Tom Brokaw's Backyard

So, yeah. I cried. Big whoop. Call it lack of sleep. Call it Tom's velvety voice that I've missed so. Call it nostalgia. Call it complete wonderment with the landscape. Whatever. As for the baby delivered by the owner in a crab shack...I can't come up with anything for you on that one.

Take your own tour of Yellowstone via The Today Show's "America the Beautiful" series, by clicking HERE. Grab a tissue and cue the slide show. But girls take note: Tom's not there to narrate.

Oh joy!

My fabric from tonic and purl bee arrived today. Hooray! I've been searching ("always searching") for inspiration akin to what is in Mom's Japanese idea books. Today I found it, in ready-made form. Look how adorable these are! I love the little English free-verse on their bags and such. The occasional left-out word here and there makes them even more dear. If you're looking for anything addictingly adorable, or you're wanting to join the "Japanese Craft Craze" click here.

Very bless-ed squats.

Oh, I love us!

speaking of michael...

It wasn't more than a week ago that AES and I were in the kitchen making bruschetta, chopping the fresh basil and crumbling the mozzarella, doing Giada de Laurentis so proud and belting our hearts out to Michael Buble's "Everything." A. knew all the words, having just seen the man himself in concert ("He is sizzlen!") a few weeks before. A. snapped her fingers and danced about the kitchen in delight as she spooned the tomato mixture onto the sliced and toasted baguettes. "Everything" is indeed a hit and the jazzy (and adorable) lyrics were in my head the rest of the night. I had high hopes for the music video, picturing Mr. Michael singing to a classically beautiful goddess of a woman, amid raindrops in Manhattan (or some other such nonsensical scene). Let's just say I was gravely disappointed when I saw the music video today. (Search YouTube: Michael Buble, "Everything"). What is with the hippies, the banjo player, the fire-eaters and the mime? And what the Whoopi?! Why on earth would we want anyone other than Michael swaying his hips, swinging the mic and singing the lines, "You're every song...I sing along...you're everything." I must discuss this with Miss A. tout de suite!

P dot S dot: K, um...I can totally see the resemblance! I mean, look at that profile! They're exactly the same. (The profile, the Manolo Blahniks, the subtle tone-on-tone pinstripe pants, the carefully disheveled hair. Could they BE more alike? I was going to post one of those celb. split-faced photos of the two of them, but I need your help with that one).

The Lot

Realizing it's near summer's end and we haven't managed a single trip up to The Lot with the Rhondeaus, we pow-wowed in the kitchen late Friday night to plan a spur-of-the-moment trip for Saturday evening. The traffic jam up Parley's only momentarily detained us, and O saved the day by busting out "Table Topics," coaxing us through each question.
Mid-marshmallow milkshake at The Polar King in Oakley, and after plenty of odd looks from the locals, (apparently laughing hysterically isn't something them folks do very often) Rich cupped his mouth with his hands and said, "Oh, no! Do you have the keys?!" The typical brother-sister "No!-I-thought-you-were-supposed to..." back-and-forth blame war ensued. But wait! Thank heaven for the Oakley Nagles! (Who laugh often and much, btw). We pulled up to their green house, not more than two blocks away, to find MTN2 and OMN on the grass hunting for grasshoppers amid piles of Hotwheels. Speaking of green, Sara had the green golf and the cabin keys were inside. Defeat. With chagrin, but armed with "Miles and Owen Stories," (after only ten minutes! I'm happy to tell all) we got in the car and discussed options on our way back to Ken's Kash where we had left E, O and Jonny to get "supplies."
In a last-stitch effort, I made a quick call to AEN and then to Sara. A few hairpin turns and a suspicious illegal deer-hunter at-large later, Sara was tossing the beloved cabin keys over a third-story balcony just below the Stein Eriksen Lodge in Deer Valley.
The fresh mountain air and glistening stars at Weber Meadowview were most definitely worth the road rallying. We toasted and roasted, listened to R's "abridged" ghost-stories, played cowboys and Indians (really), took photos in our usual spot (all this betwixt the continued intermittent hilarium) and headed down Weber Canyon exactly on time, (right guys?) We even managed to leave an entry in the cabin journal. For a full Cowboy-Indian montage, visit: MIRABLE DICTU.
Wingapo,
M

Confession

I'm sitting up in my bedroom, with a throbbing migraine, three days in the making. Maybe that's the reason for the tears. No, not really. But I'll blame it on the migraine.
Last night as Chard and I drove up the street I saw a sight I thought I'd never see here on Yale Avenue: the S's signature green suburban, face-forward in the driveway, a U-hall hitched to the back and ready to go. No, T and L aren't moving. R is. R and A. And, as happy as I am to see them off to a new future, I guess the tears don't lie. I'm sad.

Copenhagen

IN EVERY ISSUE OF "ELLE DECOR", THERE IS A FEATURE ARTICLE, "ELLE DECOR GOES TO..." IN THE LATEST ISSUE, (SEP. 2007) ELLE DECOR TAKES US TO DENMARK AND SHOWCASES THE SITES AND SOUNDS OF COPENHAGEN. "A NORDIC NEXUS (and I thought my alliteration was something to be proud of!) OF OLD-WORLD ATMOSPHERE AND CUTTING-EDGE OUTLOOK, DENMARK IS A VERITABLE CAVALCADE OF EARTHLY DELIGHTS." I HAVE COMBED SOME OF MY MOTHER'S PHOTOGRAPHS FROM HER TRIP WITH HER SISTERS AND HAVE LONG-SINCE WANTED TO VISIT THE 17TH-CENTURY CANAL WITH ITS JEWEL-TONE ROW HOUSES THAT JUT STRAIGHT UP INTO THE SKY. ELLE DECOR HAS A STUNNING SHOT OF THE CANALS AT NIGHT, AND THE GLOWING CAFE LIGHTS AND BOAT LANTERNS ARE CHARMING, BUT I WAS THRILLED WHEN I FOUND THIS SHOT ON FLICKR TODAY. INDEED A "VERITABLE CAVALCADE OF EARTHLY DELIGHT!" (I'M GOING TO KEEP LOOKING AT PICTURES OF DENMARK - I'VE ALREADY DECIDED THAT A DENMARK DK GUIDE WILL BE THE NEXT ADDITION MY TRAVEL BOOK COLLECTION - AND I'LL GO LOOK UP THE WORD, "CALVALCADE." HAPPY COLOR!
M.

Summer on Yale

I didn't even know strawberry marshmallows existed! Leave it to Mary Ann. Sure, they were playing games on the lawn for FHE. But strawberry marshmallows?! Come on. We gathered on the grass between our house and the Rhondeau's (heaven forbid we do anything without each other!) and walked to Turner's. We were quickly whisked away to an English garden of Eden: vine-covered arbors, espalier pear trees, and trellises blossoming abundantly, creating a secret place for a reading chair, tip-toed-to along a stone pathway. As if it wasn't picture-perfect enough, Mary Ann and Molly had prepared chocolate, strawberry and coconut marshmallows to be toasted in their outdoor brick oven. And homemade lemonade and coconut cupcakes, just in case the s'mores didn't suffice.
The Yale girls (and Rich) quickly dubbed the round table and we were soon discussing fall plans, the latest reads, and the best and worst of current summer cinema. The adults gathered and spoke of this and that as they scrunched marshmallows onto sticks to poke into the fire. Sometimes people tell me I live on the perfect street. Confession: I do!

Adventures with a flat iron

Well, O, I did it. I bit the bullet and I bought one. And not just any one. I got THE one. Yup. Forked over all my cash. I cracked under the pressure. I should never have gone into gotbeauty.com! It's dangerous territory for folks like the two of us. You should have seen her, O!

I felt more than a bit uneasy without you at my side, your dark curly locks bespeaking of your heir apparent hair status quo. I walked in, my hair pulled back into my signature I'm-not-caring-today do that happens more often than not, not yet ready to open my wallet. Or, so I thought.

Right through the doors, perched on a ladder restocking the shelves full of coconut-infused-shea-butter-moisturizing-honey-suckle-extract-
no-frizz-pump-up-the-volume-brilliant-brunette-make-him-oooh-and-awwe-and-
lose-himself-in-your-locks-shampoo, was Ms. GotBeauty herself, the poster girl for everything lovely. Her OPI-pedicured toenails matched her shade of lipstick, the frosting for her pearly white smile which appeared after the most pleasant of pleasantries were exchanged. She called me "darling." And it wasn't that annoying "darling" where you feel ten years old, either. Nope. It was the "darling" that makes you stare unbelieving back at the person, pointing at yourself, and simultaneously checking your periphery for someone else more "darling" kind of "darling." I was the only sole in the store. A potential one-on-one tutorial on all things "beauty," from Belle herself. I suddenly went from "browser" to "buyer," as I soon voiced that I was in the market for a flat iron. Her silvery-coated eyes sparkled with delight as she hopped back up the ladder and pulled down THE flat iron of all flat irons. Yup. O, you know the one. The three-letter-brand that also put me into the three-digit price range. The same one that sent us out of Trade Secret and into Sally Beauty Supply (or whatever it's called. Heaven knows we'll never be caught dead in that place again. Did that lady even have hair?!) The funny thing: Ms. GotBeauty's hair was pulled off her face and into a messy-ish bun, topped off by a black-and-white polka-dot scarf. So, when she went on and on about how she herself uses this exact iron, it's not like I had living proof right in front of me in the form of her perfectly straightened glossy hair. Except that she looked so absolutely perfect herself that I was 110 percent sure that curly or straight, up or down, chemically treated or not (pretty sure it was chemically treated, though - no one has brunette-based chestnut brown highlights like that) it was an "I'll have what she's having," a "la meme chose, s'il vous plait," moment. If I bought this flat iron, I, too would have a 24" waist-line, creamy skin and lips the shade of "berry kiss." I'd look like an Ann Taylor summer ad in my pedal pushers and black and white polka-dot scarf, red toenails sneaking out my peep-toed wedges, adding just the right punch of color.

I was doing this exact sort of day-dreaming, and imagining the artsy Banana Republic-y guy who'd see my brown tendrils flowing in the wind and start walking my way in his linen slacks and oxford shirt (sleeves rolled up to his forearm, of course) when she said, "So, you'll go with this one then?" "Yes. I'll have what you're having. And throw in a couple of bottles of whatever OPI shade is one your toes, too!" Okay, so I'm not that crazy. But I figured since I was practically buying the store, I might as well get a bottle of OPI, too. I snatched "Dutch Tulips" up on my way to the counter and emptied out my wallet...down to the nickel.
So, with you at the beach, I am now the proud owner of one professional-grade flat iron. I've straightened and stretched (and even tried your curling suggestions) on my own and I'm no where close to you, Miss Hair Idol. The first time I tried to do ringlets, the looked a great deal more like kinklets. So please, O! Hurry home before I appear in public again post-straightener session, losing sight of my Ann Taylor-ed future, or before (heaven help me) I go back to that place and break the bank on Velcro-ed hot rollers!

p.s. Any readers with hair tips, tell ALL!