blue girl

Choose Your Dream Carefully

We can't afford not to.

Fabulous

The architecture of the skirt of Catherine's dress (as Jolene, commenter at Nancy Nall's, calls it), her bouquet, and my favorite detail of the wedding -- the trees in the church during the ceremony -- all... fabulous.

Helpful Men Who Darken Doorways

Been there. Done that. Felt exactly the same way.

Soaking In the Scenery

The Skimmer and I were hanging out in the living room, each just doing our own thing. Him, watching Ghost Hunters. Me, pondering things. Which he must've been doing, too, because even though the young Robert Deniro look-a-like had just talked to a ghost! He piped up, "What all celebrities have we seen?"

"What?"

"You know, over the years. Who have we seen in person?"

I said, "Oh, um, Meg Ryan. We passed each other on 5th Avenue. I didn't make eye contact. I was totally cool. Had my whole New York thing goin' on."

He said, "Abe Vigoda, up by Elaine's."

I said, "Aw, yeah. He was alone, just shufflin' up the street. Roseanne Barr! Upper West Side, the night we got engaged."

And we continued back and forth. Me first.

"Debra Messing, Central Park South. She was jogging."

He said, "She was jogging constantly, same time I always was. I saw her everywhere."

"I know! She looked just like herself."

He said, "Sam Shepard. Greenwich Village at that little French place for breakfast Thanksgiving morning."

"He was a good one. Looked great sitting there reading the paper with his glasses on in that oatmeal sweater, scarf around his neck."

He said, "Billy Bob Thorton. Soho. Having a beer at that outdoor cafe."

"The guy from Letterman's show. Paul Shaffer! Upper West Side one morning at breakfast."

He said, "Harvey Keitel."

"What?!"

"Harvey Keitel. Remember? He and Henry Winkler were coming out of that Broadway show?"

"No! I don't remember that!"

"What's the matter with you?"

"I don't know. Ok, maybe I have a tiny glimpse of a memory now. Can't believe I don't completely remember Harvey Keitel! Henry Winkler, too? Geez."

He said, "The actress from Harry Potter."

"Yeah. At breakfast in Brooklyn. What's her name?"

"Um... Mrs. McGonagall..."

"Who?"

"... Mrs. McGonagall... Maggie Smith!"

"Yeah, Maggie Smith! At the bar, having a Bloody Mary."

He said, "Robert Shapiro in Central Park."

"Does he count?"

"Nah, doesn't count.

He continued, "Matthew Perry. LA. La-La-Land."

"Chenandler Bong!"

"Dyan Cannon."

I said, "Yeah, that was a great scene. Pulling up in front of the restaurant, grabbing bottles of champagne from the passenger seat of her Porsche and handing them out to the valet guys, her long, blonde hair blowing in the wind. Fabulous! Dennis Miller!"

"Dennis Miller, you're right."

I said, "Robert Shapiro was in that restaurant that night. We saw him there, too. He was drunk. Remember?"

"Still doesn't count."

"You're right. Doesn't count!"

He said, "We saw Richard Holbrooke in Central Park, too."

"Ha! We did."

He said, "Yeah, I saw him first and whispered Who's that? and you said Who?! too loud and he heard you."

"Tourist! You know, Dennis Perrin's in New York and he wrote that at least tourists are looking up, soaking in the scenery. New Yorkers all have their noses buried in their smart phones now."

"Yeah, well, with our phones, we'd still be soaking up the scenery."

I said, "I know, it's still dumb phones for us. I need to get back there. We'd still see everyone. Although when I've got my whole New York thing goin' on, they'd never know it."

Love That This Guy Usually Goes Too Far, Stretching Miles in All Directions

h/t Patti Digh

Sing to Me Some More

Just read Phoebe Snow passed away. Way too young. Sad. Thankfully, she did give us this.

A beloved, sweet poem of the soul.

Pressing On

I’ve never been very good at mapping things out. I’ve never in my life made one, single plan. When something happened to me, I went through it, assumed that was the way it was supposed to be for a while, and then pressed on. Things never really resonated much with me. I didn’t take much time to stop and ponder, I was too busy running.

From what, I was never sure.

Read the rest of Through the Middle by Alexandra Billings.

h/t Sheila O'Malley

Life After a Bestseller

When I looked over at Franzen, it seemed to me that he did not really want to be telling me to get myself measured, any more than I had really wanted to ask him if he had any weed. Why were we saying these things? Why weren't we talking about War and Peace, about how to live, about how to reconcile sexual passion with daily life?

Read all of this well written and fun essay by Elif Batuman.

Hope Springs Eternal

I can't wait to start planting flowers. But I have to wait until there's no chance of frost. Which, with the weather we've had this year, will probably be July 15. I am so starved for color that yesterday afternoon I figured I could at least start planning.

This is one of the small areas I have to work with.


Obviously, the people who lived here before us didn't mind being starved for color.

I'm excited I get to play with the whole area. There are so many things I could do!

First, I'm thinking three dwarf Spruces. Love dwarf Spruces. First thing I always want to buy and plant? Dwarf Spruces. Love them. They're so cute and little and cottage-y.


Next, maybe stuff the area with a constant bloomer.


Need to figure out out what to actually plant there, though. The area gets full sun. Impatiens will shrivel up and die within two days.

See, years ago, I wouldn't even have thought about how the plants would thrive. All I cared about was that they looked good when I planted them and because they did, hoped they always would. Hope was my plan. Never worked out well.

Now, we need some tall something or others in the back. Maybe some tall something or others like this.


Although maybe not pink. Got too much pink going on. I want color but not all one color. But I keep getting the feeling that I want color (like pink or red) and then white blooming what-nots, too.

White is not a color, I know. So maybe I do want one color.

Maybe I'll put a little garden statue in the area. Maybe a cherub.


Or, or, or... maybe a bird bath!


And maybe a bench so that I can sit in my one color garden in the mornings, drink coffee while watching the birds frolic in their bath.


I'll need to add a little stone path so I'll be able to walk to the bench. Don't want to have to be jumping over flowers, spilling hot coffee all over myself every morning.

Since planting season is still a ways away, I'm enjoying this little fantasy right now. And that's one of the problems I've always had when planting anything. Reality never matches my fantasies and my gardens have always looked more like this...


Than like this...


But, with all this planning I'm doing and now that I realize plants die when you don't plant them in the right spot, maybe my fantasy will become a reality this year.

One can hope!