Lily hams it up for the camera

Just try taking one picture of your cat.  The camera comes and out the ham in the cat comes out!  Ham and cheesy, anyone?  

I love cats.  I love when she deigns to sleep with me and cuddle close beside me.  I have been away from her for over a month and will be seeing her soon.  She’ll not greet me at the door, but will come around in her own time and act bored and ho hum as though she’s saying, “oh there you are.”  But I know where she’ll be sleeping that night . 

Oh, what a night!

 

When I think of my pre-teen years and the music that I was allowed to listen to…yes, allowed…my Daddy was a strict Baptist and if he didn’t like something he would turn the dial, channel, or turn the offending appliance OFF, the Four Seasons are a big part of what I listened to.  I haven’t given much thought to the group for years.  I try not to think of things from my childhood because I’m convinced I didn’t have a happy childhood.  But I remember singing along to their songs during the 60’s and they seemed to have a new hit on the radio every few months or so.  I don’t remember the first time I heard ‘Sherry’, but I remember skipping along and singing it in the backyard.  ’Sherry’ was the Four Seasons’ first nationally-released single and their first number one hit.  It reached #1 on Billboard in September 1962.  I was a little kid and my listening options were limited to whatever scratchy AM station radio station had the best reception on a given day.

I’m thinking about the Four Seasons now because Jen and I saw ‘Jersey Boys’ on July 4 at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles; we were both jazzed when we left the show.  I will say it was fantastic, but that word’s so cliche and I don’t feel like pulling down the thesaurus.  The surprising thing about the musical was how it took me back in time; I got goosebumps.  From the opening number ‘Ces Soirees-La’ (Oh, What a Night) to the full company doing ‘Who Loves You’, it was moving fast and hitting all the high moments of the Four Seasons journey from the 50’s to present day.  The four principal performers are Deven May, Erich Bergen, Michael Ingersoll, and Chris Jones.  Deven, who performs as Tommy DeVito steals the show…and I fell into instant infatuation with him.  He’s charming, sings great, and his character has a bit of a dangerous swagger to him that makes him irresistable.  Plus he wears a killer pink shirt!

The music conjured up feelings so intimate and immediate that it was almost like having a new lover.  Then I realized that I was in love with memories of an innocent time and precious feelings that I’ve got to remember and somehow hold onto.

It was a good idea at the time*

Yesterday was Bill’s 69th birthday and I wanted to take him to dinner to celebrate.  I love Italian food and have wanted to try a local restaurant that I’ve passed many times for many months on Highway 544 near Surfside Beach, South Carolina.  It was the end building in a small, unassuming strip shopping center and looked cute and interesting.  I called to make sure they are open on Monday and we arrived about 6:30PM.  The restaurant is more spacious than it appears from the outside and has a pleasant look and feel with tablecloths and real napkins.  The atmosphere was appropriately dusky with nicely-done murals on the wall, one of which resembled the Italian countryside, and small lamps on the tables. 

Our waitress brought menus but didn’t point out the evening’s specials.  She was earnest and cute, but didn’t seem to have been a waitress very long because she lacked the finesse that a seasoned waitress would have. There were bread plates on the table and I’ve never been to an Italian restaurant that didn’t bring a basket of bread and butter or olive oil for dipping, but we were offered no bread.  Bill had a beer and I had a bellini, which is champagne with peach liqueur.  I have had bellinis which were made with fresh pureed peaches and they can be very elaborate, but this was a simple drink of champagne with hardly any peach essence at all; and a cherry at the bottom of the stem.  Our orders were taken as soon as the drinks arrived:  Bill ordered shrimp marinara and I had chicken marsala which was served with a small side of spaghetti with marinara sauce.  We had a choice of soup or house salad and we both chose the house salad with balsamic vinaigrette.  It’s my theory that one can judge an entire meal simply from the salad that’s served.  If the salad is fresh and generous, the meal will be also.  If the salad is meager in portion and presentation, so will the meal be as well.  Unfortunately, our salads were the latter; a bit of romaine lettuce with two cherry tomatoes, two cucumber slices, and three red onions slices with a fair dressing.  The salad was served on a small plate which made it very difficult to eat and Bill gave up exhausted after chasing the tomatoes around on his plate. 

His shrimp marinara was served in a large bowl with several large shrimp arranged on a bed of pasta.  My chicken marsala was served on a large platter…two small chicken breasts with a generous amount of sauce.  Bill’s dish was disappointing as he said the shrimp were grandfathers (meaning tough) and he wasn’t impressed with the pasta.  My dish was very  delicious with a thick marsala sauce and sliced mushrooms.  The dish was a bit stark as it was served with no vegetable.  A serving of sauteed zucchini or another vegetable would have certainly dressed the dish up and made a more impressive presentation.  The spaghetti with marinara sauce was ordinary and tasted more like plain tomato sauce.  Our waitress asked us halfway through our meal if we would like water and finally noticed that we had no bread.  She asked at that point if we wanted bread and I told her that it was too late in the meal for bread. 

When we finished our meal, she asked if we wanted dessert and I asked to see the dessert menu of which there wasn’t one.  She recited what they had…I forgot the first item; the second was tirimisu (they didn’t have any tirimisu because “what was in the pan looked old, so we threw it away”; the third was a chocolate dessert that she described but didn’t have a name for; the fourth was some kind of frozen “thing” that she again didn’t know the name of.  Suffice to say we didn’t have dessert.

I really wanted to like this restaurant.  A couple of months ago it was written up in a local Myrtle Beach dining magazine and I had great hopes for it.  This is a local restaurant with prices that compare to larger restaurants at the beach and even in California where I’ve had an opportunity to try several Italian restaurants.  Our bill including tip was $55.00, but this was not a value meal.  One can get a deliciously generous meal at a chain such as Carrabba’s Italian Grill for the same price.  As much as I’d like to patronize a local restaurant, my next meal out will not be at Bella Napoli.

*This review was written to help those who might consider dining at Bella Napoli near Surfside Beach, South Carolina.  The restaurant doesn’t have a website and there was nothing online, thus I thought this might be a service to others.  Let me also add that this is the opinion of one diner.  When we left around 8PM, the dining room had a nice crowd and others were arriving.  Please go and be your own critic.  If this review has helped you, please leave a comment.

 

Hanging Out

The Art Walk and “Art In the Alleys” was held in downtown Conway this past Saturday.  Sandra was having a painting demonstration at Blackwater Gallery on Main Street and I hung out with her…offering support and critique; most of which she ignores…the critique, not the support.  We were having a friendly set-to when Susan, the gallery’s owner, gave us ”that look” which made me remark that sometimes it gets vicious between the two of us.  Which isn’t true, but it sounded dramatic. 

Lots of local art and artists.  Coolish, overcast weather.  The Trestle selling hotdogs and hamburgers outdoors.  Pungent scent of onion wafting through the air.  Lunch at Lazy River cafe.  Palmetto trees and crescent moons in the window of the Jerry Cox Company.  The Theater of the Republic’s next production of ‘Sordid Lives’ on the Main Street Theater’s marquee.  Moss-draped live oak trees.  All’s well in Conway.

By the way, she does take orders for her gourds and they can be customized for any occasion or season.     

One of those days

Yesterday wasn’t a good day.  In fact, it was one of those teary days; when you just tear up for no good reason and you just can’t control it.  The kind of day where you cry in the shower and then scrub your face really hard so no one will notice. 

The reality is that the emphysema is taking its toll on Bill and it’s exacting its revenge in no uncertain terms and asks that its dues be paid in short time.  Old friends have started calling and coming by to see him.  That’s never a good sign.  His pulmonologist  has told him to get his affairs in order and make sure his healthcare directive is on file.  Living with and caring for him is a commitment that I made gladly, but it isn’t easy to watch a loved one dying before your eyes.  A man, who looks so normal on the outside, save for the normal aging that we all share, whose lungs are slowly ceasing to work; whose deepest breath barely causes his chest to rise and fall.  Each morning when I wake, I check to make sure he’s still breathing and I have to watch his chest closely just to see the movement.  A man who doesn’t want to wake from his dreams because in his dreams he lives the life that he no longer can.  In his dreams he’s restoring his ‘67 Dodge RT; in real life he’ll never see it rebuilt.  I’m bitter about that because a certain son chooses not to share his passion, so the car sits, in pieces that will never be complete.  One last dream.  Everyone has one and his is so simple…

His sister, neice, and great-neice will be coming in tomorrow night because they want to spend time with him.  He hates a houseful of people.  The constant chatter makes him nervous, he can’t relax, he can’t watch television, and he can’t sit around in his jammies all day.  And I, the hater of housework and being forced into the bowels of a kitchen, will have to get the guest room ready and maybe cook a pot roast.  The pot roast part isn’t so bad, but the getting ready for guests is.  But they’re family, right?  They don’t require the niceties and trappings of a true house guest, right?

Should I make them eat sandwiches, too? 

Good Glads

After having been in Californina for a month, I can’t seem to get reacclimated to being South again.  When I left on June 12, the gladioluses were in full bloom and as they broke from the weight of their flowers, I brought them inside to enjoy them.  I left this arrangement in the kitchen…right in front of his nose so he would be sure to see it.

I asked that it not be sitting there with gladiolus carcasses in it when I got him.  The first thing I saw when I walked into the kitchen Tuesday night was this:

 

My mouth dropped open; I turned and just looked at him.  He laughed at my reaction and said, “I just had to leave them there because of what you said.”  How do you respond to that?  I always leave him with orders and admonitions and he never listens to them, so I thought this was appropriate.  In fact, I didn’t throw them away immediately; I left them there for two more days before I tossed them.  If you look closely, you’ll see that the apples are slowly petrifying too.  I’ve been feeding them to the birds.

This particular glad is my favorite and has been quite prolific.  About tenyears ago, Mama gave me six miniscule gladiolus bulbs that were a ‘free gift’ from Michigan Bulb Company.  As puny as they were, I plunked them in the dirt without much care because I was sure I’d never see them again.  Lo and behold, those puny and spunky bulbs bloomed and this was the most beautiful.  It was also as tall as me at 5′-3″.  Over the years this buld has multiplied and now I have dozens of them.  It also blooms earlier than the rest of them.  I guess I need to name it ‘Mama’s Glad’ because I always think of her when they bloom.  And she’d be glad to know that they’re still blooming after so many years. 

“New and improved.” The death knell for a good product.

Y’all remember New Coke, right?  That was a debacle that sent Coke shares wayyy down.  And forced Coke to say ‘uncle’ and put our dearly beloved back on the shelves in a classic way.

Et tu, Thermafuse?

For years I used Thermafuse hair products www.thermafuse.com/, a company based in Kannapolis, NC.  Their products were regional and couldn’t be found nationally.  But that little ole Suth’un company had the best products on the market.  Basic Revolution moisturizing shampoo and conditioner were the best ever.  No matter what I tried, I always came back to them because nothing compared.  Intense! Rebuild Styling Gel was great for our Suth’un humidity because it was light and strong; held well and didn’t get sticky in the heat.  Basic Revolution Nuage’ Ultimate Hold Hair Spray went on a little wet, but dried quickly and could hold a ‘do in any ole hurricane that happened along the coast.  I worshipped at the altar of Thermafuse.  I talked it up every chance I got.  I had gallon jugs of the stuff shipped to me in California (thank you, Red) and their astringent could soothe any itchies. 

I dropped by Red’s last week for a supply of products since I’m going to California for a month and wanted to stock up.  I couldn’t find my usual products.  There were Thermafuse products in ugly, awkward packaging, but not my babies.  Chico helped me because the stuff was on glass shelves over my head.  He gave me something and I inquired about the packaging which he said they’d changed.  We chatted a bit more because I always forget that they don’t take debit cards and I didn’t have a check with me.  Since he’s seen my face for years, he told me it was okay and I could pay for it later.  I thought that was mighty neighborly of him and was going to mail a check when I got home; of course I didn’t.

I tried the new shampoo that night.  It felt vaguely the same but had a mint overture, perhaps peppermint, that I could feel and smell.  And smell.  Okay, not the original, but not bad.  But the ugly blue/brown packaging was about as ugly to me as the lime green “new” packaging of my precious Ban deodorant and certainly didn’t match my decor.  I’m very resistant to ugly packaging; prefer white.  When I opened the gel, I was really suspicious because the name was different, the color and texture was different, and the fragrance was overpowering. OMFG.  Awful.  The scent didn’t go away; it lingered and lingered and I had to finally wash my hair again to get rid of it.  I threw that boy back in the bag to return toute de suite.  I was not happy.

So yesterday I traipsed back to Red’s with a new checkbook and the stinky Esculpt gel.  Red was apologetic about the product change and was obviously disappointed himself.  He told me that noone liked the new products and they weren’t buying them.  He complained to Thermafuse, but didn’t get a satisfactory response.  He said he’d been selling the products for 22 years and now they decided they wanted to compete with Paul Mitchell, Matrix, et.al…the big boys’ fancy schmancy haircare lines.  I guess after 22 years, you have to jazz your products up; no matter what your customers like.  Because old, loyal customers don’t count; it’s the new ones who do.  If it ain’t broke, it will be.  Anyway, Red recommended some Paul Mitchell gel as he had with his other customers.  Half the price of the new Thermafuse.  Can’t possibly be worse than the new Thermafuse.  Not stinky like the new Thermafuse.  But it won’t have a loyal customer like the old  Thermafuse.   

What an auction…

I went to my first auction last week. It won’t be the last. The time of year might change, but I’m hooked. I found an auction notice in the Sun News which led me to www.southernsistersauction.com which led me to pictures.  And there they were. White linens. I’m a sucker for dingy, musty, dirty, old, wilted, and faded linens. And they called to me.  And I went. And I bought them. And much more. Stuff. That I don’t need, but couldn’t live without. For me to venture out on a hot Suth’un morning in long sleeves and black jeans, those who know me would have to agree that I was on a quest. Or temporarily insane. Or both; doesn’t matter. I was the only person at North Myrtle Beach Flea Market in long sleeves and I got a variety of sideways looks. I took my gardening hat and pulled it down over my previously slathered-with-SPF45-sunblock face and startled myself more than once when I happened to see my reflection in a mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but then neither were the crowd. I’m sure I fit right in…except for my preppy-striped hot pink and lime green Foxcroft shirt which remained remarkably wrinkle-free and perky in the high humidity, my black jeans (what was I thinking?), and my sparkling clean, white sneakers. I know I had to be hard to pick out among the shorts, flip flops, cut-off jeans, halter tops, tee shirts, baseball caps, and cigarette butts.  Thankfully there was shade and the occasional ocean breeze; that and two bottles of water kept me a little more comfortable than I would have been in hell.

My bank account was considerably drained when I left, but I was happy with my treasures. However, I’m still kicking myself for not bidding on the yellow Wedgewood jasperware.  It went for a pittance.  Darn it.

This is what started it all.  Fine Irish linen and damask napkins; lots of napkins.  Irish linen and drawn work tea-sized table cloths.  One huge linen table cloth that I haven’t unfolded.  A few tea towels.  Some embroidery.  The fun begins when I start cleaning all of it.

What’s cooler than old buttons in old canning jars?  The old-style lids were corroded and the buttons had been in them a long time.  Lots of mother-of-pearl buttons, which I love.  My dilemma is:  do I leave them as they are or do I open the jars?

 For lack of anything better, I’m calling this a cachepot and stand.  Both pieces are marked ‘Maryleigh Pottery Handcrafted In England.’  Each piece is in excellent condition and covered with a lovely crackle and all the gold trim is bright and unworn.  It was pretty and had roses on it, so I had to have it.

 

This is a trio of American Rose Society 6.5 inch mini plates featuring the miniature roses Winsome, Centerpiece, and Jennifer.  How appropriate, huh?  Each has its original box, but there’s nothing to indicate how old they are.  Again, roses; I had to have them.  And since I also collect plates, how could I pass them up?

Not pictured is a set of six fantastically heavy white Dansk flat rimmed bowls.  Just the perfect size for pasta or chicken and dumplings, which by the way, is what I christened them with.

Pretty nifty treasures, don’t you think?