A pink pearl chandelier? Seriously? I don't think I've ever coveted a thing more.
Unfortunately I didn't note where I got this photo (if you know, feel free to tell me), but it and the weathered turquoise paint and gold accents remind me of the decadence of New Orleans homes... and you might have noticed (see below) that I'm heading to Louisiana in two days and I can't wait, so this photo really tempts me today. Can that sentence be any longer? Can I be any more excited to hit the road? Can this pink pearl chandelier be any more amazing? Nope, nope, nope.
I'm leaving for Louisiana in a couple of days to visit some friends in Lafayette and possibly also New Orleans.
The idea of going back to New Orleans has me nervous, I must admit. I was working at HGTV when Katrina hit and we had televisions on our desks, so I was glued to the news night and day for all of the heart-breaking and life-changing coverage. I'd been there for a fabulous week at my beloved Fairmont only a month before it hit, so I was still swooning over the city and it shattered my heart all the more. Every morning there would be a knock on the door and I'd hear, "Good mornin', Miss, my name's Magnolia and I brought yo breakfast!" She'd wheel in one of those old-fashioned room service carts decked out with an old silver food dome, a curvy little teapot, and pink linens. (Shameful confession: I still regret not snatchin' one of those food domes--even more now that they are probably just sitting in that big old building rotting with the rest of it. When you pay $40 for toast and eggs, you should get to keep something, shouldn't you? But I digress...)
I swore I'd never return to New Orleans, and while my resolve has softened now, I'm still not sure I can go there again after what I saw those days on TV. The Fairmont never reopened, and I dare not think what might have become of Magnolia.
But I'll also get to see my sweet C while I'm in Lafayette. *swoon* Am I giggling like a schoolgirl? Indeed!
It's cold and raining today, and even though I love autumn and even love a day like today, I'm craving the ocean. I want the roar of the waves, the salty smell of the air, the perpetual wind whipping my hair, the long walks on the beach finding all kinds of treasures.
I love the old-fashioned names that delicate ladies once used to describe not-so-delicate ladies. Society has changed so much, and our tolerance levels have dropped so far, that these words actually have a certain charm to them now. They mean nothing like what they were originally intended to mean.
Lana Turner
Want to create your own vintage sex-kitten name? Pick an adjective from list A and a noun from list B. You can also insert "lil" between the two to make it even cuter, such as, "She's a shameless lil hussy." ;o)
Today I woke up to the bluest sky I've ever seen, accented with Hollywood-perfect puffs of white clouds. I had a wonderful lunch and my favorite wine on the patio with Mama, Brother, and Frank Sinatra... but then Brother had to leave to drive back to school in Yankeeland :o(
Though autumn officially arrived last week, the weather is now playing along and that beloved crispness is in the air. It's hard to look out the window without seeing a few bright leaves fluttering down, and there's an apple harvest, sale, picking event, festival, or tasting everywhere you go. Soup is starting to sound like a good idea for dinner; freckles are reminders of sunny summer memories; two layers feel just right and one can be plaid; and mums are finally having their moment, bless their hearts.
I love everything about this photo. Happy fall, y'all!
The Indigo Girls were fabulous last night at the Bijou, as always. After all these years, I still love their meaningful lyrics and guitar-playin' but somehow I've never noticed, or at least paid much attention to, what beautiful voices they have, each so different from the other but so well suited together. Our seats were on the second row, center--the closest I've ever been to the stage in a concert. It's funny to see what stage lights do to the spray of--I'll just say it, spit--when a singer sings. Kind of funny.
One head away.
There was a very mature, very reserved couple seated front-row center in front of us. My friend Sara and I had to wonder if possibly they owned or were interested in buying the theatre and there on a site visit--because they were definitely unique in the crowd--which is fine, I love seeing the diversity an Indigo Girls concert draws--but they also didn't seem to be enjoying themselves at all. I love people watching and speculating about their stories.
They didn't sing my favorite IG song (top five at least), Southland in the Springtime. Even though it's fall in the south now, this song warms me like spring sunshine. Some lyrics:
...I'm in the back seat sleepy from the travel,
Played our hearts out all night long in New Orleans.
I'm dirty from the diesel fumes, drinking coffee black,
When the first breath of Texas comes in clean...
And there's something 'bout the Southland in the springtime
Where the waters flow with confidence and reason
Though I miss her when I'm gone, it won't ever be too long
Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season
When God made me born a yankee he was teasin'
There's no place like home and none more pleasin'
Than the Southland in the springtime
In Georgia nights are softer than a whisper
Beneath a quilt somebody's mother made by hand
With the farmland like a tapestry passed down through generations
And the peach trees stitched across the land.
There'll be cider up near Helen off the roadside,
And boiled peanuts in a bag to warm your fingers,
And the smoke from the chimneys meets its maker in the sky
With a song that winter wrote whose melody lingers...
Lovely. Every time I meet a Yankee that I like, I think of "When God made me born a Yankee, he was teasin'."
Before the show, we had a great dinner downstairs at the Bistro at the Bijou. I can't believe I've lived here almost entirely since sixth grade and have never been there. It was delicious--I dreamt about the sauteed green beans--but the best part was our discovery of the Sweet Tea Mojito, which I'm affectionately renaming Southern Perfection.
Oh, sweet tea mojito, where have you been all my life? I didn't ask for the recipe, but I think I gleaned it well enough from the menu. It's simple and divine. I can't wait to have friends over just to serve these.
Sweet Tea Mojito, aka Southern Perfection
sweet tea (preferably Mama's) Bacardi Limon fresh mint lemon wedges crushed ice
Muddle the mint in the glass. Squeeze and drop in a wedge of lemon. Add crushed ice and Bacardi Limon rum to suit your fancy. Top with sweet tea. Sip. Die and go to heaven. Repeat.
Seems to me it belongs in a julep cup, but a Mason jar could be charming as well, in the right environment. Ours were served in standard pint glasses and that worked just fine, too.
A quick Google will give you a variety of other similar recipes, plus lots of info about sweet tea vodka. That's also new to me and will have to be investigated. Stay tuned.
I'm going to dinner and an Indigo Girls concert tonight, yay! I love the Indigo Girls. (And no, I'm not gay. Just because they are, why do people assume their fans are, too? I don't get that logic.)
Whenever I hear almost any song from their Become You CD, it takes me to the coast of Northern California where I listened to that CD almost exclusively on a road trip up the PCH. The feeling is so strong, I can close my eyes and smell the eucalyptus in the evening air. What a great trip that was.
Plus, most of their music makes me feel like this...
I was born entirely too late. I’m thankful for the Mama and Daddy I have, for Brother, and for the family and friends that being born when I was born gave me. But, even though I was actually born two months early, it was still just way too late.
I should have been born in the 1950s--no, the late ‘20s or early ‘30s, so I could've been a young woman in the ‘40s and ‘50s. With June Cleaver, Audrey Hepburn, and Debra Kerr as my role models, instead of Britney Spears and Old Christine.
Rather than Shawn Cassidy and John Stamos posters on my walls, I’d have black-and-white 8x10s of gents like Gregory Peck, Cary Grant, and John Forsythe that I’d written a real letter on real stationery to request. (And speaking of well-mannered gentlemen with an air of chivalry so rarely seen these days, happy birthday to my sweet C.)
Mmm… Dresses with pearls every day, a perfectly coiffed coif, alabaster faces with scarlet lips and eyelashes for miles—no matter where you were going.
When tulle ruled and organza was day wear; when hats were de rigueur for church, tea, and weddings; when your shoes and your belt and your purse matched; when “Darling” was an appropriate name for everyone; when souffles for dinner were perfectly normal.
When hankies were the norm, as were dashing men in white dinner jackets or three-piece linen suits opening doors and guiding ladies with a hand on the small of her back.
Champagne for no reason whatsoever, darling, preferably pink, and Gatsby-esque everything.
I love it all.
Thankfully, Victoria magazine came back—that helps me forget what decade it is every time I pick up an issue. I have well-loved DVD copies of An Affair to Remember, Sabrina, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, even Out of Africa ("My Limoges!")—those are all good for a little bit of time travel to more elegant days.
Speaking of travel, given the chance, I stay (or at least dine) in historic old hotels like the Benbow Inn in Northern California or the Union Bluff in York, Maine (though it was haunted, but that’s another story).
I watch Bachelor Father every possible weekday morning to see Bentley Gregg, the very definition of charming, deliver his sugary-sweet lines in a white dinner jacket to a well-made-up lady dressed in organza, tulle, or both.
And whenever I can, I buy dresses like this one. Tulle, a ribbon tie, AND glittery sequins. Swoon!
There’s a good bit of Big Band music playing here as you read this, hopefully; there is as I write it. So have a glass of champagne for no good reason, darlings. Put on a big sparkly party dress with some red lipstick, twirl around your living room, and dream about those days with me.
If I could make my own amusement park for pearlies like me... or even just a carousel... or Barbie-Dream-House-like abode... it would look something like this, with bows bigger than people (model people, but still people), two-story strands of pearls, and pearl cuffs big enough to stand on. Swoon.
Today is the anniversary of a very sad day. I remember everything about it, and I can’t even start thinking about it without welling up in tears.
So, I’m making an effort to focus on positive and happy things, things I love (besides my sweet family and beloved friends, of course, who rank even before number one). It’s good to be thankful and count your blessings, y’all. (And look at me, posting two days in a row!)
In no particular order...
1. pearls (duh)
2. silver anything, especially hotel silver and old sterling
3. the Blues… the kind that makes you sway in your seat, drink Cap’n-and-diets, and remember past loves
4. birds’ nests with lil blue eggs in 'em
5. tulle, organza, and dupioni silk
6. cardigans, especially from J.Crew
7. old “luxury” hotels with dining rooms and big lobbies full of history
8. the beach... any beach...
9. shallow, rocky creeks
10. the Indigo Girls (second row center, September 25, at the Bijou, yay!)
11. party dresses
12. plaid and madras
13. snow
14. dark chocolate
15. flowers, almost any flowers
16. driving in Violet with the top down
17. old movies (top five: An Affair to Remember, Out of Africa, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, Sabrina--how fabulous it would be to live even a little while in one of those movies)
18. Gregory Peck, Cary Grant, and a younger John Forsythe in Bachelor Father *swoon*
19. the fact that my Sweet C looks like Gregory Peck, Cary Grant, and a younger John Forsythe *swoon*
20. red… the red with a lil bit of blue in it
21. Rascal Flatts
22. sparkly things, especially sparkly things that don’t normally or need to sparkle but do
23. shooooooz
24. tiaras (but not crowns)
25. glitter
26. Big Band music, the kind that makes you want to drink pink champagne and wear a crinoline
27. brooches
28. the way Africans pronounce "Africa"
29. pigs, especially pink piglets like Piggy Lou
30. cufflinks
31. vintage sexy words like brazen hussy, saucy minx, tawdry strumpet, and triflin’ vixen
So I know my last post said I was going to post something specific tomorrow... and now it's three weeks later. I can blame one week's delay on a death in the family, but the other two weeks are just me reverting back to not being in the blog habit.
But I stayed up laaaate last night reading a blog that so inspired me, I'm back... again... possibly with a little more direction and focus this time. For today, this is a craft blog.
So as promised "yesterday," here are some of my favorite projects from when I was enjoying one of the best jobs ever--crafts editor for HGTV.com. How fun was that! Good times.
Since I was thrilled to see pumpkins and mums at the grocery store tonight, I'm all in autumn mode. I'm thinking of color--changing leaves, Indian corn--and a crispness in the air. Which reminds me of my harvest angel...
Thanksgiving leftovers bags... (that first one says "yum")
and Indian corn husk flower napkin rings.
That brings us to trick-or-treat time, so here's the twist-or-treat Halloween basket (with the Easter bunny basket). I still can't believe I worked with twist paper. Ugh. But I like these, for some reason.
And, totally out of season but still favorites, my silk rose-and-peony lampshade (it looks much cuter in my house than it does in this office pic) and the kitchen angel, made out of discarded silverware and jewelry bits. I love recycling silverware into just about anything. That'll be another post... someday. Not tomorrow, but someday. I'm learning.
Lastly, part of why I'm so in love with autumn is it's the start of both "boyfriend season" and a roller-coaster ride of beloved holidays, including my all-time favorite, Christmas! I have two more deadlines to finish next week before I can start working on ornaments for the shop, like these sweet little snowman angels. (Yes, snowmen become angels when they melt. Hush.) Glitter, here I come!
And as for the blog that inspired me, I wonder--is it possible to have a crush on a blog?? Such a witty, handsome, fetchingly dressed gentleman. Reminds me of my sweet C *swoon*
I've finally narrowed my craft focus to two things: cards and jewelry. So on days like today when I have soo much writing to do for other people that I don't feel like writing for myself, I'm going to post some of my favorite projects. Here's a birthday card I made for my beloved C. The colors actually matched quite a bit better than it looks like here. :o\ (Sorry for the quality of the pics--they were taken for my own memory before I even thought about having a blog!)
Here's Mama's most recent birthday card, with a velvet flower and real pearls!
Hmm I guess these were both made during my "side borders, layered-paper" phase. Tomorrow: Favorite projects from my days as HGTV.com's queen of crafts.
My name is Tammy and it has been four months since I blogged. *head hung in shame*
The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, so today I admitted to dozens of people that I created a blog and then let it die from lack of identity. I could never decide what I wanted it to be. Jewelry and gemstones? Cards and other crafts? My adventures? D, all of the above? I'm so passionate about so many things, and sometimes I get all in a fizz over the smallest things, and they need a place, too.
Like today. I was driving down a major highway when I saw a sign advertising something for 89 cents. But it didn't say 89 cents or 89¢ or even $.89, it just said .89
That made me start thinking about the poor cent sign. Where has it gone? You never see it on price tags anymore, probably because there's almost nothing cheap enough to be priced in just cents, without at least one or some dollars. Even if you do find something for sale for only cents, it's listed like the sign I saw--$.99 or $.79 or $.59.
The cent sign has become one of those things that we no longer need, one of the things that not-too-future generations may never see or hear of, like phones with cords you can idly play with while you're talking to a cute boy, address books made of real paper, or records that snap and crackle on record players. There's not even a cent sign on my laptop keyboard, and that makes me sad.
Inflation isn't the cent sign's fault.
Just like my ADD isn't this blogs fault, so I'm vowing not to let it go the way of the cent sign. I'm back!
The name of this blog can have lots of meanings, and only those who know me fairly well will get all of them, but the pearls are the most important bit. Simply put, I ADORE pearls. Ultimately I expect that there will be more pearls here than anything else, and to kick things off with style, meet my favorite: Paspaley, "the most beautiful pearls in the world."
Paspaley. Ahh... I even like saying the name. My friends at Stuller introduced me to the glories of Paspaley Pearls, the glowing little creamy white wonders from Paspaley Pearling Company in Australia. While visiting Stuller once, I got to try on a perfect $100,000+ classic strand of Paspaley South Sea pearls like these.
Just look at them! In all their big round satiny white glory. They look like they would melt--or disappear--if you touched them, like the most perfect little snowballs ever made, and so perfectly matched. It's hard to believe they are formed from an irritant or bead nucleus inside of something so akin to... well... slime... And though these could be your grandmother's pearls (she should be so lucky!), most of Paspaley's designs are not--but they are unique and beautiful while still being contemporary...
Like these pendants. *bites lip* Oh, I want 'em!
It's clear that Paspaley doesn't lose sight of the beauty of their pristine South Sea pearls, which remains the focus of Paspaley's designs. I love how they work with and build on the beauty of the pearls themselves, like the way these pendants incorporate tiny micropavé strips of diamonds around the circlé pearl's bands. Fabulous!
It was the Lady Alexandra ring designed by my friend at Stuller that first introduced me to the beauty of Paspaley Pearls, and now I'm enamored with these BHPRs (big honkin' pearl rings), though they cost as much as my car...
Ohhh, my precioussss!
Want to see the other Paspaley pearl jewelry I'll buy when I win the lottery? Oh, alright. ;o)
Pearls in gemstone roses and daisies made of pearls. Just gorgeous.
And after I win the lottery AND become queen, I'll wear this delicate little concoction of diamonds and one perfect, creamy South Sea pearl:
I've spent the past couple of days "building out" this page with my favorite bloggers, websites, designers of jewelry/pearls, books and music, etc. I started it two days ago... and two days and hundreds of newly discovered blogs later, I'm taking a break. The web is big, y'all.
Just in time, too, because reading so many other blogs (actually I only skim most of them, just looking at the pics, except those done by friends--real-life friends not webernet friends... anyway, I digress...) As I was saying, seeing all those other bloggers listing their favorite this or that and all of the beautiful things they make got me to thinking about my favorite this-or-thats and all the beautiful-if-I-do-say-so-myself things I've made. Being HGTV.com's Crafts Editor for seven years turned me into quite the little "handmade'n" and I have the sparkly crown to prove I'm the other Queen of Crafts (thank you, Carol Duvall!). So... expect to see some of that in the coming days.
First, though, in my own little effort to stave off the death of even more magazines, I'm giving my first ever shout-out to some of my other favorite things--lovely eye-candy magazines.
The loveliest of all is Victoria. I was thrilled when Hoffman Media brought back my beloved Victoria magazine a couple of years ago, and I hope that this stupid economy doesn't kill it off again. Browsing through the pages of Victoria is like taking a trip through all of the cities I want to visit, but with all of the ugly bits blocked out. It's cover-to-cover beauty--linens, clothes, jewelry, dishes, silver, shops, streets, inns, homes, art... The photography is intoxicating and the quotes from classic literature peppered throughout are the icing on top. Get a scone and a cup of tea and check it out.
Bonus: The issues of Victoria magazine never go out of style. I often find earlier issues at antiques stores for $1 apiece, and I always buy them because their contents are so timeless... but it's fun to come across an old Victoria unknowingly mixed in with a stack of new Victorias and wonder, while browsing the pages, where all the URLs are. There aren't any--it was pre-internet-bombardment with the www's all over the place. Ha!
Another favorite is the new life: beautiful "faith for your journey" magazine. It's Martha Stewart in church, really--filled with all the beautiful photographs and inspiring ideas for fine home life but with the added bonus of spiritual topics and Bible verses scattered throughout. You'll find Joyce Meyer's voice inside, along with other Christian leaders, and you can learn more about life: beautiful's mission here.
I have the biggest crush on the sassily-named, swoon-filled new Garden & Gun magazine. It's the magazine equivalent of a tanned, handsome Southern gent in perfectly worn jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a smart jacket sitting in an equally-perfectly-worn leather chair nursing a well-aged glass of Johnny Walker next to a vase of perfectly blooming peonies in a fine crystal vase. *fans self* It's published in Charleston, which I like to call the pearl of South Carolina, and it makes me happy any time good media comes out of a city other than New York or L.A. The name is so fitting for a magazine filled with all the finest things about the South, from gentlemanly cocktails to hospitable cities with Southern cuisine and, of course, two things we do best--gardening and hunting. If your mouth isn't watering yet, just go see the amazing photography. (P.S. Sign up for the Talk of the South, y'all.)
So there are the three periodical addictions I'm nursing through Depression 2.0. Hang in there, darlings.
(Photos of magazine covers from Victoria.com, LifeBeautifulMagazine.com, and GardenandGun.com.)
I just learned a new word, and it's fabulous. No, the word itself isn't "fabulous." It's "florid." It sounds bad, doesn't it? Like "horrid" or "torrid." But it isn't, it's very good:
flor·id (flôr'id, flor'-) (adj.)
1. Flushed with rosy color; ruddy.
2. Very ornate; flowery: a florid prose style.
3. Healthy. (archaic)
4. Abounding in or covered with flowers. (obsolete)
[French floride, from Latin floridus, from flos, flor-, flower.]
n. - floridity flo·rid'i·ty (fl?-rid'i-te, flô-) or flor'id·ness adv. - floridly flor'id·ly
So I'm going to start using it as often as possible. I thought about making a new blog for it (another one? already? but wouldn't it be full of pretty things!), but a silly boy already wasted the name with a blog that sparked once and died four years ago. Humph.
Florid would be a great name for a little shop, too, and not just a florist, but one that sold 1000-thread-count pink pajamas and ridiculously expensive candles and delicious hand creams. I'd like it on a T-shirt: be florid. That would send a lot of people Googling on their crackberries, for sure.
Florid could be the color of your lips after you eat a cherry popsicle, or the color they are after you've tried on seven shades of lipstick at the Clinique counter. It could describe a sunburn on your nose after driving around in a convertible all day.
But there's not just florid, the color, there's florid, the style. Like the ornate iron gates guarding homes in Charleston and New Orleans, the decadent jewelry of Penny Preville, or the lacy curtains in my bedroom.
Plus there are the noun versions, floridity and floridness, and since this word is nearly obsolete, I'm going to take it upon myself to make my own definitions of them. Floridity, for example, could be what you show when you're being particularly sassy. Her floridness is what you love about your craziest friend from college.
And then the adverb, floridly. A girl could flip her hair floridly--that sounds right, doesn't it? Even if it isn't. Or kiss floridly or walk floridly or even laugh floridly. I think I'd like to do all of those things.
I like peppering it into literature, too. One could go floridly amid the noise and haste. In fact, that's very good advice. Baudelaire could "be florid" instead of drunk, though a florid wine would be a good thing, too. How about, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a florid wife." Ha!
It's hard to start a blog. It's different than when you start writing in a blank book, where you can always turn in a few pages and start on, say, page 3 or 4, so that whatever you put there doesn't seem like it's so important, on the front page and all...and if you ever have a need to "start" that book differently, or find something that should be first, you have those few pages at the front to leapfrog before what you've already written first and write something first-first.
But on a blog, you can't do that. Even if you decide to go back later and add an entry before the "first" first entry, everyone knows and the chronological (chronoblogical? blogological?) order gets messed up and the page gets all wonky... No, you can't do that in a blog. In a blog, the start is the start and everyone saw it so that's all there is to it. So let's get started.
Partly because I'm a recently downsized, returning-to-freelancing writer who needs to, well, write, on a regular basis, and partly because Brother makes fun of me for updating my Facebook profile too often (I'm a writer, there's pressure to have a cool profile!), and partly because I'm newly addicted (nay, obsessed?) to wheat toast and strawberry jam and feel the need to confess it publicly (my name is Tammy and...), and partly because all the cool kids are doing it... I hereby blog.
As for the toast addiction... *reclining on couch* I'm fairly sure it all started when my sweet friend read me the accidentally brave adventures of Mercy Watson, an adorable pig who loves "hot buttered toast," preferably in very large stacks.
It was only a few days later that I first ordered (innocently, absentmindedly) wheat toast at the Double T Diner while visiting Brother in Merry-land. It was the best toast EVER, and it's all crumbs from there.
(By the way, I've already found camaraderie for my lil toast problem in a fellow blogger. Molly Wizenberg, foodie-blogger extraordinaire (of Orangette fame) turned foodie-author, gave me relief when she confessed her own version of what I will no longer call a rut: "I think my problem is peanut butter. I lose all motivation when there is a jar of peanut butter around. Given an adequate supply of sandwich bread, I will eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches indefinitely, to the near-complete exclusion of other foods.")
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