Results tagged "London"

HOMEMADE DONUTS.
Need we say more?

Donuts—1st attempt (Also, we love kitchen gadgets)

I know. Who needs a Donut Maker? I mean, one could go through life — several lives, actually and never even once consider how much better things could be if one were to acquire a Donut Maker. Right? Which is exactly why… read more… (don’t stop now!).

Amanda, or Mandy — as I like to call her, and I went to college together.
We went to a women’s college on the Main Line of Philadelphia where we sat on pedestals while hummingbirds bouffanted our hair and talented monkeys ironed our tops… Men were slaves and there was a constant rainbow overhead… And we basked in the never ending sunshine…

When Ry wrote me asking if I’d be interested in guest blogging on For the Birds this week I became totally and completely overzealous and did jumpy claps of excitement. Would I be interested in guest blogging?  Would I?  Would I EVER!  

You see, I am a newbie to all this blogging business.  Before I began my blog in May I used to skulk silently around the interwebs reading other blogs, For the Birds was and is one of my favorites due to Ryan’s ability to tell it like it is and make a seemingly everyday observation interesting, thought provoking, and often hilarious.  I would check in via facebook whenever I saw she had a new post up.  I’d read For the Birds and blogs written by other friends and acquaintances of mine and think to myself, “How do they do it?  How do they find inspiration?  Day after day they come up with something engaging to write about.  I could never do that.  Could I?”.  I still ask myself that question on an almost daily basis.  Does anyone really care what I have to say or am I just shouting my ideas, musings, and thoughts into the echoy cavernous abyss of cyberspace?  For instance how can Ryan make a recap of a Southampton town meeting such a good read?   For me the fact that she had been writing a blog for so many years, and was still managing to keep me, and numerous others,  coming back for more was awe inspiring.  I mean MARTHA reads her blog for crying out loud!  So Ry is sorta my blog hero, she’s kind of a big deal.  So yes, I accepted the invite whole heartedly!

Then  I panicked.  For two reasons, the first being that people actually READ her blog.  My blog is mostly frequented by my Mom and my sisters.  If they don’t comment I harangue and verbally abuse them at family functions.  And I have 5 sisters so that helps hike up my traffic quite a bit.  Sidnote, sister number one, why are you STILL not following me? I am not buying the whole “Your blog won’t let me follow you” bit.  Save it. Just DO IT!  But I digress…Oh, yes, so I was a little unnerved to realize people would actually be reading what I wrote and even more unsettled when I pictured them mumbling to themselves, “Who the hell is this hack and what has she done with Ry?”  And secondly, in the the last week I have hit the proverbial wall.  After 2 mere months of blogging I felt like I had nothing to say.  So I did what anyone would do, I made excuses.  ”I have no time….this week has been insanely busy…I am working non-stop…I’ll get back to it Monday”.  In my defense, my sister was in London on business so I was taking care of my little Terr-bear round the clock.  (Big ups to all the Mothers out there who manage to both parent and blog, I don’t know how you do it).  Add in a freelance wedding makeup gig on Saturday and a birthday party on Sunday and stick a fork in me I was DONE.  As the weekend wore on I started to look towards Monday with apprehension and anxiety.  I HAD to come up with something to write after a weeks silence!  It’s only been two freakin’ months!  Pull it together woman!  Must…find…inspiration.  Write something! Anything!  There were no more excuses, and as Monday loomed closer my angst grew worse.  What will I write?!!  

Then Sunday night I logged onto the computer and there was this little beacon of light, a message from Ry asking me to be a guest bird.  But whatever shall I write I thought?  This week, of all the weeks, when I seem to have lost my mojo, NOW she wants me to guest blog?  So, screw it I thought to myself, I’ll write about the fact that I am freaking out over not having, uhm, anything to actually write about.

Well, will you look at that!  I actually just wrote something. It may not be amazing, but hell at least after six days of nothing I got SOMETHING.  Thanks Ry for the opportunity, for being a pioneer, and for nudging me out of my dry spell.

If you’d like to check out my blog about spending my days with an amazing little man while I figure out what to do with my life please stop by here: http://thebutterflyandthebear.typepad.com

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

But at least I’m not unoriginal.
And I don’t mean that in a finger pointing, “YOU ARE”, tone.

I just mean that while visiting the loo last eve I saw this scene being played out in our son’s bathtub… No, I was not drunk… But as I found myself staring at this for, mind you, a little while, I fell into a rabbit-holesche, Beatles fell into a Dream moment. Transfixed. The universe… right there, being explained to me by four bathtub toys and a drain pull.

Whew. Glad I have that figured out… NEXT!

Is it just me, or have we hit the dog days of summer? It’s suddenly hot — after being wet and unseasonably cool for months and now it’s August? What? And when did July happen? I’m in denial–hot sweaty dehydrated denial.

In other news… 299 tropical bird skins have apparently up and flown away from London’s Natural History Museum… Now – I’m always one for a good art heist (as Scotland Yard beats down my door), but bird carcasses? Really? Apparently that’s what they are — just dead bird bodies with feathers–no eyes or internal stuff…. You can read about it here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk. Can you imagine how this happened? In our world of secured insanity… Someone went into the bird carcass area of the ornithological
collection in Tring, Hertfordshire — picked up 299 dead birds… some more than 3 feet long– and then simply carried them out? There was no gun chase, no bomb scare.. no getaway car… very hush hush and low key…very unbirdlike. Those that cherish these feathers are of course torn to bits over the loss… a catastrophe for the science of bird studies and future generations… Truly a mystery that needs to be solved immediately and authorities are on it… searching high and low, questioning collectors, fashion designers and fly fishing extremists…. but have they considered…