Tip for a Tuesday....

A book recommendation....

I purchased a copy of this newly published book last week to add to my collection of Alexandra Stoddard's books. She is a philosopher of contemporary living, author and interior designer.  I've been reading her books since discovering them as a newlywed.  

I've nearly finished reading this edition and have found it as enlightening and interesting as her previous works.  Alexandra also has a website: 

www.alexandrastoddard.com

I make a point of checking out her site at the beginning of each month to read her "newsletter." 

I highly recommend you do too!

A Monday memory....

Anyone remember these?

I saw a similar photo last week and was surprised by the clear, strong memory it evoked.

I suddenly felt like I was back in a moment in time, standing on my parent's driveway, watching my Dad.  He had a case just like this, filled with keys.  After getting out of the car, my Dad would flip the ignition key back into the case so he could snap it shut. I must have watched him do that a hundred times or more.

After years of being carried in his back pants pocket it would start to look more like this.

We would be grateful to see it eventually wear because it meant we might actually have something we could buy him for Christmas or his birthday.  The man was impossible to buy for!

Funny, isn't it, how the sight of some of the most innocuous everyday items can propel you back to your youth.  And how swiftly that ache of missing someone you love can rise back to the surface.

Friday Fotos....

Saddle up, girls! We're bustin outta here....

       Lickin the flour off the top of Grandad's homemade        bread....

Before cell phones....

Anyone remember the original "Princess Phone"?  This is mine.  I saved up all my babysitting money so I could have my own phone line installed in my bedroom.  I don't recall the initial set up costs, but it was $1.25 a month thereafter.  I spent hours on this phone.  Worth every penny!

This is a "panoramic" photo of our living room, or "lounge" as referred to by the Englishman.   He took this photo using a special app on his IPhone.  It actually does feel as peaceful as it looks when you sit in there.  Which was the goal I had in mind as I decorated it.

Wishing everyone a peaceful, sunny weekend!

Thursday's Thought for the Day....

                                 (This popped up on Facebook, courtesy of "Silent Journey.")

That's what I believe and taught my daughters.  

Each one of us has many gifts.  

We are meant to use those gifts to help others.

That's how we can show our gratitude 

for all we've been blessed with.

Pass it on....

Wednesday's wisdom....

Work with what ya got.....

           


          Anyone else remember these instruments of torture?

Soft curls, falling round your face was the look most young girls sported when I was growing up.  Which was fine, except I hadn't been blessed with curly hair.  Mine was straight as an arrow.  In order to overcome this, my mother spent hours putting pin clips, bobby pins and rollers in my hair.  Then there were the perms.  I can still remember the smell that would permeate the bathroom, the lotion sliding down my neck, the stinging sensation on my scalp.  Sleep was nearly impossible with these bits of metal, sponge or plastic, held tightly in place with netting. And I still ended up with straight hair!

Fast forward to the high school years and thankfully,  fashion dictators made an abrupt turn around and straight hair was the going style.  Phew!  Now the girls with naturally curly hair were the ones having to endure hours with brushes, hair dryers, rollers and irons.  Not curling irons at first - those came later.  Irons - like the ones you use to take the creases out of your shirts.  I had two friends with waist length hair who literally laid their long tresses on the ironing board and ironed it!  Risky, yes.  One was quite successful, the other often arrived at school with a few shortened strands due to bad timing.

Over the years I have sported countless hair styles.  Some were a result of a look I might have seen in a magazine and some were rash decisions in which I told the stylist to "cut it all off."  Recently, perhaps in an attempt to push off my impending thrust into another decade in age, I've been letting my hair grow longer again.

And the other day, I paused, looked in the mirror and thought, "Hey, I remember you."  The face looking back at me felt so familiar.  She actually looked like the young woman I once was. And it was so nice to see her again.  (Though that was probably more a result of not having my glasses on than the length of my hair.)

I'm finding I feel more like "me" when my hair is longer, center part, hanging down to my shoulders.  Or when I pull it all back into a pony tail, a style I often wore in grammar school or dance class.  And whether that is the "in" style at the moment or not doesn't matter.  It's how I feel when I look in the mirror that counts.

I think I 'll keep those glasses off for the time being when looking in the mirror.  Nice to still imagine I look young, though my aching bones tell me I'm not.

Tip for a Tuesday....

Aromatherapy

So it turns out that the hours I spend perusing Pinterest are not in fact completely wasted.

The other day I came across a suggestion that was quite helpful.

In order to create a soothing atmosphere in a room, spray the top of a lightbulb with a favorite scent and then turn the light on.  The heat will cause the scent to subtly fill the room.

I tried it with Molton Brown's Relaxing Yuan Zhi Ambiente - a sample of which I had from a previous stay at a hotel in London.

Heavenly!

This tip worked a real treat - filling the air with just a hint of fragrance.

Easey Peasey.

In the past, I've tried using fragrance oils, but they tend to be messy and leave stains behind.

I find using a scented spray to be easier and cleaner.

Might try some of my perfume next time.

Just to keep things interesting around here....

A Monday memory....

With diploma in hand following my college graduation, I headed back up to Boston in September of '76 in search of a job. Not a career.  A job. I don't think we thought about it in any other terms in those days.

First order of business was to find living accommodations.  My freshman roommate and I found a basement apartment just outside the city, halfway between Boston University and Boston College, off Commonwealth Ave.  That turned out to be the easy part.  A job?  A bit more challenging.  

After a month's searching, I finally landed here.  The center building of the Quincy Marketplace in downtown Boston had just reopened after a major refurbishment.  Up on the second floor was a brand new restaurant and the source of a paycheck - The Proud Popover

  Popovers. 

Appetizer.   Main course.   Dessert.

All served on popovers.

What are popovers, you ask?

Well, according to the blurb written in the menu:

"The Popover is a uniquely American invention, a speciality from the hearths of New England."

(I suspect the Englishman would take issue with that statement.

In reality, a popover is merely a small, round version of Yorkshire pudding.

From the hearths of Yorkshire, England. Not New England.)

It is a batter made up of milk, flour, eggs, and the drippings from a roast pan.

And it is delicious.

Anxious to attract business, the managers were keen to spread the word of the impending grand opening of the restaurant. Bear in mind that this was back in the dark ages, long before social media existed. So how exactly does one spread the word in '76?

Why with pamphlets, of course. 

And how does one put those pamphlets in the hands of potential customers?

Why you send out a recent college graduate dressed as a Colonial girl.

  (My uniform was comprised of a cap, such as the one above, a white peasant blouse, black laced cummerbund, mid length gold skirt, thick black stockings and white apron.) 

Embarrassing? Absolutely.

Did I mention I was in need of a paycheck?

There I was, standing outside the State Street T Station, handing out papers and urging people to come to The Proud Popover.

Business men, in particular, seemed to find it quite amusing.

A few struck up conversations with me. Oh yes, I said, my father was quite proud after having spent thousands of dollars on my education that I was now passing out leaflets.  

Well, not really.

As an added bonus, there was a parade planned to mark the occasion of the Marketplace's reopening.

The managers sent me to that, too.

I was on the evening news.  Shame my parents back in New Jersey couldn't see it, right?

I worked at the restaurant for the next four months as a "hostess" - the person who brings customers to their seats.  Overall, it was an interesting experience.  If nothing else, it certainly motivated me to actively search for another line of work.

But that's a story for another memory.....