human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?”

Stage Manager: “No.” (pause) “The saints and poets maybe. They do some.”

As I continue giving thanks this month, I am so grateful for all that is life and beauty in this world. Even our most challenging days, our most troubled times have some joy and beauty if we look hard enough to find it. But really -- is it that hard?

The kind word that someone give you when you're down or the band-aid provided when you fall and skin your knee. (Thank you, Rick.) Oh, and learn four days later that you also broke your arm that day. Bad week. But grateful for the band-aid!

Being held and told it'll be OK, or we'll get through it, even when that seems almost impossible.

The long walk, when it's not too hot, not too cold; crisp, lovely and just right.

The sound of the rain -- which even on the upteenth-million day in a row of gloom and wet -- still sounds so relaxing and so healing.

The last of the flowers -- for you know they'll be here again next spring. Grateful for something to look forward to.

Music. Especially when it's played just for you.

You get it. And isn't it wonderful, really? I suspect -- even on the worst days -- you're a little bit grateful for those things, too.

(I have a new book commentary over on Chopsticks and String -- stop by if you're a mystery fan! And all three articles on creativity and style are there too. The most recent has some good links to some creative bloggers!)

Leaf Grief

2009-11-06T17:15:00.003-05:00

I love beautiful trees with their brilliant autumn leaves. The towering yellow maple in Rick's yard is my favorite.

And I love shuffling my feet in the leaves as I walk.

I'm always happy to walk in wooded areas, where my camera can capture the changing seasons.

Having said that, I'm grateful my trees have tiny leaves that don't need to be raked. Or else I'd have lots of these!

And really, I'd rather do something else!

Postscript on shuffling: Fun as it is, I'm not recommending it! I've always believed in shuffling your feet as you walk through leaves, letting them rustle, hearing the sound. After all, if you have to take care of them, you may as well also have some fun.

As some of you know, I shuffled along and tripped over uneven walk on Rick's patio (it was covered by leaves and I was dragging my feet).

The result? A fractured "radial head" in my forearm. No surgery needed (sometimes this is the case, I'm told) -- and I'm grateful for that. But have to be careful with it. (He said he wouldn't splint it if I followed order. Yes, sir!)

Pick up your feet!

Meeting My Creative Muse -- Again

2009-11-04T13:18:00.001-05:00

As I continue my month of celebrating things for which I am grateful, I have to throw in a bit of gratitude for some art time!

Although I have a half dozen journals in varying states of completion on (or near) my art table, I did manage to finish two of them.

The color isn't very good on this -- the beigy scallop shell wallpaper covers the composition journal, with a bather in maroon, a deeper beige embossed paper, and a section of a decorative paper with a shell motif. The "Wish You Were Here" words echoed my thoughts -- I wish I could be with that bather! The other elements are some shells from Myrtle Beach and some striped ribbon picking up the colors.

This little fellow is on the cover of a gardening journal. The base is a painting technique learned in my Artiscape workshop featured on The Gypsy here. Using a packing tape transfer of the definition of "garden," I added some text, dulling down the tape and its boundaries with rub on metallics. The rusted spade came from Ben Franklin, and ribbon is attached at the side.

Maybe there is more to come!

Grateful for Something Pink!

2009-11-03T00:29:00.000-05:00

Today (and every day) I am grateful for my blogging friends.

You give me a present every time you visit and leave a comment! And I have learned so much from visiting you.

Annie recently gave me this "Pink" Award. The pass-along is that you send it on to 15 blogs you've recently discovered. (Thank you, Annie!)

The rules for sharing are simple. If you accept the award, just post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award, and his or her blog link.

The other part of this award is to pass it to 15 other blogs that you’ve newly discovered. I simply couldn't choose, so I encourage you to visit my "Blogs I Visit" list on the right, and if there's someone you haven't visited yet, stop by for a second! While it probably could use another update, I did recently add some new links, so it may be worth a look!

If you site particular bloggers with this award, remember to contact them so they know they've been chosen.

Isn't this a pretty graphic? I'll look forward to adding it to my sidebar. Thanks Annie!

Something to be Grateful For

2009-11-01T01:37:00.006-04:00

November is the month of Thanksgiving, and I for one, think we should be grateful more than one day a year, but each and every day.

I used to fill pages and pages of a gratitude journal. Now there isn't a night that I go to sleep before enumerating at least five things a day I'm thankful for.

Sometimes -- on those very bad days -- it can be a stretch.

But once I shake off the "bad," I realize that in every day -- even the most trying -- there is something for which I am grateful. (More often than not, it's the orange furball sharing bed space with me!)

So, in every post this month, I'm acknowledging one thing for which I am thankful -- even if there's nothing else in the post!

Today -- as you can see by the photos here -- I am thinking I am grateful for my friends Linda and Larry, with whom were supposed to be spending this weekend.

Earlier this year, I mentioned Lin was one of my "notables" -- people who have been a powerful influence in my life. If you didn't follow the Marmelade Gypsy back then, you can read about Lin in this post.

Unfortunately, I got some bug (not the flu), enough of one that Dr. Lin suggested I would be better off home in bed (and I really felt that, too, not wanting to spread crud across state lines.)

So, why am I grateful? Well, after determining on Thursday night that traveling was a bad idea, Lin -- dear Lin -- called me the next day and we talked for a good hour. And I have to say she really listened to my frustrations about being sick all the time, my disappointment in not coming to visit, and my fears and concerns with having chronic lung issues. Listened, shared, allowed me to pick her wise doctor brain (or offered without my having to pick) and opened her warm compassionate heart.

And when we were finished with the conversation, I thought, "I am so grateful -- once again -- that this woman is part of my life and has been for more than 40 years."

Who are you grateful for today?

ALSO: Now on Chopsticks and String, "Burned Out: Part Three, Keeping Fresh." Here's a peek -- after you comment here, c'mon over and continue the discussion! And get a few shout-outs to bloggers whose work is fresh, inspirational and/or diverse!

# # # #

When does style get in the way of growth? Or does it? Or does it really not matter? And how do you bring in creativity to your own style? How do you keep it fresh?

In the past two posts we've talked about style -- and repetition of style. I call it redundancy when I'm being critical, but it's also what we "do." more

A Halloween Party!

2009-10-29T01:23:00.000-04:00

The Marmelade Gypsy invites you to a Halloween Party!

Step inside! There is fun and fancy...

Spookiness...

Black cats...

Pumpkin cats...

Mentally disturbed cats...

Glittery cats!

And Marmelade cats with an attitude!

Pumpkin people...

And lots of decorations!

Creative memories from friends afar...

Ghosts and goblins.

And very scary boy cats!

And when all is said and done, it's time to take off the costumes and go home!

I hope your Halloween is filled with goblins, ghosties and beasties!

Something Spooky in the 'Hood

2009-10-27T16:42:00.000-04:00

I was taking my walk and for whatever unknown reason decided to walk up a street I generally don't. I suspect it was because it was such a beautiful day, I wanted to spread things out a bit.

Sometimes we're supposed to do what wasn't expected, simply because we're meant to find something.

And what a delight -- from far away I noted something spooky on the lawn!

As I approached, I discovered it was a "cemetery" with some unusual residents!

I don't know this neighbor.

I think I should -- there's a lot of creativity going on in that house!

Halloween is coming! Boo!

Pink in Canada

2009-10-24T12:00:00.001-04:00

Happy Pink Saturday! I've taken a couple weeks off and I'll be on-and-off for a few, but it's good to be back this week!

For more Pink Saturday posts, visit Beverly who has the link list!

Today my images come from recent visits to Stratford and Niagara on the Lake, Ontario.

In window boxes...

On the ground...

And in store windows!

I loved the last of the beautiful foliage...

And it's never too early to think of Christmas!

Please visit Kathy at KathyKat Collects who always has fun Pink Saturday posts!

Now on Chopsticks --- Style, etc., part two

2009-10-22T00:19:00.001-04:00

Now on Chopsticks and String -- Part two of our blog discussion on style, art and creativity.

Here's the opening...

What is style, anyway?

If people were to look at me, they would say I don't have much, and what I have hasn't much changed in far too many years. The same hair (a brief foray into long hair was a pain), more or less the same build, the same type of clothes -- corduroys and sweaters or bright shirts; definitely bright! And tennis shoes.

I asked my friend Suzanne to describe my style and she said, "Bright and accessorized."

So maybe I do have style. Or, "a" style.

We all have styles we like -- I like warm, casual, comfortable -- Mission/arts and crafts style for furniture (though I don't really have any of that, much to my sadness), wood and brick, quilts, copper, folk art. A little bit country, but not "cute" country. I love color.That's reflected in my creative work, too. Not too formal. Colorful. I hope, comfortable.

I'm not a "steel" or "chrome" or terribly contemporary person. I love it when I visit others who have a clean and uncluttered style, but it doesn't work for me (although Frank Lloyd Wright, with his clean arts and crafts lines is an exception. He can go modern or traditional).

And we have styles in what we do creatively. Some of us do more traditional work, while others are far more contemporary. Some are realistic in style, others more abstract. And then there is me, who sometimes feels a bit artistically schizophrenic!

So, are we repeating ourselves?

Read more at Chopsticks! (I will leave comments on the "comment page" for those posts, to continue the discussion!

Quieter Colors

2009-10-21T01:41:00.001-04:00

Nothing like a bracing walk on a cold, gloomy day to bring the colors from vibrant to pensive.

So walk with me at one of MSU's hidden gems -- the water garden behind the MRI building.

Small waterfalls tumble over smooth rocks, wrapped into a landscape of reeds and grasses,

Only the fish seem to have the requisite orange garb of autumn!

I discovered this spot one day after having an MRI in the adjacent building. It was a quiet, pleasant place to walk after spending more time than one would like laying in a tube, senses having been assaulted by a cacaphony of excruciatingly loud sounds.

With each passing season, the garden takes on different colors and different moods.

When I first discovered this garden, it was a gray, cold, snowy day and the colors of this water garden were monochromatic -- white snow, gray rocks, skeletons of black branches from the trees and bushes at water's edge. Right now, the colors are warmer...

But not for long.

(You didn't really think I'd leave you without any color, did you?)

Of course not!

Enjoy these last fleeting days of autumn with a walk in your special place.

Harry the Heron

2009-10-19T23:35:00.001-04:00

Think glorious autumn day -- crisp, cold -- but not that biting cold. Just the bracing morning chill that keeps us walking briskly, hands in gloves, scarves wrapped around the neck, leaves rustling at our feet.

Add a bright blue sky speckled with puffy white clouds. The first sun, I might add in days. And color. Glorious color.

I decided to take a walk around the ditch (thank you, Rick), camera in hand, for what could be the last of the color. Certainly the walk down brought some splash!

But the ditch itself was looking more muted. There may still be leaves on the trees, but clearly, we are moving toward the end of fall, even though autumn continues until the solstice.

I reveled in the tons of brown and gold.

No flaming red -- just deep burgundy.

A jogger, a few dogwalkers, the occasional duck surrounded me as I walked around the giant pond.

Can you see the heron in this photo? (Harry, I call him)

What about this one?

Or this?Yes, now you have him!

This heron reminded me of a very rich post I read by Anno on Saturday. "It's all junk," she said, and then richly created four scenes she had observed the following week in such detail that one could feel the story beginning. She'd had no time for writing, yet I contend she was "writing" all along.

Why does this heron remind me of Anno's post? It's simple. You really had to look to find him.

I'd been walking about and I thought I was really looking at things -- framing them, mentally editing as I looked for the right view.

Yet he blended in with the environment so completely, I missed him. He certainly wasn't obvious. In fact, it was only at certain angles that I could see he hadn't disappeared.

He stood, straight, tall and very still, surveying his pond. His neck would extend, slowly, deliberately. I wasn't sure what he was looking for -- but he knew. When he saw it, his head dipped quickly into the water. I was too far away to see what came out, but I suspect it was the first course.

I would contend that the first skill of any writer, artist, doctor, teacher, cook, parent, scientist isn't a technical one. No grand vocabulary, mix of media or surgeon's knife can bring about an ideal end if the artist doesn't first observe.

It's in "seeing" (or "listening," if you like) that we note the little things that may seem irrelevant, yet carry an importance all their own. Try people watching (read Anno's post) -- there are stories there. The child or partner who says, "OK," when asked "how was today," may not mean "OK" at all.

I'm not saying we have to read between the lines on anything that is said. But sometimes there are important messages in what isn't said. Messages that require further investigation.

It's very easy to fall into the patterns of our lives. We go to someone's house and we don't notice things have changed. A new outfit, a haircut, a new chair. The mess finally cleaned off the table. Maybe we notice and don't say.

I nearly missed Harry the Heron. That would have been oh, so sad.

* * * * *

Some folks will go to great ends for photography. In Michael Maurer Smith's case, it's New Mexico!

Mike's Dissent Decree often gives me more food for thought than my brain can handle. He's a gifted photographer who is in love with New Mexico.

He's traveling now -- or has been. If you're into the Southwest or just want to see some blue sky for a change, check out his travel blog.

Burned Out: Creativity and Style, Part One

2009-10-17T07:34:00.001-04:00

(This is part one of a three-part series of essays on creativity and style. I hope you'll take a look and add your feedback in the comments. Parts two and three will appear on "Chopsticks and String." (In a few days) Yes, it's a little long (just like a Ken Burns documentary series), but I hope you'll follow it. In part two, we'll look at when style gets in the way of creativity and in part three, I'll look at some bloggers who seem to manage to keep their creativity going and master many styles.

*****

A little over a week ago, I was in the grocery store when a stranger came up to me and said, "When are you going to show my real shows again?"

(I didn't know this woman, but when you do a lot of pledge breaks and "go into their home to ask them for money on TV," they feel like they can ask.)

What she was referring to was the six-day pre-emption of public television programming for Ken Burns' current series, "The National Parks: America's Best Idea."

The 12-hour series took up 24 hours in the PBS prime time schedule because someone at PBS felt they should repeat the two-hour episodes immediately after they concluded on the same night. I hate it when they do that.)

And at WKAR, since we have other digital channels where the program was scheduled, it took even more time from our lives and offered viewers even fewer choices.

I knew what this frustrated woman meant. It's not that I don't appreciate Ken Burns' work, but I am "burned out" -- and "burned up" that so much air time was spent this way.

I can hear some of you now. "I loved that show!" "It was beautiful!" "It was fascinating." "How can you even SAY anything negative about it?"

And I agree.

But it was long. And frankly, after seeing every film Ken Burns has ever made, it was stylistically redundant.

That's really what this series of posts is about. Style. Not a Burns-bashing. In fact, I respect this man immensely; he's on my "imaginary dinner party" list. I've heard him speak numerous times, with passion and eloquence and will hear him again when he comes to MSU in December. I've had the privilege of meeting him. He can make a still photo speak volumes.

But editing for length isn't his strong suit.

I understand this. The hardest part of my job is editing Tweets for the station because I, too, appreciate the "long form." Like this post.

But it isn't just that.

For those not familiar with Burns, a quick look back shows a brilliant career that began in the 1980s with short, evocative historical documentaries on topics like the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the Shakers.

Then Burns, a passionate historian, sunk his teeth into "The Civil War" and took the nation along with him. It was then (and may still be) public television's greatest ratings success (yes, we do care about ratings -- don't let anyone tell you we don't!)

After that he moved onto lots of topics -- The West, jazz, baseball, and most recently, World War II. (Below, with "The West" writer, Steven Ives.)

Now, to be fair, I don't think any of these should have been one-hour shows! And while I quibble on length, the thing that bothers me most about "The National Parks" (and it took awhile to have this sink in) is that Ken Burns has not had a change of creative style in 25 years.

Now, if "Parks" was your first Ken Burns experience, this commentary will make no sense. But for those of you who have followed his career, look at every film the man has ever made.

It's structured in precisely the same way. Witnesses comment on the subject matter, all photographed beautifully with extremely effective use of still photography. Historical stories bring a human perspective to whatever subject matter is at hand. Diary entries are read by well-known voices and a compelling narrator recites almost poetic text. (Well, let's just say I thought narrator Peter Coyote whined his way through the "Parks," but usually the narrator is outstanding.)

Burns knows how to surround himself with outstanding colleagues. He uses them well. The script for "Parks" by Dayton Duncan is a poetic gem. And his longtime cinematographer Buddy Squires deserves an Emmy for what a friend of mine called "nature porn." It was lush, sensual, beautiful. No arguments there. (By the way, if you want to see this program and missed any, check it out at PBS.org under the Watch Video tab!

A film producer's job is that of both visionary and technician. Having the idea, finding a unique concept or presenting it in a unique way, and then combining the skills of all his colleagues into a unified whole. Think of it as putting together a jigsaw puzzle with tens of thousands of pieces, then add dimension, and sound.

Burns does the technician part better than anyone. And he is a visionary in topic. If he gets a little too in love with the project and can't edit it to a more agreeable length -- well, it's understandable. Producing a film is like giving birth. You want all the "toes and fingers" to be there.

But every single series Ken Burns produces is structured the identical way, in chapters, with sections fading to black and a "chapter name" popping up to begin a new segment. It's the same thing. Every single series for thirty-some-odd years.

I don't think the man could make a music video if he tried. Not that he'd want to, but could he?

Now, this whole internal debate with myself is making me crazy -- and the fact that it does make me crazy almost makes me more crazy. Because part of me says, "What's the problem? Isn't this this really sort of a "norm" for well-known artists?"

Yes. They call it Style.

Think Jackson Pollock.

Norman Rockwell.

Mary Engelbreit. Laurel Burch.

Jerry Bruckheimer. Claude Monet. Agatha Christie. The list goes on and on.

So, am I holding Ken Burns to a double standard? I suppose I am, and I don't like that in myself.

Is it because I'm not a "parkie"? I've had a fine enough time visiting the parks I have.

(Incidentally, the photos in this post are mine from National Park visits and PBS meetings, because I didn't feel comfortable trashing -- sort of -- the show and using their photos. The rest are from google images.)

But after gasping for a few minutes at the astounding beauty and size (and depth) of the Grand Canyon and feeling rather small or admiring the waterfalls of Yosemite, well -- let's put it this way...

When I think of Yosemite, I think first of the Ahwanee Hotel and a fabulous dinner with my friend Cathy.

A glass of wine on the porch on a day so flawless and fine, with a sky so blue, it hardly seemed real. A small red squirrel circled our area, waiting for peanuts, oblivious of the "do not feed the squirrels" signs. (So were we.)

The waiter inside poured his water more elegantly than anyone I've ever seen. The arts and crafts-styled interior was at once both massive and warm. The dessert was chocolate and divine. It was hard to drag me from the Ansel Adams gift shop.

I don't remember the name of the falls, though they were pretty, and I did rather like a rock wall that appeared to have a carving of a Native American. My notes tell me that's "Half Dome." I don't remember.

I did some great photography. Who couldn't? And I loved the woods with its brooks and very mini-falls.

But my sense memory is Cathy's CD of Native American music as we drove from venue to venue; the warmth of the sun as we sat in Adirondack chairs on the lawn of the Wawona Hotel after lunch.

I think of climbing rocks where sunbathers and climbers were relishing in the cool mist from waters falling from yet another waterfall. (I do love waterfalls...)

And then there was the Grand Canyon, which is very grand indeed.

My cousin Walt, Rick and I visited the Grand Canyon on a crisp December morning, winding through the roads of the park to a perfect lookout site. I don't think there was a cloud in the sky.

As we stood at the canyon rim and looked over I felt very small indeed. It was beautiful, the morning light playing on the rocks. (It was this trip and this trip alone that motivated me to get a decent digital camera; my pictures are awful. Not that any camera could really capture it, although Ansel Adams did a pretty good job. Still, most cameras capture it better!)

But after looking down and feeling a bit more vertigo at the drop than I'd like to admit, I moved away to enjoy it from a distance. I most remember buying Christmas tree ornaments and taking photos of the gorgeous tree in a gift shop at the Grand Canyon.

I remember buying earrings there, getting a quick bite at a snack bar. I loved Walt's stories about people who died in the canyon. I remembered briefly how terrified I was 30 years before when my cousin Nancy and I walked down into the canyon and how I thought I would never get out, as I walked up the steep and narrow ledge back to the top, frozen when people would pass that we would bump one another and I'd fall.

And I remember thinking "This is so beautiful. Thank God I don't have to camp there."

No, it's not the Parks topic that turns me off from this series. They are beautiful. The series is beautiful. And his history storytelling is unparallelled.

It's a style thing.

And Ken Burns' style has finally gone out of style with me.

But should it? Clearly the others I mentioned above had unique and not terribly varied styles. Isn't that just what artists often do, strive for? A consistent, unified thematic or visual style in their work?

In the next post, I'll look a bit more at style. And maybe I'll have better photos!

Nipping at our Heels

2009-10-14T01:50:00.000-04:00

Autumn is nipping at our heels here in mid-Michigan, bringing with it a shift in mood, color, energy.

Over the weekend, Rick and I went to a nursery so he could get some bushes for his yard.

I, of course, couldn't resist all the color of the pumpkins.

They were everywhere, big, small, white and pocked.

And of course, I walked away with a monster mum for $5!

I loved the autumnal accessories -- the flags and the corn shocks.

Every arrangement used the colors of autumn.

There were a few pieces of garden statuary, unsold from the season, waiting for a home.

But this one touched me. A stone angel, asleep on his side, the angel's wing protecting him in slumber.

There is an odd energy in my world -- I'm seeing and hearing about many who have experienced recent losses and change. Their worlds are reeling with shifts in responsibility, new tasks added onto the daily duties already there. There is an edge to people's moods in the office. Quicker tempers. Resignation. Anger. WKAR's radio campaign is going horribly, university cutbacks are expected, and everyone is scared. And hostile.

The flu has hit town and already one of my office colleagues (who happens to be just across the hall) has it. I feel another bout of something coming on, reminding me I have to get the flu shots and soon. The coughing annoys my colleagues and scares Rick. Heck, it scares me, too. Even Gypsy feels me draw in breath to cough and he jumps out of my arms or off my lap, even before the sound.

I long to be in the warmth of my house, playing in glue or in the kitchen or just cleaning, organizing, sorting, purging. By the time I get home and have dinner, it's dark and I shut down. Every day when I go to work, I say a prayer that I am grateful to have employment -- and a job that I love -- that covers my insurance and pays me well enough to meet my needs. But sometimes it is so hard to get out of bed. I just want to stay there and cry.

So, I grab onto the sun when it is there; revel in the color -- which permeates my world on days good and bad. I hug Mr. Gypsy Rose whose rhythmic purr reminds me to relax and that this, too, will pass.

And I remain grateful.

(For another beautiful post on gratitude, visit Relyn.)

Autumn Moments

2009-10-12T13:16:00.000-04:00

A couple of favorites from my visit to Stratford!

It's getting to be that time again!

ATale of Two Cities, Part Two

2009-10-10T21:47:00.000-04:00

After a late night of theatre and a long ride home, we got ready for our second play, in the city of Stratford, Ontario, known for its Shakespeare festival.

While Niagara relies a good deal on the theatre festival and the numerous wineries in the beautiful nearby countryside for its survival, Stratford, with its enormous Shakespeare festival is also a larger, more urban city with more industry.

It's grittier, busier. You can see the difference -- if you look at the flower-packed streets of Niagara in the last post and compare it to this image --

Well, you'll see Stratford looks like a lot of places! Perhaps its greatest beauty is the Avon River the runs through it.

When I walked down to the waterfront, I was mobbed by ducks. Clearly, they get their fill of treats from tourists!

Our first stop was at the Avon Theatre downtown (Stratford, like Niagara, has three theatres), where we had tickets for "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum."
The theatre was redone a number of years ago and it is lovely.

"Forum" is "early Sondheim." It was the first musical for which he wrote both music and lyrics, after some successful lyric stints for Jule Styne (Gypsy) and Leonard Bernstein (West Side Story).

"Forum" is broad slapstick. The opening song is "Comedy Tonight" and the lyrics and choreography set the stage for a laugh-packed show.

Everything about "Forum" is big, overplayed. Think "the three stooges meet Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd and the Marx Brothers, add some beautiful girls, a bold-stupid-arrogant Roman general, a vacuous virgin and a lovestruck boy." Ah, the possibilities.

So much about "Forum" could go wrong. Comedy is tough to do -- the timing has to work and in this case, it's even more important because some of the stunts were so complex and indeed, dangerous, there could be serious problems if it didn't.

I entered "Forum" thinking "I'm not that big on this show, but it'll be fun." I left thinking, "Wow, that was fabulous!" Everything worked!

Intermission -- take a look at the quilt behind us.

It was done by the costumers at the Festival. All representations from various shows, and beautifully done.

(Sorry about that bad photo above. But this shows William in good detail.)

After, Suzanne and Jim had the star, Sean Cullen, sign a CD.

And then, it was off to dinner at Bentley's, a pub on the main street.

I had the fish and chips -- it is a pub, after all! But Jim and I shared a lemon trifle to die for.

Then as we walked back to the car, we couldn't help but window peek back at the theatre gift shop! Loved this clock, but my wall space is taken!

We got home about eight -- just in time to spend a few hours playing the slots in Suzanne's basement!

"I'm so sorry I'm losing your monopoly money," I told her after working down the credits that she had gained and I had added to on the machine -- if I'd been in Vegas, I would have walked away!

It's a good value lesson! Easy to play, hard to leave! At least it was "play money!"

The following day I took off (after a visit to the grocery store!) and made it home in time for dinner with Rick, Gypsy time, and Dancing with the Stars.

Thanks, Suzanne and Jim!

It was a great few days!

I love Canada -- and feel so fortunate I live so nearby.

A Tale of Two Cities -- Part One: Niagara

2009-10-05T21:14:00.022-04:00

Well, I'm back from some fun days in Canada. I hung my hat in London, staying with friends Suzanne and Jim. That in itself was great! Suzanne is one of those friends from a million years back -- we have a lot of shared history, but never have to stumble to "get started" when we see each other. We just start where we left off!

But the title of this post is "A Tale of Two Cities" and neither is London!

Instead, the two cities are Niagara-on-the-Lake and Stratford. In both places we saw musicals by Stephen Sondheim. The plays were as different as the cities.

So today, we'll visit Niagara-on-the-Lake and "Sunday in the Park with George."

Located on the east side of Ontario, this small charming town is filled with cute shops and is simply lovely.

Carriages with their stately horses line up in front of the Prince of Wales Hotel, willing to take tourists for a ride (the operative term no doubt being "take.")

Flowers line the sidewalks and the median.

They hang in baskets from poles, rest in window boxes, and simply fill the town with lush color, even on a gray, often rainy and blustery day.

It's very picturesque, and people will go to great lengths to photograph one another!

Of course I had a few favorite shops.

I did some damage in the book store (and so did Suzanne, who is checking out!)

This shop is tiny with a minimum of categorization. For example, the fiction, classics and mysteries are all together alphabetically. So one stumbles on books they weren't really looking for. I found a book written by Julia Child's television assistant that intrigued me, along with a collection of short stories about Paris. I hadn't planned on finding either of these.

Moving down the street, we passed the Christmas shop (and no, for once I didn't go in!).

But they had wonderful windows!

The gourmet shop had plenty of samples and a couple of good sales from us. So did the bakery.

And Suzanne couldn't resist a praline from the caramel apple store!

Or the bakery! (Of course, we both succumbed to that!)

Everything was just so darned pretty!

Of course we had to pay homage at the Shaw statue!

While many of the plays performed at this festival are by George Bernard Shaw, they also do others, including musicals and classic and contemporary comedies.

A couple of years ago, when Rick was with us, he and Jim bemoaned Niagara as too cute. I think the place made their skin crawl. So Saturday, Jim dropped us off so we could go buy "overpriced cute things" and met up with us for dinner.

And of course, I had to take a picture of my friends!

Then it was off to the Royal George Theatre, the middle-sized theatre of Shaw's three stages.

I liked the downstairs lounge where we could wait till they opened the house.

It even had a wee stage for cabaret acts -- but don't worry, we didn't perform!

And should you think Jim was TOTALLY camera shy, well -- the answer is no!

Our first play was "Sunday in the Park with George," which was in what I call Sondheim's "middle period." (This is purely my categorization!)

It is two related one-act musicals. The first focuses on painter Georges Seurat and his relationship with his model "Dot" as he works on his massive "Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jette."
Georges' other work hasn't been all that well received. He's hoping this massive canvas will be included in an upcoming exhibition.

The story is complex, focusing on the vibrant Dot, who adores George but needs the attention and love he can't provide because his real love is his work.

The second act, with the same cast, focuses on a fictional great grandson of Georges named "George," a conceptual artist working in video. He is unveiling his "Chromalume #7" which is connected to the original work. His grandmother, Marie (presumably Dot and Georges' daughter) is present.

George is an artist, yes -- but he is also a businessman. The song "Putting It Together" talks about "the art of making art" -- which may involve a foundation grant or exhibit. When a critic takes him to task for his work ("Really, George -- Chromalume Number SEVEN?" she says, saying she expeccts more from him), George realizes he must take stock. (It sort of reminded me of Ken Burns' documentaries, but that's another post.)

Throughout the act we see George grow, and in the final number, "Move On," realize he needs to evolve, take chances. (OK, I cried. Because that's what I do.)

There's a lot of meat in this musical. It's not particularly tuneful -- the discord in the harmonies often reflects the discord in both Georges' lives. But it is so meaningful -- especially for anyone who loves art, who has ever been "stuck" -- whether we know it or not.

(There is a splendid production of the original Broadway cast on DVD. I recommend it, if musicals are your thing. You won't leave humming a song, but you will leave it moved.)

The staging -- eloquent, with great use of the art and beautiful scenery and costume design. As the first act finale falls into place, the actors take the positions of the famous Seurat painting and it is breathtaking.

The performances were spot on, particularly Stephen Sutcliffe as Georges/George. The season is nearing its end, but if you have the opportunity to visit Niagara and see this production, I'd certainly recommend it. It's not an "easy" show, but it's a splendid one.

A beautiful little town at the peak of loveliness, despite the gloomy weather. A wonderful theatrical experience. What does tomorrow bring?

(Photos in this post of "Sunday in the Park" are from broadwayworld.com. You can also view a lovely slideshow at Shaw Festival's website along with a video.)

I'm Having Fun in London!

2009-10-04T18:38:00.002-04:00

I'll be back in a couple of days! I'm enjoying a long weekend in London, Ontario getting an overdose of Sondheim. (Is there enough Sondheim?)

I'll catch up with you later this week!

Enshrined

2009-10-02T00:19:00.000-04:00

Today would have been my dad's 94th birthday, so it seemed a good day to post my shrine!

First, the back-story -- several months ago (well, more like six), my friends Kate, Jane and I gathered to begin making shrines. Mine was to be for/about my dad.

It's finally finished!

The base is a metal shadowbox that I bought at one of Jane's remarkable garage sales, with a heavy emphasis on art supplies! It was probably tin-burnished-copper. I added a few rub-on metallic highlights in turquoise and green to bring out the patina. I'm not sure you can really tell here, but it does show up. Subtle, but there. And it made an enormous difference!

The focal point is a photo of my dad from his army days, surrounded by various memorabilia representing some of the more significant interests in his life.

He was stationed in India, which he spoke of often, so I included a map of India, some postage stamps and war ribbons.

Another passion was ham radio, so the photo in the lower corner is Dad at the radio, and nearby are his license and a photo of the radio.

(All the photos are elevated on pop-dots for dimension).

Another love was fishing. The upper left photo is one of dad's fishing poses, along with a fly from his collection.

Of course, the biggest loves of his life were family. His parents are represented ...

As are my mom --

And me!

His medals and pins from the war provided color and balance at the top of the shrine...

I decided to hang Grandpa's watch from the bottom. I suspect I may modify the attachment; this doesn't seem too secure and the glue I put to secure it looks ugly!

Finally done! Is there one for mom on the way?

(On Chopsticks and String, I have posted an essay I wrote for a competition about "When Did You Realize You Were a Grown-Up." I'm not as grown-up as I thought, because I missed the deadline to submit it! But since it relates to my dad and a pretty critical moment in my life as well, I thought I would put it there. Please stop by if you are interested.)

It Could Have Been Worse

2009-09-30T12:01:00.001-04:00

Ever discover something -- see something you wish you hadn't -- and think "This is going to be really bad."

And it sort of is. But it could have been worse!

Well, that happened to me today, but not only could it have been worse, but I had the real pleasure of spending some time with the Don, the Bug Man.

I've seen some big black ants in the kitchen for a month or so, and get very good at smashing them with my fist and tossing them down the drain. Annoying, but hey, I live in Michigan. We get bugs.

But when I went down to do laundry a few nights ago, I noticed a rather large pile of wood dust coming from the ceiling beams near the washer. (We won't even go into the fact that this no doubt didn't pop up since the last time I washed clothes...)

So, I called Bug Man.

Now, I had called Bug Man here in Lansing back a couple years ago, when I was experiencing "The Invasion of the Kitchen Moths." Don came out then, and while there were drastic measures they could do to take care of this, and he'd certainly do them if I liked, he basically said the cure was almost worse than the disease, and suggested a more natural remedy to help. No charge for the service call, which is pretty darned unbelievable.

So, when I saw that pile of sawdust, I called them back, because any business this honest deserves my patronage.

Not only did they get me in quickly, but they sent Don again, and he was just the best!

As we toured the house, he pointed out things that would be useful to take care of -- getting wood out of the crawl space (who knew it was even there?); getting a dehumidifyer -- 30-50 gallons; cut the tree limbs touching the roof because ants can get in that way -- that kind of thing.

And he instantly found the problem -- carpenter ants in one spot. And while he was looking, he checked for termites (None found! A-OK! Hooray!).

Now, this is all the technical stuff. But it wasn't why I really was glad Don came to take care of the job.

It's because this is a man who genuinely enjoys his work.

You could see it on his face, as he got so excited when talking about the jobs he loves and hates ("I don't really want to do another flea job," he said, after saying this was flea season. "They're boring.")

His favorite? Yellow jackets! "I love getting the yellow jackets! The danger! The risk!" (And he's had a few stings to go with it, but it doesn't stop him from loving it.)

"It's like being a sleuth," he explained. "You're poking around to find them. And sometimes you don't, but when you do...!" And he smiled that great smile.

I said, "You sound like you love your work." And he replied, "I love my job. If you don't, why are you doing it?"

On his website, he has a photo of him by his "pest cemetery." He loves his work so much, he almost makes me want to do it. Almost.

Oh -- and about the ants? Well, took me back downstairs after he sprayed, and sure enough -- in the hole where the ants were hanging out, they were pouring out! All over that beam. And within minutes, they dropped to the floor, deader than door nails! There may be a stray for a day or two, but this stuff works!

And so (and now, Cathy and others bug-squeamish, you can click away if you like), I present to you -- dead ants by the pile. (This may be my most embarrassing blog moment.) But they're so glad I just had to share.

Oh, yes -- and how much did all this cost me? $125. Dollars well spent. I needed this far more than more paints or yarn!

Thanks, Don! You guys are the best!

Someone I Love Is 21 Today!

2009-09-28T00:00:00.004-04:00

It was one of those warm summer early evenings, when the sun is still high in the sky, the weather warm and play time will continue for a little while longer.

I was standing at the kitchen sink -- doing dishes or a craft project -- I don't remember which. But my eye was taken by an enchanting sight on the lawn across the street.

Two little boys were running about, ducking in and out of an appliance box fort that was decked with a tall flag. I could hear delighted laughing. It was the happiest sight I had ever seen.

I had no way of knowing that several years later, those little boys would become a big part of my life.

The youngest of those boys -- the one on the right -- was five years old that day. Today he turns 21.

I really didn't get to know Kevin and his brother, Greg, until two years later, although one of my earliest memories of my relationship with their dad was a Christmas Eve not long before that when he invited me down to his house.

We were just friends, only slightly more than acquaintances at that time. When I arrived around 9:30, Rick was in the midst of wrapping presents in Santa paper, and the two boys were sound asleep, dreaming of sugarplums, no doubt! Of course I helped, because among my other passions, wrapping is a favorite! And it was at that moment, I saw how much he loved those boys, and that told me a lot about him.

By the next Christmas, I was cleaning up the mess when Kevin had stomach flu on Christmas morning. I don't clean up like that for just anyone!

Through the years, I've been privileged to watch Kevin grow. (He's the one on the right with the white t-shirt, with Greg and Mama K's kids, Heather and Joe at the lake.)

And grow.

And grow.

And grow.

That little boy who was pushing the lawn mower when he was about 10, eager to do anything to earn money, now works like crazy at his fast food and football coaching jobs, all sandwiched in with school and "life."

I didn't know Kevin when he looked like this...

Or this...

Or this.

I wish I did. But I've known him during most of the "formative years" -- and we all know those go on for a long while.

When I think of Kevin, I think of the Christmas when Rick gave him the stuffed puppy he'd been wanting. I don't think he let go of it all weekend.

I think of the time we went to Rick's cousin's graduation from Cranbrook and Kevin refused to get out of the car -- for brunch, for the graduation reception, the whole thing. That wasn't our best day!

I smile when I think of how Kevin always got into setting the table and lighting the candles for special occasion dinners.

I remember his volunteering for WKAR's Auction. It was fun for me to see him there sorting bids with the other kids, and I was proud of him -- he did a good job.

I laugh when I recall the four of us going to Frankenmuth over the Christmas holidays and enjoying chicken dinner -- Kevin is the one with blackjack gum on his teeth!

I'll never forget when Kevin and Greg tried very hard to fool me into eating a boullion cube from Japan, which looked like a candy. I didn't bite. ("I couldn't possibly take the candy your dad brought for you -- you have it, but thank you!") I wasn't born yesterday -- I could tell by the badly suppressed giggles that pretty treat was no candy!

I was touched beyond words when I read the theme he wrote in seventh grade about Timmy, a developmentally disabled young man in our neighborhood. It was a side of him I'd never seen.

I loved our Sunday morning ritual of pancake breakfasts, like one on Father's Day...

The first time the kids were at the lake and he went fishing and caught bluegills...

It was a "catch and release" moment.

And equally memorable were the times he sulked because we didn't have cool water toys, like jet skis. (In this photo, he still liked the row boat!)

Ah, the teen years! There were the times when our conversations seemed to be one sided, with Rick or I using words and Kevin replying with "Uh" or "Whatever."

And those glorious times later and now when our conversations became much more interesting and animated!

For ears we have counted on Kevin to frost the most obnoxious cookie on the cookie plate every Christmas Eve.

(Fortunately -- or unfortunately, perhaps -- he then eats it in one bite! Or tries!)

Both Rick and I worried tremendously during the high school years when he played football. He played well enough to get a football scholarship to college, but after injuries his freshman and sophomore years, he couldn't play on the team anymore.

So, he transferred to MSU and now he coaches at his high school. I'm glad he still gets to be part of it. And isn't in the fray.

It's fun to watch this little boy grow into a young man. He surprises us often and in all the best ways. His work ethic is strong. He's smart. He's even improved in his Christmas shopping! (I was so impressed his first Christmas in college, when he gave me the book "Blink" by Malcolm Gladwell. His world had expanded and he was sharing it with us.)

There was a time when I think Kevin avoided us whenever he could. I'm told that happens with lots of teens. But now he'll call Rick for lunch or ask to come to dinner. We love it when he does, and it's more fun when he brings his girlfriend, Molly.

Kevin and Greg have always been polar in their interests, their styles, their personalities. I love them both to pieces.

But today's Kevin's day. I know he'll want to do the "I'm 21" thing, and we'll both worry a lot tonight and probably won't rest until we hear from him tomorrow. But we also know he's smart enough to have a designated driver!

Kevin has been part of my life for almost fourteen years. Rick has given me many wonderful gifts during our time together -- the practical, the beautiful, the creative, the surprising, the fun. But none has been more precious to me than allowing me the privilege to share in the lives of his children.

Happy Birthday, Kevin. Be safe, be strong, be healthy, be happy. Love wisely, but with a full and generous heart. I know you've had your ups and downs growing up -- it's hard enough to have two parents, much less two sets. But know always that we all love you. Never forget what Ted Kennedy's family taught him -- For those to whom much has been given, much is expected. Remember the Timmys of this world and the others you can help along the way. Even on the worst days, there is always much to learn, and on the best there is much to celebrate. Life is good. Cherish every minute! We love you.

Summer Into Fall

2009-09-26T01:25:00.001-04:00

Taking a Pink Saturday break for a couple of weeks, but I'll be back soon. If you've never visited before, scroll down a few posts to catch my last week's Pink Saturday -- a wonderful shop in Northern Michigan that knows how to mix pink, blue, white, impatiens and lovely French antiques for a beautiful look!

On the last evening of summer several days ago, I took a walk in our neighborhood. About eight blocks away from my house is a man made wetlands, instigated by our drain commissioner after assessing property owners a small fortune during a sewer separation project.

Rick was heavily assessed, so whenever I walk down to what he calls "the ditch," I always say quietly to myself (and occasionally to him), "Thank you, Rick!"

It was damp and muggy on Monday evening and the air was thick with the smell of rain and grass, the ground still damp from an afternoon shower.

Lots of people were walking on around the perimeter of "the ditch," some with dogs, others with iPods. I was enjoying the quiet and the colors, getting ready to burst.

I call these "fire bushes" and they were certainly a brilliant red. Yes, fall is coming. No, fall is here.

Clumps of purple asters and cat tails surrounded the water's edge.

The sun had set before I arrived, and in the twilight, the clouds were taking on some lovely colors.

I'm not sure, but I think this was a nest for some water creature.

And the colors. A sneak preview of what is to come, I think.

I have a love-hate relationship with fall. It is beautiful, and what's not to love about that.

But it seems so short -- not in days, perhaps, but in all the things that make it fall -- beautiful reds, yellows, golds and purples; sunny, crisp days, and bright blue skies.

Soon enough the leaves will fall, the crisp days will turn cold and the bright blue skies will be filled with clouds that will dump snow.

So, I will love it while I can and moan a bit when the leaves drop and leave a spider web of dark branches against the sky.

Yes, it really is fall.

Le Cafe du Vin

2009-09-23T12:05:00.000-04:00

We haven't had a wine tasting gathering for a long while. Oh, we tried -- but getting eleven people's schedule's in synch during the summer is anything but easy. We Cork Poppers are a busy bunch!

So, last Sunday afternoon, we gathered at Rick's to celebrate French Bistro wines, with our wine group.

We turned Rick's patio into Le Cafe du Vin, an outdoor cafe, with our tasting area -- a circle of chairs around a feast of fabulous cheeses, crackers, bread and snacks!

I pulled together a few of my photos from France (which was why we chose this particular theme!) and mounted them. And our wine expert Dick chose a delicious selection for our tasting. I do love tasting!

The first was a 2006 Chardonnay by Georges Dubouef called Macon Villages, which was from the village of Macon in the Burgundy region of France.
Aged in cement casks, it was a lovely white wine, that was crisp, gently sweet, and a bit fruity. At $14.39/bottle, it was a fair deal.

And, as Barb always says about the first one, "It's the best so far!"

Next up we enjoyed an other Georges Dubouef, a Pouilly-Fyisse Chardonnay, also 2006.

We learned for these wines, 2006 was a very good year! It was dry, rich, less fruity and quite delicious. This was the top level of chardonnay from Burgundy, and the $25 price tag showed it. I think I preferred the first.

I learned that Georges Dubuoef is a negociant (spelling?) -- one who buys grapes and has it made into wine, rather than growing them.

Our third wine was a Domaine Vigneau-Chevreau Vouvray, 2005.

It was very dry, using Chenin Blanc grapes and coming from the Loire Valley in France. The light yellow/straw color was lovely, and simply filled the mouth with a delicious flavor.

The verdict was mixed on this one. Pat said is smelled awful, like detergent, while Roger caught a whiff of damp mold. I got nothing from the fragrance, but then, I have trouble with smelling these days. Clayton determined it got better as it sat and breathed and I think I agreed with him on that. Many of us took notes!

Dick said 2005 was an exceptional year for the Loire valley, This may be why it was $21.50!

It was on to the rose selections. The first was Perrin Reserve Rose 2007 from the Cotes Du Rhone region.

It was the most gorgeous shade of red with a hint of orange. It had a nice full color and all I could think was that I wanted a sweater this color! It was very good -- I said "yum!" And at $10 a bottle, a pretty good deal!

Next we had a Sauvion, Rose d'anjou, 2008 of the Loire Valley.
This was a pale rose, a little lighter than the Perrin. Barb said it was "the color of Rick's bricks," meaning those on his house!

This company has been making wine since the sixth century and is now famous for rose, recommended for white meat, including poultry.

I could sum up the feeling about this wine first with Barb's "Woo Hoo!" and -- after hearing the $14.50 price, a general concensus that it wasn't that much better than the $10 Perrin!

Now we were on to the reds and the Domaine Du Vieux Chene, from Cotes Du Rhone Villages 2007.

Made in the southern France village of Cuvee des Seigneure, this was our only organic wine. All the grapes were from Seigneure, and they are fermented eight days in steel, macerated. and finally aged in cement for 15 months.

Now, this one was a deep red, very dry, with less residual sweetness -- all the sugar had turned to alcohol.
There were lots of tanins. Barb thought it was so wonderful she said, "This makes me sweat!" It is recommended for cheeses, coq au vin, and rabbit. And at $13, not a bad price.

And by that time, we were all enjoying the beauty of our wine. As I gazed into my glass, I saw the reflection of a lovely day -- and who could argue with that?

Finally, we enjoyed Bourgogne, Pinot Noir, 2005, Philippe Colim from Burgundy.

This was a brown red -- very deep. Barb said it smelled like old, wet, intriguing paper. IT was quite dry, with strawberry, cherry and many other flavors, which Dick, our expert, cheerfully acknowledged he couldn't really taste! Thank goodness.

This wasn't my favorite, and I think at $20.50/bottle, that's probably a good thing.

I learned today that all grapes have sulfites, but listing them on labels is an American requirement -- you might not see that elsewhere.

Once again, there wasn't a bad one in the bunch, even though there were some that we particularly enjoyed more than others.

Somewhere along the way, Mike said, "Look at this!" It was a great photo op!

And wasn't it? Look at the reflection -- you can see the "legs" of the wine on the sides of the reflected glass! Thanks, Mike!

After the tasting we enjoyed a variation of a French recipe, Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic. This recipe doesn't look all that tough done traditionally -- inserting garlic under the skin of a chicken, then adding in vegetables in the roasting pan. But since it was nearing the end of grilling season and an absolutely glorious day, I modified it by slipping the cloves under the skin of individual pieces -- along with an herb mix of rosemary, thyme and sage -- and grilling them. It did not disappoint. Especially with Rick and Clayton at the grill.

Everyone contributes to our gatherings -- today we had a wonderful salad (Barb makes the best dressing, too!) a cornbread to die for along with eggplant from Anne, and a delicious chocolate dessert from Meredith.

And of course, there must be party favors -- in this case, little bundles of herbs.

And of course everyone had a glorious time! Especially Anne, the birthday girl!

(If you are new to Marmelade Gypsy and enjoy wine, click on the "wine" theme word on the subject log on this blog. You'll see notes from some of our earlier tastings.

I've Been Catching Up on Blogs!

2009-09-22T04:07:00.003-04:00

Later in this post, I'll talk about zombie chickens.

No, this particular chicken isn't a zombie (or is it a rooster? I am farm-animal challenged) -- at least I don't think so! They're from Monet's garden in Giverny. But I just wanted to put them in!
Before I forget, I want to tell you that I've posted my thoughts on another foodie-in-France book, "A Pig In Provence" by Georgeanne Brennan, on Chopsticks and String.

And later today, if it isn't there already, you can read my take on another Cara Black Paris mystery, "Murder on Ile Saint-Louis." With photos, of course!

But first, I've been trying to catch up on blog reading and wanted to highlight a few stops I've made. You may want to make those stops, too. (You may need to scroll down to catch some of these specific posts, but it's worth the time to do so!)

(And, I just updated my links. Still working on it, but lots of you are now in place!)

Labor Day may be past, but Shoreacres has a post worth reading any day of the year. In fact, all her posts are worth reading any day of the year! And so are the comments, which really carry on the story.

Qugrainne has been in Bali and has many glorious posts with even more glorious photos about her time there.

Robin Bird has had some most thoughtful posts lately. I direct you to one I particularly mulled over for a bit, but encourage you to check out some of the others.

My cousin Bonnie recently had her first blogaversary over on Mama K. Get in on year two!

Joanne is making the most remarkable and delightful dolls! She's just reopened her website store, and you can get a good look at some of the featured dolls at her blog. Read down a few posts to get the full gist of her creations! Her current post also shows some of the store items. Click on the link in her post to visit!

My pal Judy Winter will soon be going to Fort Bragg to talk with military families about special needs, and in particular focusing on the important role siblings play. For more related to special needs issues, visit Winter Ramblings. This post is especially touching and timely, relating to special needs children and school.

Nathalie -- that talented and creative artist -- has opened an Etsy store. Link to her Etsy store from her most creative and artistic blog!

Janet at Lavender Loft recently had a birthday. So, using her family's vintage photos, she's cruising down memory lane. Lots of September days left to go along with her!

Finally, a big thank you to Diana, aka "Oh" (Oh, Books, Oh Paper, Oh Life!) for sharing with me the "Zombie Chicken" Award.I love laughing, and the description on this one is four-star! (And the graphic is fabulous!)

Here's what it means:

“The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken– excellence, grace, and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their inspiring words. As a recipient of this world-renowned award, you now have the task of passing it on to at least 5 other worthy bloggers. Do not risk the wrath of the zombie chickens by choosing unwisely or not choosing at all.

Five Bloggers who inspire readers willing to brave the evils of a torrid flock of zombied hens in order to read those Bloggers would have to include any of the people above, plus all of the ones over in my blog roll!

Now, I've given up "tagging" people to do this, so don't feel compelled, and if you do -- you can list as many as the rules say (five) or more, or less! The point is, I love the blogs I visit, and I hope you'll visit some of them, too!

Even though I don't get around to everyone as quickly as I wish I could, I still get there!