One party down, one to go. Hosted at our house that is. A thought occurred to me: I don't really like parties. We had thirty people in our house, so it was a little crowded. I had intended to take photos but I couldn't get to my camera on my desk. People enjoyed themselves though, and that is what is most important to me. As a host I just want to give my guests a good time but don't really expect to have a good time myself. I love conversation but I'm not good at small talk. Small talk terrifies me and leaves me over-examining my missteps. People ask about me and my family or my job, those typical small talk conversations starters and I answer but always forget to respond, "and you?" There is a pause and the poor person stuck talking with me then launches into her own stories anyway as I mentally kick myself for not actually asking. I'm more interested in peoples' opinions on weighty subjects than I am in how their mother in the nursing home is doing or their dog with a flea allergy is coping. It isn't that I don't care about people and their concerns. If I'm one on one I will remember to ask these things before moving on to some intense philosophical discussion. But having to discus these same things repeatedly with thirty different people, not to mention repeating my own snippets of life is just too exhausting for me.

My solution to this is to get busy with various hostly tasks. I think this is why I like to have the party at my house. At someone else's house it becomes apparent that I don't mingle. I'm likely to get easily overburdened by the small talk and find myself someplace to sit and just watch the goings on. In my own home there is food to put out, put away, put on a plate for somebody. There are drinks to pour, ice to provide and coffee and tea to make. I can wash up a pan or cheerfully mop up somebody's spill. For the first half hour there is answering the door and hanging up coats. At the end of the evening there are the goodbyes, the finding of coats, arranging a bed for the guest who needs to stay overnight. And the best part of all is the next day. With the detritus cleaned up and leftover food in the fridge to graze on all day, it is like the day after Christmas, another of my preferences, a time to curl up on the couch with my book and my cat, drink coffee all day until it is time to open up one of those left over bottles of wine and review with my husband the behaviour of various guests and how things did or did not resemble last years' Christmas party.

It is just after five p.m. now. I hear the fire place crackling and since I've just finished my last coffee it must be time to let that bottle of red wine breathe.

(photos from Flickr are representative of the Greek food that we had at our party)

My Messy Life:Part One of a Never Ending Series


Our garden is still in the upheaval of renovation.

The bird bath needs to be cleared and filled-poor birdies.

The sun is out and it is really bright so some of these photos are certainly reflecting that (a kind to myself way of saying they are overexposed)

Don't do much cleanup in the fall, leave the garden debris for the birds and bugs.





The best garden boots ever-neoprene and soft and warm. These are quite selective photos meant to make the garden look better than it really does. The sun is so beautiful I just had to go outside. And besides, all that sun pouring in the windows shows u all of the dust in the house. Too disheartening. Why oh why and I someone who loves clean and tidy but hates housework. If it were spring I would be outside justifying not doing the housework by all the garden jobs there are to do. I don't have that excuse today, so off I go to clean the house. Bye.

Self Portraits

These are meant to express the different ways one sees oneself at different times.

I have never actually been to Pottery Barn, although there is one about an hour and a half away. I have been browsing the online catalogue and dreaming. Love love love the chair and ottoman and am really into orange these days.

Crazy about green glazed pottery. The console above would be great for my dining room and our bar/island doesn't have any stools yet. Those embroidered bed linens are too busy looking all together but I would love a pillow from that set. I love the fireplace screen and would really like to replace our copper one and our brass tool set. And velvet drapes......

Aahh the dreams of a young girl...okay not so young.

Here She is, the Malibu Barbie of my Childhood

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was seven, and although I don't remember, my belief in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy must have taken a strong hit then too. I vaguely remember that I had more difficulty believing in a magical bunny that I did in magical human-like beings. Unfortunately I believed in Barbie for a much longer period. I should clarify that I believed I would grow up to look like Barbie. This is quite a ridiculous idea really, since I knew that Barbie was not my mother. Still, in those days (back when the dinosaurs still roamed) nobody was thinking about Barbie's unrealistic proportions, and Barbie was all about looking gorgeous. My Barbies flaunted the long, straight, bangless hairstyle of the times, had bell bottom pants and halter tops.

I viewed Barbie's figure as an ideal, but not impossible, adult female figure and saw no reason why I wouldn't grow to look like that too. It never occurred to me to look at my mother for a more realistic view of what my future physical self would more likely resemble. I am astonished to recall that in later years, when I had outgrown playing with Barbies, I was still confidant and arrogant about my expectations. From about the age of thirteen I projected all of my hopes and dreams forward to the age of twenty one. This was the age at which I would achieve perfection. I lacked the ability to see myself beyond that point, but my delusions of beauty remained for several more years before they were shattered.

I had a close relationship with my mum and still do. I spent much time just hanging around her and discussing life, usually in the kitchen but sometimes in her bedroom while she dressed. Although my family did not appear before each other naked, underwear clad parents were a common sight for me. With shame I clearly recall appraising my mother's body and believing that she hadn't done enough to keep her figure. Surely my breasts would never hang, my stomach never pucker, I would know better and remain thin when I was older. If I could go back in time and smack that little me-brat I would. Although I never voiced any of these thoughts. It must be stated with no more delay that my mother has always looked fantastic. I was too stupid to know it then and my critical teenaged brain, simmering in its hormonal stew, didn't have the life experiences to put things into perspective.

While I'm not identical to my mother, and I'm older now that she was in those days I viewed her so critically, I certainly have a body that shows the signs of bearing a child and living a life of forty two years. I weigh more than I should, but at least I am tall enough to carry it off somewhat. I am still critical but aim my judgements at myself now, something I have to work constantly to avoid. I have more than made up for any unkind thoughts I had about my mother, with all of the unkind thoughts I've had about myself. What, if anything, does playing with Barbies contribute to distorted body images and unreal expectations? I don't know. If I'd had a daughter would I have accepted her desire for a Barbie, or worse, those deformed Bratz things? I can only say that I would be inclined to discuss body image with my daughter from an early age, I would introduce her to yoga and being at home in her body whatever it looks like. And I would never, ever let her in my bedroom while I was changing.

Okay, so I got like this cute little dress and I'm at this party and for some reason people kept asking me to refill their drinks. And Omigod my neck still really hurts.

So, I was at this like rockin' party and oh my god the music was so good I just couldn't stop dancing. My best friend was all like," oh my god, what are you gonna wear?" and I'm like, "My LBD of course. Duh" So anyways, I was at this party and I just couldn't stop dancing and I really liked the way my skirt twirled around but I think I did something to my neck. Yah, like it really hurts now. So I don't know if I can dance at the next party. I'm gonna have to be like all sophisticated 'n stuff, cause I'l be all stiff from like dancin so much.