December 29, 2011
Good Will Wills Good: Random Wishes for 2012
Peace in the Middle East.
Snow in the North East.
Be happy.
Be cool.
Be yourself.
Be.
Live your dream.
Peace. Peace. Peace.
In your heart.
In your home.
In your town.
In your country.
In our world.
December 26, 2011
Wild & Crazy ... Who MOI??
We put the children on the ferry to the mainland this afternoon. So nice to have the family all together on the Vineyard for the holidays. David is headed back to Brooklyn and life in the fast-lane in NYC. Annaclaire can't quite shake the sand out of her shoes and has been invited to spend a few days with a best friend from high school and her family in Flah (how nice the sun will be). More planes, trains and automobiles for that girl.
As David and Annaclaire walked onto the boat, they looked back at us (Ma and Pa Brodnick) and jested with under age-23 authority, "Parrrrrrty time for us!"
Little did they know that we (Ma and Pa Brodnick) said the same exact thing when we thought they weren't looking. You know that Disneyland commercial with the kids bemoaning, "I hope mom and dad aren't too bored in Disneyland. They're probably missing us so-o-o-o much."
Next frame shows the parents on a wild ride at Snow Mountain, arms flailing and hysterically laughing.
That's me and Andrew.
With the children out of the house, it's all sheets to the wind with planned meals of protein/vegetable/starch. Sunset beach walks await us without the lingering worry of "What are we having for dinner?" Turn down the heat to 60 (I like it cold). Turn back the clocks. Turn forward the clocks. Who cares? Turn up the Boz Scaggs. It's a wonderful night for a moon dance, isn't it?
For a brief moment, no one is asking for money, guidance or approval. It's all about us again. Our biggest worry is whether we have cheese, crackers and olives in the house.
"Parrrrrrty time for us!"
(Sorry, kids.)
As David and Annaclaire walked onto the boat, they looked back at us (Ma and Pa Brodnick) and jested with under age-23 authority, "Parrrrrrty time for us!"
Little did they know that we (Ma and Pa Brodnick) said the same exact thing when we thought they weren't looking. You know that Disneyland commercial with the kids bemoaning, "I hope mom and dad aren't too bored in Disneyland. They're probably missing us so-o-o-o much."
Next frame shows the parents on a wild ride at Snow Mountain, arms flailing and hysterically laughing.
That's me and Andrew.
With the children out of the house, it's all sheets to the wind with planned meals of protein/vegetable/starch. Sunset beach walks await us without the lingering worry of "What are we having for dinner?" Turn down the heat to 60 (I like it cold). Turn back the clocks. Turn forward the clocks. Who cares? Turn up the Boz Scaggs. It's a wonderful night for a moon dance, isn't it?
For a brief moment, no one is asking for money, guidance or approval. It's all about us again. Our biggest worry is whether we have cheese, crackers and olives in the house.
"Parrrrrrty time for us!"
(Sorry, kids.)
December 23, 2011
Bacon Soap + Pickle Toothpaste
I am on a personal quest to bring back the dickie. NOT the mock-turtle collar, but the full-fledged fashion statement of the dickie. (Please act surprised when you open my gift.)
Message of this missive? Don't forget to have fun this holiday season. Try not to stress from the shopping and baking and cooking and family stuff. Take a break. Or two. If that pickle toothpaste is beckoning, forget giving it away as a gift. (You know when you picked it up that it had your name written all over it anyway.) Go ahead and brush your teeth. Enjoy the dental sensation of this new epicurean-flavored toothpaste. And as you brush, take a look in the mirror, smile and say, "This is ME time." Take a deep breath (spit first) and feel the mirth in your mouth.
Live a little. Have some fun. Laugh a lot.
December 22, 2011
Edgartown Lighthouse Dressed for the Season
There aren't a ton of activities to do on Martha's Vineyard in the winter, which is precisely why I love it so much here at this time of year. There is a sense of clarity without all of the traffic and summer hub-bub. Parking spaces are suddenly ubiquitous on Main Street and "See you in 2012" signs in shops closed for winter. During the holiday season, there is something evocative about barren beaches and lighthouses donned with wreaths.
A Santa Claus was walking down the street in Vineyard Haven. I did all I could not to blurt out, "I love your boots." (Manolo, maybe?)
The other big excitement for the day was getting elastic at Shirley's Hardware, which is more like a general store. Along with serious tool-y kinds of things, there are aisles of supplies for crafts, home decorating, office supplies, door knobs, widgets, thingamajigs, doodillies, jumblins, faplotonics, jitzywhats, dingopopplers and zingaloops. Lose a button? check aisle 4. Snap ... she's got just about everything but the kitchen sink. (Actually, check the end of aisle 6. A little further up. Look to the left. Down more. See it?)
Last night we were blasted with a rainstorm that sounded like the side of the house was being pelletted by rocks. Tonight all is quiet mid-Island. The heat just blew on and the grandmother clock chimed midnight. It is time to call it a day.
Or is the phrase, "It's time to call it a night"?
Another reason why I love Martha's Vineyard off-season. It gives one space for reflection.
A Santa Claus was walking down the street in Vineyard Haven. I did all I could not to blurt out, "I love your boots." (Manolo, maybe?)
The other big excitement for the day was getting elastic at Shirley's Hardware, which is more like a general store. Along with serious tool-y kinds of things, there are aisles of supplies for crafts, home decorating, office supplies, door knobs, widgets, thingamajigs, doodillies, jumblins, faplotonics, jitzywhats, dingopopplers and zingaloops. Lose a button? check aisle 4. Snap ... she's got just about everything but the kitchen sink. (Actually, check the end of aisle 6. A little further up. Look to the left. Down more. See it?)
Last night we were blasted with a rainstorm that sounded like the side of the house was being pelletted by rocks. Tonight all is quiet mid-Island. The heat just blew on and the grandmother clock chimed midnight. It is time to call it a day.
Or is the phrase, "It's time to call it a night"?
Another reason why I love Martha's Vineyard off-season. It gives one space for reflection.
December 21, 2011
Distractions + Twilight Zones on I-95
Annie is home from her semester abroad in Florence. It's great to have her back in the nest, and I really looked forward to sacred drive time to the Cape for Christmas since we hadn't been together since the fall. Any parent will attest: talking with your kids while driving can bring forth delectable conversations that would never be obtained sitting face-to-face. Cheek-to-cheek brings out the best in us.
Once the car was packed up, we headed towards the highway. As we drove north on I-95 and over the Sikorsky Bridge in Stratford, Connecticut, I mentioned that once her brother and I were driving up to the Cape and got so entrenched in conversation that I forgot to bear right on 95 towards New Haven, and instead followed the road left and ended up in Hartford, which is too far west.
"I couldn't believe it," I told Annie. "We were so into our discussion that I hadn't noticed we were going in the wrong direction. Can you imagine??"
Well, no need to imagine. The state of Highway Twilight Zone seems to have happened in just about the same spot ... without my realizing it until I was practically home. Annie and I were talking about Florence, painting, pasta, the Renaissance, leather stalls in the market place, shoes, traveling, adventure, and about 30 minutes (okay, an hour) later, I noticed signs that read "SOUTH." In our state of intense mother/daughter blah-blah, I gave a flash thought to the fact that the last few signs must have meant if you turn off the highway at the next exit you'll be going south.
"So what were you saying about those Italian boys in Sicily?" I asked as Annie continued to recap her past several months in Italy.
As she talked deliciously on and on about new life revelations and being away from home, I continued driving and driving in the direction that I thought was north. We were making excellent time. Stopped at McDonald's to get a snack, got back onto the highway and continued driving and talking, driving and talking.
"Hey, we're making great time to get onto the ferry," I said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign for Fairfield. "Oh, there must be a Fairfield, Rhode Island, too," I thought.
Twenty minutes later I saw a sign for Sherwood Island.
"Wow, who ever knew there was a Sherwood Island in Massachusetts," I thought.
SHERWOOD ISLAND? That's about 30 minutes from my house in Westchester. But I had been driving for over an hour.
"Annie, I think I made a wrong turn," I admitted sheepishly. "You know where it said to take the second right off of the Merritt to get onto 95 NORTH to New Haven?"
"I thought that McDonald's looked a little familiar," she said. "I mean they all do, but that one looked like I stopped there once with friends from Westport."
"Oh, don't be silly," I said with feigned nonchalance. My eyebrows raised innocently as I cleared my throat and focused on the road.
"Wait, Mom, don't tell me," she said. "You mean we've been driving for an hour in the wrong direction?"
"I was distracted talking to you," I said. "I think the mistake happened when I took the first right SOUTH to New York City instead of the second right north to New Haven. We made a loop."
"I was wondering why things that were on my right an hour ago were now on my left," she said.
It was an hilarious moment when we realized we were literally treading highway and making absolutely no headway whatsoever.
"Don't tell Daddy," I chastened.
"Mom, it doesn't matter," my darling daughter said. "So we added an hour of extra driving onto the trip. What's the rush?"
Living abroad had opened up her sense of adventure, even if this one was driving back and forth on the same length of highway for 60 minutes.
"What's that phrase? 'It's not the destination, it's the journey,'" she said. So very wise, my daughter.
"It's like we were in a Bermuda Triangle," I said as I tapped the odometer to make sure it hadn't been ruined by some bizarre magnetic force.
In full and renewed command of the wheel, I turned off at the next exit and re-entered the highway in the opposite direction. This time, the right direction.
"I can see how you confused 'north' and 'south,'" my daughter said encouragingly. "They both have 'o's' and 'th's' in them, and the signs are the same colors."
As it was, we missed the 3:45 p.m. ferry departure on the Cape, but in some other parallel universe, my daughter and I were grateful that we were able to sock in an additional hour of great conversation.
# # #
Once the car was packed up, we headed towards the highway. As we drove north on I-95 and over the Sikorsky Bridge in Stratford, Connecticut, I mentioned that once her brother and I were driving up to the Cape and got so entrenched in conversation that I forgot to bear right on 95 towards New Haven, and instead followed the road left and ended up in Hartford, which is too far west.
"I couldn't believe it," I told Annie. "We were so into our discussion that I hadn't noticed we were going in the wrong direction. Can you imagine??"
Well, no need to imagine. The state of Highway Twilight Zone seems to have happened in just about the same spot ... without my realizing it until I was practically home. Annie and I were talking about Florence, painting, pasta, the Renaissance, leather stalls in the market place, shoes, traveling, adventure, and about 30 minutes (okay, an hour) later, I noticed signs that read "SOUTH." In our state of intense mother/daughter blah-blah, I gave a flash thought to the fact that the last few signs must have meant if you turn off the highway at the next exit you'll be going south.
"So what were you saying about those Italian boys in Sicily?" I asked as Annie continued to recap her past several months in Italy.
As she talked deliciously on and on about new life revelations and being away from home, I continued driving and driving in the direction that I thought was north. We were making excellent time. Stopped at McDonald's to get a snack, got back onto the highway and continued driving and talking, driving and talking.
"Hey, we're making great time to get onto the ferry," I said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign for Fairfield. "Oh, there must be a Fairfield, Rhode Island, too," I thought.
Twenty minutes later I saw a sign for Sherwood Island.
"Wow, who ever knew there was a Sherwood Island in Massachusetts," I thought.
SHERWOOD ISLAND? That's about 30 minutes from my house in Westchester. But I had been driving for over an hour.
"Annie, I think I made a wrong turn," I admitted sheepishly. "You know where it said to take the second right off of the Merritt to get onto 95 NORTH to New Haven?"
"I thought that McDonald's looked a little familiar," she said. "I mean they all do, but that one looked like I stopped there once with friends from Westport."
"Oh, don't be silly," I said with feigned nonchalance. My eyebrows raised innocently as I cleared my throat and focused on the road.
"Wait, Mom, don't tell me," she said. "You mean we've been driving for an hour in the wrong direction?"
"I was distracted talking to you," I said. "I think the mistake happened when I took the first right SOUTH to New York City instead of the second right north to New Haven. We made a loop."
"I was wondering why things that were on my right an hour ago were now on my left," she said.
It was an hilarious moment when we realized we were literally treading highway and making absolutely no headway whatsoever.
"Don't tell Daddy," I chastened.
"Mom, it doesn't matter," my darling daughter said. "So we added an hour of extra driving onto the trip. What's the rush?"
Living abroad had opened up her sense of adventure, even if this one was driving back and forth on the same length of highway for 60 minutes.
"What's that phrase? 'It's not the destination, it's the journey,'" she said. So very wise, my daughter.
"It's like we were in a Bermuda Triangle," I said as I tapped the odometer to make sure it hadn't been ruined by some bizarre magnetic force.
In full and renewed command of the wheel, I turned off at the next exit and re-entered the highway in the opposite direction. This time, the right direction.
"I can see how you confused 'north' and 'south,'" my daughter said encouragingly. "They both have 'o's' and 'th's' in them, and the signs are the same colors."
As it was, we missed the 3:45 p.m. ferry departure on the Cape, but in some other parallel universe, my daughter and I were grateful that we were able to sock in an additional hour of great conversation.
# # #
December 20, 2011
THE POUND RIDGE DAILY: Local Writer Chronicles Pound Ridge History
... And now, a word from The Pound Ridge Daily:
December 16, 2011
Stop the Clatter. Pass the Platter.
Okay, peops. So many have written in asking if I made those perfect little pigs in a blanket in the photo below.
I'm not telling.
I'm not telling.
December 15, 2011
Holiday Party Hors d'Oeuvre: Pigs in a Blankeypoo
There is a running joke about Pigs in Blankets. While the image sounds fuzzy and cozy, is it kosher to wrap up a barn animal and eat it as an hors d'oeuvre?
I say yes. Red dye no. 2 and all. Bring it on. (And pass the French's mustard.)
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