Bah humbug, and other musings
Well, my foray among the rich and horsey turned out to be a complete bust. I did indeed do the steeplechase, and there were a lot of people there, but there were also seven people selling jewelry, and that was far too many for the room. I didn't lose money, even made a bit, but not nearly enough to justify doing such an expensive show again. I'm beginning to question the polo games idea for the summer. I'll possibly do one and see how it goes, but after this weekend my expectations are severely lowered.
There were an amazing number of dogs there. The first event listed on the program was the Jack Russell terrier race, and I wish I'd been able to see what that was, but the merchant tent was so far from the race course that I couldn't see anything, not even the horse events. And since I was, as usual, doing it by myself, I was pretty much stuck at my booth. Same old same old. But the dogs. . . . I must have seen fifty or sixty dogs there, everything from tiny Yorkies in people's arms to a huge Irish wolfhound I was nose to nose with. I seldom get the chance to socialize with dogs, being a cat person myself (hence the avatar) and I did enjoy being around them. Not that it made me want one. My father used to say that a dog was ten times as much work as a cat, a horse was ten times as much work as a dog, and a child ten times as much as a horse. Being a child at the time, I pretty much knew where I stood .
We had horses at the time, so I knew that part was true. I wonder if all preadolescent girls go through that horsey stage. I was lucky enough to be able to indulge mine. We lived in Puerto Rico at the time, and had the native Pasofinos. Lovely animals, but I wouldn't want to have one now.
The last couple of weeks I've had lunch with my bud Johanna on Fridays and we've done some shopping. I simply hate shopping, by and large. Put me in a department store or a dress shop, and all I want to do is bolt for the door.
I have a recurring nightmare about being selected for that show, "What Not to Wear." Now I guess for most people that wouldn't be a nightmare, and I must admit that the thought of having $5000 to spend on new clothes, and advice on choosing them, is not a bad thing. The nightmare part comes when I spend all day looking for clothes and can't find anything to fit me, and I break down in tears on national television. I make most of my clothes for that very reason. When I was about 13, I grew six inches in a year without gaining a pound. I was basically tube-shaped, with no hips, no bust, no waist, and very long arms and legs, and for most of my adolescence there was literally nothing in any size that would fit me. I started sewing purely out of self defense, and clothes shopping has always been kind of a grim affair.
Saturday is my wedding anniversary, 22 years, and Karl and I are going out to dinner someplace nice. I'm thinking Morimoto, since I've been curious to taste his cooking after seeing him on Iron Chef. A few weeks ago Karl was a guest speaker at the Philadelphia SF group, and they took us out to dinner beforehand at Penne, near the University of Pennsylvania campus where the meeting was held. It wasn't until we walked into the restaurant that I remembered that the chef there was my daughter's best friend from high school, Eileen Watkin, a CIA graduate who'd done her externship at Commander's Palace in New Orleans. I'd never actually tasted her cooking, and I found it delightful. I had a filet of striped bass with baby vegetables and a sauce that had be wanting to lick the plate, and Karl had sirloin with a green peppercorn reduction that elicited a similar reaction from him. Eileen came over to the table when she had a chance; it was lovely to see her. I was very proud of her; she's come a long way since she and Lisa entered the city high school chocolate competition.
There were an amazing number of dogs there. The first event listed on the program was the Jack Russell terrier race, and I wish I'd been able to see what that was, but the merchant tent was so far from the race course that I couldn't see anything, not even the horse events. And since I was, as usual, doing it by myself, I was pretty much stuck at my booth. Same old same old. But the dogs. . . . I must have seen fifty or sixty dogs there, everything from tiny Yorkies in people's arms to a huge Irish wolfhound I was nose to nose with. I seldom get the chance to socialize with dogs, being a cat person myself (hence the avatar) and I did enjoy being around them. Not that it made me want one. My father used to say that a dog was ten times as much work as a cat, a horse was ten times as much work as a dog, and a child ten times as much as a horse. Being a child at the time, I pretty much knew where I stood .
We had horses at the time, so I knew that part was true. I wonder if all preadolescent girls go through that horsey stage. I was lucky enough to be able to indulge mine. We lived in Puerto Rico at the time, and had the native Pasofinos. Lovely animals, but I wouldn't want to have one now.
The last couple of weeks I've had lunch with my bud Johanna on Fridays and we've done some shopping. I simply hate shopping, by and large. Put me in a department store or a dress shop, and all I want to do is bolt for the door.
I have a recurring nightmare about being selected for that show, "What Not to Wear." Now I guess for most people that wouldn't be a nightmare, and I must admit that the thought of having $5000 to spend on new clothes, and advice on choosing them, is not a bad thing. The nightmare part comes when I spend all day looking for clothes and can't find anything to fit me, and I break down in tears on national television. I make most of my clothes for that very reason. When I was about 13, I grew six inches in a year without gaining a pound. I was basically tube-shaped, with no hips, no bust, no waist, and very long arms and legs, and for most of my adolescence there was literally nothing in any size that would fit me. I started sewing purely out of self defense, and clothes shopping has always been kind of a grim affair.
Saturday is my wedding anniversary, 22 years, and Karl and I are going out to dinner someplace nice. I'm thinking Morimoto, since I've been curious to taste his cooking after seeing him on Iron Chef. A few weeks ago Karl was a guest speaker at the Philadelphia SF group, and they took us out to dinner beforehand at Penne, near the University of Pennsylvania campus where the meeting was held. It wasn't until we walked into the restaurant that I remembered that the chef there was my daughter's best friend from high school, Eileen Watkin, a CIA graduate who'd done her externship at Commander's Palace in New Orleans. I'd never actually tasted her cooking, and I found it delightful. I had a filet of striped bass with baby vegetables and a sauce that had be wanting to lick the plate, and Karl had sirloin with a green peppercorn reduction that elicited a similar reaction from him. Eileen came over to the table when she had a chance; it was lovely to see her. I was very proud of her; she's come a long way since she and Lisa entered the city high school chocolate competition.