"a beautiful little fool..."

"a beautiful little fool"...So said Daisy Buchanan in F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. But those weren't Daisy's words at all...those were the words of Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald, F. Scott's wife...upon the birth of their daughter Frances "Scottie" Fitzgerald.

I have always been a lover of F. Scott Fitzgerald's work and especially The Great Gatsby...with it's allure of such grand parties full of high fashion and classic cocktails. Born and raised in Montgomery, Alabama, I was immersed in Fitzgerald frenzy for years as it was also the hometown of Zelda Sayre...she and F. Scott met at a country club dance in 1918, when he was in town on leave from the Army. They danced, fell in love, dated, moved away, and later married in New York. All the while F. Scott was filling pages with words that would eventually become classics. Very soon they had a child...a daughter whom they called "Scottie". It is because of Scottie that I have given the above background. In a world of romanticism about the Fitzgerald's...there was a boy who lived in an apartment often hearing the peck of a typewriter... sauced words...and heavy steps. She was a middle aged lady...he a college student...living in a small brick 2 story walk up apartment in Cloverdale in Montgomery in the 70's. And then they met...she took a fall...he helped her up and it was there the story unfolded. Scottie Fitzgerald was her name...the only daughter of F. Scott and Zelda...she too, a writer...the boy...my father. He was a student at the nearby college. Scottie kept to herself often banging on her typewriter until the wee hours, stumbling and stammering but all a beautiful symphony in the history of the Fitzgerald's. On one of the nights my father unloaded her burgeoning arms of groceries to her apartment across from his...she gave him a photo...a photo of her and Zelda...her mother...at the beach. A "thank-you" of sorts for my father's attention and willingness to help. A photo my father would treasure. And so...the "beautiful little fool"...had become a woman...a woman of substance...a woman who for all her normalcy...carried the weight of history...the history of her mother's psychiatric parables...her father's alcoholism...and their extravagant outspokenness. A weight that would bring her back to those roots...back to where it all started...and in turn becoming part of another history...my family's history for which we are eternally grateful. "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past"...The Great Gatsby

heirloom dresses and...tomatoes

With the first full day of summer ushered in this week I am feeling particularly drawn toward all things cool...well...er, not hot! After waiting and waiting and...waiting I finally purchased a dress I've had my eye on for months now. A white eyelet ankle skimming dress with an heirloom appeal that epitomizes summer...there's something so perfect about a crisp white summer dress! While in deep thought about all things heirloom, particularly french hand sewn dresses and how beautifully ornate yet simply classic they are I was struck by the similarity of two of my favorite summer time things...heirloom dresses and heirloom tomatoes. By definition an heirloom dress is, according to Merriam Webster...something of special value handed on from one generation to another. And heirloom tomatoes...a horticultural variety that has survived for several generations usually due to the efforts of private individuals. With that said, I've decided to slip into my breezy heirloom dress, savor an heirloom tomato sandwich, and give a nod to the classics...it is after all...a generational responsibility!

Out...and about

I have been on holiday...vacation...general rebel rousing, whatever you call it. I'll be back in the proverbial saddle soon! While you wait with baited breath for my next post, check out Little and Ashley on Amazon Music! They'll make your heart go ZOOM and make your summer...SUPER!

Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?

It's officially summertime which means the "boys of summer" are at it again and the smell of hotdogs and cracker jack fill the air. There's a great sense of Americana in going to the ballpark...it's a time to relax and watch your boys do the thing they do. Hopefully they win but if they come up short in the end...it's still fun. Whether you're sipping a cold one or downing a salty pretzel it's a time to regroup, reunite, assess your dreams, and root for your team. But...in a world filled with television, Playstations, busy schedules, and...computers, I beg the question..."where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?" Where has the nostalgia of America's greatest pastime gone? Where has the ballpark fashion of years gone by...gone; when going to a game was as fashionably forward as going to the Derby? When was the last time we sat for hours with our friends and family while enjoying the night air, (or day air but "night air" sounds better and less...um, sweaty) catching foul's and catching...up? Whether you pull for the "majors" or follow the farm teams, it's fun all the same! I'm ready to cheer on my team, stretch in the 7th and fall in love again with the sport that was made for us! My last "majors" game was 4 years ago...Yankees...Red Sox...3 game series in NY. It was perfect in every way...except for the B train to the Bronx, but even that was memorable because on one of the trips we sat next to Freddy, the Yankee's superfan! There's just something about it...maybe it's the heat, maybe the food, maybe the beer...maybe the players, whatever it is...it's something to believe in! "Well, I believe in the soul,...the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days." - Crash Davis (Kevin Costner) Bull Durham

Sex and the...Country

The recent release of the Sex and the City 2 movie got me thinking...what is it about the "sex and the city"? Is it the fashion, the food, the parties, the bustle, or the hustle that makes it so good? As I wondered this aloud I thought about a friend of mine...a girl who lived in the city, dined at James Beard Award restaurants, sipped cocktails al fresco, and worked for a fancy magazine. She's since taken her Choo's to the Country and well...it suits her! She's baking up a storm and growing a million plants, vegetables, and herbs. She's traded her Derby hat for a sun hat and in her quest to help launch a wonderful local nursery/farm...my question is this...is "Sex" and the Country better? My guess is YES! There's something so alluring about a simpleness that reminds us of a less hectic time in our lives. Mornings filled with honking geese instead of honking horns. Rumbling engines from tractors instead of City buses. And when the day is done, an evening with a man that's there with her to share dinner and a cocktail with...now that's BIG! A world where her City lights are fields of fireflies, her gourmet dinners are prepared from scratch, and the cocktails are hand mixed with berries from the farm...how refreshing. A true Country girl I've never been but I can't help but feel a little jealous! When did we become so consumed with the City? When did we have to eat garlic butter drenched escargot in piping hot cast iron to feel cultured? Or sip Lillet martinis to feel fancy? While I love the City and Carrie's Louboutin's to pieces I'm beginning to think my dear friend is on to something. So...I say this: take your friends, your love, your Louboutin's, and your Sex to the Country and I bet you'll bid the City adieu! (for a little while at least!)

a house or a home?

Sometimes you just want to go home, but in trying to find the "perfect" house I have realized that the home I'm looking for is what we have to make for ourselves. We want to live in a great place to raise our daughter; close to the city and yet still with some distance. I imagine a yard where she can run and play and a house with character and charm that she can grow up in. A home to entertain in and a place that's a refuge for us. A wonderful backyard replete with Italian party lights and hanging lanterns and large wood farm tables for friends and family to gather on nice evenings under the stars. With that said, in our search for just what I have described, I have come to realize that I know exactly the house I want...I want The Braverman's home and unfortunately it's a set for the NBC show Parenthood. I want their backyard (did I mention the yard? ha!) and their farmhouse kitchen. I want their space with all it's quirk and quaint. I want their mismatched outdoor furniture and potting tables overflowing with terracotta. Now...I just need to find the perfect house to make this "home". What is your dream home? What house did you always picture would be yours? I suppose it's really not the "house" that makes a "home" as the old adage goes...it's the love that fills it, the family and friends that gather there, and well...Italian party lights, and occasional outdoor dinners do help! Follow this link for a song and video that'll make you smile! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4306i99LMXo

"help...I need somebody"!

If you're like me, and want to help out with the Gulf Oil Spill, here are a few links to help you get started helping out! http://www.audubon.org/ http://www.ibrrc.org/ http://www.nwf.org/ And if you'd like to wear your heart on your sleeve while helping at the same time you can visit: http://www.mignonfaget.com/shop/category/gulf-coast.html Now...get out there and HELP!!!

"I feel it in the air...summer's out of reach"

After a great Memorial Day weekend with my family I am now back to the reality that while to me Memorial Day weekend signifies the kick off to summer, I am saddened to know that "summer" may never have the same meaning for my child who will never know the fun of heading to the beach at the first of the season. Or smelling the salt air blow through her hair, building sandcastles with elaborate moats to keep out would be sand crab intruders, picking up perfect shells, revelling at the masses of seagulls pestering her for cheese puffs, standing in awe of a perfect pelican formation, or simply feeling the sand between her toes. With the oil spill in it's second month of continuous free flow into the Gulf of Mexico and with no end in sight, I am frightened to think of how this will forever change our lives, our livelihood, and really...our history. How will things be done in the future without the Gulf we have relied on for our entire lives? Right now it's hard to fathom the big picture but knowing that the rite of passage of heading to the gulf coast for the week of spring break, graduation, or Memorial Day has most likely been taken from my daughter's lifetime, I can't help but feel she's been robbed and like any mother, I'm furious!