A few of my favorite pics from our road trip last week:
Pretty pink flowers growing out of the mountain wall at Angel’s Landing
Beautiful bright red bird!
Looking down from the top of Angel’s Landing. Don’t climb this if you have vertigo!!
Surrounded by beauty.
The view from the top while we ate a snack of nuts and apples.
#ZionNationalPark #AngelsLanding #photography #travel #nature #hiking #camping #Utah
We’re packed and ready to leave early Sunday morning on a road trip to Zion National Park.
It’s a place we’ve always wanted to visit — hopefully we’ll get to more than one park –have you seen all the TV commercials about Utah’s Mighty Five?
Utah’s five national parks have it all. See unique soaring spires, towering pinnacles, sandstone canyons, and intricately eroded arches of sculptured stone.
I’d love to camp and hike at Canyonlands National Park and Arches National Park, too, and we’ll be try to include at least a couple days at Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona.
We might stay at a hotel or a lodge for a night, especially since the weather calls for night temps in the 30s and the possibility of rain.
It’s been a while since we’ve gone off the grid; I’m really looking forward to beautiful country and some long, rigorous hikes.
Wearing my Chanel sunglasses to pop a squat in the desert; always fashion forward no matter where I go, that’s the way I roll.
Yay for adventures!
Even in SoCal, fruit trees go through the whole process of dropping leaves in the fall, staying dormant through our mild winter, and spring is the time for budding, flowering, and fruit development.
This is our uber-prolific mulberry tree with fresh new leaves and unique flowers.
As the new leaves develop in mid-spring, tiny male and female flowers hang on separate small, slender, inconspicuous spikes. The male cluster is longer, the female rounder.
It’s been unseasonably warm — almost ninety degrees!! — and I think that’s what is causing an early flowering.
Click on the link for my mulberry jam recipe. https://enchantedseashells.com/2013/06/25/here-we-go-round-the-mulberry-bush-tree/
We love tea.
We can’t do without our afternoon cuppa.
Fragrant spiraling steam from the spout signals to the senses that proper steeping has occurred and it’s time to pour a golden amber or grassy green stream of molten happiness.
Ahhh. That first sip never fails to satisfy — to stop time for a moment and live IN that moment of pure pleasure.
A pot of tea is a wondrous thing.
(It’s so funny; as I re-read what I wrote, I could easily substitute champagne or tequila — also my favorite beverages — for “tea.” LOL)
Ginger, Korean ginseng, Yogi green tea, genmaicha, even fennel seeds (steeped in boiling water and delicious)…and once in a while Twinings or PG Tips .
I never consciously decided to collect teapots, but they seem to be growing and multiplying and spawning others to join our family.
Navigate through these seven teapots; some given as gifts, some found abandoned and dusty in thrift stores and secondhand shops; some purchased fresh and new.
Are you a tea lover? What’s your fave?
A few of my favorite quotes about tea:
Make tea, not war. ~Monty Python
Tea is a divine herb. ~Xu Guangqi
Having picked some tea, he drank it,
Then he sprouted wings,
And flew to a fairy mansion,
To escape the emptiness of the world….
~Chiao Jen
Where there’s tea there’s hope. ~Arthur Wing Pinero
Great love affairs start with champagne and end with tisane. ~Honoré de Balzac
Water is the mother of tea, a teapot its father, and fire the teacher. ~Chinese Proverb
Some of my faves…
Cast iron teapot, great for genmaicha.
Polka dot pot!
Tea for one.
Flowers and lilac; think frilly frocks and high tea. “Pass the scones, my dear.”
A woodland fantasy of pink and green.
From one of my tugboat man’s voyages to Trinindad; only ornamental but spectacularly hand painted and primitive.
A beautiful sculptured teaset for our twentieth wedding anniversary from Angel Boy and DIL. China is the traditional 20th gift. Thank you, guys! We had guests yesterday afternoon and I served tea in these elegant cups. So classy!
I’ll plan a Part Two with pics of my other teapots, the antique ones.
In that order, but it took a whole day to achieve my life’s greatest accomplishment.
In 1981, March 23 fell on a Monday.
This year, my Angel Boy is in New York at a conference at NYU. My BABY boy is not a baby anymore. That’s a hard concept to grasp…
The day before…
I took my dogs, Beowulf and Sabrina, out for an early morning walk.
My mom was going to come over around noon and take me shopping — see, that’s where I get it from!
It was a full week past my due date and those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions were terrifying me on a daily basis. My mom was the head RN of Women’s Surgical at a local hospital. She thought a bit of retail therapy (see what I mean?) would take my mind off of that discomfort.
At that time, my son’s dad and I lived in an older part of San Diego; Hillcrest. The sidewalks were deteriorated with huge cracks and fissures.
With my big belly full of Angel Boy blocking my view, I tripped and fell — not hard — but with sixty extra pounds on my normally one hundred pound frame, I was more than a little ungainly.
I remember being super embarrassed for anyone to watch my feeble attempts to get up. Luckily, no one was out that early. I leaned on Beowulf (one-hundred-pounds of Akita/Husky/Wolf) who stood about thirty inches at his shoulders, and he was a sturdy support to help me up.
I continued walking home — just a few blocks — and didn’t think much about my fall, but I did tell my mom when she picked me up to go to the mall.
She knew everything there was to know about birthin’ babies.
She reminded me that she had told me a zillion times not to go walking alone this late in pregnancy, but I replied like I always did, “Blah, blah, blah…I’m not listening to a word you say.”
We stopped at a lingerie shop and she bought me a beautiful rosebud sprigged shortie nightgown.
As we were leaving the store, I whispered to her, “Mom, I think I wet my pants.”
(Dumb me, who had read every single book ever written about pregnancy and childbirth, didn’t comprehend what had happened.)
My mom instantly went into what we always called her “nursey” mode.
Quizzing me non-stop about any other symptoms in a very calm voice, we cut short our shopping day (darn) and drove home.
I don’t want to be too gross here; let’s just say other things were leaking out of me, too…
Suddenly, those Braxton Hicks contractions became the real thing.
I called my doctor. It was time.
All during my pregnancy, I had planned to deliver at home, au natural, with my mom as midwife.
Toward the end, it became obvious that my Angel Boy was too big for that to be possible.
I hate hospitals.
I didn’t want that atmosphere to be the first memories implanted in my baby’s precious brain. With reluctance, I agreed that his health was more important than my hippie chick desires, and hubs, mom, and I all went to the hospital.
The doc examined me, concluded that the fall had merely torn the amniotic sac and the potential for introducing bacteria was a concern, so I agreed to let him completely puncture it to speed up the process.
And oh yes, speed it up it did. The mild contractions intensified.
Other than the unrelenting pain, which didn’t respond to that stupid Lamaze class training, I remember my son’s dad watching “Patton” on the wall TV in the birthing room.
I will always hate him for that.
After being in labor all night, my mom and the doc had a consultation.
Apparently, my baby had a head the size of Plymouth Rock and it was stuck.
It just wouldn’t come out.
I was so upset I couldn’t stop crying.
I had failed my first test as a mom.
So…at 9:42 a.m. on Monday, March 23, 1981, I had an emergency Caesarean Section.
I was wide awake and watched it all.
In the end, I guess it didn’t really matter how my Angel Boy got here.
He was beautiful and healthy; 8 1/2 pounds and 21 inches. He scored a 9 on the Apgar Scale; a high achiever from the beginning!
Happy 33rd birthday, Professor Angel Boy!
BLOG WARNING: If spiders freak you out, pour your favorite adult beverage and take a sip or two before you continue. Keep refilling as needed.
Last night in the middle of the night; was it a dream or was it real?
I don’t know what sleep state I was in, but I FELT something crawly on my arm.
You know how sometimes dreams can be SO real?
Like when you have to pee but you’re not sure if it’s just a dream or for reals and your subconscious says if you don’t wake up RIGHT NOW YOU ARE GOING TO PEE THE BED and then you’ll remember next time that you should have listened?
No? Just me?
Too much?
Well, this time I dragged myself out of whatever level I was in and woke all the way up and saw that I was holding my left arm with my right hand, which was pretty amazing in its own right, right?
I ever so carefully turned over and flipped on my bedside lamp with my left hand all the while holding firm with my right hand to my left arm. Get the picture?
Can we say awkward?
Slowly, ever so slowly, I cautiously spread apart my fingers — which by now had a major death grip on my left bicep.
OH HELL NO.
YUP, IT WAS A SPIDER.
IT WAS A MOTHERF***ING SPIDER.
BIG AND BLACK WITH EIGHT NASTY HAIRY BLACK LEGS.
http://www.outback-australia-travel-secrets.com It wasn’t this big, but that’s how big it SEEMED.
(Thank goodness it wasn’t a black widow, but I wasn’t thinking about that at that moment.)
ALL HELL WAS BREAKING LOOSE IN MY HEAD.
A SPIDER WAS ON ME.
How did he get there?
What would have happened if I hadn’t awakened?
What if it bit me? OMG.
What do I do? What would YOU do? I didn’t know what to do.
My heart was beating so hard that I thought it was gonna pop out of my ribcage and I simultaneously started swearing and hyperventilating.
I only had two arms and two hands and they were still clenching each other and trying to contain the dinner plate-sized SPIDER from moving anywhere. (It wasn’t that big, but you know, that’s how it FELT.)
I mean, what the hell do you do in that situation?
If I took my hand away, he would continue on his merry way up my arm to who knows where, and if I smashed it ON my arm, I’d have a dead spider with spider juices all over my arm.
Quite the dilemma I was in, don’t you agree?
With my agile toes, I grabbed the tissue box that was on the floor conveniently nearby ‘cos I’d been having allergies and was sniffly.
With my right hand still virtually superglued to my left arm, all those years of ballet training came into play as I plucked a tissue from the box with the toes of my right foot and very gracefully (NOT) brought my toes and my mouth to meet, kind of contorting in a forward fold OVER my arms.
Envision a human quesadilla.
Good to know I’m still as flexible as a twenty-year-old, I noted to myself with pride…
With the tissue secured in my mouth, in the blink of an eye, I lifted my right hand, grabbed the tissue, and scooped up the probably by now brain damaged spider where I believe he’d been paralyzed in terror, ran to the bathroom, threw the spider-filled tissue in the toilet, and flushed.
Bye-bye spider. On to the afterlife for you.
Who could get back to sleep, right? I was traumatized. I grabbed my laptop, Tweeted about the incident and composed a list of things to do the next day, which always calms me down. List making is like that.
Which brings us to retail therapy.
I’m gearing up for a daylong shopping excursion to South Coast Plaza (OMM) and thought it’d be good idea to start with a little local therapy.
I mean you wouldn’t run a full marathon without first trying out a half marathon, right?
After Boot Camp, I hit all of the local spots in an impromptu training sesh – Target, Michaels, World Market, Tuesday Morning, Marshalls — flexing my shopping muscles and getting my groove back.
I was pleased not to have lost my quick reflexes; whipping out the plastic in 2.5 seconds, tying my former record.
A couple of necessities, a tray adorned with roses (how could I resist), pink push up bra, cutest ever flip-flops, not too bad, nothing spectacular, nothing major, even a couple of one dollar books from the library.
No Chanel, no Louby heels, no jewelry…baby steps, baby steps.
It felt good, though…real good — to get back in the saddle.
It really is just like riding a bicycle, you never forget.
And the retail therapy successfully helped to erase the psychological trauma of sleeping with a spider.
Next time, watch out! South Coast Plaza, here I come.
Mexico-Property of Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife
I think we can all agree that it’s important to eat healthy and it’s equally imperative that we become better stewards of our world, especially our oceans.
My Yale prof son asked me to share this interesting and informative Scientific American video and article produced and written by his friend, Patrick Mustain.
Patrick Mustain is a Communications Manager at the Yale Rudd Center for Food Policy and Obesity. He is interested in how environmental factors (built, social, media, economic, etc.) affect health behaviors and outcomes, especially those places where media and public health intersect. You can find more of his work at his website, patrickmustain.com. Follow on Twitter@patrickmustain.
*As you watch the video, look for the wooden bowl used to make a salad. I gave it to my son a while back and it’s now starring in a film! It’s famous!
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Eat Small: Why our Big Fish Problem is leading to big fish problems. (VIDEO)I joined more than forty dedicated angels with San Diego Animal Defense Team and Protest Oceanside Puppy on Saturday in a protest at the Oceanside location of a pet store owned by David Salinas.
Salinas owned a similar business in San Diego called San Diego Puppies before it was forced to close under an ordinance passed by the San Diego City Council earlier this year banning the sale of dogs, cats, and rabbits at retail stores.
Animal rights groups want to end the practice of breeding and selling puppies bred in commercial facilities called “puppy mills.”
Quote from Protest Oceanside Puppy:
The owner of this store is busy churning out Christmas puppies and trying to make a profit off of the backs of the mother dogs. We have pictures of the inspections done at his breeders and it’s horrifying how these puppy mill dogs live their short tormented lives! These mother dogs never leave their cages, stand on wire their entire lives with no fresh air, little or no veterinary care and no socialization. Please help educate the public that THIS IS WRONG. This store owner was already shut down in San Diego! We must stand up against animal abuse!
About a dozen cities in California have adopted ordinances placing restrictions on the sale of animals from commercial breeders, including Chula Vista, Los Angeles, Aliso Viejo, Laguna Beach and Dana Point.
Under the ordinance passed in San Diego on July 9, no store can display, sell, deliver, offer for sale, auction, or give away animal pets in the city. Existing pet stores, including San Diego Puppy, were given up to six months to stop those practices.
Pet stores can (and should) offer adoptions of dogs, cats, and rabbits in partnership with a shelter or rescue groups.
If you’ve ever seen a photos or a video of the living conditions of the breeding dogs and puppies, you’d be as horrified as I was.
I am continually disappointed by the inhumane treatment we inflict upon other living creatures.
Sometimes we have to be assaulted by the ugly truth before we can make a compassionate decision.
SHAME ON CARLSBAD!
My city continues to allow California Pets to sell animals obtained from puppy mills.
Please take a few minutes to email or call your elected officials to let them know that you support any decision to shut down stores that sell factory farmed pets.
How can we, as civilized and caring people, continue to allow this to occur?
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
But…being me, that is, being Princess Rosebud, I had to adorn myself in the appropriate fashion forward outfit to stand on the street holding a protest sign.
As much as I love to defend and protect animals, I also love to dress properly for any and all occasions.
I chose a sparkly Dior Not War t-shirt over Joe’s skinny jeans, brown knee-high boots, a butterfly scarf from Nordstrom, pulling it all together with a lovely gray sweater from Anthropologie.
Since it was sunny, I topped the look off with a lively turquoise straw hat, Chanel sunglasses, and my Chanel Grand Shopper Tote, which was, upon reflection, not the most politically correct handbag to carry that day, but I can’t be perfect all the time…My bad. Ooops.
If you live in North County or you’d like to take a drive up the coast on Saturday, please spend a few hours supporting these amazing and dedicated animal defenders.
For more info: http://sdanimaldefenseteam.blogspot.com
Oceanside Puppy
1906 Oceanside Blvd., east of the 5.
Saturdays 12-3
More pix of the day:
For a brief moment in time, I lived my life’s dream of being an actress.
I had an agent.
I even combined my love for writing with my desire to become the next Oscar winner and wrangled a real live Press Pass from the Theater Arts Guild (which I saved all these years and take out to weep on every so often as just another unrealized dream.)
One time, I interviewed Bob Hope and Connie Francis. By the way, funny as you think he was on stage, he was an absolute JERK behind the scenes. At least that’s what I observed as he demanded that his white Rolls Royce be driven underground at the Sports Arena where he was to appear with Connie Francis in a tribute to the military. There was such a small crowd that a near-panic ensued and busloads of Marines drove in to fill up the seats and save the day.
Anyhoo, I get that I was a nobody with a freshly minted press pass, but I did write for a legitimate publication and he didn’t have to be so rude and dismissive. I wrote an honest, authentic, and genuine piece, not a speck of fluff anywhere. I still have the article somewhere along with my press pass. One day I’ll rummage around in my box of broken dreams and post it.
From tiny on-screen moments on the beach in a bathing suit in Harry- O with David Janssen to my last shoot as a Costa Rican hooker in Deadly Desire with Jack Scalia, it seemed as if I had a calling. I even had a few bit parts with lines, although most of them ended up on the proverbial cutting room floor, so there’s nothing to be found on YouTube to document my star’s brief rise and fall.
Upon reflection, I’m not quite sure why I was typecast as a prostitute? Bimbo in a bikini? Oh well, another fantasy died, thanks to an abundance of wrinkles and hundreds of pockets of cellulite. Time marches on, right?
There was a time I had auditioned for a film that was shooting in San Diego, “Stuntman”, starring the great Peter O’Toole.
Me with Alex Rocco.Photo property of Enchanted Seashells
There I was, once again, a girl in a bikini, on the beach in La Jolla. (Nice abs, if I do say so myself.)
That’s where I met Peter O’Toole. Because we were right on the beach, it was a fairly egalitarian scene. It was fascinating for me to watch actors as they rehearsed their script outdoors — like Steve Railsback who kept going over his lines; “We’re losing the light, Chuck.” “Chuck, we’re losing the light” “We’re losing the damn light, Chuck!”
Photo courtesy of sandiegohistory.org
And then there was Mr. O’Toole as he was called, pretzeling his tall, extremely skinny body onto his special chair, one leg laconically tossed onto the arm as he half-sat, half-reclined — star power all the way — and he raised his voice, knowing that he’d command attention in less than two syllables, ” Where’s my coffee? I want my coffee HOT!” to all of the hovering assistants.
He was so thin that he showed us how he wore layers and layers of clothing — even in the summer — to give his body a little padding. (I heard Frank Sinatra did the same thing.)
I was way too cool to ask for an autograph; I wanted him to think of me as an equal; a fellow “actor”, not as a fawning sycophant.
All of us cute young barely clothed girls had an easy time as desired accessories around the set; we had more access to the celebrities, we watched them play chess or checkers or were even invited to eat lunch with them.
At the time, I thought that I was being singled out for my “specialness” and my acting skills; now I see that there was a darker and more exploitative side to what goes on behind the scenes. Trust me, the casting couch is alive and well in Hollywood.
But for me, it was all innocent, all good, all wholesome. I didn’t get drawn into any of the after-hours partying, didn’t make any bad choices in life or follow a destructive path.
My acting pursuits ended with the birth of the Angel Boy except for an inspiring portrayal of that Costa Rican hooker.
My very last line…”Te gusta, señor?” (“You like, Mister?”)
Act on, Mr. O’Toole. Break a leg. You are remembered and missed.
Or yams? Or pumpkin?
(I did.)
At our house, it’s a meat-free Thanksgiving.
Even though I haven’t eaten any meat or poultry of any kind since 1971, I used to continue to roast a turkey for Thanksgiving for my son and guests up until a few years ago when I learned about the horrors of factory farming.
Now I tell everyone if they want to eat meat, they can do it someplace else. I haven’t lost anyone yet, so I guess the food I do serve is tasty enough to keep ’em coming!
Here’s our Thanksgiving dinner menu:
Challah just out of the oven. Mmmmmm.
Angel Boy and DIL have gone back to their own lives and my tugboat man and I didn’t have many leftovers because we packed them up with the kids — all except for the roasted yams.
I’m a frugal and thrifty gal when I’m not shopping, really I am. Honest. I swear. For reals.
Here’s what I did with them and it was soo easy!
I used my tried and true recipe for banana bread but replaced the bananas with mashed up yams (you could use sweet potatoes or pumpkin too, of course).
Look how moist and yummy it looks along with oatmeal raisin cookies.
So simple; one bowl; you don’t need to bring out the big mixer for this one.
Leftover Sweet Potato (or Yam or Pumpkin) Bread
2 cups flour (I use 1/2 whole wheat)
1 cup sugar (brown and white)
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/4 tsp. salt
Mashed yam/sweet potato, about a cup
2 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2-3 TBS milk (or plain, unflavored yogurt)
1 tsp. vanilla (optional: 1 TBS pure maple syrup)
1/3 chopped nuts (I used walnuts)
Mix oil, eggs, vanilla, milk. Add sugar(s) and mix well.
Add mashed yam and mix well. I use a fork; it’s so easy!
Add flour combined with other dry ingredients and nuts. Mix well.
Turn into a loaf pan and bake at 350 degrees for about fifty minutes until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.
When cool, I make a little glaze with 1/2 cup powdered sugar and 1 TBS orange juice. It adds a nice sheen to the top of the loaf.
Super delicious with an afternoon cuppa. My fave is ginger tea. Enjoy!
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 