Can I Keep It?

Fiddy

Yesterday has come and past.  I am well into the second day of my fifty-first year.  That's right.  Yesterday was my fiftieth birthday.  The celebration of making through my fiftieth year on earth.

Yes, I wore my tiara.  Shut up!  If I can't wear it that day, when can I?  Okay, well I do have the tendency to slip in on every now and again to vacuum. 

Hud took me to the Beauty Shop in Cooper Young for lunch. 

We started with some guacamole.  Hud had the pasta special.  A succulent four cheese raviolli with artichoke hearts and spinach.  I know.  Hud.  Requesting artichoke hearts since I forced him at knifepoint to eat one in 1998.

I had the duck cobb salad.  Crispy duck, eggs, and other tasty vegetables served with Green Goddess dressing.  Devine.

The kids were on their best behavior.  Simone even snuggled up on one of the beds in the office with Boudreaux.  She's been cautious with Bou.  He's still a wreckless puppy with a tendency to smash things that land under his feet.  It was a milestone.

Later came Zali's favorite part of the day.  Presents and CAKE!  And my favorite, a lovely bottle of Proseco given to me on Sunday by my friend, Jamie Flowers in honor of my breaking the half century mark.

Simone helped me blow out the candle.  I think it was less of an effort to help than to get to the cake cutting. 

WhyIsThereAllDisStoopitSinging?There'sCAKEOnTheTable,Mommee!

I've always loved birthdays.  To the extent that, as a child, I still thought it was my birthday as long as there was cake left.  My poor parents had to drag out the candles and sing to me every night until it was gone.  And I was stingy with the portions.  I could make a cake drag out for a month.  Easy.

But this one was truly unique.  I feel like I've been celebrating all year. 

Thanks, Hud.  For making me feel so special. 

We'll always have Paris. 

All That Glitters

YUCK!

She looks so precious.  Like she'd eat rainbows and poop butterflies.  But Simone has an addiction.  It's not pretty.

Simone is coprophagic.

Poop.  Simone loves a good Tootsie Poo snack.

YUCK.

We've been struggling with it all week.  Several days ago, I caught her noshing one on the dog bed by Ruby's cage.  Told her she was bad.  Made her spit it out.  She was horrified that she had displeased me.  I thought it was over. She never gets reprimanded.

Yesterday, I'm on the computer and she runs up to me.  Full body wiggle she was so very pleased with herself.  She rubbed against my leg.  I reached down to pet her and that's when I was handed a big blob of cat poop.

YUCK.

What?IDidn'tEatIt,Dammit.IGaveItToYou.Didn'tYouWantIt?

More scolding.  She was pleased because she brought it to me rather than eating it. I guess since i picked it up and took it from her, she thought I wanted it.

YUCK.

So today, I'm at the computer.  Aida's on my lap.  Simone comes into the room and full body waggling, rubs my leg.  I pat her back.  And then it hits me.  I gaze down to see a giant desiccated pretzel of cat feces in her mouth.  She drops it into the tissue I hurriedly retrieve.  Plops her butt on the hardwood.  Beaming.

YUCK!

I think I need a refresher in my dog whispering.

 

Apres et le Fin

I have been lying in bed, two dogs pressed like hot water bottles to my side for the past week.  Watching bad TV and sneezing until I thought my sore throat was completely etched.  Gah.  I'm sorry for the tardy end to this lengthy adventure. (Who knew you could pack so much into three days? And so little into seven?)

Hud needed to have the French national sandwich, the Croque Madame!  So we stopped off for a bite to eat at a little bistro.  As you do. 

I had a beautiful Caprese salad.  They peeled the tomatoes!  Fresh Mozerella! Giant fragrant basil!

Fortified, it was off to pay our respects to Napoleon Bonaparte at the Hotel des Invalides. 

Napoleon's Tomb rests at the base of a rotunda, under the glow of a golden altar.

You enter by way of stairs on the backside of the altar and between two giant statues.

That's my red head on the lower right.  His big toe was the length of my hand. 

Above the doorway is a quote by Napoleon, "I want my ashes to rest on the banks of the Seine, amid the French people that I loved so much."

He rests inside of series of caskets on the bottom floor past the entry to the war hero catacombs where his son lays.

On the walls surrounding him are scenes of him as a Grecian god, enumerating his many conquests.

At the rear of the tomb is a gold encrusted statue of the emperor.

We turned to go back upstairs.

Past the catacombs of war heroes.

We made our way back up the marble stairs.

Out by the altar.

To view the tombs of other notable war heroes of France. Lyautey, Marshall of France who passed in 1934.

And the tomb of Marshall Foch, from the First World War among others.

But the day was getting late and we made the long stroll up under the Eiffel Tower and back to the hotel for a brief nap before going to the Eiffel Tower for New Year's Eve!

BONNE ANNEE!

It was simply the best New Year's Eve of my life.  Thank you, my sweet husband for such a beautiful memory.  I'll treasure it always.

I hope each of you are as blessed as I am.

 

 

Breaking Tradition

Zali may never speak to me again.

Non, eye weel not!  You go to ze Paree witout ze Zali?  Quelle domage! Va tu fait cuire un oeuf! You do not luff your Zali!

We never really go anywhere that does not involve work.  But this year that all changed!

Hud wisked me away to Paris after Christmas to celebrate the New Year!  The first day we arrived late, so we went to a nearby deli recommended by Zahir, the manager at the Etoile Trocadero.  We had a split a tasty ham and cheese crepe and a salad, had a little walk and tumbeld into bed to sleep off the jet lag.  In the morning, we boarded the Metro and headed for Notre Dame on the Ile de la Cite. 

We made our way through the streets slowly.  Hud was taking pictures of everything.  And I do mean everything!

Each and every alley was documented on our journey.  We approached Notre Dame from the rear.  I thought he knew what it was already, but as we turned the corner, I was waiting for him to suck in his breath at its beauty.  I said, "There it is..." And he just stared across the park in front of the cathedral and said, "Where?"  So I turned him to face it. 

His face glowed with wonder. His eyes wide and child-like.  He whispered, "Oh, my..."  We winded our way throught he crowd and entered Notre Dame on the left hand of God as the pilgrims did in the 1100s when it was built in the honor of St. Denis.  St. Denis is the patron saint of Paris and the first bishop of Paris.  Sent to spread Christianity, he held mass in nearby caves and was later martyred.

Several other churches were built on the site , but removed for the emergence of Notre Dame in 1163.  It will be celebrating 850 years in 2013.  And I have to say the old lady is lovely.

They were saying mass as they do five times a day.  Seven on weekends.

 

There is beauty everywhere you turn and Hud was seduced by it.  This frieze surrounding the nave and choir details the days of Christ.

 

All the walls are painted with allegorical scenes, repaired after the revolution destroyed quite a bit of its original glory.

And exqisite sculptures of abound.

 

Not even the ceilings escaped decoration.

Hud asked if this really were Heaven.

And thinking that it might be, as we passed by Mary's alter, I lit a candle for Evelyn and her family.  I turn to the Virgin when I am struggling or in need of aid.  She answers most of my prayers with assistance and hope.

*for Evelyn, in loving memory*

The Christmas decorations are left until the Epiphany, so we got to enjoy those as well.

"But we still haven't seen the best part!" I told an astonished Hud. And we made our way outdoors.

The exterior is covered in scultures and bas relief, telling the woes of saints and the history of the bible.  On the right hand of God, as you exit, just above your head on the door jam is Adam and Eve and the Serpent.  Love the way the tree modestly covers their privates.

And how the half human snake gazes adoringly at Eve.

We made our way past gargoyles and spires.

To my favorite part of the cathedral.

FLYING BUTTRESSES!  I think that deserves a Ta Da! Don't you?

This place is so cool the public toilets in the back are faux bois.  Faux bois toilets, people!

Hungry, we crossed the bridge to get lunch to find it was covered in locks and bits of plastic on which were written the names of lovers who had been to the historic site.

And we vowed to return with a lock of our own.

The restaurant we chose was the A.O.C. They use local fresh ingredients.  The name is a nod to the French form of the FDA.

I'd rarely seen Hud happier.  We had blood sausage salad and warm goat cheese salad to start. 

For mains, the A.O.C. serves French comfort food.  I tried the rich fricassee de rosingnols and Hud had a succulent pork stew.

All of it was divine.  But my favorite was the blood sausage salad.  I think we surprised the waiter with our choices.  Having read Thomas Keller's The French Laundry, I believe in utilizing the entire animal.  If it gave it's life for your sustenance, then you have a responsibility to use all of it.

Lunch was at three, so by the time we got to Sainte Chappelle, the queue was too long to make it in by closing.

Sainte Chappelle is the home of the Crown of Thorns.  But we would have to see it another day.  We strolled on to the Pont Neuf.

And shared a kiss, as is tradition when visiting Paris.

The Seine roiled swiftly below us.  It was a great way to wrap up our day on the Ile de la Cite.

We said adieu to the Pont Neuf Parc and caught the Metro back to the Trocadero.

Okay.  Maybe I did browse for  a few antiques along the way.

I ahm Freench, Dammeet! Eye leek to rahde on planes.  Everyone has a doog.  You could ave taken moi. Je pout maintenant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner is Served

Last Tuesday was our fourteeth anniversary.  It was a joyful day.  The air was lovely and cool.  The sun shone as brightly as it did those many years ago.

We dined at Itta Bena for dinner.  That's the quaint little speak easy on the third floor of BB King's on Beale Street.   Zali and Simone were distraught that we left them at home like they were animals, but we explained that this was our special day.  They accepted it with restraint.  Meaning, of course, they stood in the picture window of the sunroom and pouted as we turned out of the driveway.

The food was as good as the company. 

We sampled the fried avocado stuffed with crabmeat.  The silky warm avocado was a nice surprise against the sweet crab.  A cup of she crab soup appetizer was creamy and stocked with tender bites of shellfish.  We devoured those without thinking of photographing them for... (No, Zali not to torture you with a a later time.  Hush!)...prosperity.  For dinner, we chose the shrimp and grits.  The smoky grilled jumbo shrimp nestled atop a pillow of sweet potato grits were devine.

Hud decided to have his favorite, the duck and waffles.  I know it sounds crazy but the dish is to die for!  A succulent duck leg quarter proudly tops a wild rice waffle drizzled in a heavenly blueberry/hosin reduction. It is showered with a flurry of sweet potato crisps.

This face explains why we didn't get to photograph the appetizers.

I believe that's what is referred to as, "hungry eyes".

 

*Love you with all of my heart, Hud!  Thanks for the fantastic evening. 

And the terrific, magical life.*

Leave Me Hangin'

The good folks over at MIFA invited me to hang my work in their gallery for the next sixty days. And I said, "Thank you, I believe I will." 

 

MIFA (Metropolitan Inter Faith Association) is a fantastic organization that brings all denominations of churches and laypeople together through nine programs that help seniors, teens, children and families in crisis.  Thirty percent of the people they feed with Meals on Wheels are sixty-five and live alone.  The Memphis Food Bank assists families with pantry basics for families in need. MIFA Transit makes over seventy thousand trips shuttling seniors to appoinments.   Eighty-six percent of every dollar goes to directly into MIFA programs.  Annually, sixty thousand Shelby County residents would go homeless and hungry without the care they provide.

In gratitude, I am donating thirty percent of all sales of my paintings to MIFA for all the great work they do.

Thanks, Jonathan and the rest of the MIFA staff and volunteers.  I hope my work can go to work for you.

Voo Don't

After the parade, Hud and I were standing by Tom's truck de-frogging ourselves.  Hud was in a hurry to get some red beans and rice and flung webbed frog paws at my derriere.  The party lasted way past our bedtimes.  But oh! The fun we had.  I even got a chance to dance with the queen.  Then the party spilled over into the Bayou Liberte home.  It was early in the morning when I finally climbed the spiral stairs to bed.

 

You know how anxiety can be so overpowering that it is palpable?  As if it exasperation has a scent?  I awoke the next morning, drenched in the feeling of hopelessness.  Hud had his back to me.  He had torn apart the room.  "What's wrong?" I asked, rubbing the party from my eyes.  He didn't even turn around.  "I lost my ring..." he sighed in a small voice.  I jumped to my feet, assuring him that we would find it.  Since losing forty pounds, his rings have been loose.  All during the tossing of the Moon Pies at krewe, he had been paranoid about them, wishing he had left them back at the house.

Downstairs, Tom was getting breakfast and Charlotte was beginning to stir.  I asked her to keep an eye out for it.  Then I remembered the frog paws.  Charlotte said to get in the car and let's go look for it immediately. 

We drove into town, trying to remain hopeful. But, as we made the corner and headed for the parking lot, the three of us gasped.  A farmer's market was setting up on the very spot where I thought the ring might be.  Surely, someone had seen it and gotten a pretty special Mardi Gras trinket this carnival.

I ran to the gravel beside the place where we had parked and saw...nothing.  The gray of the gravel was like looking at a field of clover.

But the Furry Godmother has many talents.  One of them is finding four leaf clovers.  I can find bouquet of fourteen or fifteen in a single sitting.  I circled the patch of gravel and...there is was!  Face down so the carat diamond wasn't sparkling in the sun.  I snatched it up.  It was perfect!  No car had rolled over it.  No shoe had ground it into the sharp edges of the gravel.  Slipping it around my index finger, I held it in the air to cheers of disbelief. 

The ring is one I had made for our fifth anniversary.  It is a wide platinum band.  The top has a center carat diamond surrounded by sapphire baguettes and triangles of pave diamonds on either side. Inside, I had the jeweler engrave our family motto, Adeunt Etiam Optima.  The best is yet to be.

Voo Doo?  Witchcraft?  Or plain dumb luck.  It's all the magic of Mardi Gras.

 
*The Krewe of Zulu gives out different coconuts every year.  This one, signed Ellis is from 1985.*

*All photographs by Hud Andrews!*

 

 

Krewe of Mona Lisa and Moon Pie

All Hail!  We started off in Old Town Slidell.  Due to the extremely warm weather, the crowds turned out in record number to have Moon Pies pitched at them. 

 

 

There may or may not have been a few beverages consumed during the line up.

 

 
Moon Pie, Moooooon Pie, MOON PIE!  Was ringing in my ears for days...

 

We all paid homage to the egret queen.

 

The flambeaux carried torches on tall metal rods to light our way along the route.  This is Charlotte's husband's lovely daughter, Sherry and her fiance, Jose.

And lord!  Did we have funny feets.

 

We walked one mile through the screaming throng.  It took an hour and a half.  I only wanted to cry once.  Fifty year old men can get testy if you don't throw them a Moon Pie.  For reals.

 

Here's Tom, Charlotte's husband, giving line up directions to Chris, the Blue Herron.  He's the head chef of the Victorian Tea Room right on the parade route.  Chris makes a mean shrimp and grits.

 

And this boy is just clearly nuts.

 

After the parade, the party rocked on until after midnight.  We danced. We ate red beans and rice and king cake.  We lost Hud's ring.  We made friends wih a ghost.  But that's a story for tomorrow.

Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez!

*All photographs by Hud Andrews*

Tigers Love Bacon

My friend Vickie in Gatlinburg, sent this to me this morning.  I DID NOT beleive it in all of its adorableness.

In a zoo in California , a mother tiger gave birth

to a rare set of triplet tiger cubs

Unfortunately,
Due to complications in the pregnancy,

the cubs were born prematurely

and due to their tiny size,

they died shortly after birth.

The mother tiger after recovering from the delivery,

suddenly started to decline in health,

Although physically she was fine.

The veterinarians felt that the loss of her litter

had caused the tigress to fall into a depression.

The doctors decided

that if the tigress could surrogate

another mother's cubs,

perhaps she would improve.

After checking with many other zoos across the country,

the depressing news was that there were no tiger cubs

of the right age to introduce to the mourning mother..

The veterinarians decided to try something

that had never been tried in a zoo environment.

 

Sometimes a mother of one species

will take on the care of a different species.

The only orphans' that could be found quickly,

were a litter of weanling pigs.

The zoo keepers and vets

wrapped the piglets in tiger skin

and placed the babies around the mother tiger...

Would they become cubs or pork chops?

 

I looked it up folks, except for the fact that it is not a zoo in California, but one in Thailand (Sriracha Tiger Zoo in Chonburi, Thailand, near Bangkok)that specializes in raising species thought to be enemies, it is all true.  The tigress was raised by a pig herself.  She considers them to be the same species. 

 

Let's all sing Kumbaya, shall we?

Furry and Terra at The Tower Center

Gentle Readers,

Make no mistake about it: Furry and I love, in this order, each other, our furkids, and wonderful food. Sadly, the Zali Lama and Simone were not able to accompany us as we journeyed recently to The Tower Room, Memphis's newest and tastiest place to have Sunday Brunch. Our new best friend, Wade Hartsfield, has been catering fabulous events for some time and decided that it would be great to use the top floor of Clark Tower as a restaurant, but only on Sunday for brunch.  We visited back in November during their soft opening and were blown completely away by their fantastic food, attentive service, and warm, friendly atmosphere.

And, omg, the view of Memphis from this place is unmatched.

It turns out to be true: We DO live in an oak forest!

Here we are, having a wonderful time, wishing you were here with us.  Our waiter, Michael, was kind enough to take this for us.

But sincee it's not all about us (though it probably really should be), let's talk about the food. There is an individual table for starters, where you will find the grilled and smoked artichokes, which are nothing short of amazing....probably the best thing on this delicious menu. There were also marinated mushrooms and grilled asparagus, and mesclun salad with dried apricots, walnuts, and cranberries. You could make a complete meal and never leave the salad table, but you must resist this temptation.

In the distance, far left, is the waffle-making station.  He made mine with chocolate chips in the batter, covered with strawberries and topped with whipped cream. It was the best I have ever eaten. And your waiter brings it, and your omelet, to your table when it is ready. That won't be happening at The Peabody.

Here is a closeup of the carving station...

where you get your prime rib (truth be told, we went off our no-red-meat high horse and had a small slice....very, very tasty). Hidden under the covers are shrimp and grits, biscuits and gravy, eggs, and sausage patties.They also have a station where a lovely chef makes a perfectly-cooked French omelet, so thin and scrumptious. However, I was busy drooling and forgot to get the shot.

For dessert we had strawberry shortcake with whipped cream, bread pudding with rum sauce, chocolate mousse cake, and carrot cake. It was a feast fit for the Furry Godmother.Wade even took Angela's suggestions at the soft opening and now provides black napkins and fresh silverware with each course. Purr-fect in every way.

We were once huge fans of The Peabody for holiday brunches, but now have seen the light and the realm of possibilites.  The truth be told, we waited until the Sunday after Christmas to have our Christmas Brunch, because they were closed on Christmas Day. People who provide such wonderful fare definitely merit the day off, and we were glad we waited. I have no reservations as I encourage you to call 901-767-8776 for reservations. You owe it to yourself; make your day! Thanks to Furry for letting me hijack her bully pulpit.

Terra