Focus Grasshopper

Multi-tasking has long been essential to my health and happiness. I am most comfortable when simultaneously engaging in three to five different and completely unrelated tasks.

To stop is to invite an uneasy restlessness leading to who knows what? Chocolate binging? Unnecessary clothing purchases? Fruitless pacing?

But, it has been essential that I stop multi-tasking while directing Tea-A-Ria.

Hold on a sec, I've got to finish this Dove bar...

Now where was I? Oh yes...I was talking about putting the breaks on my multi-tasking. 

It's not as if there aren't a lot of tasks to be done currently. As a matter of fact, the tasks involved in putting together a theater production clearly mimic multi-tasking. Yet as they're all geared towards achieving the same goal, you can't, in all fairness, call the process multi-tasking.

Only semantics, you say? 

Just a moment while I cut the tags from my new capris...

Be that as it may, those of us who live our lives as a web completely understand what I'm talking about. It's almost unnatural to engage in only one project.

But I knew from the get go that this is what I must do - especially as this is my directing debut. And now, we're three weeks out from our opening night! It would be madness to even consider a project not related to Tea-A-Ria.

I'm actually loving this directing thing and so don't miss the multi-tasking as much as I had feared, but I wonder...why on earth do my feet hurt so much.

Zumba's Got Me

I've made a discovery that's rocked my world and kicked my bootie - Zumba.

I know! I'm the one who cannot commit to an exercise class. I'm the one who still cannot do the electric slide.

But I loved my first Zumba class at our Bay Oaks Community Center. Described to me as a mixture of hip hop, Latino and belly dance, it's wildly dynamic.

I was so into it that I didn't even care I was moving forward and left while everyone else was moving backward and right!

But it did do me in. I had planned to catch up with GiGi afterward, a reporter from our local Sand Paper who had recently written an article about me.

When the class began at 6:30, I was certain I was going home to shower and then meet up with Gigi at our newest beach eatery and drinkery, Nervous Nellies.

However, while the shower did go far in making me less sweaty and infinitely more presentable, it also dissolved me into a whiny girl who could not find her way off the couch.

Oooohhh...my back! Grhhhhh...my abs! Ouch...my thighs!

I can't wait til next week!

The picture above are not two women laughing at me. It's myself and my Miss Suzanne of Corpus Christi during her last trip here in February. She'll soon be here again in just a few weeks and trust me, we'll be Zumba-ing. Although, likely neither of us will be laughing so heartily afterward! 

Well wait, that probably not true. We'll likely be laughing more.

Kenny Uncaged

"And now, your winner - at one minute and 52 seconds into the second round - by rare naked choke - KEN-NY NIEN-HAUS....!"

And the crowd went WILD!

And the champ's mother continued to shake for another 45 minutes. I do believe this was more intense than giving birth to the kid!


But Lordy! It was the most thrilling four minutes and 52 seconds of our lives! We can't stop smiling whenever we talk about it.

And what's next? As of yesterday another fight is already in the works. May 8th is being tossed about as a possibility even as I write.

There will soon be a video of it all on YouTube. Do you think you can watch?

I understand some simply can't. But to those folks I'd like to mention this: If I, as Kenny's mother and one of the biggest cry babies on the planet can sit cage side without having a heart attack or a complete meltdown, I think you can handle it. Although...you do hear me screaming like a banshee in the video. 

At one point Kenny threw himself into the air and wrapped his legs around his opponent's waist - while they both were standing! It was CRAZY!

The picture above is one frame from the video I attempted. It's pixel-y and blurry, I know, so here is one from after the fight.

 
That's my boy! 

I believe it'll soon be time to give Kenny a nickname. I'm thinking "The Brick Haus". What do you think?

The Time Is Here

Can even the most hardened of mothers withstand the constant onslaught of comments such as:

"You know those cage fights are way different in real life than they are on TV."

"If you're his mom, you don't belong there."

"I don't get how you could watch such a thing when it's your own kid!"

Several acquaintances of mine actually looked at me with such horror you'd have thought the kid was five and I'd just pushed him into the waiting fist of the school yard bully.

Well let me tell you this. This gentle tea-totin history lover can watch her son in his first cage fight. As a matter of fact I'm so excited I can hardly stand it. Good thing too, since our departure to St. Louis is imminent.

How could I not be excited - and proud - when Kenny has worked so hard. He's already shown us he has the heart and discipline of a champion.

Of course, I do get that as the doors open tomorrow at 2:30 I will likely be a train wreck. I may even need to cling to Donna Failoni, Alex Nienhaus, or Cindi Schmitt - the only women on both sides of the family who feel they can watch.

Although I could cling to just about anyone since Al Hrabosky's is sold out with standing room only! 

So I beg you, wrap us all in calm and send both of those boys - my Kenny and his opponent - your prayers. Wrap them both in white light. To help you keep them in your mind's eye let me tell you this: both weigh 140.

But Kenny is the one standing.

The Perils of Rabbit-esque

Last week I was without stray thoughts. 

And, as I had firmly declined a request to don rabbit ears for the Alice in Wonderland tea I spoke at on Thursday, I hunkered down one afternoon to create a freakishly over sized watch face. Even the rabbit-esque require the proper accessories you know.

I love the top hat and am quite partial to the lace topped white socks as well. In fact, I'm rather attached to the whole thing. But, I quickly learned the perils of dressing even remotely rabbit like.

I was in Tampa the day before my talk and my hostess and I were were standing side by side in front of the J. Crew window at the International Mall. Each of us stood quietly as we studied the perfectly poised mannequin sporting this spring's latest style - a style I couldn't help thinking was somewhat too eclectic. 

"I don't know," I said. "There's an awful lot going on there."

My hostess waited a moment before turning to me.

"Fashion commentary from the woman who'll be dressed like a white rabbit tomorrow?" 

I've never claimed to be a true fashionista but I do believe I've now lost what little fashion credibility I might have possessed.

I also learned that night I've long been buying jeans a size too big! 

I may as well have consented to wearing the ears!

Walking the Line as a Foodie

Just for the record, I'd like it noted that I barely minded being called Miss Granola at the salon in Portland, Oregon where I first began my massage therapy career so many eons ago. And, it's also true that I did make all of my own baby food.

I've long prided myself on my healthy eating. I'm also convinced my aversion to preservatives in my food far outweighs my passion for butter and cream.

But it's not always easy to eat healthy when you're a confirmed foodie. I grappled with this continually in my 20's but it was when I at last found myself making homemade frosting to mask the cardboard-esque flavor of fat free, sugar free, wheat free cookies that I knew I had gone too far. It was time to return to center.

Now I only rarely stray a few steps to either side. Early last week I did try no-carb flour tortillas but I unexpectedly tweaked myself by beginning to ponder what wheat becomes without the carbs. In the end, I tossed those.

Yesterday, by accident, I picked up fat-free half and half. If you take the fat out of half and half, doesn't it become skim milk? I hate skim milk. I tossed it. Not to mention that the pondering of what made it as thick as regular half and half again tweaked me.

Neither here nor there, but I also accidentally picked up orange juice with extra pulp. I meant to pick up the no-pulp (the Florida Nienhaus' are die-hard no pulp people).

But that I just strained. This throwing away of food that now has only elements of real food is making a noticeable dent in my grocery budget. 

How do they get extra pulp into the orange juice? 

So, as adventurous as it sounds, I better wait until next week to try the fat free, black bean brownie recipe.

The picture you see above is a bowl of zucchini "noodles" - one of the many unusual dishes offered at a tea I recently attended at Ms. Tina ________'s home - "Tea in the Raw". All the food was raw vegetarian. It was fascinating and tastier than you might imagine but I confess to a wild craving for a burger on the way home.

A Deep Belly Laugh

I've discovered, just the other night as a matter of fact, that actors - as a group - are a volatile demographic. When you hang with them, you have to expect that sooner or later, some assortment of them will break into improv and you will be left trying your best not to...well you know what can happen once you begin laughing so hard you can barely breathe and your jaw at last begins to ache.

Part of my Tea-A-Ria cast - Ms. Donna, Ms. Carrie, and Doc Sherwood (or if you prefer - Nona Lena, Aunt Sabina, and Tomasso DeLuca) - and I went to Fred's Diner last Thursday night so they could get a feel for the place. Of course, we had to sample the available food and libations. 

It was helpful and so much fun, but never did I expect to be so mightily entertained on the way home. I'm still unsure how poor Doc Sherwood, our designated driver, could even drive the car as he was laughing so hard.

I so wish I could convey what Ms. Donna and Ms. Carrie were saying but alas, it was a moment that defies explanation.

I'll tell you this though, the healing power of deep belly laughing cannot be denied!

And just to be on the safe side, I've now seen fit to make Kegel exercises a daily part of my routine. It would surely be grossly inappropriate for the director to be seen...well, again, I think you know where I'm heading here.

Pictured above is my darling Ms. Carrie - my right arm I might add.

Spontaneous Dance and Bald Eage Cool

The traffic on Fort Myers Beach during our high season is legendary. As a local, I early on developed a zen attitude about it all and so it rarely fries me. It does, however, drive some to the brink of madness.

I happened to be stuck in it at a dead standstill - trying to get back onto the beach - just the other day. Suddenly a handsome, shirtless black teen jumped out of his car and began dancing on the road between the two lanes of traffic.

The man in the vehicle behind me was clearly in a cranky mood. I could see him shaking his head and looking at the young man's moves with growing disdain.

I found this young man to be wildly entertaining. And then it occurred to me. Oh my gosh, what if all kinds of people - young and old - just jumped out their cars and broke into spontaneous dance in this traffic line. 

Can't you see it? Break dancing, ball room dancing, the swim, the twist. How joyful! What a picture op! What a way to pass the time!

I shared this with Dorothy, who grew up here, this morning at our weekly Tuesday breakfast at the Heavenly Biscuit. She told me that prior to our sky bridge and back in the days of the old swing bridge - taken out by a hurricane in 1926 - people anticipated long waits in long lines. People did indeed get out of their cars. But, they visited rather than danced.

I suppose the powers that be would today encourage us all to remain in our vehicles, but I'm feeling a certain desire come on.  I want to break into spontaneous dance in a most unlikely place.

I'm sure some cranky cat will be appalled but I hope such an unexpected vision will bring a smile to some soul in need of it or better yet - they'd get up or out and join me.  

Breaking into spontaneous dance - what if it became a nationwide phenomena?

I love my beach! I took this picture of a bald eagle in the back bay after my husband wooed him with whistles and sweet words in an effort to get him to look our way. He was, apparently lost in thought and paid us no mind at all. But I think he knew we were trying to catch his attention.  He was playing it "bald eagle cool".

Fair Is Just a Word

When either of my kids used to cry "That's not fair!", I had a favorite reply. 

"Fair is just a word, my Darlin." 

This, of course, drove them crazy. More so, I observed, as they maneuvered through their teen years.

Interestingly, that was an era in which I took even greater joy in my little catch phrase. Ooohh, the yin yang of it all! 

Well. My Kenny and Torie Montana have an opportunity to call it back to me for I'm now crying, "This is isn't fair!"

How, I ask, can a woman who's said to have a "mesmerizing" speaking voice not be able to carry a tune if her very life depended upon it. It just isn't fair!

Naturally this is not a news flash in my life. My own mother gave up hope years ago. The very minute she now hears any melody attempting escape from my lips, she says, "Laurie, honey, you're singing again."

But, it occurred to me a few months ago - as I was harmonizing with Sugarland in the car - the only place I can sing without being asked to stop - that perhaps the problem was I had forever been attempting the role of soprano. Should I have been sitting - all these years - in the alto chair?

While it might be late in life to begin a career in music, with a little practice I could surely improve my joyful noise. Maybe those around me might then cease with this cruel covering of their ears. Maybe I might never again hear those cruel words, "Make it stop!"

Ever the eternal optimist, I simply began practicing. Yes, in the car. 

I've lately begun unveiling my personal discovery - via live performances - to those closest to me.

My question now is this: Where do you find people who'll tell you exactly what you want to hear? I've surrounded myself with those compelled to share only their honest thoughts. Brutally honest thoughts I might add. Apparently my circle hasn't the dimmest concept of sugar coating. 

"Hhhmmm...no. Laurie, you still can't sing."

It's SO unfair!

The Q and A

When you perform for a library, you must stay put upon finishing because a QandA is the expected and final act of your appearance.

This isn't a problem unless you know nothing about your topic other than what you've just shared. I learned early on to do enough research so I could anticipate most questions about my subject matter.

But, there is always the chance there's someone in your audience with a mind that reaches.

The first time I experienced this was when doing a Darjeeling tea tasting for a group of investment brokers - mostly men. One gentleman asked, "How many hectares are there in an acre?"

There I was, immediately struggling with irritation...how on earth could he even think of asking a question whose existence and answer had totally escaped my notice. Grhh.....

Thankfully I caught the smartaleck reply before it left the tip of my tongue..."Well sir, perhaps if you tried focusing your attention on darjeeling tea we'd both feel better informed."

It was a lesson well learned and it's been a long time since I've again found myself in such a situation. That is, until this past Wednesday, where after my talk on the militant suffragist Alice Paul, I was tossed a series of unanswerable questions.

What were Alice Paul's three degrees?

What is the origin of the word suffrage?

Where did her Quaker family get their money?

In your opinion, in what election since the 19th amendment have women voters made the most impact?

I don't know the answer to that, nor that, to be honest I've never thought to research that, and unfortunately, perhaps our most recent election.

Actually a woman in the audience threw out the answer to that last question. And, the crowd roared - but I think it was her delivery to which they responded. It was perfection.

In order to head off any more unanswerable questions, I added - once the laughter subsided - "Ladies and gentlemen, I must insist that you ask only those questions to which I know the response."

But that last question was a good one. I wonder what the answer really is?

Clearly I need to dive a little deeper into Alice Paul. And perhaps into political science as well. 

But I can now tell you this. Alice Paul - one of my favorite women in history - possessed a B.A. in Biology (1905), a M.A. in Sociology (1907) and a Ph.D. in Economics (1912).

Oh...and FYI - 1 hectare = 2.47 acres.

More Than a Sweeping Glance

I see words to be put to paper, ideas to be corralled and, lately, an outdoor showering room nestled within a lovely moon garden.

So why, I wonder - with all this "vision" - have I not seen the dirt and grim making itself comfy in my kitchen?

Yesterday morning I slipped on my cream silk writing pajamas. A new blank page awaited, I had just moisturized and my tea had only moments left to brew. Cat Stevens played softly in the background.

And then I stepped on something. Upon picking it up, I was fairly certain it had once been a bleu cheese crumble. I've been out of bleu cheese since New Year's. 

As I studied it, resisting the urge to discover just how long the odor of bleu cheese lingers, my gaze fell upon my kitchen cabinet. When was the food fight?

I could feel panic rising from deep within my chest. My eyes darted this way and that. What was that sticky glob at the bottom of the refrigerator door? Was that a baker's dozen of dead gnats on my light fixture? Was my ceiling fan freakishly misshapen or was it only the measurable dust on the blades' edges that made it appear so?

Cat ceased to play. Instead I heard only the shrieking music played in horror movies just as the heroine opens the one door she should not. My mouth formed a voiceless scream.

Crumbs and Criminy. I had to clean.

I couldn't let Cat back. You can't clean to Cat Stevens. You need the Eurythmics.

Off came the cream silk writing pajamas. My tea grew cold. Out came my capri overalls and strong coffee. Promise you'll never drink tea while you clean! Trust me when I tell you it's just wrong.

I don't really mind cleaning once I get started and, of course, all feels marvelously right with the world once you've finished. I should try to keep up with it all better than I have been.

If only the occasional sweeping glance worked even a little magic!

BTW, the odor of bleu cheese does have some longevity.

And, no, my kitchen was not as bad as the above picture suggests. That was taken years ago upon gutting the upstairs bedroom on Fyler street in St. Louis - the construction site we called home for seven years.

Living on the Edge

I was up before the hens this past Tuesday morning, racking my brain how best to find a place for Marjory Stoneman Douglas in my fashion program. Keep in mind the talk was to begin at one! 

A fashion show just wouldn't have held the least appeal to this woman. I was at a complete loss.

And then, just as I watched the second teaspoon of sugar slip into my tea, it came to me. I should simply pretend she had just entered the room and that I was surprised to see her. That way, I could then throw out lines every once in awhile based on what was going on in the room or upon what I thought she might have thought about what was going on. I asked for a chair so she could be seated to my left.

Essentially, I made MSD my imaginary friend.

"Oh my Goodness! Is it really Marjory Stoneman Douglas! I'm so thrilled you're here..."

Wonk, Wonk, Wonk.

Oh no, I've only just begun...

Wonk, Wonk, Wonk. 

"What am I speaking on? Vintage fashion...it's a fashion show actually." 

Wonk, Wonk, Wonk.

Well...no...Marjory. I...I don't think this will be a monumental waste of your time." 

And it worked! And it was fun for everyone - including me!

But a thought crossed my mind right before my model and 1880's polonaise entered the room. How different might it all play out if I should attempt to bring my imaginary friend with me upon leaving the Marjory Stoneman Douglas Festival and returning home. 

I think it's safe to assume all laughter would come to an abrupt halt, only to be replaced by quiet looks of horror, suspicion and possibly even pity. 

The poor thing, she just snapped!

I tell you, venue is everything! 

BTW, that second teaspoon of sugar? It tends to accomplish much.  Maybe sugar isn't all bad?  

I know, hope springs eternal...

The picture above is my 1880's style polonaise. It was the first reproduction gown I ever made and it's still my favorite.

Marjory's Inspiration

For the last two afternoons I've been deep in chocolate mousse and The Voice of the River, an autobiography of Marjory Stoneman Douglas.

The reason for this is that I'm doing my vintage fashion show, The Stories My Clothing Can Tell, next Tuesday in Everglades City for the Marjory Stoneman Douglas Festival. It was suggested I might try tossing in some information about her during the program. The chocolate mousse was just a whim.

Well as far as I can tell, MSD would likely have cared less about attending a fashion show. I might have been able to hold her attention with the historical elements the show possesses but for the most part, I think this woman saw fashion, vintage or otherwise, as a monumental waste of her time.

But I'm thrilled to have truly discovered her. She's likely best known for her efforts to save the Everglades - which she didn't become involved with until her 90's! Now this is my kind of gal!

It gives me hope that, also as a writing woman with a fondness for elocution, I'll have time to make happen all the ideas mentioned in my last post - as well as the others I didn't mention for fear you'd think me manic. MSD lived til she was 108!

I also hope that after I'm gone someone will say of me, "Death was the only thing that could shut her up, but the silence she's left behind? It's deafening."

Bugger and Blast! There's no more mousse.

Wanted: Dream Manager

There are starry-eyed dreamers and then there are those long-armed dreamers who see their dreams within manageable reach. 

Long-armed dreamers are cloaked in a perpetual aura of busyness that creates a degree of angst in those around them.

"Do you ever just sit?"

"Well, of course...when I'm dreaming."

If you're a long-armed dreamer, you may have only one dream, a variety of related dreams continually bumping into one another, or dreams without the least connection to each other. 

I'm quite thankful I don't fall into this last category. There's likely a tendency to run oneself ragged and I expect exhaustion (or insanity) is a chief complaint of this demographic.

I fall into the second category. Aside from working on Steeped, I've currently two speaking program ideas jockeying for position with: three new play ideas, two short story ideas, one unfinished short story much offended that two others are looking to further extend it's lack of completion, and a new children's book idea.

Or should I chuck it all and begin work on the edgy teatime mystery novel I see brewing?

Which curtain should be pulled open?  I just don't know...and so...

"Help," she cried!

I do believe I'm in serious need of a dream manager.

And a really long life! But, more on that later this week.

Mabury

My maiden name is Mabury.

Go ahead. I long ago learned that people can't seem to help themselves...Mabury RFD? Hmmm...hmmm...I've been hearing that since third grade recess and kickball.

As I've been to only a handful of Mabury family reunions - held each summer at Sam A. Baker State Park in southern Missouri - I don't really know the Mabury's very well, especially the "new" ones.

Back when I was one of the "new" ones, I was known mostly as "the little girl who had the open heart surgery, dontcha know." But between divorces, my dad and aunts dying, cross country moves and life indeed getting in way of the best laid plans, I've never connected with Maburys not in easy reach.

And while genealogy can completely capture my attention, my life as a writing woman hasn't allowed me the necessary perseverance of the confirmed genealogist.

Yet I still managed to find a Mabury! It happened completely by accident. I was really trying to find my Dad. Or rather, where he's buried. I know it's the height of irresponsibility but neither Darcie nor I can remember where he's spending his eternity. 

It was in my efforts to remedy this embarrassing mishap that I chanced upon David Mabury, author of the blog Parlor Mobster.

Awesome name for a blog, don't you think?

Anyway, David and I have been chatting back and forth via email. His dad was my dad's cousin and he spent time with my favorite Aunt, Aunt Anna! How strange to be related to someone, never know him til later in life, yet share some of the same experiences with him. He, too, played with my Aunt Anna's slightly fiercesome chihuahua, Dukey. And he heard Aunt Anna's glorious laugh that I can still hear even at this very moment. What a world, what a world!

I might have to make it to the Mabury Family Reunion this year! Maybe I can find out if it's really true that we've a Hatfield (of the Hatfield and McCoys) and a full blooded Cherokee Indian in our past.

If you'd like to visit David's blog, click on this link: www.mabury.com 

Has the Mabury family reunion caught your eye? I wouldn't attempt crashing but the food is to die for, especially if you're a fan of country cooking: www.maburys.com 

And, Sam A. Baker State Park is a truly glorious bit of the mid-west: www.mostateparks.com/baker.htm 

Do you want to hear something really crazy? My mother's maiden name is Stinson and as David and I have been chatting, an unknown Stinson relative has found Darcie! What on earth is going in the universe?!

The picture you see is my Dad with myself on the left and Darcie on the right. Judging by the look on our faces, we were really looking forward to that dead bird.

Lastly, I have always been a fan of Andy Griffith.

The Majestic Mermaids

Have you ever heard of Weeki Wachee or of the Weeki Wachee Aqua Maids? Neither had Suzn or myself when we began collaborating on a new play, The Majestic Mermaids. We were, if memory serves me correctly, over 3/4 through with our script when we learned of its existence.

Darn! So began our first rewrite.

We are, at last, approaching the finish line and think it's time to begin thinking about hosting a play reading. We've lost track of the official number of rewrites, but I think we've settled on four. 

There's a good chance our character, Coral Lee of Charleston (that's low country don't you know) could well steal the show but I've below pasted the opening lines of our Lady D for your reading pleasure.

Just keep in mind that Weeki Wachee was quite the Florida tourist destination until Disney and the turnpike came along.

Nothing stays the same, does it? Enjoy...


LADY D’LUNA 
Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Let me welcome all of you to a gloriously majestic...and dry...afternoon of swim-along, I mean sing-along. That’s what we’re doing these days since we’ve been left high and dry. That’s right. We mermaids have been beached. In some circles we might call that...surf on turf!  Anyway, I am Lady Lavinia D’Luna, the proud daughter of one of the original Weeki Wachee Aqua Maids.
        (raises hands, palms out but close to
         her body as if it is all too much)
I know, I know. My mother’s grace. Her poise. Her...
        (dramatically and comically 
         strikes adagio pose)
Adiago! I, of course, was following in her footsteps, until that damn mouse...you know the one I’m speaking of...
        (speaks confidentially) 
...he lives in Orlando. Well, I don’t even know why I mentioned him...
        (sings phrase)
it’s a new day...
        (gulps)
after all...it’s a new day...
        (gulps)
after all.  OOhhh...I am making progress, I said it twice today.
        (sighs deeply)
That felt good. Although, let me add one more thing? As if that perpetually perky...and might I add squeaky...mouse weren’t enough to rankle me to my very core...let alone sink ticket sales at Weeki Wachee and steal my thunder, but then comes the perfect storm.  Thanks to “the developers” a clod of clay the size of a train “mysteriously” found its way into the Florida Aquafir. What, I ask, are the chances of that? Coral Lee says...
        (mimics Coral Lee’s southern accent)
it’s as charmin as swimmin in a snow globe. Phltttt...please, Weeki Wachee is now just one big glass of sour milk. And has been for the last four months
        (puts up four fingers)
Four. We did our best though.
        (reminiscing)
Audiences loved our London Fog Mystery. They clapped and clapped. They really couldn’t see us unless we were six inches from the glass, but they clapped and clapped. However, you can’t sell tickets to the same show for four months straight. Four!
        (holds up four fingers)
and now they say its going to be another five months
        (holds up five fingers)
five! - before the water clears.  My nerves, not to mention my pores, couldn’t take it a second longer. But a Majestic Mermaid can swim in or out of water. So now, thanks to my own personal vision, my tireless efforts, and my complete disregard for my own personal well being and mental health, the Majestic Mermaids debuts today! Without further a due let me introduce to you...
        (throws her arm out wide)
...the quartet you won’t soon forget. Behind me is...
        (looks behind her and spins completely 
         around, giggles nervously upon seeing 
         that she is alone on stage)
Will you give me just...just a moment? CORAL LEE!!!!
        (looks at the audience before 
         speaking light and airy)
I mean Coral Lee, darling...Coral Lee?  Aren’t you supposed to be right...
        (motions to where CORAL LEE
         should be standing)
...here. 

        CORAL LEE enters from the rear of the house
and stands in the entrance. She is holding
a large hand held mirror and begins
applying bright pink lipstick.

CORAL LEE
I’m a comin...I told you I needed 5 more minutes.
        (to a guest)
Lordy, I can’t tell ya how good it feels to trade those big ol dumb flippers for my new sparklys.
        (pushes up her breasts with her hands)
And, it wouldn’t hurt my feelins none if I never had to wring out another falsie... 

That's all for now folks. You'll just have to come to the play reading to learn more! 

If you want to check out the real Weeki Wachee Aqua Maids, which do still exist, click on this link: weekiwachee.com 

And, are you wondering about the picture at the top? These were muffins I was experimenting with and Kenny thought it amusing to use them as a doorstop. Is he a funny guy or what?

Well Now Buckaroos

I've had my cowboy boots and cowboy hat, in anticipation of my first rodeo, for sometime now. I had mentioned to my Osage Beach friend, Sharon Love, that these acquisitions paved the way for the creation of a dress design long 2-stepping in my head. 

Her reply? "Oh, you want to be a cowgirl slut."

"What! No, that's not...I didn't mean...I would never..."

Clearly I'd been less than clear. In my head I saw this feminine, vintage inspired dress with a western influence. I was looking to dive headlong into the rodeo experience. I'd no intention of...savin a horse to ride a cowboy!

Well I never did get the dress out of my head and into fabric but Babs, Dr. Leslie D______ and I still attended the Homestead, Florida rodeo this past weekend.

Where, I might add, literally no one was dressed in anything feminine and vintage inspired. Not one vintage cowgirl was in sight! 

My disappointment was profound. Although, the handsome and lanky cowboys, the bucking bulls and broncos and the fried turkey legs did go far in soothing my spirit. 

Babs, who has the inside track as she's friends with a few bona fide cowgirls, tells me that most of them see such dress as silly. 

Ouch! That leaves a slight flesh wound. 

Really! Rodeo's without cowgirl fashions? It's hard to fathom. I mean, they put pink and blue glitter on the hind quarters of their horses but dressy cowgirl fashions are silly dress?

Is this Brokeback Mountain fall out or what?  Is it just Missouri and Florida? What's going on here buckaroos?

I might just be finding myself on a mission to bring back something the rodeo people have lost. 

The rodeo was a blast! Exciting, scary and funny! And oh my gosh, when those cowboys fall to their knees in a quick prayer of thanks after their ride is through, it just about brings tears to your eyes. 

Try as I might, I could never catch a good picture of a bucking bronco. The picture was either blurry or the horse just wasn't in the shot. It took only one try though to get Miss Holly's boots - a rider who took in a rescued horse she calls Charlie Horse. Pretty cool boots, eh? I wonder if they come in a dusty rose color?

When's the next rodeo you ask? March. Arcadia, Florida - www.arcadiarodeo.com 

Yee-haw!

Ja Ba La Ba Loo!

Don't you just love a sparkly day - a day where good news and important events fall at your feet no matter which way you turn? I thought I might have to stay up last night just so I wouldn't miss anything.

Tea in Texas arrived yesterday and features my Texas Tea-Step article - all four and half pages! Ja Ba La Ba Loo!

Anyway, one of my readers, not knowing I had written any plays at all, has asked me how they came about. So below is the answer to this question - as regards to the first play anyway, A Teatime Travesty. Although I fondly refer to my fledgling effort as simply Travesty.

And the picture here is a promotional piece for Travesty featuring my Torie Montana in the middle, my friend Suzn on the left (with whom I'm writing a third play), and her mom, Barbara.

Here you go...

I daresay playwrights and novelists expect to occasionally awake in the morning with a fresh plot eager to spill from their pens. But for a history lover whose writing aspirations have never stepped far beyond the well researched piece on the early 19th century Gothic heroine or the evolution of the Victorian Valentine, etc., it is indeed a rare occurrence.

Yet, this is how the play, A Teatime Travesty, came to be. I opened my eyes one Saturday morning and there it was - complete with the necessary twists and turns. You can imagine my surprise. I arose, made myself a cup of tea and began writing.

I don't want to imply it was easy and all was complete before the day was out. There was, thankfully, research to be done.

I knew the action had to take place at teatime but how does one blend the graciousness inherent in afternoon tea with comedy and murder? How does one dispose of a body during tea? Anything messy seemed grossly inappropriate and anything verging on the calisthenic was clearly fraught with problems. It simply wouldn't do for even one tea hat to fall askew.

It was quite a conundrum, but I quickly saw poison as the answer. Yet which one? I set about my research with the fervent hope that my husband stayed well. I imagined being interrogated by the police should something dire occur. "Ma'am, we understand you were researching poisons in the weeks prior to your husband's demise..."

Aside from the fact that my husband did maintain his good health, I can tell you that, yes, even during the most elegant afternoon tea, it is possible for events to take a most unexpected turn.

xxx

To visit Tea in Texas, click on this link: teaintexas.com

Doors Close, Doors Open

What's buzzin cousin? Have you been good?

Me? What have I been up to? I've been alternately sloshing about in both awe and angst, which of course, is somewhat time consuming. It also tires a dilly mightily and so I've needed a lie-down here and there during this last two weeks.

Deciding to stop producing Sweet Willa's Review was knotty. This door, once closed, is the last piece of The Ladies' Tea Guild in my life. It's the end of an era. The sands of time have shifted, the universe has tilted yet again and the world is painted in shades of bittersweet.

Give me a just moment while I gently dab at the silent tears rolling down my cheek...alrighty, that passed. It's time to leave off with this Gothic heroine malarkey! I've got work to do.

Literally within days of closing this door a number of doors opened. But the most exciting leads me back to my plays, which I had put on the back burner due to the economy.

But, it now looks as if both Tea-A-Ria and A Teatime Travesty are to be performed in Naples this summer at Fred's Diner, which by the way, is a far cry from being a diner.

And it looks as if I'll be directing! OMG! We've already formed The Paradise Players.

So back to what I've been doing exactly this past week. I've been completely immersing myself in the 1940's, the era in which Tea-A-Ria - likely to begin after Mother's Day - is set.

I can now toss out 40's slang with ease - Hi sugar, are you rationed? (Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?) I once again have a slinky in my possession (invented in the 40's), and, if needed, I can create a Victory Roll hairstyle and line my lips in maroon lip liner before the kettle comes to a boil.

For your reading pleasure, here are the opening lines from Tea-A-Ria:

LEONIE
  Good afternoon ladies. I am Leonie Palazzotto and I want to welcome you to Tea-A Ria, a tearoom where you can relax, enjoy a fine cup of tea, and a bit of old world ambiance. 

NONA LENA calls out LEONIE’S name off stage before

entering left. She is brandishing a large kitchen knife.

NONA LENA
  Leonie Palazzotto! I’ma not a cuttin the crusts offa the bread! Whoever hearda such a thing! It don’ta maka no sense!

LEONIE smiles at her guests before walking to NONA LENA. She begins indulgently but quickly falls into her Italian accent, talking louder and waving her hands for emphasis.

LEONIE
  Excuse me, ladies. Nona Lena, we’ve already discussed this. You-cut-the-crusts-off-the-bread-at-teatime! It’s just the way it’s done!

NONA LENA
  First everything has to be “bite sized”! Now this! I don’ta see how you’re gonna fill these people up!

LEONIE
(speaks indulgently as she gently nudges NONA LENA towards the kitchen)
  Nona Lena, please.  Just cut the crusts off the bread.

NONA LENA
  (to a guest)  

  Does this maka any sense to you. It’s pazzo!

 NONA LENA exits left.

LEONIE
  Pardon me, ladies. Italian don’t quite understand teatime. My Nona Lena wants to put garlic in everything. I tell her, over and over, you can’t have that much garlic at teatime!  And oh...

 

(puts her hands to her head) 

  

...the battle we had over the vincisgrassi! I say, “Nona Lena, nobody eats cinnamon scented chicken gizzards at teatime. It don’t matter if it’s in béchamel sauce!"

(smiles and shakes her head)

  

 That woman! But what are you are going to do when your Nona Lena loves you so much and only wants to help? 

(sighs) 

 Now where was I…ah, yes, tea! Today we are serving a marvelous _________. We’ll be bringing out the pots in just a moment. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be sure they're warming...

xxx

Keep your fingers crossed my friends and pray Tea-A-Ria's tag line is true...Teatime goes Italian and it might never be the same! 

It's quite amazing what the universe throws at you if you keep your head up rather than trying to duck, don't you think?

If you'd like to check out Fred's Diner, click on this link:

www.fredsdiner.com

When You're Not Audrey Hepburn

You'd think that a woman who doesn't bat an eye at taking public transportation while wearing an 1880's polonaise would feel confident wearing just about anything. Yet, adorn me with a silk scarf  - such a simple thing - and I'm quickly reduced to an ill at ease fussbudget.

However, upon hearing from a French friend that French women find the silk scarf to be an indispensable accessory, I thought it was time to give the scarf another chance. After all, perhaps I was only scarred by the picture of myself with my sister that you see above. No, that is not a small Russian child with the red scarf wrapped around her head.

So I found a book on how to tie scarves and even went so far, in anticipation of success, as to buy a 32" silk scarf. Yet, the book provided only one idea that held the least appeal: the Audrey Hepburn-ish style of scarf wearing. A bit on the dramatic side but, I've always fancied Ms. Hepburn and I as having the same swan-like neck so I thought I'd give it a try.

You see the result.

I can't quite recall if Audrey Hepburn actually sported such a look in a movie or if she happened to be photographed in real life wearing a scarf with sunglasses. But one thing I can tell you for certain - you're hailed with suspicion and teased rather mercilessly in this day and age if you lunch while so dressed.

I've concluded that my new silk scarf is best not draped anywhere on my person. However, it does dress up a wine bottle in a rather lovely fashion. So far, I've returned home with it each time, but if I'm ever asked to bring wine to a friend who longs to wear a silk scarf with the grace of a French woman, I'll let her have both the wine and the blasted scarf.

I'm much happier wearing a beret, even though, according to my French friend, a beret is an accessory best reserved for men. I've got to stop listening to this woman. I love my berets!

Would you like directions so that you, too, can carry a Well Dressed Wine Bottle? Here you go...

Lay a 32" scarf flat with a scarf point facing you. Place the wine bottle in the center so the bottle is aligned with the top and bottom scarf points.

Fold the top point down first. Fold the bottom point up.

Wrap the outside points so that they cross each other at the front of the bottle. Tie them into a knot at the bottle's back. The bottom point that you first folded up can now be folded down over the bottle's front.

My friends, this piece originally appeared in the January 2007 issue of Sweet Willa, but I decided to rework it a bit as I've pondered letting go of this on-line publication. I've decided to release Sweet Willa to the universe as it's really the last bit of Ladies' Tea Guild in my life. 2010 is pulling me in a different direction and I can't fight it any longer.

Texas Women Save the Day

Am full of doubts and angst and worries and woes

I may as well wear my wrinkled clothes

And paint myself     

         the color of my sheets

 

Oh my goodness, now isn't that pitiful. What tea does one serve at a pity party anyway? Ahh...of course....

Something old and bitter

 A terrible brew

  Too hot to drink 

                       That's all you're due. 

I'm trying to stop but these foolish lines keep popping into my head! Oh my gosh, what if they never stop!? 

I'm so rarely in a funk but once there it's somewhat of a dark place where I fumble about with even darker thoughts.

Thank goodness my friend, BK of Houston, felt it from afar and called me on it. Her email did me a world of good and likely makes it impossible for me to continue with this tossing out of foolish lines....oh, wait....

I thought another was on its way, but you're safe.

Anyway, I had told BK of Houston I was going to make a batch of biscuits, eat them with mountains of butter and honey and then go to bed. But to save mental health and unneeded poundage, I decided instead to put on my big girl panties and try Miss Suzanne's Seafood Calado. Yes, that would indeed be Miss Suzanne of Corpus Christi. 

This of course requires I get out of my pajamas and join the world. It's a good idea. My clothes aren't really so wrinkled once I take a good look at them. 

Now about this seafood calado...you know you've got fooditude with another woman when all she gives you is a list of ingredients and you don't think twice about it. Here's my grocery list and the slight bit of direction as Miss Suzanne gave it to me. 

Suzanne's Seafood Calado

2 pounds medium shrimp

1/2 pound of scallops

1 pound of tilipia

low sodium chicken broth

chicken paste

orange or yellow bell pepper

1 can chunk pineapple

celery and onion

cilantro

fresh lime

fresh avocado

cumin 

chili powder

thyme

pepper

Peel shrimp. Put shells in a pot with 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Boil for five minutes and let set for 25 minutes. Remove shells and add 2 teaspoons chicken paste. Add 2-3 cups broth and potatoes. Simmer until the potatoes are tender. While potatoes cook, saute onion, celery, and orange bell pepper for five minutes. Add to pot once potatoes are finished. Add seafood, pineapple, and spices. Simmer until fish is cooked. Serve with bowls of cilantro, lime and fresh avocado on the table.

I'm off to the grocers. Sometimes you just need Texas women to help save the day.

I might still need the biscuits though - you know, just to complement the soup.

Silly, silly girl you are
Quit moping about
For you've come too far,
Get dressed and get going
Get out of the house
Try singing and smiling,
Try not to be sad,
Eat some soup and a biscuit
And just TRY being glad.

Sorry, I couldn't help myself.