Sunday Cup: 13 of 52

Green tea in a Japanese cup. Unexpected? No. But just lovely on a Sunday morning. The cup has no markings on it. It was a business gift given to my husband on one of his many trips to Tokyo. Up until this morning I had only eaten olives out of it. Turns out it's a perfect vessel for a hot beverage. Who knew?

P.S. This is my new favorite part of the yard. We've been filling in a neglected corner around a beautiful Japanese maple tree with tropical drought-resistant plants and I realized today that the mid-morning light is divine. 

Stuff

I have been working hard at pairing down every corner of my life. No closet or cupboard is safe from my ruthless tossing and donating of towels, frying pans, sweaters and shoes. I need to simplify my lifestyle before I suffocate from the weight of all the stuff.

While clearing out boxes in the garage I opened up one that I had long been avoiding. A box full of jewelry boxes and sewing notions from my Great Grandmother Elsie. I adored her. She died in 2002 at the age of 100. But I could not bring myself to look at these until last week. I love that the jewelry boxes were total chaos. Buttons, hat pins, coins, watches, clip-on earrings, necklaces and rings literally spilling out. Oh so much stuff. It appears that there was not a tchochke Elsie Martin came across that she didn't like and keep. I cannot thank her enough for these lovely mementos.

Here are a few of my favorite things found in three three boxes of treasure that I will be holding on to with all of my heart.

The two little plastic phone key chains are promotional giveaways that had to have come from my grandfather, who spent his entire career at the Bell telephone company. One is a Princess phone (I always wanted a pink Princess phone in my bedroom) and the one in its original packaging is a "Trimline."

As described on the packaging:

"To put the phone of the future in the palm of your hand, just call your Bell Telephone Office or ask your telephone man."

My Grandpa was the telephone man.

There are several benefits to the new design printed on the back. Here are my two favorites features:

"c. Since dial is in the handset, wall or desk models can go in unusual but handy places, beneath cabinet or counter.

d. Handset rests easily in palm...you don't have to grip it."

So charming to imagine a time when new phone features were promoted with little toy key chains.

No relation

Would you agree that my daughter bears a striking resemblance to a certain late night talk show host? Could it be the hair?

I have a secret crush on Conan O'Brien.

I have a not-so-secret crush on Emerson.

Sunday Cup: 12 of 52

Sunday Cup on a Tuesday, you ask? Yes, indeed. I've mentioned before that I am a master procrastinator. I can push things off and then carry the guilt around on my shoulders like no other. There are no elaborate excuses to defend my slacker ways. This weekend my mind was here.



And here.

The only difference than most days is that so was my body. The hubby and baby and I spent three restful days by the sea. And I was lost in the fog the entire stay. I just couldn't bring myself to succumb to any responsibilities of my daily existence that didn't have direct relationship to caring for my child, consuming naughty food, drinking coffee and wine and napping. Even the blog felt like long overdue homework from Junior year French class.

Last night after putting the baby to bed, I had a cup of tea in this most delicate little glass cup and saucer from T Salon.

Tom picked it up in New York last week and also brought me several blooming tea blossoms. This one was a Chrysanthemum, wrapped in green tea leaves. It was a tiny little bud that eventually opened up to twice its original size. It was sweet and mild and lovely. I sat on the back porch and tried hard not to miss the ocean breeze.

Below is a nice little thought from Miriam Novelle, the owner of T Salon.

There are times I’ve sat with a cup of tea and drifted away.
There are times I’ve sat with a cup of tea and contemplated the day.
There are times I’ve sat with a cup of tea and wished for more hours.
There are times I’ve just sat with a cup of tea.

Glee in my heart

Can we talk for a moment or 10 about Glee? Good lord that show had me at jazz hands and I can't believe I have to wait through a long hot summer for another high school production of a Journey classic.

This is where I need to fess up to being a total concert choir geek in high school. I was only a nameless face in a crowd of 100, singing in the alto section. But, oh how I longed to have a voice strong enough for the Jazz Purr. My high school mascot was a wildcat, so naturally the jazz ensemble was the Jazz Purr. Clever.

I beamed with pride as they sang solos from Cats and Les Mis. I happily wore a giant black taffeta gown that looked more like a Hefty bag with a green sash while the Jazz Purr wore black velvet cocktail dresses, black nylons with the seam up the back and fancy high heals. They were the stars of the show. We sang show tunes and Christmas carols, but I longed to perform a four-part harmony a la The Mamas and the Papas's "California Dreamin." I was sure that if the concert choir could perform pop hits we would get the recognition and respect that was long overdue. I'm a giant dork. I also got ready every morning to the soundtrack to Les Mis. I was that girl. Bringing myself to tears from the emotional power of my own singing. In my bathroom.

So I'll admit now, that when the nerdy overachiever and the hot football star broke in to song during the finale on Tuesday night, I got chills and nearly teared up. I'll be living out my unfulfilled teenage daydreams on Fox this fall. Thank you, Ryan Murphy. The genius living out the fantasies from my head.

She Who Walks on Two Legs

It's official. Emerson walks. Upright. Homosapien style.

I can't quite put my finger on why this freaks me out so. Up until recently, I've thought of my daughter as part human baby/part bear cub/part tiny bird. On more than one occasion over this past year I've caught myself referring to her chubby hands as paws. As in "she managed to wriggle that right paw out of the swaddle again." No reaction from my husband. We were both so sleep deprived in those early months and I'm sure he was just grateful that I was the one to drag my sorry ass upstairs to spy on the child in her rare consecutive hours of slumber.

The bird reference was almost immediate following her birth. She was delicate and small in those first few days. She would curl in on herself and nuzzle on my chest after each feeding. And when she searched instinctively for milk, her gaping mouth was, well, bird-like.

And the crawling? Please. Crawling is just funny. I've felt as though I've been watching highlight reels of animal planet for months. This entire baby phase has really struck me as deliciously primal. I have loved most moments of it and I suppose Emerson's steady steps signal the beginning of the end to this stage. And that makes my heart ache a huge bit.

Now that she walks I am forced to understand her as something more than an animal with strong instincts. She is forever motivated by a more powerful sense of free will and independent determination. She is treading her own path. One foot in front of the other.

Sunday Cup: 11 of 52

With weather in the triple digits I just couldn't bring myself to boil water today. Fortunately, I woke up to the above photo on my phone. Compliments of my hubby who is traveling for business in New York. He started his morning braving the rain all the way down to Pastis for Sunday brunch. Yeah, it was a little bit like a knife to the heart. Thanks, honey.

Pretty Procrastination

Taking pictures of my farmer's market flowers when I should be editing? Yes, you could say I am easily driven to distraction. At least my camera has provided a healthy creative outlet for these frequent bursts which pull focus from the nagging responsibilities of my grown up life. Without it I would have been reorganizing the batteries and erasers in the junk drawer. Rather than editing. And in case you were wondering: Procrastination is truly a gift. A gift that continues to give and give and give.

Awe Inspiring

By no means am I treading new territory here. Flora Grubb has received much blog and media love as of late, but I could not resist. We visited her nursery over the weekend and seriously? It's dazzling. Each lucky plant in the place looks as though it has its own personal valet tending to its every whim. Brightly colored chairs and tables are nestled into corners so patrons can sit among the astounding beauty with a cup of tea or coffee from their lovely cafe.

It was a bit of sensory overload for me. Tom picked up several plants for the backyard and two orange Moroccan lanterns because I was in no condition to make decisions. I stumbled around bewildered with my camera and sleeping baby. Here are just a few images from a day that provided much inspiration for our own tiny yard. I cannot wait to return.

How would you choose just one?

I don't need these but I really, really want them.

And here is where I would like to spend the rest of my afternoon daydreaming with a cup of tea.

Doesn't it look like these little owls are protecting something very special?

This is just so pretty.

My 3/50

The 3/50 project is simply genius. The flyer above sums it up nicely but the website is full of interesting information.

Take a moment and think of three locally-owned businesses in your community that you would miss if tomorrow they were gone. Just thinking about that makes me sad and lonely for the hometown of my childhood. It was earthy and artsy. Today it is still beautiful and idyllic, but it's a shinier and more manufactured version of its former self.

I love imagining what it must have been like to sip Chablis and listen to Juice Newton sing in the local piano bar (which is now a sports bar - locally owned, but still...is it really too much to get a little "Queen of Hearts" on the jukebox?) and the fact that the Doobie Brothers lived in the hills above my high school? Ah, to be of age in the 70s...but I digress.

There are more than a few local business from my youth that are long gone. Book stores, clothing boutiques, pizza parlors and bagel shops. They've made room for many of the lovely stores also found at our local mall. And while I love William Sonoma and I have a shameful spot in my heart for Gap basics, I pine for the quirky places that made my hometown feel special and undoubtedly unique while growing up.

So when I heard about the 3/50 project, I immediately came up with my three. Of course, they are local - the whole point of the movement - so if you don't live within driving distance of Los Gatos, California this information will not mean much to you. But I encourage you to think of your three, and consider spending $50 a month supporting your local economy. Here's who's getting my Ulysses S. Grant each month.

The Los Gatos Coffee Roasting Company has been around FOREVER. It predates Starbucks and has been the go-to meeting place for locals for more than 20 years. I picked up two pounds of coffee beans last week. It's a bit more expensive than what I would pay at Trader Joe's but when you buy beans they give you this cute little wooden coin that promptly I turned in for a yummy iced coffee. So it's totally worth it. And it's a woman-owned business and that's pretty cool.

Ah, Bunches. How many ways can I love you and your bushels of happiness? The owner has a pet duck named Petey. He waddles around while talking to customers and sometimes hides out in his mini duck house. This little alleyway on the main drag of town is cool and damp and bursting with beautiful, fresh and unpretentious flowers. This place never disappoints. They always wrap purchases in colorful tissue and pretty ribbon, even when you tell them the flowers are going straight home. Sometimes it's the little details that make all the difference and small business owners seem to know this.

Domus is a total throwback to my childhood. This place is the mothership for all things housewares, gift ideas, home decor and entertaining. It's a huge shop that is divided up into a half dozen different rooms. Rooms full of wrapping paper, dishes, cookbooks, place mats and table clothes, candles, wine glasses and an entire room of wind chimes. It's impossible to leave this place empty-handed. I picked up Mother's Day cards here, rather than at Target, where I would normally shop.

There are already too many ghosts filling the corners of my memories. I miss the physical stuff and places of my childhood and I know we're not supposed to care about "stuff" but the the stuff of these businesses represents more than just commerce and capitalism. I just hope my support with help ensure they are a part of my daughter's memories as well.

Sunday Cup: 10 of 52

This Sunday cup brought to you by my Mother's Day. Spent with the hubby and the baby at the farmer's market. This was an amazing double cappuccino (which was supposed to be a double espresso but I'll take a steamed milk mistake any day) with a lovely mimosa waiting in the wings.  You can't see it in the photo but the champagne flute is recycled from the Campbell Moose Lodge #1811, which apparently celebrated it's 25th anniversary in 1992. How great is that? I had to talk Tom out of stashing these in the diaper bag. 

And since it's Mother's Day, here is my gratuitous Emerson photo. Whenever we say "kiss kiss" she robotically moves her forehead in to accept her lovin'. 

How do you thank a mother?

You don't have to be a mother to appreciate this. It is classic Billy Collins. So sublime, self deprecating and really just spot on. He can break your heart right open while you wipe away the tears from laughing.


I heard him read this aloud a number of years back at San Jose State University. He had the audience in the palm of his hands. I'm not sure which book it was ultimately published in but I would recommend any of his collections. They are filled with wit and lovely observations.


Happy Mother's Day.


The Lanyard By Billy Collins


The other day as I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room
bouncing from typewriter to piano
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
I found myself in the "L" section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word, Lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one more suddenly into the past.
A past where I sat at the workbench
at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid thin plastic strips into a lanyard.
A gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard.
Or wear one, if that's what you did with them.
But that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand
again and again until I had made a boxy, red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips,
set cold facecloths on my forehead
then led me out into the airy light and taught me to walk and swim
and I in turn presented her with a lanyard.
"Here are thousands of meals" she said,
"And here is your lanyard," I replied,
"which I made with a little help from a counselor."
"Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth and two clear eyes to read the world," she whispered.
"And here," I said, "is the lanyard I made at camp."
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift. Not the archaic truth,
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took the two-toned lanyard from my hands,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless worthless thing I wove out of boredom
would be enough to make us even.

A Mother of Reinvention

Melanie is a mother and a damn hot one, right? I'm only slightly biased because she happens to be one of my closest friends but the fact that EVERY single one of my girlfriends has gotten better looking in every way since giving birth is a phenomenon that deserved some attention.

Many of these lovely ladies have been in my life since before we would be considered women. We've held hands through break ups, pulled hair back over toilets, carried flowers in weddings, cradled babies in hospitals. We've documented each other's lives so there exists physical evidence of braces, penny loafers worn with socks, spiral perms, shoulder pads, blazers, bad sunburns, micro minis and overalls. Basically, the many dips into the unfortunate fashion vacuums of the late 80s and 90s.

So I have it on good authority that each of these mamas looks better now than they ever did pre-baby, mortgage, car payment, husband, career, etc. There is something special about growing up and taking responsibility for another person(s)' life that has absolutely transformed each of my friends. I see the wisdom and strength and flexibility that is unique to each of their own experiences. They possess humor and wit that leaps out of their very beings. They are each spectacular. And I can only assume this level of ease and loveliness has something (or everything) to do with surrendering one's self to the needs of another human being. They have each given up an aspect of themselves only to gain about a million new fascinating facets.

I heard a couple of authors talking recently about the need for a woman to reinvent herself after having a child. This was not just a reference to the physical - a kid-friendly wardrobe or low maintenance haircut. This is an idea that taking on the role of mother not only means that one accepts the "road not traveled" but that this new path allows for a completely refreshed version of oneself - a true renewal.

Melanie, whether barefoot or rocking her Prada's, reflects a different and beautiful, more complex version of herself.

What about you? Do you feel different inside and out since becoming a mother? In what ways have you been renewed?

Pick me, pick me

Hello friends. I have a little request. A short piece I wrote about one of my favorite "mom memories" has made it to the top 25 finalist stage of the momversation.com contest. My story is number 18 and you can get to it here. You will need to register as a member in order to vote for me (it's free) and I could sure use the votes.

Thanks!

You said it, Sister

Art by Catia Chien, via Sunday Brunch.

I've been checking with Peonies and Polaroids for a while now and today my jaw hit the floor as I felt as though someone had been rooting around in my daydreaming brain and finally got around to writing down my thoughts. She says it so well. And what about those Sunday Brunch ladies? Sadly, out of my price range at the moment but I will happily enjoy their lovely creations from across the Internet. Especially this one. How I would love to sip bubbly in those pleats.

Sunday Cup: 9 of 52

I forgot all about this set. I forgot how much I love it. It's quite small, so delicate and the design is elegant and classic. The only problem is that the cup is so small that my peppermint tea was done in three gulps. Ladylike, huh? I sat on the side porch while it drizzled for all of five minutes. I guess it's the kind of cup that requires a pot full of tea.

The stamp says CM with a leaf above it. That's it. Nothing else. So I have no idea when it was made or where it came from. But it's pretty and I like it. 

That Sick Feeling

My step son will take his drivers permit test this afternoon and tomorrow he will spend his morning with an endless supply of #2 pencils while he tackles the SAT.

Does anyone else feel like throwing up right now? Just a little bit?

There are moments as I've watched my husband's children stumble through puberty that I have felt at once the all consuming thrill and the soul-crushing anxiety that defines life as an American teenager. The idea that the future holds endless possibilities (driving alone in a car, anyone?) can be so exciting and yet completely debilitating. I am often amazed that my friends and I endured the experience with all our limbs intact and many of our brain cells still functioning.

Sometimes being a grown up doesn't suck. Now, I'm not saying I'm looking forward to paying the mortgage tonight, or cleaning out the kitty litter, but if you told me I would rest my head on my pillow this evening with the understanding that in the morning I would have to get up early and spend some quality time with a scantron form, I'd probably crumble into a tight ball on the floor and cry. No shit. I'm delicate like that.

Now that I am well beyond those years of boundless teenage exuberance, I lull myself to sleep by sending tiny nightly prayers that Sam and Liz might sprout wings and fly out of adolescence with more grace and wisdom than those who came before them. Whole and full of life. And inspired, rather than paralyzed by the possibilities.