Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Why oh why oh why oh why am I such a Pampered Chef whore? Seriously. I mean, 3 nights a week I either rely on my mother to feed my family, or continue my rapid eat-to-own real estate investment in our local flatbread pizza place. So why do I need a $40 stoneware casserole dish? Or a $10 apple corer? Or...drool, pant, pant...the $70 fancy-assed chefs knife with the blah blah blah handle and the whoozywhatitz that keeps food from sticking while you chop?

WHY do I have an entire list of items to share whenever the consultant asks what our favorite Pampered Chef tool is? (I love that little spreader, but it seems like such a wimpy answer given the sizeable investment in PC that my kitchen represents.)

Oh well. Suck it up. I love Pampered Chef. Anyone who wants to order something out of the new catalog should email me. I'm having a party on March 19th in an attempt to earn 1/2 of that $70 knife.

And then oh how lovely will my chopped herbs and vegetables be.

Le sigh.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

All of my grandparents are giving me quite a bit of material about growing old as of late. Some of their lessons are in the “how to live your life” category, and others are in the “what not to do” category. Either way, my observations about growing old are causing me to think about some guidelines for myself, and for whoever has the pleasure of keeping me in tow in my twilight years. So, someone may want to print this out and give it to Sweet Pea as a reference guide. She will very likely want to re-read it to me at some point in the future.

When I am old, I have no specific plans to wear purple. And for the love of God, I will not be donning a ridiculous red hat and camping out in the Cheesecake Factory with all my similarly attired crones. I have girlfriends that I adore right now, thank you very much. And we don’t need to create an old lady society to celebrate our sisterhood and cultivate our wild sides. We’re damn near crazy at 30, 40 and 50 something. I shudder (and grin) to think of what retirement will give us time to come up with. You can bet your sweet ass that we’ll still be sassy, and classy and fun though. I think old age is when my inner southern belle will really make herself known.

When I am old I promise to give up driving when it is no longer safe for me to continue doing so. I will use some of the money in my hard earned savings to contract a nice chauffer in a zippy little sports coup to race me around town to appointments and bridge games and luncheons at the Cheesecake Factory.

When I am old I will remember that things are nothing more than things. I will not insist on being surrounded by furniture and appliances that I don’t need just because they are MINE. I will, however, maintain bookshelves full of fantastic novels and photo albums that remind me of the people I love and the memories we made together.

When I am old I will listen to my children and trust that the years I spent raising them to become kind and decent people will come back to me in good advice and proper care.

When I am old I will gladly accept any help offered lovingly.

When I am old, and I should not be puttering around a house without some assistance any longer, I would like to be put into a retirement facility with all of my good friends. We have already started discussions of how this is going to go down, so you’ll be apprised of the location long before you need to know it. It will be someplace warm, on the water, with cute orderlies and cocktail hour every night at 5:30. There will be a chef. We will dance under the stars after dinner to live music of our choosing, and every Sunday, Wednesday and Friday mornings will be a Brunch to be Envious of. We will eat real butter and drink expensive red wine. We will wear our best evening dresses and shoes, or not. Depending on our mood. We will NOT decorate with frilly pillows and stuffed animals. We will swear, and stomp our feet, and holler and laugh until we cry. We will delight in each others grandchildren, and gossip about our children. We will simultaneously be know it alls, and students of life. We will take all our medicine, as long as it makes us feel good and some of it has to be procured in Mexico on the hush hush. We will be critical of whatever we damn well please. Likewise, we will lavish praise on the things we deem worthy. We will remember how much we’ve loved in our lifetimes and be happy with our chosen journeys.

(Our husbands will likely be allowed to come with us, but we haven’t exactly decided on that yet, so you might want to check in with your dad and see what he wants. It might be more along the lines of all night poker and the NFL on giant television sets.)

When I am old I will try not to fret.

When I am old I will still be me.


Tuesday, February 06, 2007

My office is kitty corner from the Idaho State Capitol Building. And so, even though most of the politicking that takes place ‘round these parts is of the wrong flavor for moi, I am always sort of appreciative of the level of access we have here in Idaho to our public servants. Maybe it’s not any different if you work across the street from the statehouse in New York. But I’m guessing that it’s tough for the general public to wander into a lot of Governor’s offices. It’s not unusual for me to see our Governor in the gym, or walking around my building. And for various and sundry reasons (University affiliations, knowing their kids, working on their campaigns) I’ve spent some time with each of our last three Governor’s. Which isn’t all that impressive, just probably a little unusual. And a reminder that Idaho is still really really small despite the crazy urban sprawl here where I live.

Ok, so anyway, that was a long intro just so I could post this picture I took a couple weeks ago at the Inauguration. I love pomp and circumstance. Esp. when it involves high school students singing the National Anthem, and military jets zooming by.

And since there were a couple people on the platform that day who make my skin crawl, I’m posting that picture along with this quote I saw yesterday while I was standing in about the exact same location – it was printed in big letters on butcher paper and then taped with clear tape to the side of a protester’s car. He was packing up, but as far as I can tell he was solo protesting, His car had enough signage to count for a couple extra people though.


Amen brother. Amen.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Thank God for you Giselle. How brave of you to come to the defense of the fashion and entertainment industry. Because YOU’RE RIGHT. Supermodels get picked on too. The world needs to stop whining and pointing fingers at the waifs of the runways and take some responsibility for the eating disorder epidemic in the US. All that scientific research is just rubbish. I mean, who would believe that young men and women would idolize and try to emulate people as silly as supermodels and celebrities anyway? Clearly bad parenting is to blame here.

I’m not sure why you need to be excused. Is the diet pill and celery stalk diet making you a little gassy? Anyway you hit the nail on the head. Some people are born with the genes for high fashion and movie star boyfriends. Everyone else should stick to wearing burlap bags. And if they don’t feel sexy and beautiful because they have, say, HIPS…Well, they should just thank their lucky stars that they were never taunted by mobs of angry schoolchildren shrieking “Olive Oyl!” You poor thing.

No wonder you’re one of the richest women in entertainment. With your stunning good looks AND the brains to match. I think you’re a shoe in for a Nobel Prize. Maybe in Physics for figuring out how to stuff your ta ta’s into a Victoria’s Secret bra that’s 4 cup sizes too small. Or in Chemistry for your exceptionally even application of self bronzer. Perhaps there is a category for airbrushing? Well, if there is, girl you OWN it.