What City Please?

"Do you do family portraits?"

"Ahhh... no, we don't. We are an art gallery."

"Me and my fiancee want a family portrait and I just called a place here in Laconia. That's where I am. And they want $400." Very high pitched whistle through the phone and into my ear to indicate that $400 was a lot of money.

"Well there use to be a place up the street who did them, but I believe they are gone." I am quickly going through my mental Rolodex to come up with a solution to this gentleman's problem before he whistles in my ear again. I can't think of another portrait photographer.

"J.C. Penney use to do portraits. Do you know if they still do them?"

"Well, you might try calling them." I am still scanning my mental Rolodex... does J.C. Penney still exist?

"Okay."

So this is the glamorous world of directory assistance art galleries. I suppose if he gets stuck I could help him out in a pinch. I have figured out how to use the auto timer so that I can get portraits of my family.... all two of us. You get a pretty good sense of what my dog looks like from this photo- aye?

TRAHHH-diTIONNN, TRAHdition....

For those of you unfamiliar with Fiddler on the Roof, that is one of its more rousing refrains.

It is that time of year to bake pies. I have been promising to bake the boyfriend a wild blueberry pie for many moons now. Thanksgiving seemed like the moment to pull out all the baking stops.

As a small girl... I mean really small... my mother would pull out the bottom drawer in one of our pantry cabinets so that I could stand on it to watch her make pies. As soon as she felt I could keep my balance on the drawer and do a task she handed me a small pie tin, leftover pie crust, a rolling pin and a dullish knife to cut apples. I was probably four or five.

I am not sure why I was singled out from all the girls in my family to learn this skill. Perhaps I showed early promise? More than likely it was just my mother closing her eyes and deciding which virgin to throw in the volcano. My mother hated baking and she figured the best thing to do was to teach a daughter so she would never have to perform this Thanksgiving Day task again. By the time I was eleven I would bake several pies for my family and a few to sell to neighbors.
Maybe my mother felt guilty about this (although I doubt it, she is probably still snickering at her cunning) so a few years back she bequeathed me all of her best baking tools. Her pastry cloth- which you cannot make pie without, a big wooden rolling pin, some antique pie plates and her beat up, old measuring spoon set.

Handling all these tools again takes me back to the magic of my childhood holidays. Grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, the Macy's Parade, playing games with my wicked Uncle Rufus, noise, confusion and food, food, food!

While I have never learned to properly roast a turkey, in a pinch I probably could. I would watch my mother intently- daring myself to touch the skin of the raw turkey-ewwww! I would help her mix the stuffing with my hands- the raw eggs were so slimy. She also taught me to brush my pies with milk so they would turn a golden brown.
I think she taught me pretty darn well. Especially how the chef always needs a glass of wine to ensure a good product. How did that sneak into the top photo?

And Brought To you By...

...Monsieur Henri's delectable muffins. Small but tasty- and nutritious!

He can curl up into the world's tiniest dog- like he has retractable legs or something. It makes me smile and it certainly makes me call him The Grande Muffoon.

Plumbing the Depths of My Nerdiness

So I decided to plumb the depths of my nerdiness by rereading Sarah Vowell's The Wordy Shipmates which I had lent to my friend Louise. It wasn't due back at the library for two days. There are so many historical characters and historical events she referenced that thought I would benefit from a second read.

The second time through I was once again struck by the figure of Anne Hutchinson. She was a Puritan who arrived around 1635 and immediately caused trouble. She was also a religious visionary and an exceedingly bright and outspoken woman.... so this references my previous post.

The unfortunate aspect of Anne Hutchinson as a historical character is she only exists through the words of others. She never wrote any tracts or pamphlets, she was not a magistrate or minister so no one thought to write her speeches down. And most of the people who wrote about her also hated her. So we get her side through the lens of another.

You can read some of the transcripts of her trial though. She comes off as a very skilled debater... as a matter of fact, she runs circles around the magistrates trying her. They were left with one course- be rid of this witch before she poisons the general population. The irony is that this crazed female visionary forced the hands of the local powers who thought they should establish a college to educate their populace (men) against the tyranny of ignorance. Soon after Harvard was established.

Now I am not a particular adherer to the "OMG, we are the downtrodden" school of feminist thought. I find it self defeating and not to mention, EXCEEDINGLY humorless. But I do find there are lessons to be learned from our past. So....step up to the plate or quit 'chur bitchin'.

My Mother, My Self

My mother is 72 and both a mentor for me and an occasional pain in my side, but she has taught me everything I know and she is still busy trying to teach me everything she knows. She is now retired and is throwing herself into whatever activities interest her. She is currently involved in an educational program for the elderly run through a small division of the state university. She called me the other day to ask about e-newsletters and how it might help this program promote their classes. She has been agitating for the school to make some changes and to update themselves. She let out a big sigh...... "I think I am just a loudmouth."

I could hear myself sigh. I had just been contemplating the possibility that I might be a loudmouth.... then I hear her admitting to a streak of loudmouthness. I am sure this must be genetic. Right when I had just gotten over the hurdle of looking like my mother, now I have to deal with behaving like her too?

This self reflection on loudmouthedness started about 3 weeks ago when I attended a board retreat for a non-profit I volunteer with. I feel I spoke up more than might be seemly... especially for a little old art major in a sea of lawyers and bankers. And this is my own twisted view of the world, but there was only one other woman on the board who spoke up with any kind of consistency and in a challenging way. I know the other women who serve are bright but they seem to lose their voice in these situations.

Sometimes I think I speak up not just to make a point but to get a seat at the table. If you don't speak up you are relegated to the role of do-er or assistant. Doing is a good and important thing.... someone has to get the work done, but I want to be part of the policy making. And I definitely see this as a gender based difference. A difference that I am not immune to..... so I struggle to behave like that woman I imagine myself to be.

Does this make me a pushy bitch loudmouth?

Am I Having Fun Yet?

I went out to eat with my friend Jen last night. We ate good food and had even better conversation. She makes me laugh so hard I need to change my underwear when I get home. She thinks this photo makes her look like she only has one eye. I disagree.... but maybe it looks like one of them is a glass eye. What do you think?

This is pretty much how I decide who I want to spend my time with. Do they make me laugh? Hard? Life is too short to not be laughing all the time.

Well.... if they feed me creme brulee I will spend time with them too.

New Command!

Silly Me. I have been wanting to know how to do the strike through command. Gut it! Goot it! Goht it! Got it!

Not only am I a nerd, but I am pretty easy to amuse.