BirthdayNess

I love my birthday. I grew up in a family where the birthday girl reigned. You were awakened with kisses and there were presents, a new outfit, a special dinner of your choosing, and cupcakes for everyone. It's no wonder I'm still certain someone is at least thinking about throwing me a surprise party each year.

Seriously though, October 1st is the start of the holiday season. 

I don't think I've ever had a birthday I dreaded. I thought I was going to dread 30 but I didn't. I confess there was an inkling of angst at 31, but I'd hardly call myself traumatized. 

I actually looked forward to 50. All that occurred in the first half century only left me breathlessly awaiting for the next 50 years to begin. I might loosen my seat belt even more this time! "Oh no!" cries Laurie's mama.

And now, by 52, I've completely mastered the birthday celebration. It wouldn't matter if not a soul remembered my special day because I hear the birthday song playing in my head the moment I get up. I  beam with birthdayness.

Wanna a cupcake?

Being Moved

When Kim Hanbor and I saw each other at Art Under the Stars you might have thought we were old friends. But we're not. Our paths haven't crossed since I bought her Charlie Time over three years ago. (Charlie Time Post, 8/17/09). 

Even given the fact I lean towards the imaginative (and some might say dramatic), I'd still swear to you this photographic art called my name, snatched at the scarf trailing down my back, and made every attempt to hold me hostage. There would be no walking away from it.

So Charlie Time is our connection.

And, it's an interesting connection to have with an artist. Something rising from her spirit and born of her creativity connected with my own spirit. It causes us remember one another and to smile when our paths chance to again cross. 

There must somewhere be words written about this sort of thing as it's surely a universal experience. It's subtle, but there's a richness to it I would have hated to miss. 

And perhaps I would have missed it if I were only looking for wall art to match my sofa or my decor. Actually, home dec isn't among my areas of expertise as those who've helped me with my paint struggles will attest to. 

And it happened yet again at Art Under the Stars with Sirena by Sheila Elsea. Whether it was my mood or Sirena's pose, I found myself unable to tear myself away from this painting. She spoke to me and now she's mine. I'll also likely never forget the beauty of Sheila Elsea's smile.

I've long had a list of things I want my Kenny and Torie Montana to know and remember long after I'm gone. To that list I think I must add: At least once in your life buy a piece of art that calls your name. My wish for them is that the artist who created the piece calling to them is standing nearby.

Upon Being Spellbound

Now...art. With no intention of actually making a purchase, I was wandering through the Festival of Arts in Laguna Beach, California.  It was 1994.

When I saw Clint Sloan's paintings I simply stopped walking. Much to the chagrin of the woman behind me who spilled her wine down my back. 

I was spellbound. Never had I been so taken with an artist's work. And truly, it was many... well ... minutes later that I noticed Clint Sloan was crazy handsome. His work spoke to me of everything I felt about Laguna Beach, a place our family had long had strong ties too.

Luckily for me he had smaller pieces other than what he was showing at the festival. He invited me to his studio where I found my beach moonscape. I still find myself becoming lost in it - even after all these years. 

With the way I led into this you probably anticipated an amorous side road, didn't you?  Nothing of the sort there. But there is another part to my Clint Sloan tale. My Torie Montana, then a kindergartner, was with me at his studio. I've always known she liked this piece - after all she's grown up with it. 

But just a couple of weeks ago she told me she remembers being at Mr. Sloan's studio with me. She said she'd like to take my beach moonscape with her when she moves out. Not an imminent event I'm hoping.

A young woman remembering her first time in an art studio with her mama? And it was her mama's first time too?

I've got to let her have it, don't I? 

I had my heart set on taking a picture of my piece for you but the glass is too reflective. However, you can see Clint Sloan's work by going to www.clintsloan.com. Be prepared for magic! He has become famous for his beach moonscapes.

To learn more about Laguna Beach's Festival of Arts and the magnificent Pageant of the Masters, paste this link into your browser: www.foapom.com 

I know I mentioned in my last post, September 23rd's GARBLE, that today I'd tell you about my latest art purchase. But, what I've discovered about this blogging business is that sometimes, once you begin writing, the words take off on their own without the least regard for my original intention. But stay tuned... 

Garble

I was going to write about art today. How lovely it would have been to wax on about discovering another woman's creativity? About how a woman's hands had birthed an image that so touched my soul I couldn't take another breath unless it was in my hands as I headed homeward? About how I might even be prepared to slightly distort the actual cost of the piece so as not to disturb my husband.

But that must wait for another day. 

My computer is dying a not so slow death. Upon turning it on yesterday, the screen was - to use a term I learned only later in the afternoon - garbled. 

Garble is defined as "scrambled, lacking orderly continuity, and difficult to understand". This seems to imply one need only pay closer attention or listen more carefully - perhaps ask for clarification or a slowing of speech. 

The definition certainly doesn't address the extreme angst garble "births". It doesn't touch your heart or leave you breathless. Rather, you find yourself clutching at your heart and holding your breath. There's a lot of gasping as well.  

In short, despite it's bright, flashing colors, garble is nothing like art.

So, I'm ordering a new PC directly from HP. 

I had wanted a Mac. Not so much because two friends have shared with me their wonder at the change their Macs have wrought in their lives. But, I'm sad to tell you, mostly because of those TV commercials with the two PC versus MAC guys. 

That MAC fellow is just so cool! And, I really liked him in that movie with Bruce Willis - Live Free or Die Hard. 

In case you all haven't noticed, NERD is so in. If you doubt it, try watching my favorite TV show, The Big Bang Theory. I LOL every time I watch it.

My computer time at the library is up. Gotta go.

When Fiends Have Fun

I'm on the board of the Friends of the Mound House, the first board I've ever served on. Our purpose is to raise funds for the Mound House, a historic home on Fort Myers Beach that sits on Estero Bay. It's the site of an ancient Calusa Indian shell mound and, in the not too distant future, the property will also house an upscale archeological exhibit.

However, because the efforts to save this home were at odds with the interests of some in our community, there are likely those who refer to us as the Fiends of the Mound House.

But I think these folks must be having a hard time hanging onto that. Especially after Saturday night and our Art Under the Stars event.

Our auction featured 27 participating artists with additional art for sale. Close to 100 guests wandered through the rooms of The Mango Street Inn looking at fine art while listening to acoustic guitar. All were pleased with the wine and imported beers, the cheeses, and the chocolate covered pineapple. I believe it's common knowledge that only the funnest of people serve a delight such as chocolate covered pineapple. 

It was so much darn fun I hated to see the evening end! I even bought a piece of art! I'll share more on that Wednesday. I feel certain all on our little island must now be thrilled we exist.

As we were hanging the show, one of our wild afternoon storms rolled in. This respite from the humidity made it necessary to turn up the music and dance as we worked through each room at the inn. Afterward, low and behold, a magnificent rainbow put in an appearance, one of the most brilliant I've seen in years. I don't think you always get quite so much purple in your average magnificent rainbow. 

Was that a positive omen for our event? All cried amen...and danced a few minutes longer. As you can plainly see from the picture of myself with Sheila Elsea and Babs Snyderman, when fiends are bent on fun and success, there's no stopping them.

To learn more about the Mound House, visit www.moundhouse.org. 

To learn more about The Mango Street Inn, visit www.mangostreetinn.com. Dan Andres, who owns the inn with his wife, Tree, took the rainbow picture. 

FYI, in the early summer I donated my fashion show, The Stories My Clothing Can Tell to our cause. To see some of the gowns and the beauties who wore them, paste this link into your browser:
http://www.laurienienhaus.com/fashionpage.htm

A Natural Beauty

I can't say exactly when natural skin care caught my attention but I'm guessing it was somewhere around the time puberty made its entrance. I do remember my dad once saying, upon entering my room and seeing my face slathered with a thick layer of oatmeal, "Laurie Daurie, you put more food on your face than in your stomach." I would guess that by high school I'd have nixed the "Laurie Daurie" the moment it crashed upon my ears. 

Anyway, for the sake of argument, let's say that oatmeal, egg yolks, honey, strawberries, and papaya, etc. have long been necessary to my core existence - but mostly as a Sunday night relaxing kind of ritual.

But about three years ago I attended a lecture at Contour Body Works (right off Fort Myers Beach) about the ingredients in skin care products. I won't mention names because I'm certainly not knowledgeable enough to speak with authority on such things. But suffice to say I was given long pause upon hearing that a particular - and widely used - cosmetic ingredient I was partial to is also used to remove barnacles from boats. There's another that has a use in brake fluid. I'm all for using all parts of the buffalo but even a gal who's dad said she's 1/16 Cherokee Indian has to draw the line somewhere. 

And then, there's the possible relationship of these and other ingredients to breast cancer. Whether you buy into such a connection or not, it's interesting to read the labeling of the products you use. Each contain a plethora of difficult to pronounce chemicals most of us know not a thing about. How many different products do we women use on our bodies in a day? How many chemicals are we then coming into dermal contact with? Breast tissue is said to be ultra sensitive and according to BreastCancer.org, aside from skin cancer, breast cancer is the one most commonly diagnosed among U.S. women.

Common sense seemed to dictate that a few consumer related changes might be in order.

So below are a few of my favorite recipes. Some I've developed myself and others I've tweaked from some of the many books available on natural skin care.

My greatest discovery is baking soda. I haven't used soap on my face in years thanks to this less than a dollar a box fountain of youth. You simply make a paste, rub it lightly over your skin and then rinse it away.

You could use plain water to create the paste, but I prefer organic cucumber juice and fresh aloe. I use a Jack LaLanne juicer but you could put a 2-3" slice of cucumber and 1-2 aloe leaves (with the sides cut away if the edges are prickly) in your a blender just as easily. It will keep, refrigerated, for a week.

And it's wildly versatile.  If your skin is dry, add a little whipping cream or olive oil. For even greater exfoliation, add 1-2 blender crushed strawberries. If you're not convinced it's cleansing your skin as deeply as you wish, add 1-2 teaspoons of grapefruit seed extract (easily found in health food stores). The paste can be as thin or as thick as you desire although I tend to like it thinner.

There is always more cucumber and aloe juice than I need to make the paste, so I keep that in a separate jar for use as a toner. It smells heavenly and while my face is still fairly damp I apply a layer of mink or emu oil. Once that's dry I'll put on moisturizer if I feel the need. 

Do I need to mention those with sensitive skin should test their concoction on a small patch of skin before applying to their entire face? There's no need to proceed with haste!

Here are a couple of more recipes:  

Rich Facial Mask

In a blender mix 1 tablespoon each of avocado, papaya, and honey. Add a teaspoon of whipping if desired. Slather generously on your face and rest for 15-20 minutes. Luxurious comes to mind here. 

Nail Oil
Blend 1 tablespoon of hazelnut oil with 10 drops of essential oil of lemon. Rub into the cuticles and nail beds of your fingers and toes. 

For more I'm going to send you to the Tea and Beauty page of my GLily.com - http://glily.com/tbeauty.htm 

If you'd like to investigate for yourself the ingredients in your own skin care products, you might want to visit www.safecosmetics.org 

Health, happiness and beauty to all! Have a lovely weekend my friends.

Folly and Beauty

Yeow! That burns!

Even with my face directly in the path of the fan, I was still compelled to take quick panting breaths similar to those women in the final stages of labor find helpful.

Kenny chose that moment to walk past me on his way to the kitchen.

"Having a hot flash?"

"Sssss...whoooo...ssssss...whooo...ssss...no, I'm..."

"Why are you breathing so...oh my God! Your face! It's white!"

"I've frosted? Thank goodness! The acid has peaked!" I jumped up and ran past him on the way to the bathroom sink.

He followed, clearly bewildered. "You put acid on your face!? Where did you get it?"

I had already begun applying the baking soda paste that was to neutralize this acid. "I ordered it off the internet."

"Off the internet! What is it?"

"I don't know."  Why was this man so aghast? "It begins with a 'T' I think."

"You don't even know what it is!" How long would these questions continue? I'm a little busy trying to stop the burn.

"I'm reversing the hands of time here! Will you just leave me alone for a minute! " I didn't mean to come off sounding quite so much like Darth Vader but was I suppose to mix something else with the baking soda? This burning...it wasn't subsiding as quickly as the paperwork had implied.  

Kenny shook his head as he walked out. "I'm just sayin...this doesn't look like your smartest moment." 

Well, ten days later, the sloughing of dead brown skin had come to an end, revealing plump, fresh skin that promised renewed youth, dizzying happiness, and world peace.

I was thrilled with the results. My purchase had not been folly; nor was it dangerous. And, it had been easy on my pocketbook.

All in all it was a brilliant find - this trichloracetic acid (TCA). And I want to share this brilliant find with all of you. You can click on this independent link to learn general information about TCA:

http://www.syl.com/hb/trichloraceticacidpeelusageforremovingtheouterlayersofskin.html

Now at roughly $50 plus s/h you can get enough of this acid for 2-4 peels! So, while there are certainly stronger and newer peels available - with less down time, you can hardly beat the price.

I've only bought one bottle of the stuff and that from www.bestskinpeel.com. However, in addition to there being what I'd consider quite a bit of negative review of their company on-line, I never received a reply to my calls or emails when I attempted to reach them after purchasing. That doesn't work for me. I've since spoken with another company, Yavonae at www.tcapeels.com that I will order from next time. 

Lastly, since my post of August 26 (The Centenarian I'll Be) I've received a number of emails requesting I post some of my skin care recipes. I aim to please, so on Friday I'll be bringing some of those out for you.

Vincent's Poetry

I almost forgot to tell you! Vincent's work is all over the web - for both reading and listening. But, at www.laurienienhaus.com you can hear my podcast with the Collier County Library - I recite some of Vincent's work.

Enjoy!

My Julia

 
Forgive me but I must take you back, yet again, to Julie and Julia. The idea that your interest in another person can create evolutions in your own life was pivotal to the film.

And, I found a parallel in my own life. When I was directing The Ladies' Tea Guild and editing The Gilded Lily, I'd often find myself quite taken with certain people in history. I was all about Queen Victoria for awhile until the Empress Eugenie caught my fancy. Then there was Oscar Wilde and Jennie Churchill. And later would come Alice Paul.

But no one has captured my attention and imagination like the poetess Edna St. Vincent Millay. I'm not even a great lover of poetry, but what I wouldn't give to have met her in real life!

I discovered Vincent - yes, I do refer to her as her friends and family did - when I was researching the "new woman" of the late 19th century.  I had found a book called Savage Beauty by Nancy Milford. It was a biography of Vincent and the book's jacket said "Edna St. Vincent Millay embodied the new woman."
 
Fabulous. It's always lovely to find yourself on the right track so quickly - as opposed to those times when you flounder, fumble, and muggle about for hours on end to no avail.

I began thumbing through this book and came across a passage where Vincent was describing a childhood moment. She was very talented musically but was struggling one afternoon with a particularly difficult piano chord. She had called her mother, Cora, in from the kitchen to help her.

She wrote..."She had been doing washing, and her hands, as she placed them upon the keys were very pink, and steam rose from them. Her plain gold wedding wing shown very clean and bright, and there were little bubbles on it which the soap suds had left, pink, and yellow and pale green. When she had gone and I was sure that she would not hear me, I laid my cheek upon the cool keys and wept. For it had come to me with dreadful violence as she bent above me and placed her fingers upon the keys...that my mother could die; and I wanted to save her from that, for I knew she would not like it; and I knew that I could not." 

I was stunned. And of course, being the cry baby I am, tears came to my eyes. I, too, had had such a moment - a moment as a little girl where I had looked at my mama and for the first time realized that she wouldn't always be with me. It was very emotional, as such moments are. But, as such moments do, it passed. 

I had never mentioned it to anyone. Not only had I completely forgotten about it, I had never heard anyone else speak of such a thing let alone write about it so eloquently. I knew I had to put aside my research on the new woman and focus on this woman.

And Vincent became my Julia. I was fascinated with her life and I loved - dearly loved - her poetry. I began reciting it to myself and would become so caught up in Blackbeard or Witch Wife that I'd miss my turn when driving and not notice til blocks later. The emotion of reciting Spring apparently caused me to accelerate coming onto the beach one night. The officer who stopped me at the end of the bridge looked surprised at my explanation and suggested I put Vincent - and all poetry for that matter - aside before climbing into my vehicle.

Who gets out of a ticket by telling the officer they were reciting the poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay! I think Vincent was with me that night!

Vincent then brought more shifts into my life. Could I create a program around her? Would people still want to listen to her poetry? Could I pull such a thing off with success? I loved her so much I had to try. 

Remembering Miss Millay remains one of my favorite programs to perform. People do still love her. She was the first woman to win a Pulitzer Prize for poetry you know. She still has the ability to touch people - they laugh, they cry. They remember her. They remember what their parents remember of her.

Where else will Vincent take me? I believe there's a trip to New York in my future. I want to wander Greenich Village where she worked and played so hard. I want to visit her home, Steepletop, near Austerlitz. I want to peruse her papers and photos at the Library of Congress.

I'm also very close to being able to recite her Poem for An Invading Army - without tears. Vincent was the only poetess asked to write a work to be read aloud, worldwide, on the NBC radio network on D-Day, June 6, 1944. I would challenge the most stoic of men to read this without shedding a tear.

So, my words of wisdom for the day are these: Everyone needs a Julia in their life.
 
It's time for a cup of tea and a few of Vincent's sonnets before the morning unfolds much further. Let me leave you with the last five lines of Poem for An Invading Army:

Lo, from all corners of the earth we ask,
All great and noble to come forth - converge
Upon this errand and this task with generous and gigantic plan:
Hold high this torch, who will.
Lift up this sword, who can!

Success is Mine

I fear Wednesday's post may have left you with questions. Is she manic? Merely flighty? A little ADD?

I personally feel none of the above apply. Rather, I believe I've mastered the art of multi-tasking. Alright, yes, I do occasionally take it to dizzying heights of madness.

Anyway. I am working on two books at the same time.

I was diligently plugging away on my cookbook, Teatime at the Lily Pond, and had decided to position it as one tearoom owners of the 1920's tearoom craze would have pounced upon. But then the universe stepped in to steer my course.

Several events coincided. I caught the interest of a member of the Ann Arbor Culinary History Society. With a few shifts, Teatime at the Lily Pond could become a more authentic 1920's teatime cookbook. And then Kenny, immediately after a piece of cake as chance would have it, suggested that a compilation of my own work would be a quicker book to take to print.

As I'm not one the universe generally needs to pound upon the door for, I decided to switch gears. I began tweaking and pulling articles from my archives (a more organized place than my recipe files) and recipes from the cookbook. Steep: The Wanderings and Delights of a Tea Adventurer was born.

There you have it. It sounds so reasonable when you know the story, doesn't it?

FYI, Wednesday's cake effort was a success even though, as you can plainly see from the picture of my Torie Montana, I did meet with some resistance.

Below is the recipe in case you're in the mood for a little testing. I'll try it one more time just to be sure it turns out the same. I think a powdered sugar and lemon glaze is also in order, perhaps with a little reserved cherry juice added:
  

Cherry Pound Cake 

1 cup butter

13/4 cup sugar

4 eggs

1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon rind

4 ounces sour cream

1 teaspoon vanilla paste

1 teaspoon almond extract

1 package Cherry Jello (not sugar free)

1/2 cup Three Olives Cherry Vodka

1 can sour cherries

3 cups flour

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda 

Strain cherries, pressing them well but not until completely dry. Set aside. Cream the butter before adding the sugar and lemon. With the mixer on low add eggs (room temperature) one at a time. Add sour cream and the almond extract and vanilla paste. Add cherries - they will break apart. In a separate bowl mix flour, jello, baking soda and baking powder. Alternately add the flour mixture and the vodka. Do not over mix. Bake at 300 degrees in a greased and floured 10" tube pan for 75 minutes. 

I know, I thought maraschino cherries would be a better option, too, but ever since I heard the liquid they sit in is similar to formaldehyde I can't make myself eat one.

Before we part ways today, here's one of my favorite blogs - The Old Foodie at www.theoldfoodie.com. Full of food history and historical recipes and menus, it's an on-line gem where you can spend hours.

Make Them Eat Cake

I knew writing a cookbook was going to be a journey and I was thrilled to begin.

The first step was easy. I went to the library - where so many of my journeys begin - and checked out How to Write a Cookbook by Frances Sheridan Goulart.

I then moved on to the layout and imagery and the all important issue of the book's cover. I decided on Teatime at the Lily Pond for the title. Some years ago a graphic artist dubbed my office The Lily Pond and as I've an afternoon teatime each day I'm home, the title was perfect.

And of course, I began gathering the teatime recipes I'd been developing over the years. Recipes that, rather than being lovingly organized all in one spot, were scattered about in various envelopes and files and tucked into other cookbooks.

And that's when I ran into my first glitch. There weren't near as many as I thought. I knew from the get go my book wasn't going to rival the length of Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking at 734 pages but goodness, I had only enough recipes for an unusually lengthy booklet. Don't you just hate it when the reality isn't as grand as what you saw in your head? I considered making the book physically smaller - a 4x5 inch pocket sort of a thing, but immediately discarded that idea as a shabby effort.

There was only one thing to do. I had to create more recipes. I was spurred rather than daunted by this, especially as an idea for a Mediterranean carrot salad burst into my head on the tail of this realization. I couldn't wait to begin!

By dinnertime I was serving my fabulous Mediterranean carrot salad - and on a first try. This was going to be a breeze! Equal successes followed with first attempts at my Coconut Rice Balls, my Creamy Peanut Soup, and my Far East Shortbread. Apparently I was born to tickle the palate!

And then I moved on to breads. My Tomato Cheese Bread and my Whole Grain Herb Bread each required two tries for perfection. Not a problem. Surely Julia Childs occasionally needed a second try to insure the oohs and aahs of those she fed.

But then there was cake. My complete and utter downfall. By the fourth try of the one cake my family was begging me not to make them try it again. By the fifth try my mother gently suggested that perhaps there was no need for cake to even be included in the book. By my sixth attempt, I was furiously beating the butter and sugar while muttering, "If this %$#*^! cake doesn't turn out right I'm throwing this *&^%@$ pan out the &^*%$)@ window!"

I did finally get it right and when Teatime at the Lily Pond goes to print, you'll find this cake listed in the index as Seventh Charm Cake.

So today I'm asking all of you to keep your fingers crossed for I'm on my third attempt at another cake. I have high hopes this one will go better because I've discovered some about the chemistry of baking.  Under no circumstances will I be beaten by cake! I'll get it right if it takes ten tries!

And all of you in my household? Quit your moaning and groaning! Just eat the cake.

By the way, there is no Writing Cookbooks for Dummies. Hard to believe, eh? Will Write for Food by Dianne Jacob is another good source though.

Julie, Julia, & Laurie

Several friends have told me that I must see Julie and Julia. It's a great movie they said - and it reminded them of me. 

So on Saturday afternoon, after I had managed to remove most of the ceiling paint from my person, I went to see it. It's WONDERFUL! Although, in all fairness, you'd find me saying that about any flick starring Meryl Streep. But it's indeed a movie worthy of your dollars.

And I do think I possess a few Julie-ish qualities. While there's no related book or movie deal currently in the works, there is No Cobwebs Here and, like Julie, I sometimes wonder if I'm filling cyberspace with stupid, vapid thoughts. And, also like Julie, I tend to be mean...just the slightest bit mind you...to my husband when I'm stressed beyond endurance.

And, aside from being foodies to begin with, there's our mutual love of butter, which we both share with the indomitable Julia Childs.

Although Kenny claims he's seen me eat a stick of the stuff straight from the refrigerator, I can tell you that is a gross exaggeration. It was just a little messy looking on the one side so I licked it. I'll confess only dipping my popcorn into melted butter one piece at a time.

I don't even feel the need to mention how butter must be spread thickly and to all edges of my toast. And surely, it's a standard practice of waffle lovers near and far to make sure butter fills each and every hole. Isn't that what those holes are for?

Anyway, my friends also wanted me to see this movie because I, too, am writing a cookbook. But, I think I'll tell you about that on Wednesday. At the moment, again like Julie, I'm in the mood to whisk something into submission so I best scoot. And, I'm craving a waffle.

I'm Laurie Nienhaus. Bon Appetite.

What the Sandman Started

The Sandman and I have never been all that tight. He shows up in a timely fashion each night but he prefers to come and go as he pleases. The fickle bastard. His refusal to be steadfast used to cause me a good deal of angst, but I let go of that years ago.

It helps that I like the dark.

Except for that brief span of time where I was reading Interview with a Vampire, I've long fancied midnight strolls around my neighborhood. Sitting quietly in my living room in almost complete darkness soothes me more than chocolate, shiraz, or even a wicked good massage. Well maybe not quite as much as a wicked good massage, but almost.

It's not as if your world looks all that different in the dark, but everything around you does seem to have a larger presence and a stillness that escapes you in the light of day. I don't expect my furniture or treasured knick knacks to speak up with grand thoughts, but I do have the sense that they might want to.  The dark also clears my brain and time and again has played a pivotal role in the solution of questions and problems both large and small.

All in all, the dark is very alive and a fascinating place to spend time. And, once you've mastered walking about in the dark, it's a breeze to maneuver through. Although I'd still caution you to walk somewhat more slowly than usual. Nothing dashes these soothing and fascinating moments more quickly than a stubbed toe.

But, those of us who love the dark - and I'm assuming there are more than myself and whatever vampires may be lurking about - makes those who prefer lights, lamps, and candles just the slightest bit uneasy. Even my husband, after 28 years, will still step into the room if he happens to awake and ask, "What are you doing?" or "Why don't you turn on a light?"

The answer, of course, is always the same. "Just thinking" and "I don't want to." 

Or worse, he'll wake up, step into the room and simply switch on the light. I've never had a bikini wax, but it must be much the same as when they tear the wax from your nether regions. It's shockingly unpleasant and the urge to scream becomes hard to resist - as when you've discovered a vampire at your side.

I didn't realize just how odd my love of the dark came across to my better half until I got a call from one of his partners, Miss Billie. 

"Hello?" 

"This is Billie. Hey, are you ok?"

"Stellar. Why do you ask?"

"Kenny says you've been up at night sitting in the dark and it sounds a little crazy. Have you turned into a vampire or what?"

"Well, I do have this odd little bite mark on my neck, but I'm sure it's nothing..."

I swear I haven't become one of those "evil gusts of wind" forever destined to drain the life force from unfortunate souls. And, I see no reason for anyone to doubt my mental wellness. But in order to squelch any questions of those fearing otherwise, I urge all of you to climb aboard with me. Try sitting somewhere in your house in darkness and quiet. Let the dark soothe you. Find your nighttime fascination. Tell me what it did for you.

And truly, you don't have to worry about the vampires. But if you do see one, I'd love to hear about that too.

Who's Training Who?

Have you ever seen the guy in Key West who has the cat show? He's been doing it for years I think. It's as if you're watching a rummy lion tamer but there are no lions or tigers. Only cats. He even manages to get several of them to jump through a ring of fire. There's more humor than drama to be sure but it's a great show. And he's definitely running his show. 

This is completely unlike what goes on at my house. At my house, the cats are running the show.

We have my mom's Randy, who sits at his cat door but refuses to exit through it. He insists on being let out the front door. Just so you know, these two doors are side by side. The cat door is only worthy when he's dragging in a trophy. Well usually. The white bunny he brought home was apparently too much to manage so he clawed at the front door with the bunny in his mouth til my mom opened it.

Then there's my Lucy who will only drink water running from the tub and who must have the food in her bowl jiggled before she'll eat it. Literally everyday one or the other of us humans in the house will fill her bowl but if it sits for any length of time another one of us must walk over to it, pick it up and jiggle it.

We've clearly taken the wrong path with these animals. We either have to go back to being dog people or we need some advice. I'm thinking there's a trip to Key West in my future - just to consult the guy with the cat show.

Although I could use another Hemingway Cat t-shirt. Mine's sad even for a paint shirt at this point.

Oh, get this. Lucy has now begun bringing cicadas into the house at night. At first it was erie to hear that sound inside but now I very much like it. It's certainly lovlier than the sound a bird makes as he tries to escape from Lucy and flies into the ceiling fan.