Tidbit

Yesterday fragmented.

It was our first perfect autumn day, cool and crisp and sunny.

It was the first day I had felt fully alive in weeks.

And then, suddenly, Tidbit died.

Proverb: A much loved child (or cat) has many names.

We called her Jennyanydots.

And "Jenny".

And "Tidbit".

"Princess Pretty Whiskers".

"Our Girl"

"Fatty"

"Wideload"

"Sweetheart"

and "Sweet Sweet".

She was only five years old yesterday when we lost her.

It had started out to be such a beautiful day.

Jenny had some scratches on her oh so white tummy. She was licking them and had made the area rather bare, and rashy, so I had made an appointment for her at the veterinarian.

It meant getting up earlier than usual. She firmly resisted getting into her carrier, as all right minded cats will, and dove under the bed.

Next we put the carrier in the bathroom, a small space so she couldn't escape us, and gathered her up, apologizing the whole time, and explaining that she really did need to have her tummy looked at, and slipped her into the carrier.

She protested pitifully as I drove. Once we arrived, she was perfectly lady like, and sat quietly as the vet examined her. She had gained two pounds, not a good thing. The scratches were addressed with a cortisone injection. I mentioned that she was grunting slightly as she walked sometimes, but not always though.

The doctor suggested that overweight cats sometimes did that, and that perhaps we could help her exercise more by using a lazer pointer light for her to chase.

Tidbit never saw the point of a lazer pointer light. She was willing to move for a bit for catnip though.

She protested less on the ride home. After exchanging a sniff over with Tiggie and Hart, she settled in for a nap.

I got busy decorating the house for fall. It was the first time it had felt like fall, crisp, cool, "windows open" weather. Tidbit wandered through the efforts, and I remembered how she always looked like autumn to me, especially with the sun on her fur and the sunlight making her ears glow. She had such bat ears as a kitten. Now they seemed rather small for her body.

The purple martins arrived, and the pileated woodpecker. I talked with my mom, and got caught up.

Then I trimmed up some of the garden landscape. The cats all came out for a couple of minutes, and seemed to enjoy the weather as well. I almost took a picture.

It didn't seem like much work, but I was just tired enough that I decided to take a quick snooze before heading out to work. Tidbit was on the bed, and I petted her and listened to her purr for a few minutes, maybe 10 minutes or so.

I left the houses at 4:40, and I arrived a bit late at work. It was a busy night, and my co-librarian taught two classes, so I didn't even take a break. Or check my email until almost nine. When I looked, there were two emails from Bernie, asking me to call him immediately. Tidbit was at the hospital.

When I called him on my cell phone, he was already in the school parking lot. He said we would talk when I got off work. I suspected Tidbit had died, or he would have told me what was happening.

At 9:30 I finished work, and joined him in the parking lot. He said that around seven thirty he had heard an odd meow, and went to investigate. Tidbit was on our bedroom floor, beneath the window, one of her favorite places to nap. She was breathing hard, and was limp and very hot. Hart and Tiggie were nearby watching her.

Bernie tried to reach our vet, but they had just left the day. A recorded message said to call a 24 hour vet office off of 1960, a roadway about 30 minutes from our home. He called, and they said to bring her right in.

This time she didn't protest at all as he eased her once again into her carrier.

She died on the way.

The vet said that cats that die suddenly almost always die of heart failure. They see a lot of cases like ours, being a 24 hour veterinary office. People late at night bringing in their cat, who one moment was chasing a string, or walking across a room, or jumping down from a lap, and then the next moment, suddenly, inexplicably, was dead.

It could be heart worms, or just a heart defect, or in most case, nine out of ten, unknown causes. Her being overweight could have contributed to it, but maybe not. The cortisone injection probably had nothing to do with it. The stress of being taken to the vet that morning might have added to the stress on the heart, but maybe not.

Bernie stayed with Tidbit for a long time. He said he stroked each of her patches, the orange one that looked like a heart, the black one that looked like a bat, the orange and white stripes, and the grey and black stripes, and her long beautiful whiskers. He said he cried over her, and told her again how much we loved her, and that she should go to heaven and find Mac, her protector cat, that loved her as a kitten, he who died, slowly of cancer four years ago. We still miss Mac.

Bernie then drove to meet me. We went back to the vets and picked out an urn, and I had to decide if I wanted to stroke her one more time or just keep the memory of our last cuddle on the bed. It was hard, but I decided to just keep the memory. It was hard to drive away, I wanted to take her with us, and bury her in our garden where it was changing to her colors, and into the season she loved best.

But Texas soil is clay, and saturated now, impossible to dig in more than a few inches. So we had to leave her behind. We'll get her ashes in a few weeks.

What will I remember about Tidbit:

How she looked at me the very first time.
How she purred then.
And how she seemed to smile when I came back, like I promised I would, to pick her up two days later when the animal shelter said I could have her.
How she was so tiny. And how when the very big and gentle Mac came up to give her a welcome, she unleashed a salty kitty hiss that made Mac's eyes grow wide in amazement.

How she played. And how her nose had three bands of color, peach, and grey and black.
The black smudge by her noise, like a beauty mark that appeared in her teenage months.

How she would bunny hop in the morning to greet me.

And how slept with me, the only cat to ever let me hold her like a baby as I slept.

She was like a Beatrix Potter cat, all white lace ruff, and shiny black guard fur, and sweet simple ways. Her calico ways, short tail, stripes and spots and gentle manners. She never seemed to be in a hurry, or plotting capers like other cats.

She just enjoyed the sun, and being with me.

She was the cat I had wanted my whole life. She was the cat I hoped would live to be twenty or more. I never dreamed we would lose her so soon. Too soon.

She was a cat who had a perfect life.

Except that it was much too short.

Woody Woodpeck came a knocking on our tree

Ah, cool weather at last! The sky is clear, and purple martins were whooping it up in the back yard this morning. Probably twenty five of them were flitting around the pine trees.

I called Bernie away from his desk to come listen to the racket the martins were making, and mentioned that I kept hearing a knocking sound.

Bernie, who can see the tiniest lizard and the best camouflaged snake (but not anything needing to be picked up on the floor of the house...) immediately looked up higher in the pine tree and spotted this gorgeous pileated woodpecker having a bug for breakfast.

We always get excited when we see Pileated Woodpeckers because they are rather large, and make an impressive knocking sound as they peck (when we moved here I kept wondering why I was hearing jackhammers in the woods, duh...)
This was the first time we have ever had one visit our own garden. We regularly have redheaded woodpeckers, that look rather patriotic with their bright red, white and black/blue feathers, and are so serious as they quietly go about their peckering business.

We also have ladder back woodpeckers. They are real characters. They raid the bird seed feeder, shaking their heads from side to side in the seed, which serves to scatter the seeds with their bill. They actually dump all the seed that they don't want or like from the feeder.

When they do come across a seed they actually want, they stop the scattering and grab the good stuff (sunflower seeds), and fly away to another perch to enjoy that treat, or punching it away into a crevice.

Those little rascals can take down my bird seed by 25% in about 10 minutes...I wind up tapping on my window and speaking sharply to the loony bird:

"Stop that. Stop that right now!"

They are so goofy looking as they swing their head, I can almost hear them saying to themselves:

"I don't like this, and I don't want that, I don't like this, oh, and I don't like that...ah, here we go, um, yummy sunflower seed!"

They are so amusing, in their little red cap, that in the end I just wind up going out to buy another bag of bird food, making sure it is a brand with plenty of those tasty black sunflower seeds, because, apparently, the way to a birds heart is through it's stomach, and I want to make sure that Mr. Ladderback will keep coming back to my feeder for more.

Mr. Pileated...well, I think he is just going to have to make do with whatever bug is available, 20 feet up the loblolly pine tree. I hope he enjoyed his feast this morning, and will come back.

He's welcome here, anytime!

An Heiress, a Lord, a Scottish Manor

The local paper had this picture bumping into the following headline:

"Heiress and British lord exchange vows"

I thought they were so handsome and pretty dancing together.

So I read the article.

It seems Houston oil heiress Loraine McMurrey wed Lord Adrian Palmer in London last Friday, at Westminister Palace.
They had met two decades ago, when "he was married and she was living the good life as one of Houston's top-tiered jet setters."

When they met again, after his divorce in 2004, sparks flew, and Palmer proclaimed that he had adored McMurrey since first sight.

Her son gave her away in marriage during the formal morning ceremony.
After the ceremony the wedding entourage boarded a train for Scotland where Palmer owns a fabulous Edwardian country house, which is named "Manderston." (Don't miss seeing that last underlined link!)

Lord Palmer, the fourth Baron Palmer was educated at Eton, and is known for being an eccentric.

The entire write up had me in a romance novel haze/jealousy fit for several hours.
I imagined the train ride through the Scottish moors. I pictured the romantic walks up the silver staircase in elegant gowns, and sweet whispered endearments in the gardens.
Designers creating perfectly fitted attired for both of them. Handsome Adrian, and Loraine, her blond hair done up, wearing long white gloves, her chiseled jaw line tilted up in a classic pose.

If I had been that lovely, and an heiress, when I was young, could I have wed a baron? Could I have been the one to sweep into the ballroom with my hand held aloft by such a handsome lord?
I grumbled to myself...my pouchy tummy, saggy chin, total lack of grace on the dance floor...it would take a major overhaul to play in Loraine's league.

Then I re-read the second page.


There, in black and white was LORAINE!

The dancing couple bumping into the headline went with a totally different story, about another fairy tale, the TV show "The Bachelor: Rome."

The blond in the red dress was also from Houston.

But the blond from Houston who scored a Lord and an Edwardian manor house...well, my urge to make myself over screeched to a halt. Re-write the script, alert the wardrobe department, we're featuring a plus size heroine in this romance.

I'll never be an oil heiress, so there's no point in even trying to compete with Loraine. Maybe she is just one heck of a fun gal, and money had nothing to do with the attraction. Besides, who knows what the eccentric Adrian looks like. And what do they mean by eccentric anyway?

I wish them well. I know by publishing this blog I have destroyed any chance of an invitation to any of their parties, on either side of the pond.

Oh well. So be it.

(Update below. Loraine really is quite the gal...likes to go bear hunting!
Thanks to Selwyn for sending the link!)

From the UK Daily Mail:

Biscuit heir weds his rich T
08:26am 13th October 2006

That's T for Texan . . .
Stetsons would not be inappropriate at the Palace of Westminster today when Lord Palmer marries oil-rich Texan millionairess Loraine McMurrey.
After a whirlwind romance, the bride-to-be for 55-year-old Palmer — heir to the defunct Huntley & Palmer biscuit empire — is an artistic divorcee who once dated CNN tycoon Ted Turner.
At 68, she is 13 years older than the groom and will be given away by her 37-year-old son.
The ceremony will be held in front of 100 family and friends in the Palace of Westminster chapel followed by a reception in the Lords.
Curiously for a peer who often joins debates in the Upper House, cross-bencher Lord Palmer has decreed that there are to be ‘no speeches’.
A regular at Ascot and Wimbledon with homes in London and Houston, blonde Loraine — formerly married to eye surgeon Louis — is a favourite of the Texan gossip columns, where she is frequently described as ‘perfectly proportioned for the décolleté outfits she fancies’.
She is an Anglophile who studied Art at Edinburgh University and once took a course at Cambridge on the British Secret Service. She also campaigns for the castration of sex offenders.
When she was swept off her feet by billionaire Turner, Loraine trilled: ‘I’m going bear-hunting with him in June. He really rolled out the red carpet for me, and then some!’
Tempting fate, she added: ‘He did have a couple of dates with Jane Fonda, but that’s over.’
Alas, Turner went on to marry Fonda in 1991, perhaps fortuitously leaving Loraine free to become the second Lady Palmer.
Loraine first met the peer in the 1980s when Adrian Palmer, whose family lost control of its biscuit empire some years ago, was already married. They renewed their acquaintance in March this year.
There is a marked contrast between the financial standing of the bride and groom.
She features in the Texas Big Rich wealth bible. He, on the other hand, struggles to find the £100,000-a-year necessary to maintain his magnificent 119-room country home Manderston in Berwickshire, which was the setting for the 1996 film of Andrew Morton’s book on Princess Diana.
The Queen showed her displeasure by dropping Adrian from the Royal Company of Archers, her official bodyguard in Scotland.
Today’s wedding will be followed by a gala dinner for 200 at Manderston tomorrow night. Palmer’s three children by his first wife Cornelia, whom he divorced two years ago on the grounds of her ‘unreasonable behaviour’, will all be there: Hugo, 25, Edwina, 24 and George, 20.
Says Lord Palmer: ‘It is a private, low-key affair.’
Says my man with the confetti: ‘Adrian is delighted. They are not having a honeymoon: he is taking his new bride to Manderston, where she will experience her first Scottish winter.’

Bell's Palsy update

Fearless. That's me.

They say that the camera doesn't lie, but I never noticed my nose was crooked before.

I do happen to know that the camera elongates and slightly warps the face. In art class we learned how to tell if a portrait was done from real life or a photograph by the slight bowing of the facial features.

It is the right side of my face that is affected. I can smile slightly now, and close my eye. Not automatically though. It takes a strong scrunch to get my eye to close. With each scrunch I can pictures wrinkles being carved into my face.

Scratch that...character lines gracing my face.

I am SO ready for a complete make over. New hair style, new glasses, new makeup, new weight and measurements.

Sometimes I look at the cats and think: Fur covered. THAT's the way to go. It is so unfair that the cats look cute their whole lives, and they never consult a mirror.

Thanks to all of you who sent your encouragement and included me in your prayers.

Keep it up, and hopefully I will soon be able to post a picture with both eyes closed, and another with a full, ear to ear smile.

Dress like a hot librarian, but still think like a geek

Project Runway for librarians:

Librarian hats: Tori Amos rocks!

(Hats! Gloves! Veils! Nylons with polka dots! Yazah! Shazam! What library school did she go to?)

Librarian wear: The chic librarian

Librarian costume: At last!

Librarian Dress: Prim and proper

Librarian Dress #2: The 1940's version
(At that price, most librarian will be priced out. But tell me again, I forget, what IS the Dewey Decimal number for sexy?)

Overseas/Middle East Librarian guy wear: White is the new white
(note the screen presentation)

Vera Wang created glasses entitled: Librarian
(She did the dress too...perfect for wearing while fixing the d*** network cable, again)

Harris County Libraries (my own public library system) had "Dress like a Librarian Day"
(14 pictures...I know some of these folks and I see nothing different than their usual wear. Except a bit cleaner...ohhh, I'm in trouble now!)

Frankly I think pajamas are the perfect Librarian wear. Don't most people prefer to curl up IN BED with a good book?

Millinery: Lilliput

Felt hats after Labor Day, or at least after the first day of Autumn...not going to happen around here.

We got 9.94 inches of rain in 24 hours yesterday, and today it is going to be in the 90's. HOT and steamy, ugh.

I will make do with yet another brown themed straw hat.

This is a hat I got in Toronto Canada a few years back. Bernie had a conference and I could tag along with free air fare and only miss a day of work. He slogged through meetings, and I hit the miles of underground shopping.

My gadabout hat friend Beryl had told me if I ever got to Toronto to BE SURE to go to Lilliput.

(If you want to see Lilliput hats, especially the cocktail hats, without going to Toronto, click here. )

So...I was SURE to do exactly that. It required me figuring out how to catch a bus to get to the shop, but that was fun too.

Lilliput hats are found in most of the higher end Canadian department stores. The real treat is going to the Lilliput millinery shop, where the hats are being made on the premises, right before your very eyes.

The main designer was in the back area when I visited, and she was in a very snippy mood. Oh well, maybe she was having a rough day. She was adding fabulous flowers to a lovely straw wide brim.

In the middle of the store were two young women blocking hats with steam and doing wire and interior band.

The real excitement was seeing all the hat blocks. The entire store was just fascinating, loads of over the top hats, gorgeous trims, and I think (KNOW) I tried on every single hat.

I settled on this hat. I liked the wave that was scrunched into the straw, and the black flower made from torn organdy, and the hat band made from raveled sinamay.

All the trim weighted absolutely nothing, so it is perfect for wearing on any hot day.

The flat top gave the hat a slightly Edwardian flare, different than the style I usually wore at that time. It is a winner, and inspired me to craft crowns with waves and tucks, and working a bit bigger than I used too.

So remember, if you ever go to Toronto, BE SURE to go to Lilliput's!

Here's an added fun toy: A site that has interviews with milliners, from Philip Treacy (he who designs for both the Queen and Oprah) to my own millinery guru Kate Pernia Brown.

The storm continues...

(Imagine all this with thunder, lightning, and 85 degrees heat.)
Our front walkway and porch.
The street in front of the house.
The back yard "dry" stream bed, now wading level.












And I just this moment got a call...the college is closing, so I won't be going to work tonight.

Tornado watch and Tiggie off watch

It is 2 am and I can't sleep. My eye will not stay shut, even plastered tight with saran wrap. Last night I stayed up until 12, and slept until 11:30 on Sunday morning, and now my sleep cycle is all goofed up.

Mostly, though, it is the rain that is keeping me up. Thunder wouldn't bother me. We aren't having any thunder, just noisy windy rain.

A heavy enough down pour that I checked the Weather website.

There's a tornado watch.

We get lots of those. It just means that conditions are such that a tornado would be possible.

A tornado warning means a tornado is actually happening or about to happen.

My "ignorance is bliss" is kaput now. I cheerfully sleep through watches all the time. This time, I'm wide awake.

So I took a picture to share with my dear readers. That's the rain lit up by the spot light outside my office window in the front of the house. There's a small stream running down the street too.

We won't flood, but I am sure there are folks in Houston right now who are loading up stuff to avoid flooding damage.

A crummy way to spend the night for them. By daybreak the local news will fill us in on who is going to be filing insurance claims and needing to figure a different way to get to work around flooded roads.

Some members of the community never have any trouble sleeping.

Any where, any time.




I guess if he can sleep, I should give it another shot. I'll just say a prayer for people to be safe in the storm and head back to bed.

See you in the morning.

Brown hat, brown shoes, and chocolate

It is a tad cooler here, and so I wanted to wear my cute little arrow hat. Except the arrow pointed right at my right eye, the one that isn't quite right, right now at least.

This photo doesn't do it justice. At the top of the arrow there is a green glass leaf, like the gold one that is seen in the picture. There are golden bronze beads covering the arrow, and the dot in the middle of the arrow head actually is a moon stone/opal like glass bit. And there are pearls too.

I got the hat on ebay, primarily because I had just been to an exhibit at the Moody Mansion down in Galveston. This was a few years back. The mansion dates back to the late 1800's, and one of the ladies of the Moody family, Mary Moody Northern, wore hats all the time, and studiously journaled all of her outfits and accessories from about 1890 until around 1950.

The Moody Mansion had an exhibit of her hats. What a collection! I was stunned by one of her honeymoon hats, which was a wire frame, covered with ivory chiffon, lace, silk flowers, feathers, and fur! What DIDN'T get used to decorate that hat????

One of her 1920's hats had an arrow on it. A very popular motif for the late 1920's. You might even recall early Nancy Drew illustrations with arrows on the cloches, stockings, and dresses.

Right after that exhibit I spied this little lovely on ebay. I haven't worn it yet, although I have owned it several years. My hair has grown considerably longer since I got it. A few weeks ago I tried it on with my hair pulled back in a bun, and it looked really smart. So I was just waiting for the weather to cool to a reasonable level, felt hat temperature, to run errands with the arrow jauntily adding energy to the effort.

Too bad it didn't work out for today.

Oh well. My major errand was to buy a new pair of brown shoes at SAS, aka The San Antonio Shoe Factory Store. I knew exactly what pair to get: Simplify, size 9 Narrow.
SAS is the darling brand of the geratric set. Bernie's grandmother swore by them, and my friends (I use the term loosely here...) often will point out my shoes and remark that their mother/grandmother/great aunt etc. have shoes JUST LIKE MINE!

I say: Age + wisdom= Comfortable shoes.

Yes, I realize that is just another way of saying sensible shoes. OK, so I'm sensible. I can live with that.

I already own this style in white, bone, and black. I have a black clog style pair, as well as a pair of black tassel loafer. So you can tell that I really needed brown, right?

Actually, they didn't come in brown. This is actually Antique Wine. But they look brown to me!

I LOVE this shoe style.

They look good with pants and skirts.

They have arch support.

They are HAND sewn, one by one, in San Antonio Texas, and the leather goes under the sole in one piece, so comfortable!

Best of all...they FIT me! My narrow heels have been so trying. Most narrow shoes (when I can get find shoes in a narrow size these days, and in my size nine to boot) are too tight across the front of the foot. I usually am getting a callus on my baby toe and walking out of the heel. Clumsy me, well, you try walking in shoes that are too big!

Shopping at SAS is an old fashioned delight.

When you walk in, you are greeted, and offered a cup of coffee.

They offer to measure your feet with the old fashioned metal foot sizer, while you are seated in a Craftsman style oak rocking chair.

They slip on a "footie" for you, one that covers your whole foot, before they measure you.

They bring the shoe to you, and gently shoe horn your foot into the shoe.

They explain shoe care, how to use shoe creme, and boar bristle brushes, and cedar sock fillers after you take them off.

Best of all, after they ring you up, they give you a small box with two of the most delicious chocolates you could ever want to taste, one chocolate wrapped in silver, and the other in gold.

Shoes that fit, and sweets to eat.

Maybe the SAS really stands for Shoes and Sweets!

Pilati, Paris, and me.

It's Fashion Week in Paris!

Happy am I to get daily updates via our local newspaper, to be read at my leisure in the comfort of my own home.

I'm just not interested in hustling over to France, and scrambling about to find a seat in a tent among the Rich and Fashionable.

Even though I have lost eight pounds, I know would still look unfashionably whalish among those Social X-ray, as the anorexic fashion slaves are called.

Anyway, I have reason to believe that it will not be long until the Fashion Forward will be making a pilgrimage to Texas.

"Why?" you may ask, incredulously.

Let me explain.

Witness, if you please, this delightful outfit created by none other than Stefano Pilati, and inspired by no less than YSL.

Now I just LOVE everything about this combination: The high neckline and full sleeves. So perfect for covering my personal age related trouble spots.

I love the coral red. I love the bi-level skirt, sweetly longer in the back to cover any thigh issues....

I love the cute open toe shoes, and yes, I even love those fish net stockings. It brings back such fond memories of my Junior High School years, and the late 1960's.

But most of all I love the hat.

Now Piati is only about five years behind my own personal millinery fashion forwardness.

Behold my version of Piati's "johnny-come-lately" design.

This was my first felt blocked hat, created while I was in millinery school, in the spring of 2001.

It is made in navy blue, and is a very heavy felt.

I have had the band trim (a navy satin bias drape, with navy velvet flower accents) ready for about a year, but just haven't got around to finishing up that "WIP", aka "work in process".

Now I think I won't bother doing the band trim at all.

I'd much rather concentrate on whipping up a copy of Pilati's design. Only I'll make mine in navy. I've been told the legs are the last to go, so I'll hem my version just a tad longer than his.

And I'll wear my navy version with RED fish nets!















Personal note to Stefano:

Darling, feel free to give me a call anytime you feel you need further millinery inspiration.

I'm here to help.

xxx & oooo

Jill

A storm, three cats, and a bird

Yesterday's "It started to rain" actually was this storm. Hart's whiskers really knew what they were talking about.

We live in Kingwood so you can see what was about to happen... a good gullywasher as they say around here.

There were tornados later in other parts of Houston, but we just got some nice strong breezes.

Since it was really muggy and warm inside, and the storm front was cooler, I decided to cheat the utility company out of air conditioner kilowatt fees. I mean really, air conditioning in October? Enough already!

I opened all our doors and windows and let the cool breezes through, and enjoyed listening to the rain and thunder.
A few hours later I had shut the doors and windows again, and got busy cutting out that dress.

Out of the corner of my one open eye I saw Hart leap about four feet into the air after a dark object.

I put down my scissors and went to investigate.

All three cats were in a circle around this
A Carolina Wren had flow inside some time during the storm!

I started to yell at the cats to get away, while trying to think how I could catch this bird, which was just sitting there looking at me like this was all my fault.

I grabbed a pot (should have grabbed the bird, but was squeamish) and kept yelling at the cats to stay away. As I bent over to put the bird under the pot, the wren flew up at me, just nipping past my ear.

I SCREAMED!

Such a bad idea. Bell's Palsy also affects your hearing. Everything I say sounds like it has been spoken to me through a microphone, slightly amplified.
Screaming sounded like I was screaming into my own ear.

Well, that rattled me but good.

The bird had flown up to the watering can and greenery (fake) above the cabinets in my kitchen. Still giving me this "I am so sick of all of you" look, he/she was now perched in the greenery, and holding perfectly still.

I decided I needed help. Catching a bird using just one eye was unlikely. My brain was clearly pretty wonky too, because I idiotically went to change out of a wrinkly cotton dress and into a clean tee and skirt before heading next door to ask the neighbor's for help.

(Let me also admit here that locking the cats up would have been a far more sensible use of my time. And that our late 20 something neighbors are the tee shirt and jeans type anyway.)

Andrew was out of town, but Barbara and one year old Joseph were available. And, Praise the LORD, they have a koi pond which means they have a fine fish net!

Baby Andrew riding on his mom's hip, and me pushing a stroller to contain said baby once the bird catching commenced, we trooped back into my house. The bird was still with the watering can.

But as soon as we took a closer look, he/she flew the coop (sorry, couldn't resist) and sailed off into the living room towards the mantle. And immediately disappeared.

Now the cats were still circling, and I did try to grab Tiggie. He doesn't do grab. OR catch, or even pick up without putting up a valiant fight.

I tried to herd him into our sun room, but even that was flop. At least he didn't draw my blood this time. He prides himself on drawing blood when challenged.

Barbara kept looking for the bird. I stared long and hard at the mantel, and finally spotted the bird nestled in the little pot with the gold balls surrounded by angels. Praying, no doubt, for this hell to end....

I pointed to the clay pot and Barbara took a closer look, and said she didn't see the bird. I pointed it our again. The bird didn't look real. So still, it looked like an artfully designed Christmas ornament.

While we were trying to figure how to snare it from the pot, the wren flew again, into one of the window panes, and landed on the carpet. All three cats were there in a shot...I was shoving slavering cats on three fronts while Barbara brought down the net on wren.

I slid opened the window, the net was thrust out, and the bird was released back into the semi wilds of my garden.

Whew!

Now a bit about Carolina Wrens: They are quick little birds with bodies about the size of a chicken egg and a perky little bar striped tail that sticks up almost at a 90 degree angle from its body.

And they are loud for being such little birds. Their call is unmistakable, as they shrill "Teakettle, teakettle, teakettle!" in such an urgent voice that to have one sound off from a perch as you go by leaves you with a ringing in your ear. The link to the bird picture includes a clip of the bird song. I hope your computer will let you listen!

I just love Carolina Wrens.

I included a shot of the candle where the bird hid, as it is inscribed with words from the story "Beauty and the Beast". Irony there, don't you think?

Roses, some cats, cherries and rain.

I worked at the library last night. When I went into my office, that is, the office that the adjunct librarians all share, (we with adversions to 40 hour work weeks), I found this rose in a glass vase and a get well card from Carolyn, one of the full time librarians who is so very kind, and helpful, and has a great sense of humor. She has in the past cheered me up in ways she would never imagine. Performing her duties, she is a bench mark of laser perfection in the profession.
Her graciousness was futher demonstrated by the fact that the "Get well" wish was said to be from "all of us" (which I am sure is true....) even though it was she who thought to have the card and the beautiful flower too.

I love coral colors... something she couldn't have known.

It does drain me a bit being in a public setting answer questions with an eye taped shut, drooping mouth and slurred speech.

So having this rose with me on the desk last night was a real "awwww....." deal.

Today, Tuesday it is, Hart was staring at me from the window and mouthing his most whisker rattling meows.

I snapped the picture, and opened the window for him.

He shot inside, zipping past me to the center of the house.

Cats. Who knows what goes on in their little brains?
Tidbit, on the other hand, was her usual low energy self.

Clearly in need of a restorative cup of catnip tea?

I stepped into the garden and took a quick picture of the death defying volunteer cherry tomatoes.

Last June there was a newspaper article about growing tomatoes in Houston, and how they would never produce later than early July.

This bush thought differently about that, and is continuing to put forth two or three or four tomatoes a day.

Just the right amount for a salad ingredient or a quick snack.

As I took the picture it began to rain.

So that's what got Hart all stirred up! It was going to rain, and his weather whiskers sent out a cattish weather warning:

"Alert: All Cats: Get your tail inside, NOW!"

Monday: Odds and ends

I miss blogging regularly. So I'm going to try to get back into the groove, even if it means just writing about the mundane. Or just posting pictures of the mundane.

Like this one, of my breakfast.

Pictured: A nice hot oat bran cereal, the kind I got hooked on in Scotland, and finally found here as Red Mill brand.

I'm currently indulging in red pears. I think they are just extraordinarily beautiful. And they work well in our household: Bernie will only eat them if they are crisp, and I only like them when they are juicy ripe. A marital harmony feature that I imagine is rarely considered during the courtship process.

And coffee with sugar free french vanilla creamer in my Oregon State University mug (Go Beavers!) I usually have perfectly matched dishes and a place mat, but this morning, well, I have just let myself go.

As a means of recapping, I spent Saturday night in a fit of determination: I wanted to get that 5 inch wide mauve satin head band on the mauve straw hat. Using just one eye, I worked about three hours, trying a pleat at three points, adding beads on the pleats, ruching the ribbon, talking nice to the ribbon, speaking sharply to the ribbon...and at last the ribbon went ahead and warped in three places, each about the size of a pencil eraser. So bang goes twenty dollars worth of ribbon.

I now am raising my right hand and solemnly swearing I will never again attempt to use a ribbon for a headband. Or at least until I can go to France and study under some professional millinery expert who adds satin ribbons to all bonnets, using only one eye, regularly.

I will purchase some silk organdy and do a bias band as soon as I am up to making a run down town.
You may be wondering how I am faring otherwise with Bell's Palsy "jacking up my face" as daughter Laura RN put it.

Well, take a peek. This is as good as it gets. I'm holding my face completely expressionless. The slightest of smiles makes the whole thing degenerate into "stampede the horses and make all the dogs growl" awful.

I do like having my brow wrinkle gone.

Sunday afternoon I was coaxed out of my recluse mode by my friend Millie, who offered a good catch up, new grand baby pictures, and tea. How I wished I had thought to bring my camera!

I just hope my words will paint a good enough picture so that you can imagine what I saw:

Millie lives in a beautiful two story home, with two story windows across the back of the living area. The walls are cream, and all the accents are delft ware and dutch blue upholstery. That is fitting, as her husband is of Dutch descent, and still has family in Holland. Their blue point Siamese boy kitty Sam lounges in any place that needs an additional touch of perfection. Sam is a big cat, not the least bit fat, but with shoulders like a rugby player. He probably weighs about 16 pounds.

Millie has already gotten her autumn decorations up (I'm still in sea shell and sandcastle mode around here, I'll post my decorating later when the weather changes, supposedly this coming Thursday) and there were pumpkins and squashes and lovely fall floral arrangements around.

Ice tea was ready, as it was still in the very high 80's, and she had a three tiered hostess tray with butter cookies trimmed with orange and brown jimmies in the first tier, brownies in the second tier, and raisin cookies on the third.

Another tray held green apples slices and brie cheese. Still another tray had circle cut cucumber sandwiches (without the cucumbers, a joke as the cuke had gone soft, and as it turns out her husband actually isn't fond of cucumbers anyway, so we now have a new husband pleasing recipe: cucumber sandwiches sans cucumbers.

Each of us had a ceramic plate shaped three dimensionally as a leaf. Mine was butternut colored, and hers was a brighter orange.

Napkins were orange with small black dots.

How lovely....and today is her birthday. Her husband spilled the beans by showing her the new bird house he was installing in her honor. Also, for the record, her new first grandchild Victoria is beautiful, with a mischievous smile at three months that reminds me of Scarlett O'hara at her flirting best. Victoria should have no problem living up to her name, she already rules her world with just a smile and a bat of her baby blue eyes.

For all you Tiggie fans: He was in his own recluse mode.

Jungle kitty.

Wish there was room in there for me too!

Vintage Lingerie

A couple of Vintage Elegances ago, I picked up an addiction. In a way, it was not unlike my first visit to Fleur de Paris, where I was swept away into a millinery manic/obsession/compulsion state of being from which I have never recovered.

At that VE show, there was a fashion show uncovering (get the pun?) the history of Lingerie from 1840 to 1950.

Oh la la...and wowzer.

I gained a new appreciation of corseting, which was at one time needed to keep females from looking like they were in snow suits, after donning multiple layers of undergarments.

And I was exposed (oh gads, potentially another pun...) to hand sewn peach silk and hand-made lace lingerie from about 1910 to 1940.

What was at the show was out of my price range...or at least what my mind thought was out of my price range. But the addiction had taken hold.

I couldn't get the image of the beautiful pieces out of my mind once I got home.

And like any collecting person knows, the next thing that will dominate a lot of your time is search ebay to find a bit of collecting heaven.

Ebay prices on vintage lingerie are rising. There are several on line vintage lingerie stores as well, with eye popping prices.

What stops me from buying everything I see is the knowledge that I (at 33" waist this morning, and a 43 inch hip, after losing 4lbs so far) am too big to fit most of the lovely stuff.

I would love to buy and give to brides to be, instead of the tawdry nylon stuff that passes for romantic today. When I see a slip with a 34 inch bust or panties with a 24 inch waist, I want to buy, and hope I will be invited to a tasteful bridal event for a mere slip of a bride, who would drool over such elegance and history.

And I promise myself that I will lose weight and sometime soon will be wearing these kinds of items myself.

Photographed is my first purchase, a chemise.

I'll periodically post other items.

Oh, and added fun: since these items were hand made for the very wealthy, frequently they have the former owner's name or initials on the item. My fondest hope would be someday to find something with my own initials.

On something that fits.

As long as there is ebay, and VE, hope springs eternal for my quest.

See & Sew

Yes! It's easy.

Or so the envelope says. I got this fabric a few weeks back and the pattern, thinking I'd make a nice autumn sheath with sleeves. Just one piece in front, two back pieces, a facing and two sleeves. I plan to line it in a black cotton...autumn is still in the 90 degrees outside and humid mode, so the cotton works best for lining when needed.

Layed it all out on the dining table. Realized that the verticle darts means I had better add the two inches extra for my long torso (so long that I was eight and a half months pregnant before people started asking when the baby was due. I had a slim, even taller and longer waisted friend who hid TWINS on the way from her folks, just for fun. Her husband helped, we knew she was expecting, so it was amazing to watch her pull it off!)

Anyway, the pattern and fabric have been on the table since Friday, before the Bell's Palsy kicked in. My energy level has been kaput since then. I keep looking at the lay out , and the mauve hat and then just kind of fizzle out.

On a more positive note, friend Jeane in Colorado showed me her "Time Goes By" dvd while I was visiting there in August, and got me hooked. A BBC production with Judi Dench, it was available at the local library, or at least volumes 1, 3, 6, and 9-13. Since it is difficult for me to read right now, and I'm still awfully clumsy with just one eye open (the other taped closed), I've been spending my evenings hanging out with Jean and Lionel and the gang, admiring all the smart clothes, and wishing someone around here would offer me a cup of tea. Even if I would probably dribble it terribly with the paralysed mouth and all.

I do wonder, how do they keep those shirts so crisp? And do UK guys really wear shirts and ties to meander through the park? I don't remember seeing that when I went to London and Scotland. But on the other hand I do remember seeing the guys in kilts while I was there, and that is enough to still make me smile. At least on one side of my face.

PS to Jillytees: Thanks for the note. I needed that!

Traveling and moving, winking and blinking

It was an interesting weekend.

Laura and my parents flew from San Diego to Phoenix, Arizona and visited with my dad's twin sisters. They are all in their eighties, and I should have hopped a plane to be there for that gathering. One twin lives in Oregon, the other Arizona, and my folks in San Diego so these reunions rarely happen.

Laura video'ed as much as she could. Apparently the hot topic was hearing aids.

From there Laura and my folks headed down to Mexico to see the Copper Canyon by train for a week.

Meanwhile, son Jeff up in Salt Lake moved into his very own town home, as a first time home owner. Congratulations!

And I went to an antique show, church and out for lunch.

At the antique show my eye felt dry, my ear, lips and jaw started tingling.
That night my ear started hurting. I had swam a few days ago and figured it was a little swimmer's ear.

Laura called before they crossed the border into Mexico. Nurse Laura said ear aches usually resolve themselves in 48 hrs. And I should wait until Monday, if isn't better, go see a doctor.

Sunday afternoon my right eye was no longer blinking. My sense of taste was wonkie, everything tasted metalic. A smile was only one side of my mouth.

I'm typing this with a square of saran wrap over my eye to keep my eye moist.

In a few minutes I'll be leaving to go sit in the doctor's office and find out if I am right in thinking that I just got hit with Bell's palsy.

Stay tuned.

Update: The Doctor said Bell's Palsy. And ordered a MRI just in case its a stroke or brain bleed.
I had the MRI "STAT" (when Laura gets back I want to know if "stat" stands for something or if it just sounds like something you should do right away.

I haven't heard back on it yet, this being Tuesday morning, but I think if there was a problem I would have heard.