Growing roots and slowing down…
Off for our monthly breakfast with Diddy-Bop, aka Dad, bright and early this morning. I never know what to expect with the windshield when he’s driving. Will it be covered in frost or dew with barely a sliver of glass cleared to see through as we charge eastward on 28 into the blinding glare of the morning sunrise? We shall >not necessarily< see. 😳 Stay tuned.
I don’t think it’ll ever matter how old I get, there is nothing better than a SNOW DAY!!! Schools are canceled and WORK was canceled for me! I was so jazzed, I was dancing and bopping around the house and could not wait to get out for a snow bath. Reminded me so much of my Full Moon baths once upon a time long ago when the house I lived in backed up onto an old graveyard. My landlady turned me on to Moondancing — dancing naked in a graveyard while bathing with Moonlight on a warm MidSummer eve. It’s surprisingly healing, truly liberating and the Spirits were wonderful company.
Does anyone else find as they get older they’re talking to themselves more so they don’t forget what they’re doing? Mostly by yourself but even sometimes WITH someone? Yeah? Thought maybe so.
Today’s one of my sister’s birthdays, and if you’re the oldest in your family, as I am, you know which one that is. Yep, the one born after you. Still, I enjoyed a couple of lovely gap years with my parents all to myself until “Cissy Marie” arrived on the scene. My mother supposedly caught 2 1/2 year-old me occasionally “bonding” with my younger sibling, telling her “I love you Cissy-Marie” while I gave her little smacks across the face. From photos of us as toddlers together, it’s apparent she grew on me eventually. By the time sisters three and four arrived on the scene, I’d pretty much resigned myself to sharing the spotlight, and usually enjoyed having them around. I realize now that my sisters were the best gifts my parents could ever have given me.
31 days hath January and we’re already on Day 5! We never did get our anticipated snowfall the other day, but rather a light, non-existent dusting overnight, the only evidence of it to be found in the stingy drifts in corners of porches and along the eaves of a kitchen roof. I don’t want to give up on the promises of what I consider a good January just yet, but why for the love of an-as-yet-unmet Supreme Being, does the snow always end up hijacked or stuck in an almost 24-hour major traffic jam somewhere in the godforsaken South, where they never get snow? Meanwhile, I pine for it here. And they say April is the cruelest month.
It will be two weeks now since we arrived at the Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge for a first time stay there. Our last trip out to the Berkshires, we’d stayed at its sister motel up the road in Great Barrington, The Briarcliff. I’d always figured the Red Lion would be way out of our price range, but after that visit to the Briarcliff we were intrigued by the Red Lion, and lo and behold, it’s more affordable than one might think, especially in a world of corporate Marriotts, Hiltons, and the like. It’s an old inn, born and reborn over the course of a couple of hundred years, the site of a tavern on an old stagecoach stop between Albany and Boston. The outside can be a bit deceiving, and gave Marty pause as he did not know what to expect on the inside. However, I did, as I’d popped into the lobby on our prior visit. It does not disappoint — with its quiet, friendly demeanor, and a genteel elegance, when you step over the threshold, especially during a holiday season, you will be transported to the once upon a time world of your childhood imagination — a romantic world of art, beauty, history, cordiality, charm and grown-ups.
Wonder, awe, excitement — I felt it all as we proceeded to our room on the pet-friendly first floor. Bear in mind, old buildings have quirks, as any interesting personality is bound to, and rooms are not at all cookie-cutter repeats. I’m not even sure it would be possible to duplicate our tiny room, with its odd angles, extra corners, doors backing into each other, and so on. But sweet, sparkling, and welcoming it was, with a cozy fire already lit in the grate. It was the perfect size for us when we had a 20 pound dog, but a bit of a tight squeeze with our slightly-under 50-pound Oonagh.
Fortunately, the innkeepers encourage guests to wander and explore the floors and halls, lingering in endless gathering spaces filled with comfortable seating, art, antiques, books, games, pianos, ghosts, and more. With plenty of space beyond the walls of our room, there was no need to feel confined, nor did we have any desire to stay put. We’d landed in the world of Nutcracker Suite, and to not give it the attention it deserved would have been most rude.
While we’d been disappointed that the Lion’s Den, the dim, cavern-like speakeasy-style bar with oodles of taps, was closed for renovation, the tiny Tavern bar, around the corner and down the hall, within perfect stumbling distance from our room, did not disappoint. Half-dozen seats, limited, but exceptional libations, Ryan, bartender extraordinaire, prodigal son of the Berkshires, king of The Manhattans that are beyond the Big Apple delicious, it was all just perfect as it was. And that was just day one. Day two was just as glorious, with strolls around the small town of Norman Rockwell fame, before another evening settling in at the Inn. By the time checkout came, the following day, we were prepared to book a longer stay in January, this time in a suite. However, there are no pet-friendly suites, but the gracious and kind Front Desk Manager Miranda showed us one of her favorite rooms, which we promptly booked and plan to adopt as “ours.”
Sigh, if I could live in a room at an inn as “Eloise” does, it would be the Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge. I wouldn’t even mind if my room was haunted. I’d be sure to let the spirit know I’m a friendly mortal.
While I am not one for branding, especially when it comes to ourselves, I do find certain brands of useful items do become favorites. Same as I feel about rituals and recipes. Take cookie baking and holiday card making. We keep our Christmas pretty simple, but even so, it’s easy to start feeling flustered and overwhelmed as the day quickly approaches. Self-doubts of “am I doing enough,” or “bummer, I missed this year’s event, now I have to wait until next year…” But at least I have cookies and cards — I can always count on myself getting to them. Still, even those pursuits can become overwhelming when they turn into minor disasters as they did for me the other day. Disasters I actually ended up laughing at as I quickly put a fresh spin on the situations, otherwise known as my own version of “rebranding.” Take the cookies. A standard recipe I’ve made for decades, many know these simple cookies as Russian tea cakes, Mexican wedding cakes, Polvorones, they go by many names, and now they have a couple of new ones. I’d frozen the dough earlier in the month, thawed it, and popped the first little buttery, sugary balls of dough in the oven. Delighted with my feeling of ease as I had plenty of time still before the big day. So, I was quite flabbergasted when I pulled the first tray of these melt-in-your-mouth morsels out of the oven, my eyes bulging at the sight of them collapsed and puddling together in a way they are not SUPPOSED to do. However, the calm, cool, collected, EXPERIENCED home cook has learned — she always has two options after the taste test — toss, or — REBRAND. My tea cakes became “lacy wafers,” and as I dumped the rest of the dough in a square pan, that batch became shortbread. I have done this countless times for dinner with my dad and Marty, and neither one has ever caught on. As far as the Christmas cards went, I rushed to get them to the mailman, using a sponge to seal all the envelopes. Unfortunately, the liquid ink I addressed them with smeared in the process, but no matter. I’ll just tell people it was snowing hard when I went to mail them. My final task of the day was to make calendula salve, and all went well. No salvage to do, thank goodness. Cuz, man? Rebranding, you know? I can only take so much of it.
Interested in a bit more risqué in your dress-up play? I’m starting to sort through more boxes of inventory from our shop days — products I think some of you may have fun playing with, perhaps tapping into your naughty wench persona. This is the first lot I’m working through and rather than doing a posted giveaway as I’ve done in the past, I’d rather put together goodie bag assortments of 6-10 pieces for anyone who is interested. We did learn from the last round that postage has increased considerably so if you’re okay paying for some of the postage, then please let me know your interest, along with your address and size. I will then package your goods, and give you an estimate on postage.
Items in this lot feature a lot of Leg Avenue type clubwear/streetwear — lacy, racy thigh highs, garter stockings, and pantyhose (in fishnets, patterns, stripes, and various colors), some black garter boy shorts, pink lace thong/garter belt combo, black lace thong/garter belt combo, assorted leggings from Capri with side buttons to wet look full length lacing up the back of the leg — and let’s not forget a couple of masquerade masks, and several pairs of opera and wrist gloves — in lace, satin, etc (black, white and a light blue pair). Sizing is mostly O/S (one-size) and/or S/M and M/L.
Looking forward to getting this done so I can move on to another lot because I think it’s kinda fun.
Postcard Series VII releases on Sunday. Upon reflection, I found the last series a bit so-so with too many swimsuit images, so this one will be more in keeping with what I have in mind for the collection. If you’re interested and not vetted yet, it’s a good time to do so. The releases are always limited to 10 patrons and/or 10 days. Also, while I welcome feedback, please keep in mind that approval can be revoked at any time if I cease to feel comfortable with you. Thanks for understanding and thank you for supporting this avocation. As always, a bonus is included for regular patrons with your fourth purchase and subsequent purchases afterwards.
The longer I get in the tooth, the more I realize I don’t want to be a “coulda woulda shoulda.” I’ve always believed in “better late than never” though, so trying to to figure out what that looks like for me. Much as it sounds admirable to live and have lived a life with no regrets, I am not sure how many of those folks really exist, I do know that I am not among them. There’s many things I don’t regret, and a few that — eh, if I’m being honest, I do — but as long as I still have breath I want to consider one of my “coulda would shouldas” that can become my “better late than never.” How about you, can one of your “coulda woulda shouldas” become your “better late than never”?