A Special New Year's Eve

May 2010 bring you happiness, love, health, prosperity...

and may it bring all of us

peace

Rockin' In The Castle On The Eve Of The Eve of The Eve

American blues, jazz and rock guitarist Robben Ford meets Mr. 335 (Larry Carlton) at the Tokyo Jazz Festival in 2007

See you tomorrow for a New Year's Eve send off and wrap up of the year that was.
I am so ready for 2010.

The castle carpet is warm tonight.
My shoes are already off.

Monday Mimisms ~ If Cyber Walls Could Talk

Oh, trust me, they do! You just have to pay attention. Take a moment and look through the "search word" category in your statistics software.
Do you ever wonder how people land on your page? It's fascinating!
And a little scary. Is this what I've become?

The Weirdest Search Words used to find my Blog in 2009

(I left out the common ones such as peace, peace globe, inscription of hope, mimi, Lenox etc)

what star got arrested on Christmas
you did him proud
globe
girl's corset
near-sighted singer

**the actual # was here** - text me and tell me the funniest thing thats ever happened to you
(and this from the University of Illinois - somebody is not paying attention in class) cat cakes

smart mouth spanked
Charlie Carver naked
lab puppies mosaic
harems
wrong note
mysterious lady
french maid
tiny bubbles laundromat
2009 Mimi boots
opera
girl atop piano
my ponytail being vacuumed
mimi divorce
when monday has its way with you
sagging pants
kozy kids diapers
we've got cakes!
heels squish exterminator
dont hate him girl
santa in diapers
drink flaming cointreau blazers
how radio canada writes on a sad black girl
don't read this!
aka queen of the fur palace
shark dog designs Hawaii
write a blog about a dating site
Betty Boop naughty photos
wife dud
put mimi in this box
treatment for bird sorts
tight tales corset fiction
it takes skill tripping over flat surfaces pics
who is mrs. mcgillicutty in math terms
funny pole dancing
what day is it in my mind
buttons zippy hot redhead
an embarrassing incident happened to you when you forgot your wallet
now cell phone possessed
pics of bloomers
what are bloomers
doing memes
cyber queen


Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to cut down that pole dancing tree and take off my corset before I get in more trouble.

And you'd better not google me while I'm gone!

Who Is Getting Married?

Way out in the middle of twenty acres in the suburbs of Bloggingham sits a log house. It is full of English bulldogs, cedar walls, exposed beams, antique pottery, old old clocks, very large sewing machines and lots of love.

Heat from a woodburning stove encased in a rock fireplace warms the downstairs and siphons up the staircase to a loft that smells of cedar closets and creosol. I love visiting. Especially during the Holidays.

"What are you doing, Mimi?"
"I am photographing your Christmas Village."

"Why?"
"To put on my blog."

"Why?"
"It's where the little people live."

"Little people live on your blog?"

"No, silly. Little people live in your Christmas village.
I see a story. I'm going to write a story for my little blog based on the little people who live in your little village."

I see the eyeballs rolling. I can read her mind. We've been sisters all our lives. She is thinking, 'You may be the oldest but sometimes you worry me'.....

"Don't worry. I don't use names or locations."
"Mimi, they don't HAVE names."

I looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "DUUUUH, little sister, they will when I finish my story."

"You know you've gone a little crazy this Christmas, don't you?

Do you know how many trees you have in this house?"
"I can count."
"Do you care if I photograph them for my readers?"

"You have readers?"

**smart alack**

"I have more readers than you have trees. But back to the little people."

(btw. Do you realize there's a fisherman sitting in the middle of the skating rink?)

Take this Courthouse for example..."

"Don't you wonder what's going on in there? And why is the man climbing the ladder?"
"To get to the top, Mimi."

Yes, I told my little sister to shut up. On. Christmas.

"And the Justice Of The Peace building. WHO is getting married??!

"Little people."

Shut UP!

"Do you know there are talking PEOPLE inside your village walls? These folks are inside the flower shop buying bouquets for the wedding at the Justice of The Peace. I just know it." "Who's getting married, Mimi?
"The people inside the little village, sister. Aren't you paying attention??!"
"They don't have names, Mimi. You have to have a name to get married."
"They will have names when I finish my story!!!"
"God. This is just like playing dolls with you when we were little."
"You never let me play with your dolls."
"I suppose the Cabinet Maker is making a cabinet for the newlyweds and why are you hiding behind a tree?."

"So my readers can't see me."
"You have readers?"
"I have more readers than I know what to do with, Little Sister!"
"How do you KNOW.....Mimi.....how do you KNOOOOOWWWW. For all you know they aren't real either."
"What's wrong with your camera?"

"The little people aren't showing up."
"Because they're not reeealll....Mimi. Just like your readers.They're not real either. Bwaahaahaaaaa!!!!"

I hate her.



**photo credit:Mimi Lenox**

Peace On Earth

A prayer for the New Year in all our lives
Peace

A Promise and A Dirt Road Christmas

When I was a little girl growing up in the south, there were Christmases bountiful and Christmases lean.
Fruits and nuts and candy were a must. Then each of us got one special toy we wanted. Sometimes one toy was all. My most memorable Christmas involved a pink cradled baby doll with a pink blanket and a little bitty bottle. There she was under the tree on Christmas morning as if by magic. The doll. And an orange.
I was happy. Content.
Santa came and it was magical.

My parents were not-quite middle class at the time. Four children in a tiny house, six mouths to feed (and a host of assorted pets) with lots of tripping over each other and noise. Such was my childhood.

I remember my dad missing one day of work in all my years in that house. Watching him climb out of bed on cold hardwood floor mornings, start the car and drive down the dirt road in front of our house in a dash of flying dust at five am. Or dense fog and ice with his breath making clouds in the freezing air as he scraped the windshield. He always managed to forget his gloves.

During my teenage years he drove a motorcycle to work, not to be cool, but to save on gasoline. He loved it until a swarm of bees got under his helmet one day on the way home! Oh...a tale for another day. But it was hard to sleep with the vrrooom vrooom sound starting up in what seemed the middle of the night to me.
He had responsibilities. People counted on him. And not just us. He was well loved and respected in his workplace of thirty-six years before he retired. I doubt any of them ever thought of the four sleepy children who sometimes watched through the window when he left.
The same window you see above - with my sweet Baby Boy looking out and down the same now-paved road.

By today's standards and judging by the way my own child grew up, it would seem that my childhood was scarce....even poor. And I suppose one could label our station that way at times in the early years. Since I am the oldest child of my father, I tend to remember the scarcities more than my siblings.
It wasn't until I was grown with a child of my own that I realized just how hard it must have been for them to put food on the table and clothe six people everyday.
But no matter what struggles we faced there was always one consistency.
Daddy. And his five am departure.

This is my first Christmas without him.

And yesterday when I bought the silk-flowered poinsettia wreath that I'll take to the churchyard in the morning, it was hard. Firsts.
New traditions. Bittersweet.
Somehow not enough.

But on my way home I'll travel down roads he traveled and I'll see sights he saw everyday on the way to work. And I'll visit for just a minute on a cold cold frosty Christmas morn knowing full well that he is not really there but running some wild base run somewhere warm and fine.
He'll say "Thanks, Sis, for the flowers, but you really don't have to bring me anything."
He always said that. Each and every Christmas. It will be no different this year.

Do you see that boy in my Christmas tree, Daddy?
He has a serious and inquisitive look on his face. It is your look. I see your face.

When my Baby Boy looks down that road and through the prism of my memories, I, too, will have marked a new path. I promise, Daddy, to be loud and wake up the neighborhood - in your honor. I promise to teach him to be quiet in his heart and loud when it pours out.
You taught me that.

I will make sure he knows you.
I will make sure he sees you through my eyes.
I will make sure he remembers.
I will make sure he honors you.

Pink Christmas In Bloggingham

Christmas and divorce do not fare well.
At least that has been my experience.

You lose traditions that once fused your life into a neat little holiday package. With the stroke of the magistrate's pen your life is rearranged in huge ways and a million small nuances suddenly have nowhere to live. Sorry, lady, you just lost the right to congregate with unwelcome relatives from both sides of failing marriage, fume, fuss over Christmas scheduling, pretend there is a Santa Claus even when your child is eighteen, attend company parties and do the couple thing, watch your husband crawl around the roof and hang lights on the dormers,and share a burnt Christmas turkey with a family who dares not notice the meal looks like blackened Cajun poultry. You just lost the aforementioned privilege to make memories with said missing family.

Bad memories, good memories, sad memories, wonderful memories.

Forever memories.

Two signatures on a single piece of paper doth not erase a lifetime of holiday imprints.
You do, in essence, sign away your tradition.

Christmas and New Year's is not an easy time to be single.

So, the first year I was faced with staring at the family-made Christmas tree holding over twenty years of memories and baby boy designed ornaments with tiny little hand prints in white plaster and his smiling baby face in a tiny little ornament frame, I decided to make my own holiday ambiance. To celebrate my independence. To express my personality.
To disengage from "we" and fully embrace "me."

Time to make new traditions.

Today I opened the box and took in a familiar aroma.
Pink Christmas.

My Christmas.

A box full of a memorable shopping trip I took one cold December day five years ago - all by myself. My mission? Reinvent a lifetime of togetherness known as Christmas with the family..... into Christmas with me.

I had to make a new Christmas.

I needed a new tree, a new color, new bobbles, new adventure, unorthodox frivolity, joy, beauty, handpicked reflections of the soul I had become....... and for Heaven's sakes, no red and green.

Prissy things. Purses. Frilly lamp ornaments. Perfume bottles. Lace. Pearls.

Elegant ribbons. Gold-trimmed velvet balls. Beads.

Lots of crystal and fluff.
Pheromones and single girl memories.

Sensual.

Silly.

Secret sacredness full of me.

To honor and preserve the ornamental scrapbook of my married life for my son and grandson, I hung the old ornaments on a "past" tree. I still have a blue-trimmed tree in my piano room with the family traditional ornaments from my once-married life, a totally crystal ornament tree in my boudoir with tiny white lights, a small multi-colored 3 foot tree in the corner of the kitchen (I changed it to simple red lights this year), Baby Boy #II's crazy green tree in front of the mirror in the hallway, a red and gold tree downstairs with the chimney stockings (near the dungeon) and then there's.........this.....

Pink Christmas. In my living room.

With candles and twinkling clear lights in unlikely places.

Six years after divorce and I am experiencing yet another holiday without a significant other.
No silly stockings full of intimate secrets and no candlelit moments making out errr.....opening gifts under the tree giggling on the floor politely sipping eggnog listening to Bon Jovi Bing Crosby in your specially shopped for Christmas nightie with white fluffy sleeves proper little black pencil skirt and matching knee-high leather and suede boots with 3-inch heels boring pumps.

Sipping white wine.

I'll be wearing my pencil skirt, mind you, but in all probability,
pouring a glass for one.

But that's OK. I am ready....and enjoying the experience of reflection and time alone. It's been a difficult year.
I need to sit and be still for awhile.

Good thing I made that solo shopping trip.

My sister and I also took a wonderful Christmas trip to the Biltmore House in Asheville, North Carolina the first holiday I spent alone after my divorce. We found these gorgeous crystal bell ornaments. They are large, intricately made, pure, simple, sparkling.....reflecting the lights inside and out like a prism.

They remind me of grace. Authenticity. And new beginnings.

These will go on Bloggingham's door.....lighted and ready for a new adventure
in a new year with a new person.

Me.

Note: I will be posting my peace globe on Christmas Day.
Please join me, if you will.
*This post reprinted from 2008**

The Queen's Meme #18 ~ The Most Annoying Christmas Meme Ever

1. What is the most annoying Christmas song?



I don't even have to look that up. Brenda Lee. Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree.


What is a Christmas Jolly Hop? Does anybody know?!
That song is like nails on a chalkboard to me.
I turn it OFF. And.Quickly.

She's just a wee bit too happy.

2. Name one annoying thing that happens to you each time you get together with your family during the holidays.

They sometimes forget to bow in my presence. Last year they didn't even curtsy.

I'm so annoyed.

3. What is eggnog? Think about it. Does anybody really know?

Nog is apparently made from something in the affirmative...as in "nod". Of course, it's only mildly palatable if laced with liquor.

Eggs are just...well..eggs.
Add Chardonnay to any ordinary omelet, stir gently and with aplomb. You have yourself a stellar (and happy) breakfast.

4. Don't take this personally but there are lots of fruitcakes walking around.

Have you encountered any real live nuts lately?
Yes.

5. Why were the nine Lords a'leaping in those annoying tights???!

They sat on the partridge in a pear tree. The branch had briers.
I thought everyone knew THAT.


(Actually, there were originally TEN Lords a'leapin as the song goes. One died from brier cuts which is just as well because it gave the 9 ladies dancing partners.That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)


6. What is the most annoying Christmas gift you've ever received?
A singing fish. I kid you not. It looked just like the picture at the top of the page. Just because I have a music degree does not mean that all things amphibian should render Jingle Bells. And his scales were horrible!

What did you do with it??

I taught it to sing in Braille. It's much quieter now.

7. Let's admit it: Christmas, with all its splendor and goodwill, can also be a pain in the royal patootie. How do you plan to circumvent annoyances this year and enjoy the season?

Luckily, my forte is circumventing annoyances. I am enough royal pain in the behind for everybody. How am I supposed to ignore mySELF?

Hey! You! Hey you! Is anybody there?? I'm sayin' something here ya know. Helloooooo.....?
Very funny, folks. That's it. You're all going to the dungeon. I don't care if it's Christmas!!

P.S. I think I should let Jean-Luc and Mouse out of the dungeon for the Holidays. They're beginning to smell.

And besides, I'm feeling all Brenda Lee-eee.

Monday Mimisms ~ Whose Bright Idea Was It To Go To The Mall?

Must be my soon-to-be boyfriend's. Did I tell you about that? Oh. Never mind. He doesn't even know it yet and we all know what a blabbermouth I am on this blog so I'll just drop it if you don't mind and I really wish you would stop asking me about him it's so rude to question me about my love life in the very first paragraph of my Monday post after the busy weekend I've had in the snow and the mall and I'm just dizzy thinking about it. PUUUhlease! Don't you have Christmas shopping to do or something?







I'd like a pink cashmere sweater.

But back to shopping.




Standing in line at the mega bookstore (can you believe they make me stand in line like the rest of society?)....anyway...I ordered a sourdough pretzel and a water. Because we were held captive in a bookstore the price of the water bottle was more per ounce than the construction cost per square foot of Bloggingham Palace. I waited while five people got their orders before I did.


An attractive man beside me started a conversation about the lost pretzel. I decided to pencil skirt my afternoon and make a scene. Lucky guy. Turns out my pretzel had been burnt to a crisp and they had to start over. Meanwhile Soon-to-be returns from the Egyptian Anthropology Section (don't ask) to find me chatting with said cute personable person who was apparently very concerned about my burnt bagel pretzely thingy.






It was touching really. Soon-to-be did not understand this at all and crawled back under his rock. Mr. Cute disappeared. I ended up sitting beside a coughing gentleman in a straw hat who wanted to watch me eat the large resurrected sourdough on my plate.
I twisted my pretzel out of there and moved.

Trouble trouble everywhere! And I hadn't even arrived at the mall yet.
Can you believe there was no red carpet greeting?
I found an antique store. I needed a breath of moldy air.

He was waiting for me.Cute, huh?

At least he can't talk, can't hurl insults, can't run away, can't hurt my feelings and dresses well.

I pick him.