Late afternoon sun
Perfuming a slight warm breeze
Lavender grows here
By Princess Rosebud
Late afternoon sun
Perfuming a slight warm breeze
Lavender grows here
By Princess Rosebud
I’ve always loved paper cocktail umbrellas.
Exotic and topical in vibrant pink and lime green and turquoise and orange, serving no real purpose other than adorning a beverage, but they make everything seem a little more glamorous, a little more special.
Edit: A huge thank you to Sunshine and Celadines sunshineandcelandines.wordpress.com for the use of the word tropical to describe these little twirly parasols; my brain failed me!
When I was a little girl, my mom would always bring home the colorful little parasols whenever she and my dad went out in the evening.
They shaded Barbie from the summer sun or became part of a beach scene in my dollhouse.
I saved them all until the paper tore or the toothpicks broke.
I have fond memories of my first pretend cocktail, the delicious Shirley Temple, adorned with an alluring paper parasol and a maraschino cherry.
Twenty years ago, I was my own wedding coordinator.
I bought a package of five hundred paper cocktail umbrellas that’ll probably last forever.
You can be sure that if you visit Casa de Enchanted Seashells, your cocktail will be embellished with one!
Mermaids and a clown…
Some of my crazy scenes captured by a camera.
I confess that I spent way too much of the day arranging these umbrellas in all kinds of poses for a photo shoot.
WAY too much time but SO much fun.
Mermaid holding parasol
History of the cocktail umbrella:
The cocktail umbrella is believed to have arrived on the bar scene as early as 1932 courtesy of Victor Bergeron of Trader Vic‘s in San Francisco although it is, by Vic’s own admission, a presentation picked up from Don the Beachcomber (now closed). Upon introduction, umbrellas were considered very exotic as were most things from the Pacific Rim. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Update: This poem was recently published in Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Volume 34 #4
So much depends
Title: Sea Change
“Standing on shore, we struggle to understand its fury; Lewis Lapham explores the mystery and power of the sea.”
I discovered the beauty of this poem and yeah, I’m missing that big tugboat guy just a bit.
Not really, but welcome to our living room.
I penned a haiku to celebrate my day of cleaning in preparation for Tugboat Man and Angel Boy later this week:
White shirts softly worn
Teak oak walnut shine
This is what I was doing on Sunday. ALL day.
I took every single item off every single shelf and cleaned each and every one of them.
That included all the pictures on the piano.
In case you’re wondering, not everything was acquired by me–a lot of what I have was given to me by my mom and by my tugboat man from his travels around the world.
And then I put everything back.
It was all very Zen and quiet and lovely.
Finally, I polished the furniture and vacuumed.
I like to work from the top down. Makes sense, doesn’t it?
I’ll save the rug shampooing ’til the end of summer when it’s really hot.
On March 2, 1981
Thirty-two years ago I was sixty pounds heavier than I am today. I lost a lot of that weight on March 23rd when I finally gave birth, but on March 2, I was nesting, adding final touches to the nursery. Back in those days, amniocentesis and tests to determine sex weren’t the norm and I had no scientific proof — but I knew absolutely for sure — I was going to have a boy. I knew it from the very beginning. I had no doubt.
This isn’t my Angel Boy’s birthday tribute; that’ll happen later.
I’m just so very proud of him and all he’s accomplished and it seems like a good day for a couple of poems. Not by me, though.
He got his Ph.D. last year from Yale. His dissertation also was due in March — March is an important month — his diss focuses on Goethe, Stifter, and Benjamin. It incorporates his love for nature and philosophy.
The term ecopoetics has become increasingly important to scholars and poets alike. It is certainly a critical moment for the field and practice.
The conference addressed these topics: What is ecopoetics? What representational strategies and sociopolitical commitments might characterize this practice? How might we periodize ecopoetics and situate its modes of cultural production?
My son was lucky enough to meet Robert Hass at the conference. Hass served as Poet Laureate of the United States from 1995 to 1997. He won the 2007 National Book Award and shared the 2008 Pulitzer Prize for the collection Time and Materials: Poems 1997-2005.
Enjoy a couple poems by Robert Hass…
where the snowmelt will have trickled into Dead Man’s Creek and the
creek spilled into the Stanislaus and the Stanislaus into the San Joaquin
and the San Joaquin into the slow salt marshes of the bay.
That’s not the end of it: the gray jays of the mountains eat larkspur seeds,
which cannot propagate otherwise.
To simulate the process, you have to soak gathered seeds all night in the acids of coffee
and then score them gently with a very sharp knife before you plant them
in the garden.
You might use what was left of the coffee we drank in Lisa’s kitchen
There were orange poppies on the table in a clear glass vase, stained
near the bottom to the color of sunrise;
the unstated theme was the blessedness of gathering and the blessing of
it made you glad for beauty like that, casual and intense, lasting as long
as the poppies last.
The Failure of Buffalo to Levitate
Millard Fillmore died here.
His round body is weighted by marble angels
He lies among the great orators of the Iroquois.
Paint does not arrest the tradebook houses
In their elegant decay. They peel
Like lizards in the dying avenues of elm.
Gentle enough, night drifts
Above the yellow bursts of aspen in the park.
Something innocent and reptilian
Suffers here, cumbrously.
The souls of the wives of robber barons
Are imprisoned in the chandeliers.
My tugboat man and I were gone all day…gym in the morning, and then a trip to downtown San Diego for a pair of shoes for him and what I got is a post for another day…I think this is a lovely and inspiring quote and thought I’d share it! Hope your Friday was spectacular!
- Police Searching for Suspect Connected to Downtown Hotel Robberies (sandiego6.com)
- Panty bandits strike Victoria’s Secret store in San Diego (latimesblogs.latimes.com)
- Is downtown San Diego bikable? (ask.metafilter.com)
- Golden to frozen, California faces epic cold snap (mercurynews.com)
A miracle occurred and at the very last minute, my tugboat man has been released from his assignment and is on the long journey home. Because of the great distance he must travel, it takes two days but he’ll be arriving on Friday, which means another drive to the airport at midnight. It’s an unexpected joy, and in honor of this great occasion, I have written a poem based very loosely on “Twas The Night Before Christmas“. It won’t win any prizes, that’s for sure!
This won’t even take ten minutes. It’s not deep. It’s not profound. Its not life changing to anyone but me. It didn’t make the world a better place. It’s not even the birth of my eight and a half pound giant headed child. Nor was it the down-on-one-knee romantic and thoughtfully planned out marriage proposal from the captain. My offer I couldn’t refuse came recently. It happened a couple of weeks ago right before the captain left to go out to sea on his current assignment. I had been non-stop I LOVE LUCY-ing him, nagging, cajoling–WORKING IT–if you know what I mean, gurrls–for about two years until he capitulated. He told me to go ahead and “get that Chanel handbag you’ve always wanted”. THAT was the offer I couldn’t refuse. And so I did! This should come as no huge surprise to my loyal and patient readers who’ve endured a few posts about my Chanel obsession. Well, here she is, my Grand Shopper Tote in all her glory!
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