PEARLS & AMBER

SUNNY DAY POLKA DOTS

The latest from fashion--

SUNNY DAY POLKA DOTS ARE OUT.

I didn't know that there was a need to actually mention this.   

God knows I never ever wore polka dots on a sunny day.  It would have been too much.  Polka dots, like so much pastel confetti, all over my body, in the, god forbid, glaring sun?  Shouting to the world just how chirpy I was feeling that day?  Or more likely attempting to allow the world in on my personal malaise?  Because why wear cloying and clingy polka dots, if not to be attempting a too subtle form of statement.

Therefore I am completely confidant that no person--man, woman or child--ever emerged from their home, clad in polka dots, on a sunny day.

Polka dots require rainy weather for their raison d'etre.  Polka dots should only be seen in the rain, anyway, the better to diminish their appalling impact on the senses.  And to add levity to the pitiless gloom of rain.

CLOUDS R 4 WATCHING

I've been watching clouds.  That is, cloud watching while doing absolutely nothing else.

Last time I watched clouds doing-absolutely-nothing-else, I was nine years old.  It was a March sky, in Pittsfield, MA, and I lay on the hard winter grass, looking up.  The clouds were racing across my universe.

That was an extended period of time ago.

I am out in the country where my daily life (as opposed to the locals, who are stressed as hell, I'm sure) is so simple, my world is rocked if the cows in the pasture at the corner are not hanging out, chewing grass, and nudging at their calves, when I walk by...which happened yesterday.  I was horrified.  This is farm country after all.  But the cows were back this morning.  I'm too relieved to demand answers.

So, I have rediscovered the importance of watching clouds.  They move across the sky.  They are fabulously beautiful, from airy feathers to black giants.  They are silent, which is perfect for this place, where the sound of a propeller plane flying overhead (three days ago), brought me rushing out to the back deck to see.

There were clouds to see. 

I like the wispy ones.  The ones that look like egrets at a Mardi Gras party, or geese masquerading as sea foam.

PIERCE BROSNAN SINGS

I loved MAMMA MIA, don't misunderstand.  I saw it at the end of a very long week, inhaling a bag of chocolate covered M&Ms, by myself, in a semi-full movie theater, in small town, USA.  I laughed, I cried--

I cringed.  Big time--

When darling Pierce, whom I love in everything, opened his mouth and sang.

Oh god.  Let me tell you, a gasp and twitter flew through the audience.  We had all chosen to hold our heads high and go to Mamma Mia instead of Dark Knight.  That takes guts.  There were even men in the audience...although maybe they were the ones who sniggered, then felt the elbow of their beloved in the closest rib.

Pierce Brosnan has a pleasant voice.  He'd do great at karaoke.  But on the full screen, warbling oh so earnestly those hilarious but wonderful Abba songs...no.  Maybe if he'd had a twinkle in his eye.  Maybe if we could see he was in on the joke--that he is no Harry Belafonte, or even Paul McCartney.

Pierce baby, we know you have guts.  You were Bond.  We know....

Next time you sing, however, laugh a little. 

Trust me. 

TRAFFIC SIGNS R ???

I was reading the Atlantic Monthly, and there was this article offering the opinion that perhaps there are too many traffic signs in the USA today.   That Americans have become so programmed to look for traffic signs telling them what to do, that they...we...while driving, don't think for ourselves anymore.

For instance--the speed limit sign that makes no adjustments for if the weather changes.  There is, of course the ubiquitous "slippery when wet", but that sign isn't waving the alarm if one is on the freeway and it starts raining.

The article suggests that most people should know to slow down, but many are so used to the subliminal reminder that roads are indeed slippery when wet, that they no longer have the smarts to figure this out for themselves.  Hark to the truck driven by a madcap teenager roaring impatiently passed you in the pouring rain.

The article also mentions that we spend so much time looking for the signs, we don't pay proper attention to where we are going.  Like stop signs.  Where are they?  By the side of the road, often buried under trees or amidst other helpful signs like pedestrian crossing'.

How about four-way stops.  Why is ALL the traffic being stopped?  At least one of the roads could be allowed to keep moving.  But perhaps it's because we Americans sometimes just need to be halted, mid-road, to be reminded that there are other people on the road besides us?  I think this must be the answer. 

The reality is the the four-way stop is a game of nerves.  An illustration as to what kind of person you are--wimp, aggressive, the brainy kind who knows what the actual rule is--

I don't wait to see if the person on my right knows she got there before me, and therefore has the "right of way".  Because what if, in turn, the car on her right got there first?  Now what?  And this is assuming either of them actually knows.

And then there is always Sam Goody Shoes who pretends he's just being kind and is willing to wait his turn.  When the truth of it is he doesn't have a clue who is supposed to go first either.

Well, happy as I am for getting to stop at an intersection where there is no good reason for all of us to be sitting there at once, I know who goes first. 

Me.

Why?

Somebody's gotta do it.

 

WATERMELON FOR SEX

This is a large piece of watermelon.  It has just been given a new lease on life due to an unexpected burst of notoriety.

It's just had its five minutes of fame.  And here is the breaking news--

If you eat massive amounts of watermelon, your sex life will improve.  Your sex life will more than improve.  IT WILL SOAR!!! 

That was the news break.

So, have you run out and bought more watermelon, even though there is still that bowl of watermelon chunks sitting in the refrigerator from the week-end?

Well, don't.  Viagra works better, the breaking news went on to say, which is the fastest debunking in journalism since...well, I don't know, frankly. 

But so, such poor sports.  They couldn't let the world run for the watermelon for even one day.

As for women, it didn't specifically mention that watermelon would do anything at all for our sex lives.  Therefore, may I remind one of that old stand by, New Orleans and raw oysters.  So much more fun.  And most interersting to see if your man...er...rises to the occasion...by paying for the trip...which as all women know, goes so very far in making everything okay.

GORGEOUS GEESE

This is an Embden goose.

They are proud and upright geese.  They have snowy white feathers, therefore need plenty of swimming water to keep clean.  They make fabulous mothers, but as they are also excellent foragers, they tend to wander off if one doesn't keep an eye on them.  They are loud, which could be a problem, but as a result, they are also excellent burglar alarms.

This information is from my current new love, the wondrous magazine from England, Country Life.

I was scarfing up this article about geese, as if I might suddenly be inspired to install a gaggle out on the Southern Californian beach in front of my house.  It is an interesting notion.  I'm sure these geese would confound the adult neighbors, delight the neighbor children, and bring new life into the old bones of the neighbor dogs and cats, who haven't seen anything more exciting than a raccoon in a...coon's age.

Ahem.

These are Roman geese.  Roman geese are "sweet chubby little" geese.  I mean, isn't that description to die for?  They look the exact opposite of a hero, but it seems that heroes are exactly what they are because they were the geese who gave the alarm when Rome was attacked by the Gauls.  These geese adore slugs and snails (why don't we see more of these geese out in California, which as all gardeners know, is ruled by the snail/slug quandary).  It says that these geese make a good beginner's goose. 

I'm thinking maybe my new geese could sleep in the garage?  I've made room for my son's carpentry tools.  Surely these tools would be willing to share space with such diverse and adorable creatures.

Finally, these geese are the Steinbacher.  This striking bird (that's what the article said...'striking') comes in three versions--light blue, gray and lavender blue.  Apparently the lavender blue is to die for.  Anyway, the reader is encouraged to not be put off by these geese just because they used to be bred as fighting birds (why do people keep doing this?).  Apparently they actually have a calm temperament, and the fact they aren't shy around humans makes them an ideal pet...unless it's lots of eggs one is after.  These geese produce few eggs, even though, the article hastens to assure, they make excellent sitters and indeed, mothers.

I feel warm and fuzzy all over knowing that there are these geese out there.  I had no idea.  Hitherto, my only awareness of geese was that of geese formations, migrating.  Usually to Canada.

I feel sure these geese expect, and get, a more pampered lifestyle.

Which is as it should be.

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!

I know.  I know.  Warms the cockles of one's heart.

The FOURTH OF JULY.

I still grow misty at the memory of the 4th of July parades in Pittsfield, Massachusetts circa 1958.  To my nine year old eyes they were the best thing after Christmas morning.  The parades always ended with the firemen's muster.

One year, grown up now, and married, I went to the 4th of July parade in Milwaukee, which ended with the Coors Clydesdale team.  They were gorgeous.  Then we rode the train back to life in Chicago...which is an American tradition in itself...life in Chicago, I mean. 

One year, two babies in tow, I went to the 4th of July parade in Dundalk, MD...That day was a nightmare of two unhappy babies, so never mind about the parade in Dundalk-- 

History deserves to be preserved by these celebrations.  I do not disagree.

Anyway, 4th of July is all about parades.

And fireworks.

And barbecue and corn-on-the-cob and strawberry shortcake.

  Unless you live in Paris, where 4th of July is totally ignored, and all good Americans living there bow their heads in quiet relief, only to be brought up short by the mania of Bastille Day.

There was a time when two photographers, Mole and Thomas, made patriotic photos using thousands of men to create their 'living' tableaux.  They were originally made to honor the USA's involvement in WWl.  The one here used thirty thousand men.  From a seventy foot tower erected at Camp Custer in Battle Creek, Michigan, Arthur Mole stood, surveying the scene while his business partner, John D. Thomas, slowly moved the men into formation.

This picture is one of the largest the partners produced, measuring 748 by 580 feet.  Boggles the mind.

I am grateful for my country today.  No complaints today.  The sun is out.  I happen to be in the Midwest where 4th of July will feel very different from Southern California--

And it will feel the very same as well.

The plans include barbecue, and fireworks tonight.  How could they not.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, USA.

 

TELEVISION FOR GROWNUPS?

I read that tragedy has struck.  Really struck this time, not like all those other fluff times.  This time it is real.

In Hollywood, in prime time tv land, the latest statistics are in.

MORE PEOPLE OVER FORTY-FIVE are watching tv now than the old age group of eighteen to thirty year olds.

This spells the end of time.  Because, you see, there is no one in Hollywood, and I mean no one, who is over the age of thirty-nine working in television.

Who is going to write shows for this unfathomable age group.  Where'd they come from anyway?  How come they are suddenly hanging around the house watching prime time tv, instead of out doing something fun, like they used to.

This is all very depressing for the television people, I'm sure.

But, look on the positive side--

This could be an excellent opportunity for personal growth--

And an excellent opportunity in general for all those over fifty who used to write for television, and think they have the stamina to come back and do it all over again.

I'll be watching--