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This is Meeko, a kitty cat who sashays onto a photography set and owns it. He doesn't mind the lights, the flash, nor the attention. He is a natural in front of the camera, and tomorrow, he will be the lead attraction in the shop's new April Fool's slideshow.
For those who don't know, I used to celebrate April Fool's by pranking my kids. This year, the only child left at home is out of reach, traveling with the high school marching band for spring break. So annoying.
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Julia Child wrote her first cookbook at the age of 49. She introduced America to the concept of a television cooking show, "The French Chef" at the age of 51. By the time she died at 92, she had authored numerous books, cooked on camera for hundreds of television episodes, been dubbed "Our Lady of the Ladle" by Time Magazine, won the French Legion of Honor, three Emmys and a Peabody, and perhaps in her opinion best of all, she was the subject of parodies on Second City, Saturday Night Live, and The Cosby Show.
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Last week, I took a class on Skillshare. I've written about Skillshare before. For $10 a month, I get access to free classes taught on many subjects, some by some very famous people like Seth Godin. In fact, if you are interested in trying it, please email me here and I will forward you an offer for 3 months at $0.99.
Anyway, this particular class, led by Andrew Knapp, is titled Photograph Your Muse: One Subject, Endless Possibilities. Andrew's dog, Momo is his muse. That dog might also be an early iteration of the 23rd century's Dalai Lama, as he is the most peaceful, friendly creature and allows himself to be posed in ridiculously adorable compositions. Go here to follow Andrew and Momo.
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This week I witnessed the ushering in of grief. A tsunami, a spilled glass of milk, a strike of a match. Cold waves, contents released, heat. It materialized out of nowhere. In a blink, my friend is whisked away to a new country, a land of sorrow, where I cannot follow.
I remain here, shaking, sad, troubled.
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This post is all about Instagram. If you have no interest, I understand. Feel free to click off the page. If you're leaving me, you might as well go somewhere fun. Check out this post of boudoir photos featuring one of my fellow bloggers, Shannon. Doesn't she look so sexy?
For those who are still in the room and want to talk Instagram, thank you! I'll be sharing a few tips that I have been using for all of twelve hours (because I'm a bozo), and then, at the bottom, I'll share a few of my favorite Instagram accounts.
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Back in September, I started a series called "What Not to Buy New," in which I talk about the categories of things that we ought to buy used or vintage. You can read Part One here.
Today's post is Part Two, about collectibles. Some of us collect quirky things, don't we? I bet you can remember with pride each time you found a piece to add to your collection. I doubt I need to encourage you to hunt for your collectibles in vintage and antique shops.
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I am troubled by the question of what to do with a few items I have which fall under the category 'black memorabilia'. All of these items depict black mammies, and from a purely aesthetic viewpoint, I love them. The colors -- black, white, & red -- are striking. The rag doll mother and child were stitched by hand. Same with the framed appliqué canvas. And I adore cookie jars in the shapes of people or animals. A black mammy seems like a nostalgic symbol of home and hospitality.
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Many of you know that I shoot the photos for Finder Not Keeper in my home. As a result, the walls are painted a rainbow of colors. I also use wall decals. They help me achieve a different look out of the same color of paint. (Yes, yes, I know my husband deserves an award. My mother points it out regularly.)
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I'm just back from a harrowing 10-hour road trip on a snowy highway. My husband and I took turns at the wheel but mostly he drove and mostly I shouted loud warnings about trucks! Ice! Wind! Snowplow! Winter storms bring out the inner panic monster, don't they?
At least the two young men in the back behaved. I remember the days when the boys were young, and we had to strategically place four car seats based on arm span and likelihood of child to use arms for swatting, slapping, or smacking a sibling. Back then, I threatened to throw my shoes at anyone who misbehaved. Given my lousy aim, and my preponderance to wear clogs, it was an effective technique. They still talk about the time they refused to return the shoe after I flung it at them.
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The best job I ever had was working in the fiction room of a library. Walnut shelving, Persian rugs, a sunken garden, leather chairs, hot coffee, and thousands of novels -- really, I should have paid them! In my time employed there, I heard readers recommend one particular book over and over again. I tried to snag it, but for two straight years, it was perpetually checked out.
When we moved to Wisconsin, a very kind neighbor welcomed me to her book group. At the end of my first meeting, the other members graciously invited me to select the next month's title. I knew this was a kind of test. But thanks to the library job, I didn't hesitate. With much conviction, I recommended that elusive novel.
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On Monday, the first draft of this listicle began as an inspirational ode to love. (For new readers, most every week I try to synthesize the best of the web into a themed listicle of links, accompanied by an object in my shop that relates.)
But my valentine is away. He travels frequently for work and I struggle to find an equilibrium when he is gone. Proof: it's Wednesday, this listicle is late, and it is certainly not an ode to love. It is a tribute to the flipside of love, which isn't hate. It's confusion, loneliness, frustration.
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Around Valentine's Day, they crop up: photos of happy couples gazing at each other over a fondue pot. I've never understood this form of marketing because in my opinion, fondue is tailor made for kids, boys in particular. Look at this party. We had raw meat, sharp spears, open access to hot oil, oversized appetites and BLAM! it's like we time traveled back to the Paleolithic era. Everyone crowds around the pot, the fight for the meat is real, and there's at least one burnt tongue and some singed arm hairs. My friend Rachel is in the corner of the photo, marveling at the romance unfolding in her kitchen on Valentine's Day. So wonderful.
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One of my college kids called last week with the news that he just adopted a cat. He sent me a photo of the male cat, named Jennifer, playing in a box. Jennifer looks remarkably like these bookends and if you purchase them (here), you too can enjoy cats playing in boxes.
For those of you experiencing bad weather or cabin fever, this week's listicle is one of my best.
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This week, I'm reporting back from the field of Alt Summit in Utah where I attended a four-day conference for bloggers and creative business owners. On the first day, I sat front row during the keynote speeches of some really really smart women. Give an entrepreneur time to prepare, a clicker, and a microphone and you get insights worthy of Ted Talks.
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I am back from Alt Summit, a conference for bloggers and creative entrepreneurs that takes place annually in Salt Lake City. In the photo above, I'm on the right, dancing in the dark with three new friends, who, you can see, could hardly take their eyes off of my Elaine Benes dance moves.
As business conferences go, this one rocks.
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I'm in Salt Lake City this week, attending a blog conference. On the airplane yesterday, the couple in front of me spent the entire four-hour flight attempting to entertain and pacify their antsy two-year-old. They had not a single rattle or toy. The mom sported gorgeous long hair and got angrier and angrier that her little girl wanted to pull it. Well, what else was the child to do?
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Brrrr. Temps here in Wisconsin are low low low. In Shakespeare's words, "Tis cold as a dead man's nose." Get thee under a blanket, make thee a cup of hot coffee, and let us talk Dr. Zhivago.
The film was released in 1965 but it was in the '70s when I sat up late one night and watched it on television. I loved Omar Sharif. He reminded me of my father. Not just his handsome good looks and his sophisticated charm. Dr. Zhivago was a physician who wrote poetry and loved Lara, a fair-skinned nurse. My dad was a physician who painted watercolors and loved Maryann, a fair-skinned nurse. Omar Sharif was born in Egypt in 1932 and my dad was born in Iran in 1932. Only one letter separated Sharif from Sharifi.
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The object in the photo above is a bootjack, which one uses to remove one's riding boots if one hasn't a valet. It is available at Finder Not Keeper here.
Yes, yes, Downton Abbey is back for its final season. We are two episodes in and the show continues to employ the same old formulas that, by Jeeves, hooked us in Seasons 1-5. Julian Fellowes mixes equal parts gorgeous clothing, settings that show the glory of Merrie Old England, delicious put-downs from Granny/Dowager Countess/Violet and of course a healthy sprinkling of class struggle and snobbish frippery.
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In today's post, you'll read about a special person and see the images of a room I decorated for her and her mother. You'll also get a few design maxims that I applied to this space. They are guidelines that I borrowed from my closet and maybe you can use them in your own house.
So there is this young woman. She is a kind of wild thing. A bohemian. She is also a very good,
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How was your holiday? I saw the new Jennifer Lawrence film, "Joy", which is loosely based on the life of inventor/entrepreneur Joy Mangano. I went with some of my college kids who have been home for the past couple of weeks. It's so fun hanging out with them, but I basically had to shutter the shop. Thus, the premise of the movie about a beleaguered working mom felt very relevant personally. Maybe it does for you too.
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