Wonderful. Lovely. Heaven.
I don't have to say anything else.
24 November 2009
Brunch
My mom is visiting for Thanksgiving. Sunday, we went to church (briefly...we left after about 15 minutes because the service was so awful) and then decided to go to brunch. Best idea ever. We went to Rita's Kitchen at the Camelback Inn. Yeah, sure, it's expensive, but I don't think I've ever enjoyed an eating experience more. Live entertainment outside, a table that was inside but right at the edge of the inside/outside border, perfect weather, mimosas, and delicious food. I'm wondering whether the Camelback Inn needs an attorney-in-residence. Because if they do, I'm their girl. Can't wait to try out the spa.
26 September 2009
Dolce & Gabbana L'Imperatrice 3
aka: my new favorite perfume
I am a loyal devotee to Burberry perfume. I own about 5 of their scents, and really, they know what they're doing, those folks at Burberry. Burberry Classic is my everyday, and I love Touch nearly as much...but I'm just as fond of Brit Sheer, London, and The Beat. Today, though, I went to Sephora to return a lipgloss (I know, miraculous) and fell in love with this new D&G perfume!
I haven't been able to find a description that explains to me the smells I am smelling, so I and my novice nose will do our best to tell you how wonderful it smells. It's fruity and a little bit floral, but I don't get the feeling that I constantly need to sneeze, as is true with many florals (Marc Jacobs, I'm talking to you here). Also, I'm not worried that a swarm of bees will stalk and kill me because of an overpowering fruity smell (yep, DKNY, that's you). I can distinctly smell watermelon and a flower that I *think* is jasmine, but there's another fruit I can't quite identify (apples?) and something deeper (musk perhaps) that evens it out nicely, and frankly, makes me want to bathe in this stuff.
In case you're wondering, I LOVE the way I smell right now. ;-)
I am a loyal devotee to Burberry perfume. I own about 5 of their scents, and really, they know what they're doing, those folks at Burberry. Burberry Classic is my everyday, and I love Touch nearly as much...but I'm just as fond of Brit Sheer, London, and The Beat. Today, though, I went to Sephora to return a lipgloss (I know, miraculous) and fell in love with this new D&G perfume!
I haven't been able to find a description that explains to me the smells I am smelling, so I and my novice nose will do our best to tell you how wonderful it smells. It's fruity and a little bit floral, but I don't get the feeling that I constantly need to sneeze, as is true with many florals (Marc Jacobs, I'm talking to you here). Also, I'm not worried that a swarm of bees will stalk and kill me because of an overpowering fruity smell (yep, DKNY, that's you). I can distinctly smell watermelon and a flower that I *think* is jasmine, but there's another fruit I can't quite identify (apples?) and something deeper (musk perhaps) that evens it out nicely, and frankly, makes me want to bathe in this stuff.
In case you're wondering, I LOVE the way I smell right now. ;-)
21 September 2009
Amanda, this is for you.
This was too long to post as a comment on your blog, so I put it here. Your post, and your memories of vanilla ice cream and graham crackers made me think of something that happened to me recently.
I was sitting in my living room the other day, praying about a trial that I have coming up that involves the death of two children. I pray a lot about work, just because it’s stressful, and oftentimes, I’m dealing with victims who aren’t cooperative, or defense advocates who seem to think it’s fun to be aggravating just for the sake of being aggravating. This case is a special one, though. It's been pending for over a year now, and I really want a conviction, not for myself, but because it will mean justice was served for those two babies. I haven't known how best to handle a few difficult issues that have arisen, and finding myself at an empasse, I did what you've done: give it to God.
The scripture that I was led to during my prayers was Jeremiah 29:11 (the Bible actually opened to this passage on its own). I thought it was odd when I read it initially: “I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I first found it utterly unhelpful, and I thought that there must be another scripture on that page that I was meant to read. After all, the reason that I have the case at all is because these children are dead; these children have had their futures taken from them.
As I often do when thinking about children, I then started thinking about Grandmamma, which initially made me sad all over again. But then, I got the most peaceful feeling; I just knew – in that moment – that God's Will will be done with that trial now, even if it's not the ending I foresee or would prefer. He has a plan. He knows better than I do. And no matter what happens, it will be for the best because it is His plan, not mine. He gave me the reassurance I needed with the trial, and He gave me some very sweet memories of my grandmother as a balm to heal some of the hurt of thinking about these two babies who never had anyone like her in their little lives.
I'm saying all that to say this: I know God gave me Grandmamma's spirit to help me through that moment. I know it because of how my dinner turned out that night. One of the saddest things for me, usually, about making scrambled eggs and grilled cheese is that I can’t make them taste like Grandmamma’s tasted. But on that night, both were perfect. I haven’t felt that peaceful in a long, long time.
I was sitting in my living room the other day, praying about a trial that I have coming up that involves the death of two children. I pray a lot about work, just because it’s stressful, and oftentimes, I’m dealing with victims who aren’t cooperative, or defense advocates who seem to think it’s fun to be aggravating just for the sake of being aggravating. This case is a special one, though. It's been pending for over a year now, and I really want a conviction, not for myself, but because it will mean justice was served for those two babies. I haven't known how best to handle a few difficult issues that have arisen, and finding myself at an empasse, I did what you've done: give it to God.
The scripture that I was led to during my prayers was Jeremiah 29:11 (the Bible actually opened to this passage on its own). I thought it was odd when I read it initially: “I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I first found it utterly unhelpful, and I thought that there must be another scripture on that page that I was meant to read. After all, the reason that I have the case at all is because these children are dead; these children have had their futures taken from them.
As I often do when thinking about children, I then started thinking about Grandmamma, which initially made me sad all over again. But then, I got the most peaceful feeling; I just knew – in that moment – that God's Will will be done with that trial now, even if it's not the ending I foresee or would prefer. He has a plan. He knows better than I do. And no matter what happens, it will be for the best because it is His plan, not mine. He gave me the reassurance I needed with the trial, and He gave me some very sweet memories of my grandmother as a balm to heal some of the hurt of thinking about these two babies who never had anyone like her in their little lives.
I'm saying all that to say this: I know God gave me Grandmamma's spirit to help me through that moment. I know it because of how my dinner turned out that night. One of the saddest things for me, usually, about making scrambled eggs and grilled cheese is that I can’t make them taste like Grandmamma’s tasted. But on that night, both were perfect. I haven’t felt that peaceful in a long, long time.
13 August 2009
The Lace Reader
by Brunonia Barry
Perhaps some of you remember that I set out to read this book a few months back. What can I say? I lost track of time, and I forgot about it. Then, I was preparing for a child abuse trial, which took all of my time. And then I lost the trial on directed verdict, so I had to grieve for a while. And so finally, I picked it up again last week (which is interesting, since I’m again in the full throes of preparing for another child abuse trial).
About the book: all the reviews are right. The worst thing about this book is that I didn’t have time to read it all in one sitting. Now that I know how it ends, I’m anxious to reread it so that I can fully appreciate the author’s pacing and plot development. Speaking of the plot, you are perhaps wondering what a lace reader is. I’m not sure that they actually exist. At any rate, according to the author, lace reading is form of fortune-telling; the readers “read” Ipswich lace, or bobbin lace, and look for pictures or visions about a person’s future. The story is set in Salem, so the city’s history weighs heavily on the plot, but it’s not so overpowering that it becomes the same old witches-in-Salem story that we’ve all heard 100 times.
Towner Whitney, the main character, returns to Salem following her great-aunt’s death, which happened under somewhat suspicious circumstances. What follows is a series of strange events that awaken tragedies and mysteries from decades before. The pacing is perfect. The narrator begins the book by telling us her name, and then immediately tells us that she is a liar. So, from the get-go, we are wondering what is really happening. And, if something isn’t really happening, then is the narrator lying to us, or is there something affecting her perception?
After reading the book, I’m now really fascinated with the process of lace making, and I’m thinking of teaching myself how to do it. We’ll see how that goes. None of you better be rolling your eyes.
Perhaps some of you remember that I set out to read this book a few months back. What can I say? I lost track of time, and I forgot about it. Then, I was preparing for a child abuse trial, which took all of my time. And then I lost the trial on directed verdict, so I had to grieve for a while. And so finally, I picked it up again last week (which is interesting, since I’m again in the full throes of preparing for another child abuse trial).
About the book: all the reviews are right. The worst thing about this book is that I didn’t have time to read it all in one sitting. Now that I know how it ends, I’m anxious to reread it so that I can fully appreciate the author’s pacing and plot development. Speaking of the plot, you are perhaps wondering what a lace reader is. I’m not sure that they actually exist. At any rate, according to the author, lace reading is form of fortune-telling; the readers “read” Ipswich lace, or bobbin lace, and look for pictures or visions about a person’s future. The story is set in Salem, so the city’s history weighs heavily on the plot, but it’s not so overpowering that it becomes the same old witches-in-Salem story that we’ve all heard 100 times.
Towner Whitney, the main character, returns to Salem following her great-aunt’s death, which happened under somewhat suspicious circumstances. What follows is a series of strange events that awaken tragedies and mysteries from decades before. The pacing is perfect. The narrator begins the book by telling us her name, and then immediately tells us that she is a liar. So, from the get-go, we are wondering what is really happening. And, if something isn’t really happening, then is the narrator lying to us, or is there something affecting her perception?
After reading the book, I’m now really fascinated with the process of lace making, and I’m thinking of teaching myself how to do it. We’ll see how that goes. None of you better be rolling your eyes.
04 August 2009
The Dawn Patrol
by Don Winslow
Another book that I'm reading for a book club. The guy at the bookstore described it as "surfing crime noir." I commented that that was possibly the most specific genre I'd ever heard of. Is there actually more than one book that would fall into this category?
The book was okay. Fairly fast-paced, and definitely an easy, quick read. I bought it on a whim, based entirely on the bookstore guy's recommendation, and the fact that because I'd just been to San Diego the weekend before, and I thought it would be intriguing to read about a place I'd just visited.
My main problem with Mr. Winslow is that he jerks back and forth between plot development and backstory and information-sharing. I appreciate his chapter-long, scientific explanations of how waves work, and his description of this specific section of the 101 highway in California, and the fact that he inserts chapters here and there to explain something that happened years before. All of these things help me understand the characters and the setting. Nothing wrong with including them.
Here's the thing: For some reason, he decided to insert these soliloquys right in the middle of the action. Literally, something big is about to happen, then there's 8 or 10 pages of blah-blah-blah, and then the next chapter starts and that big something happens. Only, I have forgotten by that point that something exciting is about to happen, and I have to go back and read the lead-up again so that I remember. It makes for herky-jerky reading, and it makes for a lot of flipping back and forth, is all I'm saying.
This is probably the crime version of chick-lit. Not challenging to read, doesn't require a lot of thought. A good summertime read; would have been perfect if I'd been lying on the sand instead of contemplating my return to work the next day.
Another book that I'm reading for a book club. The guy at the bookstore described it as "surfing crime noir." I commented that that was possibly the most specific genre I'd ever heard of. Is there actually more than one book that would fall into this category?
The book was okay. Fairly fast-paced, and definitely an easy, quick read. I bought it on a whim, based entirely on the bookstore guy's recommendation, and the fact that because I'd just been to San Diego the weekend before, and I thought it would be intriguing to read about a place I'd just visited.
My main problem with Mr. Winslow is that he jerks back and forth between plot development and backstory and information-sharing. I appreciate his chapter-long, scientific explanations of how waves work, and his description of this specific section of the 101 highway in California, and the fact that he inserts chapters here and there to explain something that happened years before. All of these things help me understand the characters and the setting. Nothing wrong with including them.
Here's the thing: For some reason, he decided to insert these soliloquys right in the middle of the action. Literally, something big is about to happen, then there's 8 or 10 pages of blah-blah-blah, and then the next chapter starts and that big something happens. Only, I have forgotten by that point that something exciting is about to happen, and I have to go back and read the lead-up again so that I remember. It makes for herky-jerky reading, and it makes for a lot of flipping back and forth, is all I'm saying.
This is probably the crime version of chick-lit. Not challenging to read, doesn't require a lot of thought. A good summertime read; would have been perfect if I'd been lying on the sand instead of contemplating my return to work the next day.
13 July 2009
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle
by David Wroblewski
I started this book last Wednesday night, and ever since then, I’ve been telling everyone I can think of – even casual acquaintances – to read it immediately. I finished it yesterday, and already I’m seriously thinking about starting over. I don’t know how to describe it, really, because it doesn’t fit neatly into one specific genre. It’s kind of a “boy and his dog” coming-of-age story, but also part adventure, part mystery, part ghost story.
The title character, Edgar, is a young boy whose family lives on a farm in Wisconsin during the mid-1950s. They breed Sawtelle Dogs, so named because they were rather much invented by Edgar’s grandfather to be perfect companion dogs. Instead of breeding for purity of bloodline, the Sawtelles breed for intelligence, and for some “je ne sais quoi” quality that will make the dogs choice makers, able to understand and respond to training and commands, but also develop a form of free will. Sort of. It’s hard to describe, really. The important part is that the dogs are a huge part of this book. The narrator is third-person omniscient, and usually he (she?) describes the action from Edgar’s point of view. But there are a few chapters that speak from a dog’s perspective, and they are some of the best parts of the book.
Interestingly, just like the dogs he cares for, Edgar is mute; he can hear, but he can’t speak. Very clever, also, then, that Edgar's surname is Sawtelle. Saw. Tell. Get it? ;-)
The plot has been billed as “Hamlet”…with dogs. I’m not sure about that. “Hamlet” was never my favorite Shakespeare tragedy (“Othello” is, in case you’re wondering). Actually, I never liked “Hamlet” much at all, so I tried to pay as little attention to it as possible while still making an A in my Shakespeare class in college. Still, though, perhaps you can rest assured, knowing that there is no moment where Edgar cradles a skull…human or canine.
I will not do you the disservice of telling you the tragic plot turn that happens about a third of the way through the book. Unfortunately, the writers of the book flap are not as kind as I, so if you don’t want to have your reading ruined, throw the flap into the garbage as soon as you buy it. I was disgusted at having read it, actually, because I’m convinced that I would have somehow enjoyed the book even more if I hadn’t known what was coming.
Honestly, I usually hate books that wander too heavily into detail or description. I had to stop reading “Les Miserables” for a while, and then skip 100 pages or so, because I was so tired of hearing about what Victor Hugo thought about the guillotine or the Battle of Waterloo. But, Wroblewski’s best writing shows itself in his descriptions of the dogs’ training, or the family farm, or the town itself and the people who inhabit it. He paints a childhood that is undoubtedly ideal and idyllic (at least in the beginning…not so much at the end), but I can’t even tell you how much I loved reading about it.
I started this book last Wednesday night, and ever since then, I’ve been telling everyone I can think of – even casual acquaintances – to read it immediately. I finished it yesterday, and already I’m seriously thinking about starting over. I don’t know how to describe it, really, because it doesn’t fit neatly into one specific genre. It’s kind of a “boy and his dog” coming-of-age story, but also part adventure, part mystery, part ghost story.
The title character, Edgar, is a young boy whose family lives on a farm in Wisconsin during the mid-1950s. They breed Sawtelle Dogs, so named because they were rather much invented by Edgar’s grandfather to be perfect companion dogs. Instead of breeding for purity of bloodline, the Sawtelles breed for intelligence, and for some “je ne sais quoi” quality that will make the dogs choice makers, able to understand and respond to training and commands, but also develop a form of free will. Sort of. It’s hard to describe, really. The important part is that the dogs are a huge part of this book. The narrator is third-person omniscient, and usually he (she?) describes the action from Edgar’s point of view. But there are a few chapters that speak from a dog’s perspective, and they are some of the best parts of the book.
Interestingly, just like the dogs he cares for, Edgar is mute; he can hear, but he can’t speak. Very clever, also, then, that Edgar's surname is Sawtelle. Saw. Tell. Get it? ;-)
The plot has been billed as “Hamlet”…with dogs. I’m not sure about that. “Hamlet” was never my favorite Shakespeare tragedy (“Othello” is, in case you’re wondering). Actually, I never liked “Hamlet” much at all, so I tried to pay as little attention to it as possible while still making an A in my Shakespeare class in college. Still, though, perhaps you can rest assured, knowing that there is no moment where Edgar cradles a skull…human or canine.
I will not do you the disservice of telling you the tragic plot turn that happens about a third of the way through the book. Unfortunately, the writers of the book flap are not as kind as I, so if you don’t want to have your reading ruined, throw the flap into the garbage as soon as you buy it. I was disgusted at having read it, actually, because I’m convinced that I would have somehow enjoyed the book even more if I hadn’t known what was coming.
Honestly, I usually hate books that wander too heavily into detail or description. I had to stop reading “Les Miserables” for a while, and then skip 100 pages or so, because I was so tired of hearing about what Victor Hugo thought about the guillotine or the Battle of Waterloo. But, Wroblewski’s best writing shows itself in his descriptions of the dogs’ training, or the family farm, or the town itself and the people who inhabit it. He paints a childhood that is undoubtedly ideal and idyllic (at least in the beginning…not so much at the end), but I can’t even tell you how much I loved reading about it.
07 July 2009
Love Stories in This Town
By Amanda Eyre Ward
I don’t normally like short stories, so I will admit to being a little disappointed when, after buying this book, I realized that it was, alas, a book of short stories. I shouldn’t have been. I read the whole thing in one sitting.
Faithful (or even semi-faithful) readers of my blog know my love for Amanda Eyre Ward. If possible, I think I love her more now. My problem with short stories is that just about the time I get to know the character and care what happens to him/her (in Eyre Ward, it’s almost always “her,” by the way), the story is over and I’m left wanting more. This author, though, is very good with endings that are both satisfying in the sense that they don’t feel forced or contrived, and open enough to allow me some leeway in figuring out just how these women spend the rest of their lives.
As you may anticipate, the stories center around the central characters’ love lives, but not in a stereotypical sense. The little towns and big cities where the women live and work, or where they’ve moved or traveled to, are more than backdrops; they influence the mood and the movement of the plot. For instance, the title comes from a quote at the end of one of the stories. A bartender says, “There are no love stories in this town.” In the reader’s guide at the end of the book, Eyre Ward admits that when she wrote that line, she was a sad graduate student, and it was the first of several stories she would eventually write about “Lola.” Initially, it was a statement about how the character had somehow resigned herself to a loveless life, because of where she lived. As the author wrote more stories about her, though, she realized that the actual commentary was that Lola would eventually leave that town, which she does, and find a better life elsewhere.
Needless to say, I enjoyed this book. Inhaled it, practically. I can’t wait for her next one.
I don’t normally like short stories, so I will admit to being a little disappointed when, after buying this book, I realized that it was, alas, a book of short stories. I shouldn’t have been. I read the whole thing in one sitting.
Faithful (or even semi-faithful) readers of my blog know my love for Amanda Eyre Ward. If possible, I think I love her more now. My problem with short stories is that just about the time I get to know the character and care what happens to him/her (in Eyre Ward, it’s almost always “her,” by the way), the story is over and I’m left wanting more. This author, though, is very good with endings that are both satisfying in the sense that they don’t feel forced or contrived, and open enough to allow me some leeway in figuring out just how these women spend the rest of their lives.
As you may anticipate, the stories center around the central characters’ love lives, but not in a stereotypical sense. The little towns and big cities where the women live and work, or where they’ve moved or traveled to, are more than backdrops; they influence the mood and the movement of the plot. For instance, the title comes from a quote at the end of one of the stories. A bartender says, “There are no love stories in this town.” In the reader’s guide at the end of the book, Eyre Ward admits that when she wrote that line, she was a sad graduate student, and it was the first of several stories she would eventually write about “Lola.” Initially, it was a statement about how the character had somehow resigned herself to a loveless life, because of where she lived. As the author wrote more stories about her, though, she realized that the actual commentary was that Lola would eventually leave that town, which she does, and find a better life elsewhere.
Needless to say, I enjoyed this book. Inhaled it, practically. I can’t wait for her next one.
06 July 2009
I love my family...
...they're great for entertainment. In fact, I could base the plotline of an entire sitcom on my Aunt Enone. So, because my family will celebrate her 80th birthday on Sunday, and because I sadly will not be there, I offer the following story as an example of why I miss her as much as I do:
My mama called me a few days back to tell me that Aunt Enone had been having some trouble with her eyes and that I should call and talk to her when I had a few minutes. Obediently, I called the next day to check on her, and she filled me in on the whole story. She had gone to her weekly beauty shop appointment, just as she has every single week ever since I can remember. This trip was notable, though, because when she put her eyeglasses back on as she was getting reay to leave, she noticed hat suddenly, she couldn't see. She called my aunt to come take her home, since obviously, she couldn't drive.
I asked if her vision had improved any, and she said that she thought it had. Well, that was a relief. Here I am, thousands of miles away, thinking that she's had a stroke, or that she's got an aneurysm or something. I was really worried!
Apparently, so was everyone else because everyone said a special prayer at church on Sunday morning that God would heal her eyes. As my Uncle Bob would say, God still answers prayer! And we know this because after church, one of Aunt Enone's friends, who had coincidentally been at the beauty shop at the very same time as Aunt Enone, came to visit her. Also coincidentally, she had been experiencing some vision problems of her own. After hearing the specialprayer request at church, it occurred to her what both their problems might be.
Lo and behold, they swapped glasses and had been wandering around for three days wearing the wrong ones, both of them too blind to realize that they had taken the wrong glasses from the beauty shop. Amen! Both are cured!
My mama called me a few days back to tell me that Aunt Enone had been having some trouble with her eyes and that I should call and talk to her when I had a few minutes. Obediently, I called the next day to check on her, and she filled me in on the whole story. She had gone to her weekly beauty shop appointment, just as she has every single week ever since I can remember. This trip was notable, though, because when she put her eyeglasses back on as she was getting reay to leave, she noticed hat suddenly, she couldn't see. She called my aunt to come take her home, since obviously, she couldn't drive.
I asked if her vision had improved any, and she said that she thought it had. Well, that was a relief. Here I am, thousands of miles away, thinking that she's had a stroke, or that she's got an aneurysm or something. I was really worried!
Apparently, so was everyone else because everyone said a special prayer at church on Sunday morning that God would heal her eyes. As my Uncle Bob would say, God still answers prayer! And we know this because after church, one of Aunt Enone's friends, who had coincidentally been at the beauty shop at the very same time as Aunt Enone, came to visit her. Also coincidentally, she had been experiencing some vision problems of her own. After hearing the specialprayer request at church, it occurred to her what both their problems might be.
Lo and behold, they swapped glasses and had been wandering around for three days wearing the wrong ones, both of them too blind to realize that they had taken the wrong glasses from the beauty shop. Amen! Both are cured!
112
Why is this number important?
Is it the number of days left 'til Christmas? Nope...it's only July!
Is it the number of files in my office that need my immediate attention? No, but it's probably fairly close.
Could it be, you wonder, the number of petals on a chrysanthemum? No.
It is, ladies and gentlemen, the projected temperature - in degrees Fahrenheit - in Phoenix on Friday. Gees.
Is it the number of days left 'til Christmas? Nope...it's only July!
Is it the number of files in my office that need my immediate attention? No, but it's probably fairly close.
Could it be, you wonder, the number of petals on a chrysanthemum? No.
It is, ladies and gentlemen, the projected temperature - in degrees Fahrenheit - in Phoenix on Friday. Gees.
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