The Doors Open

It's time to open the doors of my Vintage Emporium. This temporary shop will likely see more treasures as I've just now remembered there's another box of reproduction patterns stashed in the garage. 

Oh...and there's vintage magazines resting quietly under my couch. I forgot all about them!

I've been relishing the new spaciousness of certain shelves and cupboards. It was necessary, however, to walk away from my dining room cabinet - the one where items were inclined to jump out at you only last week. It's now sparsely filled and the eccentricity of arranging what remains, turning items slightly this way or that, was not lost on me.

You might be wondering if I'm compelled to now begin a new era of hunting and gathering. I can't say I am.

Not yet anyway. But for the sake of argument, if I were to begin collecting anew, what would strike my fancy? Hmmm...

Lordy! Don't let me go there!

If you're interested in perusing my treasures and possibly making them your own, click here. This link takes you to a private page at LaurieNienhaus.com. 

You can email me at editor@glily.com or call or text me at 239-463-1079 to order. This information and more is on the page featuring all items.

I was asked my plans for monies made from Vintage Emporium sales. Next year, Kenny and I will have been married 30 years. I want to go somewhere romantic and marry him again! So that we don't end up in Oklahoma at a western art museum, I'm taking charge and planning ahead.

Not that there's anything wrong with a western art museum in Oklahoma, mind you. It just doesn't cry out romance when said aloud.

Lastly, for those wanting my stuff to become theirs - thank you. Enjoy!

I Resemble That Remark

"That so few now dare to be eccentric, marks the chief danger of the time." From On Liberty by John Stuart Mill

 The universe has its ways. What are the odds two different people would mention I was eccentric in the same week I chance upon the above quote?

 "What!?" I interrupted both times. Not that I've ever given it much thought, but I've never considered myself eccentric. I always thought one must possess barrels of money or cats in the double digits to lay such a claim. 

 Unlike Oscar Wilde, I've never had the least urge to sally forth with a lobster on a leash. And, unlike Prince, on the few occasions I've been interviewed, it never occurred to me to put a paper bag over my head.

 It was so shocking to hear such a thing that, of course, it fueled thoughts for No Cobwebs Here. Quick research seemed a worthy use of time. Self examination will come later.

 There's much to be found on the subject of eccentricity, although apparently there's been "astonishingly little clinical research into the subject". It's been suggested this is because eccentrics tend to be cheerful souls rarely seeking treatment. You need treatment for it!?

  British psychologist, David Weeks, did reveal a few discoveries in his book, Eccentrics: A Study of Sanity and Strangeness (1995). Let me mention from the get go...I'm not fond of the title.

  According to Dr. Weeks, eccentric people are:

1. Creative...I'll give you that one standing tall.

2. Idealistic...Personally, I wonder if history lovers are all that idealistic. With even a modicum of perspective of the past, it's hard to hang onto idealism. Hence, my huge issues with Obama and socialism. But I digress...

3. Obsessed with hobbies...It only seems like obsessive hobbies because I'm not the most brilliant of business women.

4. Curious...If I might quote the Wicked Witch of the West here: What a world, what a world. How could one NOT be curious?

5. Non-conforming in attitude...There's a conforming attitude?

  Those are only the top five indicators. To learn more, you can read Jordan Elgrably's well done piece about the book, called Wilder at Heart, by clicking here.

  Thankfully, there are benefits to being eccentric. Such folks are happy and optimistic, have strong immune systems, visit doctors less and live longer.

  In On Liberty, John Stuart Mill, also suggests it is the eccentrics who are the visionaries. They provide the untried ideas allowing societies to progress.

  All in all, I'm happy to resemble these remarks.

  To read a list of the ten most fruit-loopery of historical eccentrics, click here.

My First Guest Author

(AP Photo/Ben Curtis)

  I fully realize I've crossed a line and broken my own rule. Always wanting No Cobwebs Here to bring a smile, a chuckle, or in some small way be a bright spot in your day, I've steered clear of current events, politics and most things controversial. 

  But, to say I've lately been terribly troubled by the Islamic extremism surfacing on U.S. soil is a wild understatement. I also hadn't expected the death of Ambassador Chris Stevens to affect me so deeply. So, when I read this piece below by Paul E. Marek, I felt compelled to re-print it here. 

   I promise this to be a rarity. Although some may have seen this coming. After all, how long can you expect me to study the strategies of women such as the radical suffragist Alice Paul without at some point wanting to step into the fray? History has much to teach us.

    And, on the chance I get to meet Alice Paul when I cross the pearly gates, I wouldn't want her first words to me to be, "Really! All that writing and talking and you never tried to make a real difference?"

  Yes, Alice. I tried.

Why the Peaceful Majority
is Irrelevant

  History lessons are often incredibly simple.

  I used to know a man whose family were German aristocracy prior to World War II. They owned a number of large industries and estates. I asked him how many German people were true Nazis, and the answer he gave has stuck with me and guided my attitude toward fanaticism ever since.

  “Very few people were true Nazis,” he said, “but many enjoyed the return of German pride, and many more were too busy to care. I was one of those who just thought the Nazis were a bunch of fools. So, the majority just sat back and let it all happen. Then, before we knew it, they owned us, and we had lost control, and the end of the world had come. My family lost everything. I ended up in a concentration camp and the Allies destroyed my factories.”

  We are told again and again by experts and talking heads that Islam is the religion of peace, and that the vast majority of Muslims just want to live in peace. Although this unquantified assertion may be true, it is entirely irrelevant. It is meaningless fluff, meant to make us feel better, and meant to somehow diminish the specter of fanatics rampaging across the globe in the name of Islam.

  The fact is that the fanatics rule Islam at this moment in history. It is the fanatics who march. It is the fanatics who wage any one of 50 shooting wars world wide. It is the fanatics who systematically slaughter Christian or tribal groups throughout Africa and are gradually taking over the entire continent in an Islamic wave. It is the fanatics who bomb, behead, murder, or execute honor killings. It is the fanatics who take over mosque after mosque. It is the fanatics who zealously spread the stoning and hanging of rape victims and homosexuals. The hard, quantifiable fact is that the “peaceful majority” is the “silent majority,” and it is cowed and extraneous.

  Communist Russia was comprised of Russians who just wanted to live in peace, yet the Russian Communists were responsible for the murder of about 20 million people. The peaceful majority were irrelevant. China’s huge population was peaceful as well, but Chinese Communists managed to kill a staggering 70 million people. The average Japanese individual prior to World War II was not a war-mongering sadist. Yet, Japan murdered and slaughtered its way across Southeast Asia in an orgy of killing that included the systematic murder of 12 million Chinese civilians - most killed by sword, shovel and bayonet. And who can forget Rwanda, which collapsed into butchery? Could it not be said that the majority of Rwandans were “peace loving”?

  History lessons are often incredibly simple and blunt; yet, for all our powers of reason, we often miss the most basic and uncomplicated of points. Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by the fanatics. Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by their silence. Peace-loving Muslims will become our enemy if they don’t speak up, because, like my friend from Germany, they will awaken one day and find that the fanatics own them, and the end of their world will have begun.

  Peace-loving Germans, Japanese, Chinese, Russians, Rwandans, Bosnians, Afghanis, Iraqis, Palestinians, Somalis, Nigerians, Algerians and many others, have died because the peaceful majority did not speak up until it was too late. As for us, watching it all unfold, we must pay attention to the only group that counts: the fanatics who threaten our way of life.

This article first appearred in http://www.israelnationalnews.com 

Paul E. Marek is a second-generation Canadian, whose grandparents fled Czechoslovakia just prior to the Nazi takeover. He is an educational consultant specializing in programs that protect children from predatory adults.

Letting Go of the Stuff

  
  My house is in shambles. Items long safely tucked away, tightly stacked, quietly hidden and sometimes forgotten have seen the light of day and been made to plead their case. It's been a roller coaster week for one with only a dim recollection of the joys a basement brings and who prides herself on keeping newly useless items rolling out the door. I've alternately been dismayed, delighted, teary eyed, dewie and lost in reminiscences.

  I've also engaged in fierce debates with myself. I quickly realized some of my arguments wouldn't last a heartbeat in a true debate.

  For instance: When you collect antiques you cannot decide to be rid of one simply because it's old. It was old when you bought it. It's partly why you bought it.

  You can see my dilemma, can't you? It was necessary to develop a new set of parameters to help me make the cutthroat decisions needing to be made. I came up with several categories and items on the stand had to fall into one of them in order to remain in my household. I share some with you in the hopes you, too, may  find them helpful...

1. The Punch Bowl Category: You rarely need a punch bowl, but when you do - and sooner or later you will - nothing else will do. This rule does completely negate the long established "If you haven't used it or worn it in a year, it must go" rule. And yes, egg plates are a gray area here. Thankfully, I've only one egg plate anyway.

2. The Yes, I've At Least Got the Fabric or Upcoming Event Category: While long ago I learned to never buy a partial outfit when shopping, I clearly never applied that knowledge to my hat purchases. I've far too many hats for which I was going to make a vintage reproduction gown. If the fabric isn't already in my stash or the event on my calender, said hat was asked to take a seat on the other side of the room. This was an especially brutal morning.

3. It's Really a Sub-Category of Items I'm Fond Of Category: Decorator teapots, 1-person teapots, chocolate pots are among the items falling into this lot. This was especially helpful and not nearly as painful as I had first imagined.
 
 You get the idea. I momentarily considered a Would You Grab It If You Had to Flee Category, but that's just silly. I'd be getting rid of all but 32 of my teapots!

  I'm hoping to have this sale up and going early next week. I'll keep you posted!

Stuff

  Things. Treasures. Junk. Possessions. Trappings. Synonyms abound for what we choose to wrap our lives with.
  Whatever we call it, our stuff says much about us. But our stuff can also teach us...stuff.
  My Grandmother's stuff gave me my first lesson. When it became necessary for me to go through her home and deal with her stuff, I tried giving some of the best of it to her friends.
  "Honey," they told me, "We're trying to get rid of our own stuff. We don't want any more things."
  My Grandmother - like myself - had been a collector. She treasured her stuff. For no one to want it? That would have been hard for her to take. And if she knew certain of her offspring would eventually be smashing her collectible Japanese plates for mosaics? Well, some of us are fortunate we're not haunted by Mrs. L. Stinson.
  The possibility that my own children might not want my treasures had never before occurred to me.
  Pause while I see my trappings in a different light.
  Moving from Portland, Oregon to Fort Myers Beach provided opportunities for my own stuff to throw a lesson my way. While never one for the arranged clutter one sees in magazines such as Country Living and Shabby Chic, there did come a more minimalist sense of decor as things were put in boxes over the course of several months. I liked it.
  This surprised me mightily because I had long been leery of minimalists. What does a minimalist DO in their home? It's as if they're prepared to bolt at a moment's notice. I'm guessing a good many are in the witness protection program.
  Although my 60 plus teapots tend to belie it, I've since made certain bare surfaces are welcome in my home.
  My love of collecting antique stuff had me leaning towards haughty. I've never been one to fling myself into a furniture store or a Target for my stuff. I SEARCH for it in places specializing in yesteryear. My stuff has PROVENANCE. It has MEANING. It CALLS to me.
  This, of course, is all a crock.
  And, pause as I realize my stuff had hoodwinked me.
  In an effort to brush up on letting go, I give away a favorite vintage hat.
  I still wish I hadn't done that. The hat really did suit me and it had once belonged to...well, never mind.
  Letting go is a worthy end. And to that end, more stuff must go. It's time to lighten my load.
  But, I can't make myself host a garage sale - mostly because when people want to dicker with me on a .25 item, my first impulse is to throw the item at them while crying out, "Are you kidding me! Just take the ^%&#@ thing!"
  I think, though, that a Facebook sale may be on the horizon. 
  I do have some awesome stuff by the way. Some of it came from an old...again, never mind.

The Return of the Ketchup Sandwich

  I'm not saying the Earl of Sandwich would have boasted of it, but I think my rosemary ketchup could signal the return of the ketchup sandwich.

  Spoon a dollop of the stuff onto the center of a buttered bread circle and, as if by magic, you've now a colorful sandwich offering...one with enough nostalgia to maybe finagle its way onto the tea table. Although, again, I'd recommend cloaking the word ketchup with "luscious tomato spread".

  You look troubled. I know what you're thinking. We need a garnish.

  Mustard immediately comes to mind but you walk a dangerous line when using a condiment to garnish a condiment sandwich.

  Perhaps a smattering of those canned French fried onions could remedy this? A cheddar heart cut from a tiny heart cookie cutter? A tear drop of cream cheese? 

  It was surely a mere oversight when The Chips neglected to mention the ketchup sandwich in their Rubber Biscuit song, recorded back in 1956. You're in luck in case you missed this little doo-wop number by not yet being born. The Blues Brother's did a rendition of it as only they can...

Luscious Tomato Spread

1 28-ounce can tomato puree

1/2 teaspoon Old Bay Seasoning

1 teaspoon beef base

1 6" stem fresh rosemary

1/2 cup brewed Keemun or Assam tea

1/4 cup Demerara sugar

1/4 cup sherry or brandy

  Put all into a crock pot and cook, uncovered, on low for six hours, stirring occasionally. Makes 1.5 cups.

And, here is my recipe for
Rosemary Skin Freshner

1/2 cup fresh rosemary, destemed

11/4 distilled water

1/2 lemon peel, no juice

  Put all in a small pan and bring to a low boil. Cover and let simmer for 35-40 or until the liquid is reduced to 1/2 cup. Add 1 tablespoon brandy. Keep in the refrigerator and use with a cotton pad to freshen hot and/or tired skin.

  I agree. Enough with the rosemary...for now anyway.

A Little Bit of Rosemary in My Life

  
  The occasional floods in the creek behind the house I grew up in had already claimed ten feet or so of the far back yard by the time we moved in. This meant the stone BBQ pit sat on the other side of the fence amid a tangle of Missouri flora.

  It was the perfect place for two imaginative grade school girls to pretend they were witches. Kathy Tsiopas and I spent a fair amount of one summer brewing potions there in a tin cauldron, using ingredients native to the creek and utensils we believed long forgotten by our mothers.

  We also tried making paper from the innards of a fallen tree in the woods on the other side of the creek. Our effort possessed a distinct flat bread character that didn't take well to pen or pencil.

    To this day I remained enamored of brews and potions of my own creation.

  It's likely why I'm also fond of old enameled pots, antique jars and unusual spoons.

    Lately, rosemary has my attention. Its odor gives me pause and finds me closing my eyes in order to truly relish the rosemary moment.

  For a woman with 55 waiting literally around the bend, rosemary holds great promise. It's said to firm and tone your skin. It's anti-aging and fiercely ravages those free radicals.

  Last week I had mentioned the rosemary busily releasing it's oil into a bottle of vodka on my kitchen window sill. My plan was to then freeze the vodka, minus the rosemary, so the rosemary oil would rise to the surface to be spooned off.

  However, I mixed up my recipes - a hazard when reading piles of loose paper while simultaneously stirring rosemary ketchup. Alcohol, of course, doesn't freeze. I've started over by putting more fresh rosemary into a jar filled with distilled water.

  At that almost 55 marker, I cringe at the thought of an alcohol-based skin toner. But what to do with this rosemary vodka? Hmmmmm...

Rosemary Martini
2 parts rosemary vodka
1 part Pear Brandy
splash of fresh lemon juice
rosemary sprig garnish

   More on skin care and rosemary as soon as I get it right.

  About that rosemary ketchup. It turned out pretty well but I want to try it one more time with a few other ingredients - including a single anchovy. I'll keep you posted on that, too.

   

 

A Flurry of Activity

There's a flurry of activity in my kitchen. There's:

... A Luscious Tomato Spread simmering in an open crock pot on the island counter.  

  I know it's perilously close to ketchup...alright, I confess, it's ketchup!

  You may have noticed this beloved condiment is rarely sighted during the tea hour. Thankfully, it's a writer's job to use all the tools of their trade, including poetic license - hence, Luscious Tomato Spread.

... Fresh rosemary is releasing it's oil into vodka on my window sill. More on that later this week.

... Strawberries are pickling in lavender and thyme in the refrigerator. Very Victorian and distinctly odd, yet intriguing when served with chunks of Havarti.

... An entire colony of Tapinoma Melanocephalum - more commonly known as the wildly irritating ghost ant - is hopefully drawing their last tiny breaths after ingesting the Borax-Sugar snack I've prepared for them. 

  Do I feel glee when checking on their enjoyment of my homemade treat? Alas, I cannot tell a lie. I'm toe-tappin gleeful.

  But I likely should stop the maniacal monologue I find myself engaging in.

Eat up my pretties!
Scurry on to your Queen!
Bwahahahaha.....

The Cure for What Ails You

   Forget the inspirational quotes (which, if FB is any judge, are multiplying exponentially). Forget the soothing cup of tea (I heard you gasping…). There’s a better answer for curing what ails you. 

   Synchronized swimming.   

   Don’t wait for our U.S. Olympians, Mary Killman and Maria Koroleva, either. Grab rubber nose clips and a friend and jump in the water. Warm up with a few “tubs” and “water wheels”. Try a “flamingo”. If you don’t yet feel giggles coming on, try executing a perfect “egg beater”. Trust me when I tell you a “boost” propels you out of the water and leaves your troubles behind.  

   My Portland friend, Wendy Kreiger, and I learned the value of synchro (Oh yeah baby, I know the lingo) when our girls were at the age where your mere existence is a source of embarassment. These two young beauties saw fit to harangue us over more money for food as we chatted poolside.

  I no longer remember how it occurred to us but the effect was immediate. The moment we went under and then surfaced - almost simultaneously - with our arms - expressively - arched over our heads, their shared look of horror was a gratifying moment never to be forgotten. They skedaddled and our funds remained intact.  

   We then spent the next 45-minutes as Million Dollar Mermaid wanna be’s. I laugh aloud to this day whenever I think of it. I am laughing now!   

   So try this. Who knows? You might soon find yourself first doing a bit of deck work to set the mood. You might even feel compelled to throw your hair in a bun and slather your head with Knox gelatin (the secret to their always perfect do’s).   

   Of course there’s a historical note! Ester Williams comes to mind when we think water ballerina, but it was Australian Annette Kellerman who paved the way in 1907 by swimming in a glass tank in New York’s Hippodrome. 

   During this visit she was also arrested for indecent exposure. Her form fitting, light colored suit was far beyond its time and more than some folks could bear.   

   She’s known to have said as they took her away, “How do you expect me to swim in more clothes than you put on a clothes line?"   

   The judge threw the case out of court.   

   This tidbit is part of my vintage fashion show, The Stories My Clothing Can Tell.

 

I'm Back!

  Those who pay attention to such details will notice this is my first post since April 2010. Let me begin my return by touching upon the highlights of the last 24 plus months.....

1. I mastered the web design program, Dreamweaver; hence the new look of LaurieNienhaus.com. This effort required an extraordinary amount of cursing. I feared I was becoming a sailor.

2. Tea-A-Ria was at last put to bed after ten sold out performances. My eyebrows have at last lost the 40's look I had plucked them to.
   There are some in SW Florida who wish this farce to be brought back. That's not likely to happen despite the fact cast members continue falling into character when chancing upon one another...
 

              LEONIE

This is a tearoom! There's no cappuccino. No vino! It's tea and a scone.

    

      TOMASSO
...Guys like me, we don’t drink tea. And what’s a scone-ee?

2. A first foot surgery went a muck, necessitating a second. The magical thinking I'm known for in certain circles allowed me to believe I'd be returning home immediately post surgery after the second.  
   Upon learning this was not to be as they wheeled me into the operating room, I blossomed into full blown hysteria - never pretty, btw.
   The last thing I remember was a man's voice, presumably the anesthesiologist's, saying, "Maybe it's time to put her under."
   All is well now and my China Moon Festival  went off without a hitch, but thanks only to friends offering more help than they should ever be asked to offer!

3. I've directed two more shows, for which I wrote some of the scripts - It's a Beachy Christmas and It's a Beachy Love. There may be one more Beachy thing in me as it still tweaks me not to work in odd numbers. You can read excerpts of all these plays at: LaurieNienhaus.com/plays.html. If you follow me on Facebook, there's also an album of Tea-A-Ria images.

4. I'm at the tail end of a massive garden project requiring the relocation of well over 100 wheel barrows of sand and gravel. All moved by yours truly.
   I've moved the huge rocks serving to outline my winding bed so many times that it's a point of discussion among my neighbors. Apparently some think I find it therapeutic to occasionally re-arrange large rocks as one would furniture. There may be some truth to that.

5. I began running tea and history programs at our premier historic home here in Lee County, the Burroughs' Home. This required I create programing at a somewhat break-neck pace. Some I've incorporated into my larger speaking repertoire but others I'm not sure what to do with now. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. If you'd like to see this home - which is indeed haunted - visit BurroughsHome.com.

6. My third book, Steeped: The Wanderings and Delights of a Tea Adventurer, is closer than ever to completion. I swear.

  Those are the highlights folks. I've found it to be true...time is indeed a dress maker specializing in alterations (Faith Baldwin).

 
The woman you see above is my friend, Carrie Hill. She told one of the most famous of Moon Festival legends - the story of Chang O.

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!