Gee, Thanks

A loyal reader sent this photo to me last night with the caption, "So sad this is necessary". I couldn't agree more. It then got me thinking about what kinds of people buy this sort of book. I mean, if you don't know to WRITE thank-you notes, would it occur to you to buy a book ABOUT thank-you notes? And if you ARE a thank-you note writer, wouldn't that probably mean that you are aware of the art of thank-you notes, in which case, you wouldn't NEED a book?

I posed this question back to the loyal reader and he responded that this book is purchased by the same demographic as those who purchase etiquette books. This notion, I disagree with and I'll tell you why. The Miss Manners - Emily Post umbrella is vast. It covers an endless amount of categories and subcategories. There is an Emily Post Institute, for crying out loud. It's located in Vermont and it's Incorporated. Clearly, this is a world unto itself. (A world, I admit, with which I am COMPLETELY fascinated...an entire Inc. on manners? Who knew?) Etiquette encompasses everything from fish forks to salutations. And then there is the business of wedding etiquette. Wedding etiquette comes with enough material for a solo posting.

I openly admit to owning a copy of Emily Post. I couldn't tell you which edition because much like the prongs of etiquette, there are several. The book is a wonderful resource for those rare occasions when you DO NOT receive a reply card with a wedding invitation (a-hem - see Least Favorite Things List, Part I, #16) and you need to compose an old fashioned response. The very precise wording, type of stationary, and, I believe, the ink color required, are all there. How so very helpful! A one stop shop for being polite!

While we're on the subject of reply cards, let me just say that I understand they are a necessary evil. Reply cards are here to stay. They are a sign of the times and they makes sense. Again, I'm a purist and I love the old school ways of doing things. Call me antiquated. I've been called worse. Fundamentally, I know that it's not realistic or fiscally smart to rely upon the old way of responding to a wedding invitation. But I still like it.

I work part-time in a high end stationary and paper store. No greeting cards. No wrapping paper. Paper and stationary. It's a fantastic store and I love the four hours a week I put in there. When I first started working there, I noticed something I had never seen before. In the Children's Section of the store where there are displays of birth announcements and stationary for those just starting out on the thank-you note path I found the equivalent of a thank-you note reply card. This totally took me by surprise. Basically, we're talking the Mad-Libs of thank-you notes. Fill in the blank:

"Dear____________, Thank you so much for the _______________. You are so thoughtful to think of me. Love,_____________".

Seriously, I am not making this up. As I read it in my head, it sounds like the dictation of an old fashioned, WWII, telegram. Dear Roberta. Stop. I hope you are doing well. Stop. Will be home soon. Stop. I have typhoid. Stop.

Not exactly what one would call a heart-felt piece of correspondence. It gets the job done, but it seems so rushed and so impersonal. So insincere. Makes me wonder if the children who start out with these drive-through thank you notes will continue with the same bland, cadence in their adult thank you notes...

I do believe I have just answered my own question. These grateful Mad-Libbers of today are the Art of Thank You buyers of tomorrow.

Veggies to Go

This week has been overwrought with an influx of distractions which have caused the blog's authoress to becomes a bit drained. In short, the blog has been neglected. It's not that the creative juices aren't flowing. It's just that they aren't coming out of the usual spigot with the usual force. When I feel the well start to dry up a bit, I find myself paying extra special attention to the extremely random and obscure. While it may not make for outstanding subject matter, I am a firm believer that EVERYTHING is material so I try to find a way to turn the outlandish into some form of entertainment. I didn't say I was good at it, I just said I tried to do it.

Yesterday when the union man 5 pm whistle sounded and I was scattering to my car along with the rest of the State Government roaches awakened by a kitchen light I was nearly run off the sidewalk by a very determined pedestrian. Said pedestrian was pulling behind her a wire cart on two wheels. You know the ones I mean, used to haul groceries by residents of New York City and used to tote knitting needles and yarn by elderly women too old to drive. They tilt a little to the front and can cause a major bottle neck if wheeled into unsuspecting crowds. There's always some stooge thinking it's a great way to transport his booze down Jackson Avenue in New Orleans during the Zulu Parade on Mardi Gras Day.

Anyway, this primitive and non-motorized vessel hopped the curb and nearly caused me to take a nasty spill. No doubt I would have been run over like those poor people in Wal Mart the day after Thanksgiving had I taken a tumble. Nothing and I mean NOTHING gets in between a State Government worker and his or her car at 5 pm. Once I was able to regain some equilibrium and recover I noticed that this oddity was more obscure than I had initially thought. Bobbing and weaving in between the State slugs and bureaucrats was a cart overflowing with roughage. It was a proverbial vending machine on wheels of every conceivable leafy green flora you could think of. Swiss Chard? Check. Romaine? Check. Boston Bibb? Check. Field Greens? Check. Baby Spinach? Check. Broccoli Rab? Check.

Had Granny Greens been in the general vicinity of a Farmers' Market or even a Whole Foods, this wouldn't be an issue. But what struck me was not JUST that this geriatric woman was the Pace Car of nomad's wheels, she was completely out of place. There isn't a single produce stand or vegetable stand within MILES of the State Capitol. There are no road side fruit and veggie stands anywhere in the downtown Austin area. A taco cart? Sure. A cappuccino buggy? Oh yeah. But to date, no one is peddling salad greens near the Capitol. I couldn't help but wonder, "Where in the world is this woman coming from and where on EARTH is she going in such a hurry? It's not as if those raw veggies are going to melt or spoil or lose their flavor if she doesn't break the sound barrier getting them home".

This "story" doesn't have a big finish or a moral. It was just one of those completely out of place and bizarre occurrences that caught my attention and made me wonder, had I not been so agile and had Granny Greens been in a bit more of a hurry, and had I collided with her lettuce and been hurled into the air and landed on my head, would that have constituted a "tossed salad"?

Writer's Bloc

Noun
1.
writer's block - an inability to write; "he had writer's block; the words wouldn't come"

On Ice

With any luck, the latest Arctic blast will bring ice to Austin later today. I first became aware of this development last night on the t.v. ticker. The gratuitous map of counties was featured in the bottom left hand corner of my screen. A mass of small geometric shapes was shaded with a nice peach hue contrasting the uniform gray of the rest of the area, presumably to indicate which counties were being referenced in the weather ticker. It's always hard for me to decipher these little jigsaw pieces because I can't really tell to which part of Central Texas they are referring. I've been duped before...the same little shape has appeared and, yet, my county has been spared. Just a few miles up the road, Williamson County is getting dumped upon with sideways rain and high winds and rising creeks while the infinity edge pool at my apartment complex is having a luau and playing Marco Polo. I don't put a great deal of stock in this little map when it comes to planning a day of shut-in, cozy solitude.

Eventually, the ticker began to reveal the relevant counties. I live in Travis County which means, as is the case with nearly all things in my life that are alphabetized, I had to wait. Burnet. Lllano. A-HA! Travis. Yes! One small piece of encouragement, the ticker served as an interpreter for those too challenged to unlock the codes of the handy-dandy map.

Now before you envision me throwing on a jacket and heading to the store at 10:30 pm to procure all the bottled water, non-perishables, and milk (this I have never understood. Milk. If your power has the potential to be zapped and not restored for days, what's with buying milk? I don't get that.) I could load in my VW, let me say that I am only cautiously optimistic. I'm not a chicken little who thinks a few sheets of ice warrant a trip to Home Depot to secure a generator. But I am rethinking happy hour so I have time to swing by the store and assemble a mini-stockpile just in case I find myself trapped on top of the hill where I live.

My initial plan, which was entirely devised to take "precautions", may be altered a bit since I heard this morning on the radio that we have been "upgraded" from a "watch" to a "warning". The term, "wintry mix" has been used several times, as well. That always gets me riled up and, as a result, my grocery list expands a bit. "Wintry Mix". I always thought that sounded like the name of a fancy-pants seasonal cocktail that should be served at the Hay Adams Hotel Off The Record Bar in Washington, DC from November to February. I digress...

Deep down I know this is probably going to amount to nothing, but if you can't get in touch with me tonight, don't come looking for me in the dairy section. Rather, I can probably be found in the battery, candle, and bottled water aisle of WalMart.

Coziness is Next to Cleanliness

I mentioned a few weeks ago that, in my humble opinion, a key ingredient for a cozy weekend is a supply of laundry detergent. It seemed random then and I doubt it seems any less random now, but for some reason, things seem cozier when they are in their place and there is something cozy to me about doing laundry and restoring order to my small, cracker box sized abode.

I think I feel strongly about the laundry component because for about four or five years, when I was living in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia, I had to use a communal laundry room. That meant I had to save up quarters like I did when I lived in the college dorm, load up my duds and sheets, and go outside and around back, then down a flight of creepy stairs to a sinister basement which reeked of mildew. I had to juggle my laundry, quarters, detergent, and keys all the while holding my breath and hoping that there was an available machine and not Jack the Ripper waiting to mug me and take my stash of quarters. For drying the clothes, rinse and repeat. It was an inconvenient step in any peace I was trying to create in my apartment.

When I moved back to Texas I vowed never, EVER to be without a washer and dryer in my actual domicile. I found an apartment which came with a brand, spanking new set; full sized to boot and it's made a world of difference. It's actually sort of liberating. I do laundry when I want to, not when the other residents of the ant farm dictate. I don't have to make sure to save up countless quarters and large loads of menacing, dirty clothes and then transport them to another location. Wanna wash just a napkin and a couple of dish towels? Go ahead. Toss 'em in. Though not energy efficient, it's your call and your's alone. Don't worry about setting an egg timer so you're notified when to go rescue your skivvies before some unknown neighbor has time to rummage through them and claim the machine for himself.

I'm a fairly Type A person. I like everything in its place. I alphabetize my spices. Okay, maybe Type A is an understatement, but you get the gist. Even for the most organized and Type A person, life can creep up and certain things fall by the way side. This has happened to me over the past few weeks and finally, yesterday, I couldn't take it any more. So, I threw it into high power cleaning mode, complete with loads of laundry.

Little by little, as each room was returned to its original state, I felt cozy working it's way back into my space. I tend to light candles as I clean so that the place is not overpowered by Lysol, Scrubbing Bubbles, and Clorox. You can still catch a whiff of the cleaning products, but it's not overbearing. The counters glisten, the clutter is removed, the vacuum cleaner tracks on the carpet are vivid, and the space begins to feel like home again.

Aside from the scents wafting through the apartment and the feeling of clarity, I relish a freshly made bed complete with clean sheets and duvet just out of the dryer. I guess even when things aren't going completely as I'd like and it all seems a bit out of my control, a freshly made bed gives me a bit of a sense of normalcy; as if to say, maybe I can't get all of my ducks in a row right now, but at least I can make my bed.

After I'd finished cleaning my apartment, I went out to dinner. There is a noticeable difference of returning to a newly organized and cleaned apartment. Placing the key in the door and walking in gives me the feeling of familiarity that comes with being home combined with a refreshed sense of slowing getting back on top of my game.

My LEAST Favorite Things, Part I

In the spirit of full disclosure, I thought I would follow up last Friday's List of Favorite Things with a List of Least Favorite Things. Like the other list, I have limited this entry to 20 items, so for those of you who know me very well, do not fear. Your computers will not blow due to an overload of material. It's probably a safe bet, however, that this list will have more volumes than the other list.

1) People who think they are funny, but are not
2) Bananas
3) Anything that comes in a floret
4) Incorrect grammar
5) The phrase, "Welcome Aboard"
6) Realizing you've left or lost one shoe out of the pair (I'd rather leave or lose the pair)
7) Dirty dishes left in the sink
8) Carnations
9) Numbers
10) Being told to, "smile" or "relax"
11) Clapping in church
12) Being excluded
13) The song, "Muskrat Love"
14) Ambrosia salad
15) Humidity
16) Reply Cards
17) Animal print
18) Tardiness
19) Hangovers
20) Disloyalty

A Peeping Thomas

So, I'm taking a huge risk in posting today's blog. In the words of one of my favorite writers, Peggy Noonan, there's serious potential for yielding a "creepy quotient". I love to write and I think in order to grow as a writer, you have to be willing to shed some skin and reveal a little bit. At least that's one thing my favorite writers have in common; their willingness to depart the safe and be a bit vulnerable, so here goes.

As I've mentioned, I have an enormous fascination with houses and homes. From the architectural to the decor, I am drawn to all of the nuances surrounding this aspect of the domestic. I recall as a little girl, riding in the back seat of my parents' car at night, peering through the car window and into the homes of unsuspecting families who had left their window treatments open. As I grew older, this interest stuck with me and in college, my friends and I would load up in my car and drive through the nicer parts of town and look at stately homes as well as the quaint cottages, for no other purpose than to "browse".

It wasn't that I was trying to "spy" on people. I think I was interested to see how people decorated their homes and what sorts of activities were going on. Even the most mundane; people getting up from a dinner table or playing Parcheesi on the coffee table translated to something cozy for me. To this day it is difficult for me to pinpoint from where this "hobby" stems, but it's become one of may favorites.

I was completely vindicated when I moved to Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia in the 1990s and was re energized in my interest when I returned to the area in 2000. Imagine my utter glee when I learned that the residents of this colonial mini-urban locale deliberately left their plantation shutters and silk drapes open so that passers-by could view their wears. An intentional peep show! Admission: FREE! Talk about a dream come true. These houses would sit up like trained circus ponies, just screaming for attention and praise. I can't say for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if somewhere, in the Southern quadrant of Old Town there is a nose print of mine suctioned to someone's circa 1790 beveled glass window pane.

Now that I have moved back to Texas and am living in a less aesthetically pleasing venue for this past time, I have managed to find a way to still indulge. I live in an apartment complex. It's fairly large by apartment complex standards and while the scenery is amazing, it's not Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia, which was a proverbial hobby shop for the house stalker.

My best bud, Thomas, and I like to take walks in the evenings. In the Spring and Summer, we usually end up doing this during twilight, which is a great time for a walk. BUT, during the Autumn and Winter months, when it is already dark after work, Thomas and I suit up and take our strolls after the sun has gone down. This hobby is so much more fun to do with someone else, especially when that other party is always up for a walk and doesn't make you feel like a total creep for looking in other people's apartments to see what is going on inside. In fact, Thomas actually has gotten to where he enjoys the jaunt around the complex and he has developed a personal affection for certain aspects of this activity, as well. He's become overly excited about this nightly routine and part of me is concerned he is going to get busted due to lack of subtlety. I try to remind him that we need to maintain a certain distance from these abodes and not be too obvious, but he is generally so excited about the excursion, he doesn't understand this. So, we're trying to find a balance, Thomas and I.

For those of you who haven't met the potential, perp, Thomas, here is a mug shot, which I am worried is going to end up in the paper in the criminal section if he doesn't work on using a little discretion.

Ruffles and Flourishes

There's no denying that yesterday, Inauguration Day, was an iconic example of why America is great. Sounds so kitschy at times..."Ain't America great?" The process, the actual process, of not just electing leaders but watching them segue to power is fascinating. It makes us unique. It makes us a role model. It makes us, well, great. I love America and so I don't mind being boastful.

"The peaceful transfer of power". That's a term that saturated the airwaves and cyber waves for a few weeks following the election. Then it napped for a bit and resurfaced a week or so ago like a prologue to the Inaugural. It's true. The peaceful transfer of power is a pretty remarkable thing but this time around, there was another component which isn't inscribed anywhere. It isn't mandated by law. And in a few cases, it simply hasn't happened. I'm speaking of The Classy Transfer of Power.

Administrations are such a complex mix of the methodical and the personal. Certain components of an administration exist and go about their business regardless of who is at the helm. But each administration has it's own personal touch. Whatever you say about this outgoing administration, most specifically, it's top two stewards, you won't say they weren't a class act. That, to me, is a testament to the kind of people they are; more so than any policy The President tried to push or any strategy he tried to craft. Staying above the fray, especially in Washington, DC, is a tough thing to pull off. President and Mrs. Bush did this with the same seamless and effortless perfection that the Marines and Air Force land Marine One and Air Force One.

I've mentioned this before. I had the privilege of serving President and Mrs. Bush for years; first in Austin in the Governor's Office, along the way on campaigns, in The White House, and then beyond as a volunteer. On the list of things with which I've been blessed, working for the Bush family is up there. Obviously, it was a stand-alone awe-inspiring and amazing road. I'd be telling a bold face lie if I said that the whirlwind life didn't have an impact on me. It was a complete rush and at times, it was breathtaking. Not breathtaking like watching a sunset or viewing a piece of art. But breathtaking in the sense that I often found myself wondering how I ended up there and for a moment, it was so overwhelming that it was hard to breathe. Funny how life can be that powerful. In addition to all of this "breathtaking unplugged" thing that was going on, there is a different layer for me and that is, it wouldn't have been as powerful, as meaningful, and as personal had I done it for anyone else.

Watching the Bushes approach the transfer of power the way in which they did; it didn't teach me anything new. It wasn't an "A-ha" moment. It was exactly what I knew it would be, but that doesn't mean it didn't inspire me or didn't make me proud to have served them in the capacity in which I did.

I was in Waco, Texas last night when the Blue and White 747 brought my President and former boss home. I always loved the feeling of anticipation and comfort when I knew I was winging my way back home from some far-away land. It calmed me and settled me and yet it invigorated me at the same time. That's how President Bush looked last night. He looked proud and he looked relieved. I think the swagger and the sparkle will be back in no time.

Cotton

Today is the second wedding anniversary of my sister, Lilah, and my brother in law, John. I prefer to refer to John as my "brother-in-law" instead of my "sister's husband" because I truly feel like he is a member of our family. I've never had a brother but I'm pretty sure if I did, I'd want him to be like John Howard.

I'm blessed to have a wonderful family, most notably, I'm blessed to have a wonderful younger sister. Lilah and I are four and a half years apart. That age gap has helped foster a three pronged type of relationship. Growing up, Lilah and I were pretty much typical sisters. When we were small, we were often dressed alike. When we were older, we dressed nothing alike. We've weathered a lot together and I'd say, overall, we had a fairly typical sibling relationship full of admiration, rivalry, and sharing.

Being the older sibling gave me lots of opportunity to be responsible for my younger sister. From the normal babysitting tours of duty to some not so typical functions, I feel like Lilah and I have a unique bond and I'm proud to say she is my sister.

The most important aspect of our relationship is our friendship. To this day there are certain jokes or phrases that I can only share with my sister. In most cases, she knows what I am going to say before I finish the sentence and I don't know what I'd do without her. She has been an enormous source of strength for me in tough times and has been my cheerleader during tribulations.

That Lilah and John found each other is an example of the perfect in an imperfect world. More than anything, I love how good my brother-in-law is to my sister. It reads so plainly, but that is John at his core. He's a good person and I could not have invented a better person for my sister to share her life with. Selfishly, I'm glad that I can claim a bit of the relation because I genuinely enjoy spending time with both of them. John makes functions and outings complete and I know MY family is proud to be HIS family.

January 20th has enormous significance for me but not for the reasons most people would think. January 20th marks the day that I have seen my sister at her happiest and if you know Lilah, you know that's a pretty profound statement.

Happy Anniversary, Lilah and John!

My Favorite Things, Part I

Disclaimer: At the end of this posting, you will not be given the keys to a new car, an all expense paid trip to Bora Bora for your entire family, or a new wardrobe.
Since Oprah has made "favorite things" synonymous with "free loot" I felt that I needed to nip a potential riot of Rodney King proportion in the bud.

I debated back and forth about whether or not to post a "Favorite Things" entry on the blog. On the one hand, it seems so cliche and yet, I find that when I read people's blogs and they have a posting of their favorite things, I thoroughly enjoy the read. Not sure why. I think it's because it gives me fresh ideas of new things to try. In any event, here is the first supplement of my list of favorite things, in no particular order. I hope you enjoy it, despite not receiving any freebies at the end. Sometimes the Pavlovian can be so cruel.

1) Crew neck sweaters
2) The smell of ground beef and onions heating in a pot on the stove
3) The Cocktails and Hors D'oeuvres part of a dinner party
4) Twilight
5) Being able to see the steam emitting from my cup of coffee in my kitchen in the morning
6) Warm sheets and towels just out of the dryer
7) Arriving at my destination and turning off the ignition of my car just as the current song on the radio is ending
8)Perfectly made beds - crisp, deliberate, and both inviting and intimidating at the same time
9) Cottages
10) Being the proud owner of the first bag to arrive at the baggage claim carousel
11)The "auto" feature on my coffee pot
12) Organza
13) Ribbons (NOT bows...RIBBONS)
14) Free samples
15) Frameless mirrors
16) Grosgrain
17) Chinese food eaten out of traditional Chinese take-out cartons with chopsticks
18) Monograms
19) Fine stationary
20) Crispy beef tacos

CMS Day

Today is officially Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day or as a Nation of brevity tends to say, "MLK Day". Now, before you start turning over desks demanding to know why you weren't given the day off, let me clarify. This is the actual birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This is the day of his birth. It is NOT the day we officially "observe" his birth. So, everyone back to work. You'll get your observed, Federal holiday on Monday.
Second, for all of you inside the Beltway, DC acronym-fluent, wonk-types who read the blog, the title of today's posting is not an ode to Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services. Oh, don't act like that wasn't your first thought. Because I know it was. I lived in Washington, DC. Remember?

Today is my father's birthday. Those of you who know him refer to him fondly as "Chuck Steen" but his initials are CMS, hence today's title. Those of you who know ME well know that I have a very close relationship with my father and aside from being an amazing parent, he is also my friend, my confidant, and my mentor.

All of my life, my father has been a rock and a corner stone for me. Don't get me wrong, Pops and I have had our share of disagreements and being the first born, hard-headed, Type A daughter that I am, I never went down without a fight. But one thing about my father everyone should know is, he is one of the most fair and non-judgemental people I have ever come across. He's a tough cookie and life as his daughter has taught me some valuable lessons because Chuck Steen doesn't let you make a decision without weighing the pros and cons. He is an attorney, a litigator by trade, after all. But that's just it, my father has allowed ME to make MY decisions based on what I have thought to be right. Sometimes we were both aligned and we were both right and we both came out on top and somewhere, a cork was being popped to celebrate. Sometimes we were both wrong and we both felt the agony of defeat as a father and a daughter and somewhere, a cork was being popped to ease the pain. More often than I would care to admit, he was right and I was wrong and in those instances, my father never gloated or gave an "I told you so" aside. He often had the cork already popped for me.

He was there for me no matter what stupid decision I made and as the first born, hard-headed, Type A, AND eternal people pleas-er, I think this has gone farther than he could have imagined. Also, just for good measure, let me just add that on a few, all be them RARE occasions, I was right and HE was wrong and since I am broke most of the time, somewhere a twist-off was being unsealed because I definitely owed him a drink. But this statistic is minuscule and hardly worth mentioning...except for the fact that I am the first born, hard-headed...you get it.

As my father settles into retirement and celebrates another birthday, I want him (and everyone else) to know how proud I am to be the daughter of Chuck Steen. I mentioned earlier that he is my friend and this is a part of our relationship that I cherish dearly. Dad and I talk politics, we talk college football, we talk travel, we talk restaurants, and we talk wine. From time to time, we talk about people. Remember, I said he was my friend and that's always a topic between friends. We do some of our best work at hole in the wall joints where my dad is the Norm of said establishment and we have fun. I think that's the great mark of a friendship; the ability to have fun without TRYING to have fun.

Chuck wouldn't be Chuck without his Chuck-isms. I think for the first half of our lives, my sister and I thought that Chuck-isms were part of every one's nomenclature. We would impart certain phrases or quotes we learned from our father on others and were often met with blank stares of unfamiliarity. As we've gotten older, my sister and I have have managed to work these -isms into conversation and I know of several friends who now quote Chuck on a regular basis. Talk about leaving your mark.

Here are a few of my favorites:

"I don't eat here because it's good, I eat here because it's quick" (Chuck's line for supposed timely eating establishments who are taking too long)

"He woke up dead" (Chuck's way of saying someone died in their sleep)

"He's got a case of the dumb ass" (If you need an explanation, this may apply to you)

"If you can afford to eat out, you can afford a babysitter" (Chuck's quote to demonstrate disdain and a zero tolerance policy for people who take screaming children out to eat with them thereby subjecting the entire restaurant to a night of misbehavior)

"And to think, some people adopt" (This was a line that was popular in my youth. On the very rare occasion my sister and I would prove obstinate or, well, hard-headed, Chuck would look at those around him and hit them with this. Today, this line might have gotten him a visit from Child Protective Services, but back in the late 70s and early 80s, it was viewed as a great punch-line)

"Dessert's Dessert" (This is one of my favorites. Chuck has an affinity for outstanding dining experiences and growing up, a mainstay of our childhood was Sunday lunch at Galatoire's. Dessert's Dessert was the cue to take our party, post-meal, across the street to the Old Absinthe House. A few of you have accompanied us on this field trip. I think I'm safe in saying, it didn't disappoint.)

I know I am overlooking a number of good ones, but these are the ones that are at the forefront.

Here's one of my favorite photos of my father from this past Christmas:





Happy Birthday, Pops!

20 Questions

Religion. Money. Politics. These are three components of a widely known etiquette law which says you do not discuss these things in social settings. I try my best to abide by this law despite having a hefty political professional background. Some rules were made to be broken but I think it's best to just obey this one.

In addition to the R.M.P. law are certain questions which are best not asked, especially in social settings. You know the ones I mean, probably because you've asked them. "Are you trying to have children?" is the list topper, in my opinion. Aside from having the potential to unearth some pretty emotional reactions, this is basically asking someone the frequency of their sex life. Unless someone has announced that they are with child, consider this question taboo. Just don't go there. It's a Pandora's Box of issues that you don't want to be faced with while trying to juggle a high ball glass and a canape. If nothing else, it just shows poor taste.

Some folks will disagree with me on this one but I'm sold on the fact that you don't greet someone who has clearly been exercising and has trimmed down by saying, "You have lost a TON of weight". It's a back-handed compliment. You think you're giving affirmation and encouragement when what you're really saying is, "Wow, you sure were a porker before but now you're not". No one wants to be reminded of excess weight. That's why we strive to LOSE it. If you haven't been riding side-car with a friend as they shed the pounds and you simply encounter them after the weight has begun to drop, just give a subtle, "So good to see you. You look great. How have you been?" Do not BELABOR the weight issue. Less is more. ( I think there's a pun in there somewhere, perhaps a two dimensional pun.)

Now, one question that is relevant only to the single ilk is one that I also feel people ask because they are trying to be complimentary but it doesn't feel that way on the receiving end. I know, because I've been there. Not only does it bring out an "Emperor's New Clothes" feeling, but it's hard to devise an appropriate, clever comeback. I'm a self proclaimed smart-ass with lots of ringing endorsements. No one will refute that. But even I have a hard time finding the right blend of socially acceptable, tasteful, self-preserving, and smart ass replies to this gem: "What's an attractive, smart, fun, outgoing gal like yourself doing still single at 35? I mean, you're the whole package." Really? Really. Some people find this to be proper cocktail conversation. I, for one, don't think it's proper landfill conversation.

What's even MORE interesting is, the proprietors of the question don't consider it rhetorical. They actually wait for a response. An empirical one. "Well, I had placed an order for this dude who seemed like a great fit, but he's on back order. He should be arriving within eight to ten business days. Yes, I put a rush on him".

Then there's a safe yet meek response, "Well, I just haven't really found the right person yet". Lame. Stale. Weak.

I guess if I was a bra-burning ultra-liberal feminist living in the Bitter Barn I could retort, "I don't need a man to be happy or complete. I'm a self-assured, strong, woman and this notion that I am nothing without a man is insulting". Woman, hear me roar.

In truth, my ideal response would encompass a bit of each of these. I'd like for some innocent reveler who I meet at a cocktail party to know that I'm definitely in the market for someone who is a good fit, but I simply haven't found him yet and while this would be a nice addition to my current set-up, I'm actually okay without it. I can function. I don't really feel like any less of a person because I am not attached. All of this with a little bit of kick, of course. A little zinger never hurt anyone.

Pride is a powerful thing. It can throw off the balance of what would ultimately be a soft, genuine, and legitimate answer to a what I think is a pretty bold thing to ask. It's like any other concoction or recipe; it has to be road tested and altered for taste. It's a personal question fitting of a personal answer.

...For people who love the coast

One of the key ingredients for a cozy weekend, in my opinion, is reading material. One of my favorite magazines is Coastal Living. I love this magazine for a number or reasons. First of all, it does a superb job of showcasing a variety of coastal habitats. It doesn't have much of a touristy bent, if any and it gives what I think is a real and authentic view on what it means to spend time on the water. If the magazine IS promoting tourism in a certain coastal location, the writers and editors tend to suggest B&Bs and local watering holes and locally owned proprietor ships v. the usual chain hotels or eateries. I love this. LOVE it. I am a huge fan of traveling but I detest tourist traps. I feel like such a sell-out if I end up doing really touristy things during my trips. Bleck. Depressing.

I particularly like how Coastal Living comes alive in the colder months.

I've never worked for a periodical or publisher (much to my own chagrin), but I would have to imagine that there would be a surge of material for a maritime mag from, oh say, about May through August. After that, you gotta get a little creative while not losing what's become the familiar tone of the publication.

I love the beach in the Winter. I also love predominantly coastal towns and ports in the Winter. I enjoy them in the Summer,but the off-season is probably my preference. It may have something to do with the fact that I can't spend more than I'd say about 20 minutes in the sun and I have to be constantly slathered in SPF 65. Sort of takes the whimsy out of Summer time at the beach, ya' know?

Maybe it's the sort of in -your-face rule breaking irreverence that I revel in. Being on the beach in January, in a coastal cottage with clapboard exterior and whitecaps and a fireplace crackling on the inside. It just seems so...so...defiant. No sign of water toys, rafts, shovels and pales or the other detritus usually found surrounding the coastal mini-compound. Nope, just the delicate puffs of smoke emitting from a weather beaten cottage. And a backdrop that is usually used for Fourth of July calendar photos in the background. I always get a kick out of people having to "winterize" their houses. If I had a cottage on the beach, my form of winterizing would be the setting I just described. I got your winterizing right here. Where do I sign up?

Another brilliant (well, to me it's brilliant) component of Coastal Living is the recipes AND menus. The menus are such a great detail. Sure, recipes are nice. I love them. I love to cook. I love cookbooks, so recipes are their own genre to me. But I love that Coastal Living goes the extra mile to not only supply you with the tools, it gives you an example of what the true final product can look like. It's also a cook's best friend when you find yourself wanting to entertain but unable to come up with a full cast of edible characters.

Coastal Living is best in hard copy, but they do a great job of making their website as interactive and updated as possible. My favorite aspect of their website is the free computer backgrounds you can download for your computer. They are seasonal and they span an array of aquatic landscapes. For those days, like today, when I'd rather be anywhere than here, these little bits of digital wallpaper definitely make a difference. Check it out.

Location, Location, Location

As my cozy weekend drew to a close, I found myself sad to see it go and also thankful to have had such a quiet 48 hours to myself. Among other things, I found myself contemplating my love for small spaces. It's no secret that I am a quirky person full of random preferences and tastes. I openly admit that. Most notably is my love for small spaces. While most people are striving for more square footage, I'm most comfortable in 1,000 square feet or less. I'm drawn to words like, "cottage" and, "bungalow" and, "Craftsman" the way most ambitious Americans in search of the American Dream are drawn to, "sprawling", "acreage", and "three car garage". In all honesty, if I had unlimited funds, I'd live in a small, Craftsman bungalow...I'd just have a smattering of them around the country. I'm a self-proclaimed house whore. I troll Craig's List to see what sorts of properties are out there and I pimp myself out for crown molding, hardwoods (NOT laminate), and porches. I mean, who doesn't love a good chair rail? And at the end of the day, who can resist a claw foot tub? C'mon.

I watch HGTV religiously and am mesmerized by the segments featuring tiny NYC apartments or quaint cottages which have barely enough room in which to change to your mind. When I lived in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia, I was constantly driving by the "smallest house in Alexandria"; a sliver of brick wedged between two dreamy Colonial babes. The one time I thought I wanted to have more room; you know, be able to "spread out", I found myself migrating to the smallest crevasse and just spending all of my time there. I found the extra space unruly and overwhelming. Maybe it's a control thing, I'm not sure. Maybe in some quirky way I like to have a handle on all the space I'm responsible for so nothing creeps up on me. Regardless of the deep, underlying, perfect-material-for-the-couch reason, I'm pretty sure I will always be encapsulated by only the necessary amounts of space needed to live.

When visualizing my ultimate small and cozy spaces, the movie, The Holiday, springs to mind. It should not be overlooked that this selection was plucked from a movie which is set in the Winter time and is surrounded by snow. I am nothing if not consistent.

If you haven't taken in this flick, I highly recommend it. The story line is genuine but, for me, the real draw is the location:

Weekend Recipe

The weekend is upon us and I cannot emphasize enough how over the moon, ecstatic, giddy- like-a-school- girl I am that I have NOTHING on the docket. This is how I know I am getting old. There was a time, not too long ago, when I was in a full blown panic if Wednesday dawned and I didn't have, at LEAST, a fete of some sort lined up for Friday night. This had NOTHING to do with being single. I didn't NEED a date, though I wouldn't have given one the shove off if it presented itself. I just needed something scheduled. As I have morphed into this mid-30's young professional, I actually look forward to weekends of nothing.

I'm not a wet blanket. I love to have a good time. I'm a proverbial Party in a Box, if you will. But I no longer feel this overwhelming desire to have just SOMETHING lined up so, GASP, I don't spend my Friday night alone. At home. On my couch. I also don't feel compelled to make excuses for my Friday Nights of Solitude. I tell folks outright when they inquire that I am going home to do NOTHING...ON PURPOSE.

So, as the 5 pm bell grows ever near, here are a few items which I feel are the best ingredients for a cozy weekend. If you can find a way to work in a good snow storm or a thunderstorm, even better. If not, close the blinds and get one of those environmental CDs with a rain and thunderstorm selection.

• One plush couch complete with plush throws to match (chenille or cashmere are preferred, but a fleece one will do fine)
• Medium to large sized throw pillows (nothing too bulky, just enough pillow to give some cushion)
• Rented Movies (I'm going to pick up Sex and the City this weekend since I have never seen it and I will balance it out with a good, classic, black and white flick, perhaps Casablanca.)
• A stocked kitchen - this is essential. In order to reach optimal coziness, you can't run the risk of having to LEAVE your enclave to go get something to eat or drink. Delivered food is fine if you must, but a run to the store totally ruins the cozy vibe. An annoying interruption, if nothing else; like the phone ringing just as you're about to have an amazing kiss. An assorted variety of food and drink is the best laid plan because once you're hunkered down you want to be able to fulfill any craving that may ensue. A good balance of comfort foods that are both savory and sweet will likely get you through any episode. I like to cook so I keep ingredients in addition to, say, Stouffer's Mac & Cheese (the grand patriarch of comfort food). I want to be able to cook if the spirit moves me but I don't want to be committed. I make sure I have both options readily available. Foods that emit an enticing aroma when heated are also a great bonus. I wouldn't suggest you kick off your cozy weekend by throwing a simmering pot of cabbage on the range.
• Scented candle(s) - this is a matter of taste in terms of scent, but you gotta have scented candles. Vanilla candles make me gag, but lots of people love 'em. I prefer rustic scents in the Autumn and Winter and then break out the Lavender, etc. in Spring and Summer. Thymes candles are the best in the world, in my opinion, but they are pricey. You can always find your preferred scent at Target or Wal Mart and it should get you through the weekend juuuussst fiiine.
• Book/Reading Material - I find that a balance of a book and a few favorite magazines is the best way to go, but this is totally a matter of preference. Just make sure you have some.
• Lounging Attire - not to be confused with Lounge Attire. No need to get all gussied up for your weekend of cozy bliss. Sweats, pjs, pajama pants, long sleeved white t-shirts (I LOVE these for lounging), a fleece, a sweatshirt. And slippers. Don't forget the slippers.
• Laundry Detergent - sort of a "one of these things is not like the other" ingredient but I love to do laundry on cozy weekends at home. It gives me a small feeling of productivity in the midst of my laziness.
• Fireplace - I do not have one of these and, as a result, I must admit my cozy has a void. I guess you could say that in some way, I have cozy envy. If you have one and it's cold out, make sure when you stock your kitchen, you stock your firewood inventory.

Mix all of these together in whatever portion and measurement suits your needs and taste. Makes unlimited servings and is high in nutritional value. Enjoy!

The Camera Doesn't Lie

I finally finished taking down my Christmas decorations this week. It doesn't take more than about 15 minutes to get this done when you've decorated 700 square feet. I know it seems like I left them up longer than most people but as I've mentioned, I'm a purist and so I leave my decorations up until the Epiphany. As someone who grew up celebrating Mardi Gras, ending Christmas on the 12th Night gives way to another uber-festive season. I dig the overlap.

One of my favorite elements of Christmas is receiving Christmas cards. It's one of those basic, simple traditions that has withstood the wave of convenience and technology. I love all of it...opening my mailbox and seeing those envelopes that are indicative of Christmas card cargo. You know the ones I mean...they are the only ones in the bunch that don't have a plastic window and bar codes and industrial type. These envelopes are handwritten, often in red or green ink, and sometimes even have Christmas postage stamps to boot. I love to try and guess the sender by looking at the handwriting. There's something about the old fashioned Christmas card that gives Christmas the, you guessed it, cozy feel that I love. There's an endearing element about the primitive nature of sending Christmas cards.

During the course of the Season, opening my Christmas cards, reading them, displaying them, and then taking them down (I save my Christmas cards from year to year), I was suddenly alerted to a pattern I hadn't noticed before. The number of photo cards heavily outnumbered the collection of traditional, lovely, pre-printed cards. Upon further inspection, these numbers gave way to another curious statistic...single people send the latter form. Perhaps this realization isn't all that novel; but for me, looking at my collection of cards, I realized how many of my friends have moved to the photo column. Each year, there seems to be a new member.

By no means am I advocating that this NOT be the case. I, for one, would never be caught dead sending a photo card of just myself. Or worse, myself and my dog. I suppose this is a matter of taste and so I don't mean to offend, but the visual of someone opening a Christmas card and seeing a 4x6 of me on the Staten Island Ferry with Lady Liberty in the backround just isn't really my speed.

These photo cards from my friends chronicle all sorts of milestones and emotions. Wedding and honeymoon photos, first Christmas as a married couple image, baby's first Christmas, Joan Walsh Anglund children dressed in smocked garb. I adore getting all of these, which is why I display them and then bundle them up and archive them. I love that my friends opt for these types of cards because it makes me feel like I am in the loop.

I'm not sure that this statistical revelation says anything monumental, but as I've mentioned, my gradual progression into minority status of single hood has made for some interesting observations; most notably, a picture says at LEAST TWO words: NOT SINGLE.

Paper or Plastic

As the title of my muse indicates, I am single. Since I've already given numerous shout-outs to the cozy half of my life, I figure it's time to try and give equal time to the single portion. I realize that there's nothing fascinating about a sneak-peek into the single life. No back stage passes required; this isn't like a Catholic getting to view the Mormon Temple. But I do think that as I have glided into the minority status among my friends, the single life has provided increasingly unique perspectives.

I thought about giving a pros and cons list of being single but seeing as how there are about 672,000,000 of those being released at the start of the new year, I decided against it. No sense in getting lost in the shuffle. For the most part, being single isn't a bad thing. I'm a rigid woman of routine and so single life suits me just fine. Most of the time.

Those occasions when I find single life more or less inconvenient probably aren't the ones you'd think. Sure, I'd love a date on National holidays. I'm jaded, but I'm not so much of a cynic that I'd try to look anyone in the eye and deny that watching fireworks on the Fourth of July is much better when you're "with" someone. But I find those waves come and go pretty quickly. It would be nice. It would be great. But it doesn't spoil my mood for more than, oh, a few minutes.

For me, it's the small things; the things I have grown increasingly annoyed at having to do alone. The biggest one is probably the groceries. That's right. The groceries. I realized this brand of single hood a few years ago when I was living in Alexandria, VA. I lived in a small, postage stamp apartment (it was one of my coziest abodes to date, thank you very much) and I was returning, in the rain, from a trip to my local Safeway. In the rain. Did I mention it was IN THE RAIN? The parking situation, while not dire, wasn't Park Avenue Door Man-style. So, I found myself lugging the groceries, in the rain, up a steep hill and then up the stairs. After several trips I found myself waterlogged, tired, and annoyed. My grocery bags were tearing, my bread was soggy, and a few pieces of the produce had found their way back down the aforementioned hill. Using an umbrella would have been done in vain. I realized at that moment how wonderful it would be to NOT be single and have someone just help me with the damn groceries. And I don't mean help me make the list, go to the store, pay for them, or load them into the car. I don't even mean that I need someone to help me UNload them once they made it to their final destination in the kitchen. (The rigid woman of routine has a specific place for everything, you see.) I just wanted, longed for really, someone to be there at the door when I got back from the store, in the rain, to take the keys and bring them inside.

Since that epiphany in Alexandria, VA, I have found myself noticing several other instances where a partner; be it a boyfriend, a spouse, or even a Stedman would be kinda nice. This isn't an all the time thing. I don't wake up in the morning pining, wondering if today is the day I'll meet someone. I find that it's mainly on the days when my cupboards are bear and I have to make my monthly trip...to the grocery.

Under the Weather

The holiday funk has finally caught up with me. It was bound to happen given the break neck pace I kept through Advent and beyond. The funk had me on the lam but ultimately, I was no match for its persistence and the funk has prevailed. I hate admitting defeat.

It's cold here today. And rainy. If I was feeling on top of my game, I'd want to stay inside and hibernate. This is the sort of climate my cozy self was primed for. But given that I feel as if I have wallpapered my throat with sandpaper and have my head in a vice, it took everything I had (which admittedly, wasn't much) to emerge from the comfort of my pillow top mattress and down comforter this morning.

Here's a photo submitted by a loyal reader. This captures my ideal winter landscape...especially on days like today:

The First Last

It may be evident from my lack of postings that my holidays brought no shortage of fun and activity. The past two weeks have been a festive ride of parties, travel, gatherings, family time, and a few milestones. 2009 only waited a few hours before bringing some historic moments; moments which generated more emotion for me than I had fore casted.

I spent my final New Year's Eve in Waco, Texas. For most red blooded Americans with even a slight appreciation for a good time, that would elicit a collective sigh of relief. For me, it was definitely a large book end; the closing of a chapter with a very loud, "THUMP". Over the years, I have become a firm believer that New Year's Eve is most memorable not because of WHERE it is spent but because of WITH WHOM it is spent. After several failed attempts to have huge, history making, blow-out bashes on December 31st, I finally succumbed to the notion that New Year's Eve should be spent doing what you like best with the folks you like best; never mind the location. I am glad I finally resigned myself to this way of thinking because this year was no different. New Year's Eve 2008 will leave an indelible mark.

January 1 tends to be characterized by a series of unsuccessful recovery methods coupled with a large vat of black eyed peas. I eventually made it to that step but not before seeing off The FIRST Couple for the LAST time. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that this event would conjure up a sentimental reaction, but I think I felt I was prepared. I had already had my last White House visit, my last White House Christmas party, my last picture taken with the President and Mrs. Bush, my last mug of Presidential egg nog, you get the idea. I was already comfortable with the idea of "last". I was a pro when it came to "last". Embarking on your "last" venture? I'm your gal. I've done "last". Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the onslaught of emotion I experienced watching the last departure of Air Force One out of Waco, Texas.

Waco...it generally brings to mind images of a burning compound and a large university that only until recently condoned dancing. I get it. I admit I didn't have an instantaneous mental mesh of Waco and the Presidential seal in the dawning of 2001. Over time, however, Waco began to fill a number of voids for me and, as a result, became a bit of a comfort. Most recently, it has provided me with a fool proof outlet to see my closest friends; those people who I have described as my extended family.

Watching the Plane depart from Texas for the last time wasn't a political event. It was a personal moment; one that will also leave an indelible mark.