The Housewifery Chronicles

MARANATHA

2005-12-21T06:51:00.000-08:00

It is Wednesday.

I begin to wonder if I'll make it.

Yesterday I had a frenzied madness attack. I wanted:

1. to open a present

2. eat 4 of the "being saved till Christmas day" cookies

3. Flip on the consarned light switch and watch the tree glimmer and shimmer with LIGHTS!!

4. Fill a stocking quite plump

But instead I:

1. rearranged the presents under the tree AGAIN and poked them a little

2. ate 2 of the "being saved till Christmas day" cookies

3. watched the luv pig waddle-scuddle all over the basement in shy excitement

4. stared into the candlight of the stalwart advent wreath

Our Lord said: "let the little children come unto me". I have never supposed that I will be more than a baby in heaven (bouncing upon the other MAJOR saints' knees,) but sometimes I wish that age 5 would release its grasp on me.

For a little while...till Christmas comes, that is.

NOBLE SPRUCE

2005-12-21T06:45:00.000-08:00

We tromped off through the snow (crunch fluff)
and felled ourselves a Christmas tree.
Inside now, it looks rather...noble.

Like something too powerful to be indoors,
something too patient to disdain it,

Ye noble pine!

We pray now that we don't get colds so that we'll be able to breath in all the lovely noble pine scent we can!

Bakin' Cookiesh

2005-12-21T06:44:00.000-08:00

almond extract:elixer divine

Communism of our Modern Age

2005-11-09T19:06:00.000-08:00

JMJ

It was Fulton who got me thinking on this one...(that gem of a man.)

It seems to me that the threat of communism is not one which forbodes of mini-Russias popping up all over the globe. The threat of communism is precisely its characteristic of stealth...to be particular: Communism is something which I think is characteristic of modern economics and modern human enterprise. The modern world seeks to subordinate man by making work something which defines him rather than something which he defines.
Work, as Sheen puts it, has become something we do for money, for our bread, rather than something we breath life into, something we imprint our divine spark upon.

This communistic philosophy is evident in every modern movement.

The Homosexual cannot understand that the Catholic church is not persecuting him because he cannot comprehend himself aside from the ACTIVITY of his homosexuality. We have lost the sense of BEING. And thus our BEING has become nothing other than our DOING.

Small wonder that our universities no longer wish to speak of things as they are but rather of things as we can talk of them being. The lust for history of thought has crowded out any consideration of the thought itself. Because history is the doing of man, while ontological considerations are completely intact with or without those doings.

Thus it goes, this diabolical misunderstanding of man.

Fulton Sheen contra assembly lines

2005-11-09T18:58:00.000-08:00

"MAN IS NOT MADE FOR PRODUCTION. PRODUCTION IS MADE FOR MAN."

Wish List

2005-11-06T18:47:00.000-08:00

JMJ

[Preface: Presents are nice things. Nice things indeed. They are even nice to list.]

1. Old fashioned long night gown. Preferably soft cotton twill or flannel.

2. Pot Belly Pig. Pinkish or Brown. Pink will charm the neighbors. Brown will shock them. Both are rawther nice.

3. Small pug.

4. A mug made by monks

5. A package sent from anywhere out of state with lots of little presents wrapped beautifully. One of the presents can be a cigarette case with candy in it.

6. Flannel sheets

7. An accordian

8. A homemade scarf and hat (must include the color pink and stripes.)

8. A homemade story book (with funny pictures.)

9. Anything by G.K. Chesterton

10. satin slippers (the dainty kind.)

11. Demurity.

12. A chocolate reindeer by Sprungli and Lindt

13. A toy made of wood.

14. A nutcracker. (and a small bag of nuts included)

Lovely thing you get to say ONLY while expecting:

2005-11-06T18:44:00.000-08:00

"TAKE IT AWAY IMMEDIATELY! BEFORE I SMELL IT!"

Sophomore year I went through a brief phase of wanting the be a monarch of a small country. Seems I am now. The country is my...corpus.

("Body" sounds BAWDY.)

FRIED CHICKEN...homemade

2005-11-06T18:42:00.000-08:00

must be eaten
IMMEDIATELY
or else it lacks

crispyness.

The Moscow Ballet

2005-11-06T18:38:00.000-08:00

JMJ

It twas:

A day at the ballet, small girls trying to perform arial lifts in the aisles during intermission, the satisfaction of the sight of the athletic miracle of "en pointe",
dodging the rain with a lovely man, and slipping into "Moceans" for seafood, TRIPLE CHOCOLATE cake, dim lights, and an ever full glass of water.

The best days begin with a whim

brought on by excited advertising on the local classical music station.

Expectancy

2005-11-02T11:16:00.000-08:00

If I was fond of spirits I think I would sum up expecting a baby like this:

"WATER WATER EVERWHERE, and NOT A DROP TO DRINK!"

But as I am not, I must make my own:

"The biggest sign of all
That something's changed our lot:
I used to take ice cream for breakfast,
And now I simply canNOT!"

The nausea of Pregnancy!

2005-11-02T11:07:00.000-08:00

JMJ

Dream full
the fair fine scent of Fall,
from inside your perfectly pressed tight
carpeted box.
Swoon most unromantically,
play the part of the seasick sailor
out to sea and yet for once, more at home than ever
in your perfectly unpoetic pod.

I have renounced a life of verse
for the buttery being of a ship.

(or rather! It has been renounced in me!)

I hope I quite forget myself.

IVAN-WHO?

2005-11-02T11:04:00.000-08:00

JMJ

Tell me, o Sir Walter, what can you mean by your cheekiness? How doth thou expect one to CHEER (with fist filled with mutton chop,) for your HERO when he is so BLOODY ill and out of it the whole of the book?

Somewhere a matron sighs deeply.

ACHILLE'S HEEL

2005-11-02T11:00:00.000-08:00

This is the fifth line of my 23rd post:

Circumstances, stoplights, and situations so allow

And for some reason it seems sort of phrophetic, and so I figure its a good enough intro to my re-entrance.

LIGHTS...
Curtain...

So. yes, I was tagged. But I'm afraid it ends there. I can't tag others.

I'm the fat kid who can't run.

Doughnut?

Ciao

2005-08-03T20:50:00.000-07:00

I fear, my friends
that I am in love with much
(and so my heart is often times breaking

off
into small pieces far flung.)

CALLING ALL FUTURE SAINTS of VATICAN II !!

2005-06-16T13:26:00.000-07:00

"We must remain faithful to the TODAY of the Church, not the YESTERDAY or TOMORROW. And this today of the Church is the documents of Vatican II, without RESERVATIONS that amputate them and without ARBITRARINESS that distorts them."

"The Catholic who clearly and, consequently, painfully perceives the damage that has been wrought in his Church by the misinterpretations of Vatican II must find the possibility of revival in Vatican II itself."

-FROM THE RATZINGER REPORT-

HEY BUDS!

2005-06-16T13:18:00.000-07:00

Seven Days
A little water

The beans came up.

I still can't believe my eyes. Sun, Water, Patience= FOOD!

It reminds me of growing up in Minneapolis. The neigbors had 3 or 4 evergreen trees and I was always afraid to go near them worried I'd get lost in the "forest".

They were rather magical things for me, trees.....anything that just SPROUTS up like them beans still are.

Except there is NO WAY I'll get lost in them......(I'll be able to eat my way out if I do.)

Bean Seeds

2005-06-08T09:31:00.000-07:00

We have a package of bean seeds which we are going to plant today by the side of the garage.

In such a situation, how can one not feel like JACK and the Bean Stalk??

You wake up in the morning, and VIOLA there have sprouted some small shoots....

The world is quietly packed and framed with exciting possibility. If a shoot like that can grow over night....what will it do in a few?

And then one starts to think about plumpish babies....and the ordinary is quite extraordinary all over again.

But then, creation was, from the first, out of nothing.

(i.e. a miracle.)

And up there there is a Giant, Jack, my boy.

God

2005-06-08T09:26:00.000-07:00

Poems are granted in prayers
The immensity of You romances
Dissolve Dissolve
Can't quite...no not quite,
Sensibilities dazzled but clutched frantically
must write you down can't write you down
The immensity of You romances
Grant me the prayer that isn't a poem.

Lord.

Ode to the French Lilacs at Casa 2

2005-06-01T08:07:00.000-07:00

Find me some lilac bush,
point me to the path
upon which floats some heavy bumblebee
and lingers that desirous scent
I plan to find enough to fill
vases with and more,
to think of, when the season's o'er,
and the blossoms' blossoming is done
I'll stand betwixt its plumpish blooms
and breathe bewitchment in
and sway and sigh with the bumblebee
who is drunk with lilacs too.

A Frost-ed Poem

2005-06-01T08:03:00.000-07:00

I wake up in the morning
to sun and birds
with only two things to annoy me-

The light of the sun is much to bright
and the birds are just plain NOISY.

Walter and Eudina

2005-06-01T07:45:00.000-07:00

Eudina had always wanted to plant a cutting garden, but Walter preferred to sod the yard completely and "not have to worry about it for heaven's sake." Eudina was appalled.

"It is exactly for heaven's sake that I want one!" she replied "We could have flowers in our house year round Walter! Think of that!"

"Takes too much trouble for folks like us" The words meandered from the living room in muffled grumps where Walter was shelving books. He never was a romantic, the kind of fella who would completely miss the particular light in his wife's pleading eyes when asked to dance in their living room.

"It wouldn't be too much work." But Eudina was defeated. She turned back to her bowl of lemon poppy seed bread batter with ferocious vigor. Now and then she would stop and stare out the kitchen window at the spot where she had planned to put the garden. She would let small sighs escape her, but never loud enough for Walter to hear. (She was a very good, sweet wife.)

But Walter was a good sweet husband and could feel the sighs.

So one day while Eudina was at the grocery Walter pulled on his gardening gloves, grabbed his trowel, and went out back to plant his wife a cutting garden. Eudina found him humming to himself in broken intervals as he was bent over staking a small little cedar fence into the ground around the plot.

"Walter!" She half whispered, half squealed his name, it came out exactly like a contented sigh, and this one Walter could hear.

He got up, pulled off his gloves and wiped his brow. Looking down at the soil he mumbled "Well, you know, for heaven's sake."

And he took her in arms and they did a little dance right there in the backyard.

They were at this time, 77 and 75 years old.

badtimingbaby.blogspot.com

2005-05-16T18:14:00.000-07:00

I LIKE THIS GAL.

She is:

kettle drumming in the subway

a grin caught in the corner of the mouth

a rasta wirling dervish

a carebear

a gentle soul "caged without a key"

www.badtimingbaby.blogspot.com

yep. I LIKE THIS GAL.

And, in the words of Robert Frost: "You come too."

2005-05-12T17:00:00.000-07:00

Admit it.

We eat sandwiches for the pickles in them.

Sense and Sensibility

2005-05-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

So I awaited them.

Three regency gowns purchased recently in sheer whimsy.

My head a-gauze with daydreams of romps in the hills a la Marianne Dashwood...

Finally they arrive

REEKING with cigarette smoke. The kind -my husband muses- that "smell like stale impacted smoke, like the things at Grandma's house."

So I washed them.

And I washeth them once more.

Three Regency gowns purchased recently in sheer whimsy.

Sigh.

Marianne Dashwood will have to romp in the hills in cords and tennis shoes and endeavor to be a little more like Elinore in the future.

Lovely Henry

2005-05-09T22:01:00.000-07:00

"Come read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day."

"Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;"

from H.W.Longfellow's "The Day is Done"

(magnificent is the poem that calls for the balm while being one.)

Draw me a sheep.

2005-05-09T21:58:00.000-07:00

If he is still out there

Antoine de Saint Exupery is 105 years old.

and he's probably a bit thirsty.

Minnesota Grown

2005-05-09T21:55:00.000-07:00

If you have not heard of Jonny Lang do so.

("still wonder")
translation: You gotta love someone who makes you want to stop making banana bread and pick up an electric geeeeetar.

DAY-O!

2005-05-09T21:52:00.000-07:00

Harry Belafonte is like pancakes on Saturday morning.

(or chocolate chip cookies on Monday afternoon.)

In other words: scrumptious happiness.
Angelina Angelina! Please bring down your concertina!!!

Pass the sunshine, Dance to a calypso beat!

Mrs. Edna May

2005-05-06T09:05:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Edna May found it rather annoying that slurping one's tea was considered rude. You see, she adored HOT tea, and the only way to drink it HOT was to slurp it. Otherwise, it would burn the tongue. She had all but given up drinking tea in public. Four O'clock would come around and there she would be, with her feet laid up on the couch, a small pot of tea beside her on a little stool with green chipped paint, and of course there was a plate of sugar cookies. She was fond of sugar cookies. She continued on in this way for some time, and the neighbors began to notice (when she took her daily stroll) that Mrs. Edna May was putting on a few, and was in time, quite plump.

HACKER

2005-05-02T07:33:00.000-07:00

Recent Phone Call:

(after about 15 minutes:)

S: "Yeah, so apparently (cough hack hack caugh-hooooie) I have walking pneomonia."

Q: "Oh dear."

S: "Yeah, I can barely breath...(cough gasp hack hack.)

Q: "Where are you right now?"

S: "In the garage."

Q: "HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING THIS WHOLE TIME??

S: "NO! I've only had 2."

Feministica

2005-05-02T07:27:00.000-07:00

I met a famed feminist today.

She wore a pink poncho off the bare shoulder,
She changed her hairstyle several different times through out the evening,

and she sparkled her eyes alot and said: "That's so cool that your married! I want to get married!"

And I was mystified.

Women do alot of seperating their minds and hearts don't they?

The Feeling of Pemberly

2005-05-02T07:19:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I went off in search of a treeline on a hill.

Hills are hard to come by here, and so this was indeed a promising prospect.

Weaving my way through the suburbia turn-arounds, ignoring passing honking cars filled with village teens, I finally took a sharp right and walk upwards, dead cornfield to my left, and giant sprawling factory warehouse to my right.

I felt desperate to find some open space.

The catch in the throat waited to be absolved....and then!

The cornfield stopped, and there behind my discovered treeline streched a giant Hill. England erupted out of no where, and I strode down the hill as Elizabeth Bennet, into a meadow of dandylion blossoms...and was happy.

You can't imagine the strange sensation of asphalt after that.

Pope-a-Ratzi

2005-04-24T16:45:00.000-07:00

Today at our parish the priest ended his homily with:

"The Pope is being called God's Rottwieller by some because he doesn't back down when it comes to TRUTH....well I think they've got it wrong.

I think he's just a German Shepherd."

*he he*

Strange Ruralities

2005-04-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

It happened quite simply.

We were driving along Highway 41.

We watched lots of rural Wisconsin pass by.

It was kind of nice.

It was also flat.

But nice, rather. (Righty-oh.)

Then we saw a bigish sign.

It said "www.lawsonomy.org"

And for months we wanted to find out what the other sign that proclaimed:

"STUDY LAWSONOMY"

meant.

But we kept forgetting to check.

We mused though...I myself thought that it was a small airport that educated smalltime/oldtime aviators....

How wrong I was....

I'm still not sure what in sam hill it is....

I have only read a few sentences.....perhaps I'm afraid of being raptured....or born again.......

Has anyone ever heard of this? Ever?

Peace and Corn

2005-04-24T16:32:00.000-07:00

I've been fighting an urge to "return to the land" and go buy a farm somewheres.

But dang it- eggs are only like 87 cents at the Grocery, so I'm afraid it might not be an economical maneuver.

HABEMUS PAPAM!

2005-04-19T10:20:00.000-07:00

just happened to log onto live newsfeed seconds before white smoke came billowing out of the chimney, and the crowd began to chant and cheer. Amidst all sorts of silly press about how the church really needs to get with the times and go progressive, the Holy Spirit ushered in the man known as "the watchdog" to lead the Church in the coming years. He (and God)are all about smacking down heresy...

Huzzah Ratzinger!

VIVA BENEDICT XVI!!!!!!!!

VIVA VERITAS!

Sandbox

2005-04-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

A thought and memory came to me today while (I blush to admit it) in church.

I remembered the big sandbox in our backyard, back in the days when my little brother could sit naked, fat rolls resting contentedly upon themselves, and play in the sand, and nobody noticed the difference...the thought that came to me was....I think we actually made little towns and homes out of sand against the backdrop in our minds that perhaps there really were little people out there that would come and inhabit them. Never a vocalized thought, but always there... foggily.

Pyscho Song Lyric#1

2005-04-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

Why can't the world swagger and sing like the dimples in Clark Gable's cheeks??

Verbum Domini

2005-04-09T18:03:00.000-07:00

The Saint is the Poet of Poets.

The world can't quite catch his meaning,
but it sways to the rythmn of his poetry despite the fact.

The world hums with attempts at love.
Even the smog of the city rises in immitation of incense,
the sounds of engines wild with the desire to go somewhere and make some connection.

Everybody in earnest about something-
So stands the furrowed brow of attempted love,

Poetry Peopled in our hearts
waits long for the necessary halt,
the quiet
of recitation.

The Saint is the Poet of Poets.

www.teabluehouse.blogspot.com

2005-04-09T14:51:00.000-07:00

When you feel like the world is made of smog drivel, and there is nothing cozy left to warm yourself in, take a load off at
www.teabluehouse.blogspot.com. Resonate, Post your resonations, and drink deep! This is the blog called RUDDY HEALTH!!

Cast List

2005-04-09T12:45:00.000-07:00

We'll need a gardener...someone to utter lines like this:
"You are my flowering shrub! Come let me prune thee!" under his breath to the old lady housekeeper. There will be creepy music whenever he turns to face the camera, and his will be a tale of unrequited love. THink: "He can make the plants grow, but not her love." He'll be named something like Trent. Something that can be spoken quickly and sharply by the Housekeeper whenever she asks him to do something.

We'll need a Housekeeper, blue eyes, soft hearted woman...something in between Basil's wife in "Fawlty Towers" and Emma THompson's character in "Remains of the Day". She will be fiercely loyal to her employer, have a carefully tended herb garden, and be madly in love with the mail man- though they never exchange words on the subject.

The Lord will always be peering out the window and provide a running commentary on the goings on of his household help and family...he will be the typified English Gentleman who adds "Oh well, is tea ready?" after anything that happens. He will be excessively fond of rhubarb wine, and of walking out in the yards and gardens with his hound. What kind of hound he has, I am not quite sure yet....

The Lady will be quite fond of social parties. She will also be the type of Lady who counts the silver and who always gossips about the help to the help, and who requires her tea gloves to be pressed. She will be suspicious of crumbs in the pantry, spots on the linens, and will concoct all sorts of evil motives on anyones' part for anything that happens to go amiss. She throws around ideas of people trying to "do others in" and all that quite frequently, whether it be to her husband, or to the ladies during luncheon, or to her small tabby cat "Poof poof".

No one will be entirely bad in this sitcom, nor will anyone be entirely innocent. There will be a kind of "ho hum, middle of the road nice weather isn't it!" type of flavor maintained all throughout.

Any persons wishing to step forward and audition for a part in the cast, will do so, please, by writing out a piece in the tone of whomever they wish to audition for. They will be given the part based primarily on public opinion. Other ideas for added characters to the cast are most happily welcome.

We are also in need of a title. Perhaps "Hedgewood Manor"? "Wilshire House"? Suggestions welcomed.

JUST LOOK AT THAT HAT!

2005-04-09T12:33:00.000-07:00

I know that each and every one of you have been perusing photos of the recent ROYAL WEDDING of Prince Charles, and Camilla. Perhaps dear Camilla is not so...shall we say...favored by the Britite throngs but I dare say she has a MAHHHHvelous sense of style! Look at that HAT! OOOOOOOOOOO They DO know how to wear hats over there. All those confectionary feathers sprouting to the skies of Britania! It makes me think of lawn tennis, croquet with parasols, cucumber sandwiches, high tea with almond cakes, parades, pomp, and lots of lovely circumstance. OOOOOOOOOOOO I would so LOVE to have all of you over for an afternoon filming a British sitcom. (If you promised to wear hats, that is.)

And so, today (here is my personal anecdote section:) when I ask my husband if he'd like to do it all over again and have a lovely ROYAL WEDDING (with gala attached) he declined. He also failed to give me a yacht for our wedding present. However, seeing as I came out pretty well after the deal, I do believe I don't mind.

There is always the first anniversary.

Vatican live stream media

2005-04-08T06:29:00.000-07:00

Right now, I can hear people singing songs, laughing, and chanting "Giovanni Paulo!!" across an ocean, in St. Peter's square.

Clapping...and the bells of Rome.

Grocery Shopping again

2005-04-07T13:00:00.000-07:00

The grocery store can make or break you.
If old man after old man fails to meet your glance
you begin to feel that there is little left for the day
except wilted lettuce heads and grumpy produce stockers
who illicit from you 2 "thank you"s instead of 1 excuse me and 1 thankyou...
because in a moment of surprise confrontation with your will
you ran up against a hestiance to beg forgiveness from someone who does not smile for you, and instead found gratitude a little more do-able.

Let us say, you were caught off guard...you were not prepared...
but then, it was-wasn't it? that old man after old man, failing to meet your glance
that brought you to where you were...unprepared for love.

Next time I'll say

"Hi."

Surreal

2005-04-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

during a visit to the drudge report, and other links, I began to click through a photo montage of mourning pilgrams flicking to Vatican City, and praying for the papa all around the world. At about #163 or thereabouts, I am looking at a photo on yahoo of Therese Ivers, carrying an American flag, with St. Peters standing in the background. "Strawberry Fields Forever" started playing and swaying in my mind.

On a different note: the man is still rocking the world after death!

The Baby

2005-04-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

Our guinea pig (aka The-Love-Pig) has a perpetual sneeze.

Catch the Galloping Consumption

2005-04-07T12:50:00.000-07:00

Thank you Austin.

Resurrection?

2005-04-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

Lazarus awoke, came out of his tomb and said: "Huh?"

.....and then the sound of graphite scratching..........

The Sound of Music

2005-04-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

A friend told me about a home in the Austrian Alps...it sits atop steep slanted hills with fir trees on them, the hills run sharply into a valley, there is a long glade filled with wildflowers, and then BAM straight in front is the vision of a huge mountain rising upward...the kind you see on chocolate bar wrappers...and the house was personally built by the family with this view in mind, and so the whole side of it is all windows. What makes this scene even more glorious is when you put the people into it:

He told me that every morning the master of the house comes down to breakfast at a huge wooden dining room table, with a thick brick of paper in the middle of it, and on that paper is the Gospel of John in Greek. And he bends over breakfast and the Gospel of John and scribbles notes....with THAT view beside him.

Field trip anyone?

Core of the Matter

2005-04-05T07:39:00.000-07:00

"MAN REMAINS A BEING INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO HIMSELF WITHOUT LOVE"

Come on people! I know you are out there! You can't be who I think you are and not feel compelled to comment on that baby! Personal revelations anyone??

"You just put your lips together and...blow."

2005-04-04T14:48:00.000-07:00

Saw something delicious on Drudge today...

Lauren Bacall's take on actresses today. OOOOOOOOOOOOOO baby! How she right she is!!!

I can think of a few exceptions....Joan Cusack is a joy to watch...there are others...but dang! Is she not right or what??? Where have all the Jimmy Stewarts gone? Heck where have all the Capras gone!

2005-04-04T08:23:00.000-07:00

"Our true mother tongue is the praise of God, the language of heaven, our true home."

Pope John Paul II, St. Louis, Missouri 1999

Identity of Man

2005-04-04T08:20:00.000-07:00

"Man cannot live without love.
He remains a being that is incomprehensible to himself, his life is senseless, if love is not revealed to him, if he does not encounter love, if he does not experience it and make it his own, if he does not participate intimately in it."

Redemptor Hominis, Vatican City 1979

On Social Concern, Vatican City 1987

2005-04-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

"Today perhaps more than in the past, people are realizing that they are linked together by a common destiny, which is to be constructed together, if catastrophe for all is to be avoided. From the depth of anguish, fear and escapist phenomena like drugs, typical of the contemporary world, the idea is slowly emerging that the good to which we are all called and the happiness to which we aspire cannot be obtained without an effort and commitment on the part of all, nobody excluded, and the consequent renouncing of personal selfishness."

Pope John Paul II

We encourage others to march, to dance, to walk to the beat of Christ's drum...even if they can only limp.

Strange things that just fit, part I: Errol Flynn

2005-04-03T21:14:00.000-07:00

Dashing swashbuckler of the old school.
Of COURSE he had to be in something by Rudyard Kipling.

Old Dudley

2005-04-03T21:06:00.000-07:00

Just read Flannery O'connor's "The GERANIUM"
and can't seem to shake that second to last line
about the geranium with its roots in the air....

Sound of Scratching Graphite...

2005-04-03T20:52:00.000-07:00

Its a lovely sound and feeling, a pencil sketching on a page of Strathmore charcoal textured drawing paper.
The satisfaction of a well weighted hard pressed line struck in bold and dead on is delish,
and even the ones that were dead OFF give one the theatrical foggy impression of being an "artiste" at work, scribbling and erasing like mad...questing after perfection, and perhaps sipping green tea in the meanwhile, or glancing at the sun's latest work on the shrubberies on the back lawn. Today I penciled the profile of my husband reading Hegel. I haven't sat and observed and drawn what I observed in a long while...not since I was in High School, and had some semblance of patience. The world may say other wise, and perhaps even the struggling faux artistic souls out there too, who believe that beauty is in the wild charismatic chaos, they will say that art is best when it comes off the top of the head, when it is "spirited from the depths" so to speak...but I have never found anything more rewarding in art than patient observation, and drawing what one actually sees. I could imagine up doodles all day, but when I sit and find myself in the peace and humble "quietude" that allows for honest lines, I find that the art changes me. This to me, has amazed me, in recent years, for I had always thought that art should bend itself down to kiss man-reach him where he is at...how much more beautiful the lover that changes the beloved, simply by the beloved being lifted up in love...

and transformed.

Sorry to all if this post came off too Ojai.....and yes, that is pronounced: "Oh! HIIIIIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

The cross we all bear...

2005-04-03T20:48:00.000-07:00

We bear each other: "beauties of the world, paragons of animals", shimmering with Godlike dignity...and most all of us blind as bats.

Sigh.

VIVA VIVA VIVA IL PAPPA!

2005-04-01T17:22:00.000-08:00

"The Church entrusts to young people the task of proclaiming to the world the joy which springs from having met Christ. Dear friends, allow yourselves to be drawn to Christ; accept His invitation and follow Him. Go and preach the good news that redeems; do it with happiness in your hearts and be communicators of hope in a world which is often tempted to despair."
Pope John Paul II, message for World Youth Day, Vatican City, 1993

He is our pope. The pope of workers, intellectuals, artists, catholics, non-catholics, women, children, politicians, of the poor, the suffering, the lonely...he is our papa. Pray for our papa.

" Totus Tuus ego sum
Et omnia Tua sunt.
Accipio Te in mea omnia.
Praebe mihi cor Tuum,
Maria."

"I belong to you entirely
And all that I possess is yours.
I take you into everything that is mine.
Give me your heart,
Mary."

(Pope John Paul II's own adaption of two invocations by St. Louis de Montfort, which he prays daily.)

Supper

2005-04-01T07:26:00.000-08:00

Two nights ago we had dinner with a Bishop. It all happened because my husband decided to actually take him up on his invitation to come over some time when he had casually handed us his card.

So, before we knew it, were were sitting down to plates of cornish hens with grand marnier sauce and Italian cabbage and potatoes with tomatoes. (He loves to cook.) And I knew he was a good Bishop simply because he made alot of noise when he ate. Like an oldschool European, who enjoyed his food.

Always trust a man who is comfortable eating.

somehow this all reminds me of my Dad, who would always say "pasta waits for no man!" and there'd be a stampede to the dinner table to avoid cold pasta and my Dad's wrath.

Confrontation

2005-04-01T07:06:00.000-08:00

We were at an intersection in what seriously looks like a midwest version of Santa Paula (complete with mexican bridal shops and places to buy boots,) and an old man carrying a plastic bag was jaywalking across the street. I perused him. I wondered what was in the bag, whatever it was it was square shaped. I wondered if he were homeless....and then I realized I was staring, so I lifted my gaze to his face and found him looking back. I tried to nod a greeting, but I could only get half of the upwards motion for a smile, and he stared me down. He just stared me down. He looked outraged. And I felt chilled and rocked to the bone. I felt like I had used a human person for my own merry-go-round of journalistic thought...but how else to love a stranger??

2005-03-31T08:22:00.000-08:00

REST IN PEACE TERESA SCHIAVO

God Bless the Schindler Family

rest in peace reputation and future of America

2005-03-30T13:13:00.000-08:00

The opera house in Paris (And don't dare ask "which one?" I am speaking of the Opera House in Paris.)
remains in my mind and heart as one of the places I could stay for hours...most of the other places that qualify are churches.

There is so much red velvet in the place, so much gilded luxury, and so much GRAND ENTRANCE-ness that you can't help but be transported to another identity and another era as soon as you begin to climb it's steps.

Best of all: the ceiling looks as though it was painted by a child, or a little old man who, with sparkling eyes and unruly hair, darted past the security guards one night and somehow had at it with his crayons and lovely imagination.

And I remember the golden coat hooks in the boxes of the theater...and slipped straight into one of the russian novels, where men would gaze up at gauze wrapped ladies in low cut evening gowns, breathing rapidly in little inaudible gasps of excitement, flushed pure pink.

THE AIR IS LIFE!

2005-03-30T13:09:00.000-08:00

It is Spring now.

I have a strong desire for badminton upon the back lawn, pink sherbet, and many trips to lake Michagan to take in the ocean-like lake.

Also. Off of a link from thetoymaker's blog, I have found a new passion. Paper theaters.

Happy Easter!

2005-03-30T13:03:00.000-08:00

Easter was:

A live stations of the cross procession with the mexican community of Milwaukee, through the projects.

Chai and Flowers galore and jelly beans, m+ms, and chocolate eggs.

11 people sitting down to boistrous happy conversation and a dinner of Turkey, Serbian Grilled Lamb, potatoes, champagne/cardomom fruit salad, garlic caeser salad, ciabatta, pumpkin bread, and vegetables.

My Husband reading "We who have died with Christ shall live with him".

Champagne and Bocce Ball as the sun went down.

A church filled with Easter Lillies and little girls in delicious dresses.

The joy of the Ressurected Christ. His Joy...within us.

The Vegetable that impersonates a Human Being

2005-03-24T10:23:00.000-08:00

terrisfight.org

Scroll down to the videos of Terri. Watch her respond to verbal commands to open her eyes, react to people who enter the room, and respond to touch. Not quite the PVS diagnosis we keep hearing about.

Back in the Day

2005-03-24T07:23:00.000-08:00

When Mom would ground me to my room,
I lay on the top bunk for a while
gazing sullenly down at the floor and imagining
how I would divide the room into my half
and my sister's half
and how I could get the better deal
and make her have to leap over my half
to get to her half
because after all
she was why I was grounded in the first place.

Then I'd go into action
and pack up all the things I could fit into my back pack.
Things that mattered
like my stuffed armadillo, a "three investigators" book,
a towel, and a blanket, and maybe the sea shell Dad brought back from Florida for me,

And then I'd carefully lift the window, and shimmy out into the wild and waiting world.

I'd run, as fast as I could, never looking back, figuring if my Mom saw me, at least she couldn't catch me. The hummmmm of the vacuum cleaner in our living room, slowly fading away, and the virile sounds of nature and small finches filling my eardrums...I'd make my way across neighbors' yards
and find a tree.

After a very long time, perhaps 3 hours, even, or maybe 7, I don't know, I'd put down my book, and sigh. I had absolutely no food, except for the wild clover that my Mom taught me to eat. And Mom would be worried by now, of course, for heavens sake, perhaps she's afraid that I was eaten or kidnapped or something.

So I'd run pell mell back home, and climb into my window, and with a leaf and a twig stuck in my hair I'd throw open the door to my room, and cry "Here I am Mom! I'm safe! I climbed out the window and ran away, but not to worry! I'm fine!" And Mom would switch off the vacuum cleaner and level her evil eyes at me and bellow: "You went out the window! You are grounded for another hour!" And my heart would sink because she didn't even know I had been gone.

And I go back into my room, and rue the unfairness of it all...and pretty soon, I'd hear the wind outside my window, and the sounds of night....and.........but no, there was also the smell of dinner.

Deep Space 2

2005-03-24T07:20:00.000-08:00

The delight
when it comes to sherbet punch
is all in the bowl

and what floats.

Deep Space 1

2005-03-24T07:18:00.000-08:00

I used to have
crushes on alot of people
until
I heard them speak.

The Easter Prep. Diaries

2005-03-22T06:35:00.000-08:00

I have finally gotten my dear spouse to accept the green cellophane Easter grass.However, he will not stand for having the pink kind in the house. He wants to throw the stuff out, and go to the store and get more of the green kind. He calls it unnatural.

If married life provides many more little hilarities like this, I'm definately looking forward to the long haul.

(I think its an excellent bet that the question of pink will come up again!)

Intrepid Explorer

2005-03-22T06:31:00.000-08:00

Which is better?

To name a pet after Jacques Cousteuou (sP?)
of Horatio Hornblower?

Ahem

2005-03-18T18:02:00.003-08:00

We shall now resume our talk of bunnies and flowers. (Lest we beat the thing to death.)

Frolic with me!

Ahem

2005-03-18T18:02:00.002-08:00

We will now resume our talk of bunnies and flowers. (Lest we beat the thing to death.)

Frolic with me!

FOR THE RECORD

2005-03-18T18:02:00.001-08:00

Why am I all hot and bothered about the Schiavo case?

BECAUSE IT IS A LEGAL TRAVESTY. (has nothing to do with the moral question of the thing.)

If they were starving to death a woman who asked that she be starved to death I would be sitting here writing about bunnies and flowers.

A court in our country has allowed someone to pull a vital plug without the EXPRESS CONSENT OF THE PATIENT.

HELLO? HELLO? HELLO?

DO WE THINK THERE MIGHT BE DIFFICULTIES WITH THIS?? HELLO?
NA! I'm sure this won't mean problems in the future, with, oh, I don't know, maybe,people pulling plugs for personal gain AGAINST the wishes of Granny, Mommy, Johnny. I mean heck! If you don't need the patient's consent it'll be like...open season! Woohoo! But gee, that's what it means to live in a FREE country! No big brother to make sure you don't knock off your little brother!

Okay. I'm going to do a little knitting now to calm my nerves. Maybe brew some chamomile tea or something. But I just had to get back into this issue here, because it's important for people to understand that the schiavo case is simply LEGALLY a load of crap.
I have not touched the moral issue regarding this case. Don't pretend that I have.

THE PRESS WILL TELL YOU THIS IS A RIGHT TO DIE CASE.

IT IS NOT NOT NOT A RIGHT TO DIE CASE. Right to die case is when Grandpa writes down that he does not want to be recesitated, and cousin Charlie wants to anyway.

The Schiavo Case is where someone OTHER THAN the patient wants to pull a plug WITHOUT THE EXPRESS CONSENT OF THE PATIENt.

Hello? Hello?

LEGAL TRAVESTY.

Why yes, Mayhem, come right in. Take a load off, sip some tea, nibble some cookies, and wreak some nice neat HAVOC!!!

PETER JENNINGS IS A WORM

2005-03-18T18:02:00.000-08:00

USUALLY this website does not encourage profanity or "hooligan-speak". But today I must make an exception and write for all the world to read:

PETER JENNINGS SIMPLY SUCKS.

I watched him "cover" the latest news on the Terri Schiavo plight and senate "interfearance...I mean intervening." And he was just a pathetic little biased WORM. I have never seen such a deplorable lack in professionalism. Granted I have not watched TV in 5 years. But again:

PETER JENNINGS SIMPLY SUCKS.

Let's sing it from the rooftops.

Profane part over.

We will now go back to our preferred mode of communication and cheer-filled vocab list.

St. Patrick's day is Tomorrow

2005-03-16T18:48:00.000-08:00

In honor of St. Patrick's Day
take a road trip to any random state
Bring along a cd of the "boys" singing "Monto" with rowdy
abandon
(cat call along with them)
sit down to a dinner
lit by green candles' candlelight
read about the wild story of the boy captured and sold into slavery, who became a shepherd of sheep, ran away, and then became a shepherd of men, plague and popper of heretics, and the stuff of legend.
And then of course, toss a few back in toast
and sing the night away.

(or for those special other few: pretend like you are Deborah Kerr and sing "Are you going to Gloccamorra" about the house.)

GOLDIES from the Restoration of Christian Culture

2005-03-16T18:39:00.000-08:00

"the purpose of a University is not research but friendship."

"prayer is a kind of dying."

"pop art (is) the indecent exposure of our souls."

A word to our Sponser

2005-03-16T18:34:00.000-08:00

Muses come in different sizes.
Mine, as it happened to turn out,
came large and scraggled.

thanks for the boot to the backside, fella.

Resurrection

2005-03-16T18:14:00.001-08:00

There is proof for the existence of God
in the bubbled and bouyed anticipation you wake up with on a
CLOUDY grey "stinkin" day
when the weather itself DARES the human spirit to flickerwith the smallest hope.....
But you can't knock it- can't shake it...though you feel somewhere inbetween
giddy and nuts, you KNOW you are somewhere that's close to
SOMETHING happening...
and you can't push it down beneath the waves of sloth or meloncholy
(like a life preserver it just pops up again.)
And the weather does its best (or worst, I mean)
And you turn toward the window in the middle of the day,
and its a full blown blizzard that's flared up, and flurries of fat flakes fall to the waiting (and poor puzzled) grass. You wonder how it came to be
that your unsuspecting house happened to be suddenly transplanted to Norway.
Then you turn back to your housework
then back to the window again.
The snow has just VANISHED poof.
And the pregnant expectation you woke up with gives birth to a fluidinous flood of contentment...as the sun (the now seemingly unearthly earthly sun) shines down brighter than it ever has before (it seems to you)
and fills the house with happy light and warmth.
And you laugh at what once was, and is no more, what despite defying any explanation, you knew would be,
even upon waking
one
cold
gray
morning.

TODAY

2005-03-16T17:58:00.000-08:00

Today

there was news that the senate may push for drilling in ALASKA

relics of Cardinal Newman were pressed to Terri Schiavo's body

My Uncle promises to grill a leg of lamb for Easter

Eva Cassidy filled our house wailing her precious heart out "Time is a healer" and I'm taken back to the day when a twinkling eyed strong-armed cook named L introduced me to Eva saying: "girl, you listen to that woman!"

In sum:

It has not been a good day for greenpeacedout liberals. It has, however, been a fabulous day for the saltoftheearth.

NEVILLE

2005-03-11T08:35:00.000-08:00

You may call me Neville
But I am just a frog
I don't deserve your courtesy
I cannot ping you pong.

I would like to dine at dinner
but whatever would I wear?
Shall I say yes to wine or sherry?
Oh it nearly drives me to despair!

I'm really quite a fop, you know,
You wouldn't really like me
I'd slime the seats and spill my punch
And ask someone to fight me.

You may call me Neville, dear
But please do not invite me.

SPLENDID READ!

2005-03-11T08:32:00.000-08:00

READ:

The Restoration of Christian Culture

by

John Senior

(Smash the television set! Build a fire in the hearth! Gather round, sing some songs! Drink good wine! Eat pasta! Flee the world!Follow our Lady!)

Ballet Binge

2005-03-11T08:15:00.000-08:00

In what looks to have been a masochistic move,
I have begun daily 50 minute attempts at a ballet class.
Call it Lenten Lusciousness if you will.

Of course, I could never even dream of the cruelty to others
that would be sausage-ing myself into a pair of tights and
attending a real live class with other peoples.

I chose a "safer" method.

I watch a beginner's ballet video at home, and clutch a chair as I attempt to follow the tutelage of a man named David, and struggle to imitate a blithe and graceful nymph named Allison.

David (who wears a pink polo shirt and speaks with a kind of regal british lisp), instructs the beginning dancer: "Although it is very difficult (the grande plie)one must maintain the illusion of absolute ease. Hence the lift in the body, and down into the plie."

Halfway through the video and I am beginning to wonder if groaning aloud and grunting in agony take away from the illusion of ease. But I incline my head and flutter my fingers anyway, in unfailing resolution to succeed. The chair that I am "delicately resting my hand upon" is protesting my endeavors with creeks and squeeks. My "Pas de Chat" (step of the cat) looks more like "Pas de gorilla-monkey" and when the excercise which entails kicking one's leg up to one's head's level, I just laugh derisively.

The purpose of this story is to instruct any men who may be reading that ballet is most definately not the pink fru-fru/bunnies/daisies and daffodils type of pansy thing that it is often thought to be. It is cold calculated muscle-manufactured grace.

And it is next to impossible. Please pass the mashed potatoes.

FAT BIRD

2005-03-06T12:41:00.000-08:00

I thought that I would never be the kind of housewife that adorns her house with plastic flowers and fake birds.

But recently we have purchased a very fat, plumpish red fake bird. We are planning to somehow incorporate it into an Easter centerpiece.

This is shared with all because it just goes to show that people are like a river. They are constantly changing. (Boy did that sound "swami"-like.
( it is also shared with all because there are few word combinations as ticklish as "fat bird".

Lament for local High School play

2005-03-06T12:33:00.000-08:00

(To be recited in the style of the penitential psalms:)

O weep, Ye progeny of the Public School System,

O ground and gnash your teeth, you misleading educators!

For your sin cries to the heavens, seeks just condemnation of yourselves, and your children and your children's children!

Oh horrible abomination! That you should put on a Spring musical

when only one of you can sing,

and far fewer act with any expression.

But as for me, I will thank the Lord, for though I sat through two hours of such artistic death
I was none the less, steadfastedly entertained!

(note: sometimes it is very delicious to be cruel. Sweet grinning and twinkling eyes ensues.)

Something Man-ish

2005-03-03T11:53:00.000-08:00

The comely grace

in a

perfectly

executed

lay-up

extracts from observers

a dear impulse to touch that orange globe
just once!

And cry out with the satisfaction to be found in a good

stretch.

Something dainty

2005-03-03T11:48:00.000-08:00

The purpose of tea

is the poetry

that is sipping

from a delicate cup

nibbling

lemon cookies.

(to explain: normally both tea and lemon cookies do not exactly tantalize my taste-buds...I also never, as a rule, nibble. But put it all together in a real sit-down affair, and you have something truly truly lovely. Magical! Ethereal! Fairy dust poooof!)

il Postino

2005-03-03T11:23:00.000-08:00

For a long long time I have wondered about the postman.
Sometimes we forget that the garbage man, the snow plow guy, and the postman are people too, and as such, probably know alot more about us than most of our close friends. The garbage man, for instance, knows that we drink alot of cranberry juice. The plow-guy knows that I am a housewife. And the mail man?? The mail man most intrigues me. He knows where I send things off to. He can tell if I have been communicating with my Grandparents, or am sending resumes off for a job. He has the inestimable pleasure of surveying my scrawl. I cannot help but wonder if he too enjoys the little daisies I draw on some of my letters...does he get a special thrill when I address them in calligraphy? Does he suffer disapointment when I have not sent anything via post in a long while? Does one of his eyebrows raise when he sees that I am writing a gentleman? Do postmen fall in love with some of the people on their route?

I think the very best movie plot would be about a postman who lives a rather lonely single life, and is in his mid-forties. He's long since grown tired of the dating scene. He begins to look forward to the embelished envelopes a young single (let's not make this baby too risque!) woman writes...but most of her letters come back unopened. He finds out (somehow- maybe through his pal Janine at the post office) that most of these addresses she sends letters to do not exist. Soon it unfolds that the young woman is lonely too, and is trying to reach out to find someone she hopes, but doesn't really think exists. The postman soon begins to write her letters himself from the addresses that don't exist, he pretends to be all sorts of people and a relationship begins. But somehow he's found out and loses his job. So now he doesn't know where the woman is writing to...and can't work up the courage to write her a letter from the REAL him. Months drag by...finally one day he goes to the post office to post a package, and he sees a young woman dropping a letter in the post...he notes the familiar scrawl.....she is about to leave....but he stops her, asks her if she would like to go next door for coffee...she declines....but he persuades her when he says that he has a letter for her (he pulls the worn draft of one out of his pocket, that he has sweated over for months...) the rest is wonderfully sappy history. Cue the sweeping soundtrack.

Mailmen hold so much creative potential!
Change the postman's age or gender and you have a completely new plot. The one above would be great between a 67 year old postman and an old widow too.

Killer Dress

2005-03-03T11:13:00.000-08:00

In a recent audacious and rather silly move,
I purchased what I thought was a victorian dress.

Think John Singer-Sargeant's Madame X and other lovely ladies and you will have the conception of the dress that I originally had.

When it arrived the love of my life exclaimed:

" MY! THOSE PUFF SLEEVES ARE E-NOR-MOUS!! You look like a linebacker!"

Poof! MY gilded dreams of sweeping about the house in my own personal impressionist painting vanished.

And, with a sorry sigh I realized what we all realize sooner or later.

Though we hate to even admit they even happened,

THE 80s will always haunt us.

(and reappear in the form of Trisha-like puff sleeves.)

BRILLIANT!

2005-03-03T11:09:00.000-08:00

Everybody's got them.

You know what I'm talking about....everyone has their very own spiffy unique idea for a TV show.

Mine is: A British sitcom done by Americans.

from the PAPA

2005-03-02T12:21:00.000-08:00

"Be converted continually. Be converted every day;
because constantly, every day, the Kingdom of God
draws closer. On this road of this temporal world, let Christ
be the Lord of your souls, for eternal life. Amen."
Pope John Paul II, in a homily in Ireland
September 29th 1979

Conspiracy

2005-02-28T07:39:00.000-08:00

Seen:

Location: Local Grocery, fresh produce section.
Who: Big burly man. Four O'clock shadow times three, looks to be a construction worker of some sort. Big padded work vest. Mud/slush crusted boots. Anywhere from 30-40 years of age. Brown hair, medium to heavy build, rather "gruff" eyebrows.

Overheard: (man to employee of local Grocery)"Scuse me, do you, um...bean sprouts. Do you have any bean sprouts??"

Something seemed suspicious.

Fresh Sliced

2005-02-28T07:36:00.000-08:00

O! Sing the juicy pulp of ORANGES!

Lover

2005-02-28T07:22:00.000-08:00

Sometimes

I walk down the aisle, passing dusty pillars,
and rows
and rows
clothed in the stained glass light
that pours through those gentle picture books
for the vulgar masses
and I float light, afraid my feet may take flight, mind reeling with the heavy gratitude
and consolation of
the richness of the
church.
And it always ends up to be
that I sink into the pew
leaning
like a lover in a swoon.
(God can be so caressing.)
The feel of my own weight against the pew end,
flowing back over and into me
as an embrace.

And then back down the aisle
again
past the dusty pillars
and the rows
and rows
and out the double doors-
never fails to call to mind
our first steps through the nave
as man and wife.

Much Belated!

2005-02-28T07:18:00.000-08:00

Please do go to

pilgrimoftheabsolute.com

to see the beauty and fruit of love
under her Feb 14th entry.

Baby toes and dancing make the world go round.

also: look at what seldom does with snow!

It's been a Hard Day's Night

2005-02-27T08:50:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while,
(And please tell me this happens to more than just me,)
Lines from "A Hard Day's Night"
just pop randomly into my head.

"That's me grandfather!" happens often, usually in the vicinity of cute old men.

And "please Mr.! Can we have our ball back!" happens often when I feel cheeky about having to present i.d. to authority figures.

Granny Bread

2005-02-27T08:34:00.000-08:00

I used an old grannie's recipe for poppy seed bread the other day.

One whif of all that almond extract sends one into euphoric daydreams of Italian biscotti, and potluck dinners...it fogs down the throat into the chest, and BAM! Before you know it, it's been an hour, and you've got two fresh loaves of poppy seed bread grannie style filling the house with their delish aroma.

Housewife-ing it is sheer delight sometimes.

All that glitters

2005-02-27T08:23:00.000-08:00

Aunt Kay!
Your crystal candlesticks
contort with chuckling,
spit specks of the sun
in mirth,
after a jolly romp with
light. a flirtatious
catch and go tousle.

(note: the above is an attempt to dress down our lovely fancy shmancy candlesticks.)

Fit a Vase

2005-02-27T08:13:00.000-08:00

Sign at the grocery store:

$5.00

one dozen long stemmed roses.

TURKEY

2005-02-26T09:09:00.000-08:00

In Istanbul
all the buildings are one half demolished and condemned, the other half ritzy and high swank hotels.
The coffee comes small and thick and will not be stirred.
All the taxi-cab drivers murmur a knowing "OHHHHHHHHH!" when you tell them that you are American.
The mosques are great big carpeted spaces...which are "not at all political, no not at all, just religious, not even that, just custom, not at all political not at all.. no no!" and at the bazaar
men will chase you down the street to entice you with tea and carpets and hookahs. The young men, with their half buttoned white collared shirts will tie sumptuous scarves around your neck and tell you that you look just like a turkish woman, "great beauty! Such a face!" and you can get them down to 75% off if you are not at all interested.

And the Bosphorus is there. Ready to wrap you in the gauzy dreamed visions of past history.