Shabbat Shalom to you, my Jewish prince.
Four nights a week I watch your wit and candor and passion and rage and humor.
Most of the time I agree with you and LOL (laugh out loud) ‘cos you’re so darn funny.
I love most of the skits and sketches and some of the interviews.
To be perfectly honest with you, I fast forward through a lot of interviews (snooze) to get to Your Moment Of Zen.
I’m not writing to boost your ego, get show tickets, or a fake signed picture of you for my bedroom wall (although I wouldn’t turn it down!)
NO, I feel the need to
take pen to paper fire up my MacAir to shake my fist at you, Mr. Lee-boh-vitz!
I take umbrage, sir!
Umbrage I take!
How dare you mock the millions of us who are Etsy creators. HOW DARE YOU!
This is a verbatim quote from The Daily Show, January 23, 2013:
“…it’s all–we get it, you have a glue gun, okay!”
Look at it this way–those of us who are Etsy devotees create beautiful and practical items in a much too harsh and ugly world.
I proudly wield my glue gun and embellish as many things possible with seashells, rocks, and beach glass. From toilets to walls to my front door, there’s a seashell wherever you go. Want a mirror surrounded by seashells? I’ve got several to choose from and I’ll give you a great price, you know, us both being Jewish and all. (Come see me after the show.)
This is a call to arms! Glue gun enthusiasts UNITE! We need to organize and hire a lobbyist and storm the White House and Congress and raise awareness for the plight of the glue gunners. We need some appropriations–we NEED laws protecting our right to bear glue guns.
You really hurt my feelings with your scoffing and derision of Etsy. I think you and I need to sit down and glue a few seashells on a picture frame and you’ll see it from a whole different perspective. Whadddya say?
You could make it all better by inviting me to appear on The Daily Show with my glue gun(s) and a selection of my creative wares–and we’re not talking only gluing here–my tugboat captain husband is an expert in marlinspike seamanship. On long journeys across the oceans he weaves magnificent jewelry and covered bottles and picture frames.
I’m looking at my schedule right now–I’m free just about anytime.
So…I’ll be waiting for your call.
Yours very truly,
Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife
- Happy 50th Birthday, Jon Stewart! (huffingtonpost.com)
I’m still in the throes of harnessing my inner beeyotch (the lady who slammed on her brakes and made a u-turn in front of me got a taste of that new me) but I took a teensy break to ponder the oft-asked question: Why do I love seashells?
1. Just like snowflakes, no two are exactly alike. Some are almost perfect twins, but there’s always an individual characteristic if you look close enough.
2. Unlike a snowflake, they don’t disappear.
5. For me, seashells impart a tangible tactile and visual state of bliss.
6. Shells give birth to episodes of intense creative passions. This is my most recent seashell bouquet; an organic interpretation inspired by a froggy vase acquired at a local thrift shop that helps victims of domestic abuse.
7. Once upon a time, a seashell housed a living creature.
8. Cowry shells were used as currency in China.
9. If you love to collect dust, start collecting seashells! They are a dust magnet, prolly their only negative trait.
Today is super hot and humid but I went to Pilates anyway, and saw a friend of mine who's a nurse and she always has a handful of non-latex gloves or figs from her tree for me and I trade her tomatoes and cucumbers and clary sage seedlings, so it's a win-win for both of us.
I'm really excited about all my clary sage seedlings; I have about 100 of 'em that look very healthy but will have to wait for the weather to cool down to put them in the ground.
- A Seashell Medley - Part 1 (anexerciseindiscipline.com)
Now I’m happy.
Picture me sitting in my seashell encrusted bathroom answering your comments and Tweeting!
This is my fantasy world.
Thank you for allowing me to share it with you.
Well…my tugboat man spent pretty much the entire day surfing. He came home at 2:00 p.m and said he had been trying to catch a wave in to shore for over an hour or he would have been back sooner. RIGHT.
Does he think I just fell off the turnip truck? Do I look stupid? I know that trick–the old “I couldn’t get in so I just had to stay surfing until the sun went down and the tide changed” lie.
I was so mad at him for abandoning me that I had to devise a painful retaliation to convey my displeasure. I decided that we were going to go walking in our little village of Carlsbad and go in and out of EVERY shop. That is absolute torture for my hubs, which meant it was perfect. And since I’ve gotten my Chanel, she hasn’t really had a good outing and begged to come along and see and be seen by all the tourists and locals in our little town.
We went to every single store including one where I bought some beautiful seashells, ‘cos, you know, I just don’t have enough seashells. I made him go into antique stores, sandal shops, shoe stores, clothing stores–up and down State Street and Grand Avenue without a moment to rest. When I felt he had been punished sufficiently, we went home and he installed a shelf that he made for my new shells and my seashell box we created together.
There’s more surf tomorrow, so I’ll be thinking of more ways to make his life miserable.
- In One’s Element (bethabel.com)
- Florence Welch performs at Chanel S/S 2012 show (fclothes.com)
- The Secret of Seashells (reflectivemindsets.wordpress.com)
- Seashell Wallflowers! Display Your Beach Treasures. (beachtreasuresandtreasurebeaches.com)
My tugboat man brought back some treasures and cool marlinspike seamanship projects he worked on while he
abandoned me was away for two months.
What do you think of the captain’s welcome home signs?
This picture frame is huge–2 ft. x 3ft.
This is a close-up view of his masterful work.
My mariner found a float in the harbor and crafted a delicate netting in black.
And then we worked together to make it into a lamp! The base is a piece of driftwood. The captain’s making some fancy knotwork to embellish the shade.
He fashioned a pretty little handmade tray with copper tubing sides and handles and filled it with shells and driftwood!
We had welcome home festive cocktails of cranberry juice and vodka with a fresh cranberry in our antique champagne glasses.
And yummy ginger cookies…
Our Downton Abbey-inspired dinner table.
Now he has a new project–when he’s not surfing– refinishing a rowboat and making it seaworthy.
Such is the life of a tugboat captain’s wife! I’m a happy girl, that’s for sure!
- Merry Christmas 2012 (justrestingup.wordpress.com)
- Holidaze 2012: December 18: Christmas At The Driftwood Inn (stephenkellycreative.wordpress.com)
- 23 Recycled Wood Furnishings – From Driftwood-Designed Furniture to Salvaged Scrap Closets (TrendHunter.com) (trendhunter.com)
- Finally…Christmas Elf (crampedwriting.com)
- Cranberry Swirl Cheesecake with Cranberry Raspberry Compote (goingbackwards.wordpress.com)
I’m going to spend the next couple of days reading and commenting on a crapload of posts piled up in the old inbox–oh yeah, and enjoying the homecoming of my very own tugboat man! Merry Christmas to all and I hope you all get the presents you asked Santa for! Hugs and kisses from SoCal
Today: Sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not. That’s the life of a tugboat captain’s wife. Right now he’s not..
The Wedding: February 21, 1994
The Beginning…This is the love story of me, Princess Rosebud, and the tugboat captain.
We met when I was a year into my deal with myself to stay celibate until I met someone, uh, worthy…
Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010… At 3:40 this afternoon, I was in the threshold of our garage door that leads into the living room where I had dragged in a ladder to help with my latest project–painting the living room walls a divine shade of seafoam green–to stay busy when the captain’s out to sea. I mean, I can’t shop ALL the time. A girl has to take a break now and again, right? I set the ladder down and went back to close the garage door. At that precise moment, the glass vases on the shelves surrounding our fireplace began to vibrate and wobble. Here in SoCal, I’ve endured a handful of quakes, but never such intense shaking.
Through the open garage door I saw the bicycles that hang from the ceiling sway back and forth. As I attempted to process THAT information, the crystal lustres on my grandmother’s antique porcelain candelabras clashed and clinked. Terracotta tile flooring in the foyer seemed to roll back and forth as if I was on a sailboat in San Diego Bay, and I had a difficult time standing.
Feeling dizzy and unbalanced, I grasped the doorway for support. My poor kitty gave me a dirty look like I had interrupted her nap on purpose. So much for the concept that animals can sense an earthquake–not this spoiled little brat.
I ran up our oak-planked steps into the family room and through the patio doors onto the deck and shouted out to the neighbors.
“Look at your pool!”
“I know, this is crazy! Are you OK? Any damage?”
“I don’t think so. A couple seashells fell off the shelf in the family room, but I was so freaked, I didn’t want to stay inside, so I ran out back. I don’t know if we should stay in the house or what we should do!”
“Us either! Let’s see what’s on the news.”
This quake was so violent that it caused the water in their pool to slosh over the sides like a mini-tsunami. We each went back in our respective homes and turned on CNN. We discovered that there had been a 7.2 earthquake in Mexico. The first reports that came in revealed a lot of damage near the epicenter in Mexicali, but no major problems in San Diego; only broken glass and falling cans at grocery stores, which seemed pretty miraculous considering the earthquake’s size.
Still spooked by the shaking and some pretty strong aftershocks, I surveyed the house, removing anything unsecured and potentially dangerous.
This is as good a time as any to confess something.
I’m a shell-aholic.
I’ve got shelves and shelves of seashells in every room–including the bathroom. Everyone collects seashells, right? One here, one there, as a memory of a great beach or a fun vacation, right? Well…I’m a seashell hoarder. I want ALL seashells–there are never enough seashells to collect or buy. I make things out of some of them–picture frames, mirrors, boxes–they line the walls in our two bathrooms and even our front door, but mostly they just hang out–in bowls, on shelves, anywhere and everywhere. There is no empty space in our house, and if there is, it’s quickly filled with a shell–or a rock.
After a couple decades, we have come to an understanding, the captain and I. He thinks I’m crazy and obsessed with shells and rocks and driftwood, and I don’t destroy his surfboards if he doesn’t give me a hard time about it.
I anxiously emailed the captain who’s half a world away in the middle of an ocean. I figured that if anything would cause him to cut his four month assignment short, this might be it. The way that emailing works in deep ocean situations is through a pretty inefficient satellite; sometimes it takes hours to complete the process. If there’s a real emergency, I have a phone number to call, but this didn’t really fit the definition. I wasn’t hurt and the house wasn’t damaged or anything. When he finally read the email and wrote back, he told me to “standby” at the house phone because he would try to make a call from the boat’s sat phone. When he called, I used all my powers of persuasion to convince him to come home, but to no avail. He simply wasn’t going to call the United States Coast Guard to fly a rescue mission a thousand miles from land to bring him home because the kitty and I were scared.
Well, I know where I stand in his list of priorities. Hmmm, I wonder if this is when I hatched my plot to get that Chanel. Hmmm, I wonder.
After that stressful event, and many aftershocks later, some pampering was definitely well deserved. That evening, I drew a bath in the upstairs bathroom we call the spa because it’s decorated in earthy tones with seashells and beach glass surrounding the mirrors and along the walls.
(I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care.)
I lit a fragrant and calming lavender candle, eased my body into the almost too-hot-to-stand-it water, and trickled in ginger and lemongrass aromatherapy oils. Sipping from a glass of merlot, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and my thoughts wandered.
Experiencing an earthquake; the dizziness, the weightless feeling in a tub of warm water; it all reminded me of falling in love. It all felt the same… and it all started with a fifty cent cup of coffee.
Newly divorced in 1990, I speed dated a few guys, including one totally boring and slightly scary man who immediately wanted me to meet his parents after the first (and last) date, along with a couple of total idiots whose combined IQs prolly didn’t equal my Border Collie‘s. Those unsavory experiences became flashing red lights–STOP! NO! THINK!–impossible to ignore–that I seriously needed to take some time off the dating circuit.
It was the perfect time for a list.
I’m an inveterate list maker; I prioritize my errands and even list groceries in the order of where they’re located in the store– like my own custom board game–where I start at the entrance and finish at the cash register.
I wrote this particular list with the hope that if I documented the qualities desired in a significant other, the universe would deliver the right one when all the planets were aligned. Or so I dreamed.
At midnight on August 7th, 1990, with a bottle of wine to seal the deal, I made a promise to myself–I would not date (or do anything else) for a very long time, and the next one would be “the one”.
1. Must call when he says he will. This is non-negotiable.
2. Must show up on time for dates.
3. Must love pets. Also non-negotiable.
4. No cigarettes. No smoking, and of course, no drugs.
5. Likes to exercise, work out, eat healthy, etc.
6. Must have gainful employment.
7. Must be nice and polite and honest and trustworthy.
8. Fidelity is of paramount importance.
9. When the time is right and he meets my son, my son has to like him. Also non-negotiable.
Fast forward to a year later, the following September 1991.
Part Two…Just a cup of coffee, the love story of Princess Rosebud and the tugboat captain
- Where My Ladyz At: Strong Women Campaign – Princess Rosebud (thefurfiles.com)
- The Secret of Seashells (reflectivemindsets.wordpress.com)
- Friday Fun: Seashell Pancake Art! (beachtreasuresandtreasurebeaches.com)
- Free romance anthology + prizes (trsparties.com)
- Seashell Wallflowers! Display Your Beach Treasures. (beachtreasuresandtreasurebeaches.com)
- A New Direction? (chowderheadbazoo.typepad.com)
- Smith’s Minted Rosebud Salve (dailyglow.com)
- Festive Seashell Caroler and Angel Ornaments (beachtreasuresandtreasurebeaches.com)
I don’t know what just happened with my previous publish. Maybe the Elf on a Shelf has infiltrated the offices or computers at WordPress, but it all went haywire, deleted 90% of my Time Capsule post and then re-posted a re-blogged post. Drinks all around! Sorry for the annoyance. Hopefully, this goes right…
The year is drawing to a close. What would you put in a 2012 “Time capsule”?
In 1990, when my son was in elementary school, they created a time capsule and included items like mini-skateboards, sand, Vans shoes, Airheads, Nerds ,Pop Rocks, and a surfing video, “Gleaming the Cube“. The list of favorite songs (girls) included “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips and Madonna’s “Vogue”. The boys liked Bon Jovi and Guns and Roses. His favorite (and most annoying) saying was “talk to the hand”.
If I wanted to communicate with the future (assuming there is one), I don’t have a clue what to pack away. I’m embarrassed by our callous disregard for the environment, our children, and animals. I don’t think that a box of things conveys my personal message to those who inherit the earth, (except of course for the assortment of my favorite seashells.)
My time capsule would be more of a plea or a wish list.
1. By this time, I hope you’ve learned to honor and respect animals.
2. I hope with all my heart that you never abuse or mistreat any living creature.
3. I hope you don’t EAT animals anymore, and that you’ve created another nutritious food source that isn’t based on death.
4. I hope you’ve figured out how to feed and house starving people everywhere.
5. Please look at the news for 2012 and realize that child abuse must be abolished.
6. I wish for every child to know a life of love and nurturing.
7. Take a look at this photo of the Arctic and vow to become global stewards and protect the world, not destroy it.
8. Read a lot of history books. Read the classics. Read a lot. Learn. Think. Care.
9. See the video I’ve included of injured and broken men and women in uniform?
10. Please end war.
- Daily Prompt: Time Capsule (stuphblog.wordpress.com)
- Don’t open until 2062: What items did Walker officials, others drop into 50th anniversary time capsule? (mlive.com)
- Daily Prompt: Time Capsule (musicalfoodielove.wordpress.com)