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.

Tatting, Not Tatted!

Perhaps I need take greater care in my use of the English language. Or, maybe Kenny has developed a slight hearing impairment.

Either way, if memory serves me correctly, what I said was, "Ooohh....tatting...it's so very lovely." 

Apparently he heard something else...

My beautiful boy with his naturally beautiful and completely perfect brown skin! The shock. The dismay. The urge to send him to his room! What is a mother of a 25-year old do when he listens to his own drummer as she has always instructed him to do?

I tried reasoning and was told the human body is a canvas. Then why, Kenny, did they invent canvas? 

I tried begging and he laughed. I tried tears - which weren't crocodile and which for a moment seemed to hold the promise of swaying him. But in the end, all talk and theatrics proved futile. 

At first, it was almost more than I could bear. If I was ever in need of a lie down, smelling salts and a cool cloth dipped in lavender, it was now.

But, as time has passed, I've become more and more attached to this imagery that has spoken to my son's heart. It's artfully done and possesses a certain intensity that is compelling. The boy has always been complex. 

However, my dream of whiling away idle hours with tatting needles in hand and a cup of tea sitting nearby are forever shattered. 

Of course I'd be dressed in high Victorian style and overlooking a well-manicured and rambling expanse of lawn!

Oh, well, I wasn't getting very far with the tatting anyway. It's hard and the going is slow!

And my dream of Kenny someday taking up modeling? Alas, that dream too is slowly but surely slipping away. 

Now I know how my mother felt when I told her I had no intention of becoming a marine biologist. 

Would all of this had played out differently if I had taken up knitting instead of tatting?

See Laurie Pedal

Despite the scoffing of St. Louis family and friends, it IS cold here in SW Florida. It was 62 degrees IN MY HOUSE yesterday! I feared we might not make it through the night.

Despite hypothermia's slow approach, I bundled up with a scarf, gloves and hat and went for a 9-mile bicycle ride this afternoon on my beach bike - the one with only three speeds, big tires, and wide handle bars designed for slouchy comfort riding.

How marvelous it was! I'm looking to make a long bike ride an anticipated part of each week. Yoga has long served me well but as I careen through my early 50's, the time has come to step up the motion in order to keep all engines running smoothly.

As opposed to sadly clicking along. Oh no, I could never let go of yoga, but something more aerobic and with larger movement feels to also be in order. 

I was aiming high with a 9-mile ride that included bicycling over the bridge at the north end of our island. Yes, that would indeed be the high, steep bridge. I made it, too - both ways. 

But I thought it was going to do me in and it took all the discipline I could muster to keeping pedaling over that bridge. I kept at it though which is somewhat of a marvel considering that when running, I just stop once I tire. I'm actually incapable of continuing to put one foot in front of the other. But apparently I can continue to pedal even when my lungs are about to explode.

So anyway, I was feeling pretty good about this but on my way back, three serious bikers - hunkered down on their sleek 20-speed bikes, with their bicycling outfits and matching helmets, passed me at the speed of light. Show offs! 

They probably rode more than nine measly miles though, didn't they? But did they go over that darn bridge? That's the question I'd like answered.

Not enough to follow them, mind you... 

And no, I can't do exercise classes. No matter how badly I think I want to, the moment I pull into the parking lot the merest sliver of a reason causes me to drive away. It's too sunny, my water bottle's only half full, I brought the wrong socks, I didn't bring a snack for the ride home, I need gas...you get the picture. 

BTW, Doc Ford's is one of our newest bayside restaurants. It's a rambling sort of place with live music and awesome food. I'd  suggest the shrimp flatbread followed by their rum infused carrot cake. You can visit them at www.docfords.com.

He's a Beast

The word on the street is this: She can't do it. Apparently some are even laying bets I can't do it.

Oh ye of little faith!

Yes, I do abhor violence. Yes, I do cringe mightily at the sound of a punch.  Yes, I did once shed tears at the grand opening of a Target store. 

But really, what does any of that have to do with me not being able to watch my crazy handsome first-born participate in a cage fight?

Of course I can watch it. I mean, after all, the kid has been a mixed martial artist for years now. He's wildly disciplined, is in serious training five days a week, eats well, meditates, and gets the importance of massage. He's doing everything right.

And our dear friend, Jay D'Mato of the California Martial Arts Academy...who I trust implicitly with my son's well-being, says Kenny is a beast at 135 pounds. 

Really? My son? A beast? I wanted him to be a model but there's plenty of time for that.

What does all this say to me? It says that not only will Kenny win, the other kid doesn't even have a chance of landing a punch.  Or a kick. Or one of those headlock things. 

What's with the smirking? I tell ya, this is gonna be a breeze to watch! 

As a matter of fact, I almost feel sorry for the other kid. I hope he doesn't suffer much at the hands of my son. If I were his mom, I'd be sure to have lots of ice on hand. 

Oh...and one more thing. Your kid's gonna need more than ibuprofen...cause my kid's gonna...

Excuse me. I got carried away for a moment there.

That happens I guess. This is probably why Jay has already instructed me that under no circumstances am I to enter the cage.

And, if the other kid's mother (or any relative) is sitting nearby and busy with their own cheering, I'm not to say anything along the lines of, "Hey! Do you %$&@#* mind? My boy's trying to concentrate here!"

April - in St. Louis...front and center. I'm there. No matter what.

No matter what.

No matter what.

No matter what. 

Oh my gosh, wasn't he a darling baby? And NO! I'm not ready to let go of the modeling thing yet!

Empty Pages

Troubling bits of New Year's Eve angst aside, I love the thought of the new year. I imagine all planner bees do. A clean slate, a fresh start and...a new blank notebook. 

Oh, the joy of a new blank notebook! The sensuousness of caressing those cool, empty pages - pages patiently waiting for you to oscillate. Their blankness is both invitation and temptation. There's the promise of passion - an affair waiting to begin.

And of course you begin with the greatest of tender intention and of showing yourself to advantage. The handwriting is your very best. There are outlines with spacious margins and lots of polite white space. Pink and blue highlighters wait in the wings. Mechanical pencils and new erasers are on standby.

But that's all fairly short-lived. It never takes long for even the loveliest of notebooks to take on the appearance of a relationship gone a muck.

Oh, there's clearly still passion. But now it's stormy rather than tender. It's all over page with arrows pointing to partial thoughts and ideas. There's scribbles and tea stains and doodles and words you can't begin to make out. The polite white space disappears as if your lover is determined to have the last word.

Does knowing this is to be the eventual outcome make it difficult to write that first word? There is a moment of fleeting regret but as you know, I love a good storm.

And after all, there's lots of notebooks in the sea. 

Moleskines (pronunced mol-a-skeen'-a) are my favorite notebooks. They're said to be legendary and have been used by Van Gogh, Picasso, and Hemingway. Are you up for stormy passion this year? If so, you just might need a new notebook of your own. If that's the case, visit www.moleskines.com.

Letting Go

It happens every New Year's Eve. There are moments throughout the day when the thought of what the new year might bring scares me silly.

If I were generally a fearful missy this might be easily explained away. But, aside from my fear of black licorice, touching cigarettes, and of anything tight around my neck, I'm just not one to be haunted by irrational fears.

Wait...I almost forgot about frogs. Frogs send me into a panic.

And, OMG! Is anything more frightening than an old empty wooden wheelchair? I almost can't even write about an OEWWC without starting to hyperventilate!

Oh brother! Maybe Jay McD____ is right. Maybe you CAN call me crazy!

Although it looks to be an action packed year and these crazy, irrational fears are not high priority, I might try finding the time to let some of this go. I could well be munching on a piece of black licorice while wearing a turtleneck and buying cigarettes before the year is out!

But frogs and an OEWWC? I doubt 2010 is the year to deal with fears of such magnitude. I'll stick to the techniques that have served me well so far - covering my eyes and/or running away screaming. 

And speaking of letting go...I took the above picture from the car in northern Florida when we were driving back from St. Louis on New Year's Eve day. I don't get this flying the confederate flag thing. Somebody, please! Tell me what I'm missing.

By the way...Happy New Year!