It's no secret that I'm a constant worrier! Seriously, if the term "worry wart" were literal there wouldn't be enough Creme de La Mer to save my skin! While I keep most of my worry tucked neatly away...every now and then my "crazy" comes out. Whether it be some incurable disease, bed bugs (seriously checked the mattress 3 nights in a row!), or my latest...the Mayan Calendar and our certain demise in 2012...I am a worrier of monumental proportions! Yes, I am often made fun of by my friends but they do get a kick out of it and many times they'll just defer to me because they know I've probably encountered or researched whatever they are currently concerned about. And, I think I do more worrying now that I'm a mom...a keeper of someone who relies on me 100% for 100% of everything! But what if we could just figure everything out as we go. What if we didn't have to look at the big picture...instead we could just roll out of bed and take each day like a toddler...with no fear and a constant desire to walk everywhere...all the time! We'd all be super fit...early risers...mid-day nappers...with no worry in sight! Truth is, we are inundated on a daily basis with one more thing to worry about. Did our grandparents worry like us or did they simply spend more time outdoors...away from the television...with no computers...and a party line that could be tied up all night if someone's child's friend's cousin was in town and dressed improperly for church. So, here's my question...is this "worry" made for TV? Is it was drives us to the theater to see epic life-ending demise type movies? Is the constant barrage of gloom and doom news and our country's economic decline what infuses us with worry that can not be quelled? Have we become so used to the worry that we crave it as entertainment? I have no desire to see movies in which we all are met with a certain death of crumbling mountains...flooded city streets and...no sweet tea. I prefer an escape of dreamier substance...where we aren't being chased by molten lava down 5th Avenue with no time to stop in at Prada and Saks. But...why do so many other people want to see these worrisome thrillers? What is it about certain death that is er, intriguing...entertaining? For now, I'll just keep popping my popcorn at home (gotta get one of those butter squirters) and watching something lighthearted and funny where everyone has a good time...isn't worried about the world coming to an end...has a fabulous wardrobe...and where everyone lives to see another day...I mean, we only have until 2012...might as well have fun...right?? image credit: mark dixon

going...going...gone

Summer is slowly slipping away and while it's mid-August I find myself still clinging to July. Although the thought of a cool fall breeze is well...exciting, I find it interesting that when it's hot...like, SUPER...100+ degree hot...we long for the brisk chill of fall and winter. And, when that brisk chill turns to freezing...we long for the warmth of a summer day. Why can't we just enjoy the hot days when it's hot and the cold days when it's cold? While thinking about this...envisioning myself wrapped in a J.Crew cable sweater, vintage matchstick corduroys, and soft brown riding boots...I realize that it's not really the cooler weather I crave but more so the activities that surround the ushering of fall. Football, the pumpkin patch, the fair, Halloween with friends, delivery of the fall edition of Vogue (you know the one...that's about 2 inches thick and takes you 2 days minimum to peruse from cover to cover)...these are the things I crave...and cooler weather just happens to be part of it. So...with that realization...it's not July I'm clinging to but the activities of summer...swimming, baseball, eating sno-balls, the farmer's market, and vacations that never end. I miss it already and it hasn't even left. But with the "back to school" frenzy and summer hours dwindling...it's only a matter of time. And...as I sit writing this...looking out the window...I can see the tiniest approach of fall...a few yellow leaves...a bit of a breeze...and if I stare long enough I can see a fall day before me. But alas...the thermometer reads 97 degrees and well...seems July is clinging to August. image credit: Greg Lawler - Zinkwazi Photoblog

thinking inside the Box...

Remember those accordion wallet photo holders...you know...the ones that your grandmother kept filled with the photos of every year of school you had completed. All stuck there...immortalized in their little frames of perforated plastic. Or...in the cube that sat on the coffee table for everyone to view. How did they get the pictures in the cube anyway? Photos have always been a big part of our lives. Good or bad they are the memories that are cherished most...memories that can be passed on from one generation to another. I can remember sitting for hours at Olan Mills as a child. I hated those days...(no offense Olan but really...so boring in there). And the wagon wheel and split rail fence are just...well...odd. But there I was...in some sort of terry cloth halter get-up posing on the fence as if I had just gotten off my horse to pick daisies in the field behind me. Thank goodness photography has evolved over the years. While I do still love a Polaroid and a photo booth, I am forever amazed by the genius of photographers...namely...Kim Box Photography. When my daughter turned one I sought the best photographer I could find. One that would capture my daughter in all of her innocence but still maintaining a natural element. There would be no pressure to pose, no pressure to perform, and even room for meltdowns and clothing mishaps. Kim does everything with an ease that will set the tone for the most wonderful moments you will ever have captured. After the session...and all my one year old's squirming and fussing and...my wrangling her in the hot October sun I thought there couldn't have been more than one picture that would turn out. But there we were...a couple weeks later...staring...fighting back tears...as we looked at the photos of our sweet little girl. Every picture was perfect...better than the last. Somehow Kim had managed to get every shot right...every moment seemed pure perfection. And somehow we managed to make a decision on what to order. I left their studio knowing that I would be back.

This past spring we...once again...went to Kim for photos. This time...at the beach...and with the whole family. There again, I had no idea if any would turn out (toddlers are not predictable...seriously). The beach was so beautiful...if anything we'd have a perfect backdrop and sunset to fall back on. We wandered around Watercolor in 30A...first in the gardens...then the pier...and finally the beach. With just a few fits and lots of singing and general clowning to get a toddler's attention...we managed to get in what I thought would be a few good shots. A couple weeks passed and there we were again...sitting...fighting back tears...as we saw each image. How would we choose? After pouring over each image we settled on ordering an album...not the sticky plastic...accordinan...album-esque type from my youth...but one that would be cherished by us and some day our daughter...for a lifetime. And...again...I left knowing I would be back... When you find that balance...that person...that can come into your life and capture it just as it is...no pretense...no forced fun...no disconnect...then you have found a true artist.

Kim and everyone who works with her that we have had the pleasure of meeting and working with are...well...good people. Their work speaks for itself...and their sincerity and compassion come through in everything they do. If you're looking for emotion, natural ease, and love in your photos...it's waiting for you...inside the Box! To capture your own magic visit...http://kimboxphotography.com/

Or visit them in person...

Kim Box Photography 157 W Main Street Prattville, AL 36067 Phone:(334) 491-0409

All images courtesy of Kim Box Photography

Featured in images...me, mr. smith and our daughter...Watercolor 2010

Why do people always say "everything happens for a reason" to make you feel better? I mean, I even say it to myself to talk myself down from the proverbial ledge that I feel like I am constantly "hanging ten" from. While I do believe in destiny and the notion of "everything happens for a reason"...why do people say it ALL the time. Do they really believe that every mishap, missed opportunity, misadventure is laid forth for each of us? I guess I grew up believing that we make our own destiny. There is definitely a "path" but our choices make our lives what they are...sometimes it's chance and sometimes there is indeed a reason. But my question is this...is there a reason I eat soup for lunch on a 100+ degree summer day? Yes, I love soup and well...it's easy. Is there a reason I argue with Mr. Smith about finances and purchases? Yes, because we need more money and...I need more stuff. Is there a reason he broke your heart? Yes, he didn't like you anymore and...never really did. I guess maybe my above interpretations of the free flowing quip are possibly too literal but I just think it odd that it's only used as a coping device...something to get you through the ebbs...to fix things...so to speak. When I say "wow, I'm tired" and decide to go to bed at night no one ever says..."everything happens for a reason". When I'm standing in the grocery trying to coax my toddler to let go of the gigantic juice display...no one ever looks down at me with sweet eyes...knowing my struggle and inevitable outcome if my toddler's hand continues to pull...and says..."everything happens for a reason". Why is that? Why do we seek to qualify everything that goes sour in our life? And...better yet, why do we feel better when we say it? Why is it the dry-erase of phrases? Why does it have the power to make things better...make the disappointment...hurt...and pain go away? Why does it "fix" you? Is it because we are always looking for the good in things? While thinking about this phenomenon, I have come to realize that if everything really does happen for a reason then why don't we always know what the reason is...or was? If it happens for a reason and we never know what the reason was then how do we know there was a reason at all? So, I say this...we need to stop looking for the reason, start living with the consequences of our choices, mishaps, misadventures, and missed opportunities and start learning from our mistakes and believing in ourselves...because apparently the answers aren't always listed upside down in the lower left corner of the page. Now...I wrote this for a reason...wonder what it is? For a quick "fix" click here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skUJ-B6oVDQ above image credit: kamilla beckett

oh, does that come in...beige?

Recently while browsing the Luxury Portfolio of a local real estate company's website I was struck by an odd similarity in these not so humble abodes. I generally like to look at the properties in the $6million -$1million range. I tiptoe through the photos as if I were a guest in their opulent homes...careful not to touch a thing. These homes are decorated with absolute precision...every thing has it's place...every pillow is coordinated and every piece of tile hand selected. However, with the voluminous possibilities I was struck by something...I was struck with...beige. Nearly every room is light, airy, sparse, and...beige. As I looked through...house after house with anticipated serendipity...there it was...if not every room, at least one...prerequisite beige room. Now, don't get me wrong. The idea of a light, airy...beige room...is very appealing to me. But, as the owner of two dogs who have shed so much in their 6+ years of life that they could have duplicated themselves many times over, and the mother to a toddler...the thought of decorating with daring...risky...beige is pointedly foolish. So, as I went from one house to the next I deduced that these homes housed neither pets nor toddlers. But then...there it was...on a far wall. I could barely make out the images. The room was...beige. The sofa...beige. The lamps shaded in...beige. The tapestry...tonal beige. The walls...beige. And...the pastels on canvas...of their precious children...beige. As if to say...yes, we have two children...we love them enough to have them sit for a portrait, but we'd prefer they just...well, blend in. Picture after picture...an occasional "kid's" room with a splash of the lightest...palest blue or a creamier beige. Pools out back with not one strewn float...half drank Capri-Sun or wayward flip-flop. I often wonder, as this is not my first time to browse the homes of the privileged, who lives there, what are they like? Do they cook in their kitchens outfitted for the finest restaurant? Or do the cold...subway tiled walls tell a different story? Do they sit at TV trays on their beige sofas when their favorite shows are on? Do they stumble on the edge of the rug and spill their pinot noir sometimes? Do their children ever step on Cheez-it's...for fun? I ask these questions...knowing the answer. But do I? They are...after all..."For Sale". Are the occupants wanting something bigger? Are they wishing they hadn't bought so big in the first place...or are they wondering when the beige...travertine...carrera...and colorless tidal wave washed over them? My guess...they too are asking...where is the love...where are the kids...and...crap...did I just spill my wine? If you need a little...or a lot...of color infused in your life...check out these sites to get started with your color intervention...

http://www.pantone.com/pages/pantone/index.aspx

http://www.sherwin-williams.com/index.jsp

image credits: RealtySouth

fantastic voyage...

Funny how something as simple as a "smell" can whisk you away on a journey...to another place...a memory...a first kiss...a hot summer day...or cold winter night. I am a very...well..."smelly" person. I don't actually smell...bad, but I am very in tune with my olfactory system. Mr. Smith (the husband) has always made fun of my obsession with smelling things. And, to properly get the full tilt of a scent I must get my face in it...I can't tell you the times I've tried to get him to smell something and actually touched his nose to the item as I was desperately coaxing him to take it in. I smell everything... food before I eat it, candles, linens, pillows, the list goes on and on. It's somewhat of a tic I suppose but one that serves a purpose...and therefore keeps me off the show Obsessed on TLC as it neither "haunts" me nor "preoccupies my mind" as Merriam Webster describes! It's just a quick thought that takes me away...for just a moment. I guess it all started with those markers...you know the ones...the scented ones you begged for as a child. I loved those things. I'm certain I may have even tasted them at some point which I'm sure didn't quite live up to the smell but I loved them nonetheless. In grade school...it was the Trapper Keeper. That big plastic bound "keeper" of your papers...love notes...and er, progress reports. It had a scent that defined that time in my life...where with one whiff every day had the newness of "back to school". In college, my sorority house smelled of Summer Sorbet the entire 4 years I inhabited it. I still buy it (and it's hard to find). I buy it to remember the good ole days where the demands were...less demanding. Although...I do remember during sorority rush one house in particular smelled incredible. I asked many members of that sorority throughout my college days about the scent...none of whom would divulge their aromatic tendencies (guess you had to join for that secret). And what about perfume? I have quite a collection but I pick ones that remind me of specific things. While I love a floral scent...I typically want the reminiscence of something...Cashmere by Donna Karen reminds me of baby dolls...that's right, those soft plastic baby dolls. Lolita Lempicka reminds me of sweet pipe smoke...never smoked one but love the smell. Comptoir Vanille Coco reminds me of trying to achieve the perfect Hawaiian Tropic tan...Pink Sugar by Aquolina reminds me of my pregnancy (because it was the only perfume I could wear that didn't make me sick) and Bobbi Brown's beach reminds me of...well...the beach. Point is...I want the romance...the stoppage of time...the emotion...the trip. What takes your breath away? Is it the remembrance of high school, your first date, your garden, your home, a doll, hot towels from the dryer or...simple florals? Here is a list of my favorite scents...smells...and wafts... -Pomegranite Noir - Jo Malone (my current favorite) -Luxe Linen Candles - Aquiesse -Pipe smoke and Lolita Lempicka perfume -Tomatoes -Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil (according to Mr. Smith: "the best smell in the world") and Comptoir Vanille Coco -Burnt Marshmallows -The beach and Bobbi Brown's perfume...beach -Coffee -Woodwick Candles (for their combination of...er, fireplace+scent) -Summer Sorbet - Aromatique -Fair food (think...sizzling onions, peppers, sausage...elephant ears and funnel cakes) -Old books -soft plastic baby dolls and Cashmere by Donna Karen -baby's breath (not the flowers...actual breath of my child...weird...I know) and many,many more... Now...take a deep breath...pack your suitcase...get your passport ready...and...off you go...on your own voyage! For proboscis perfection here are a few to check out... Jo Malone - http://www.jomalone.com/TheWorldofJoMalone/world.tmpl?CATEGORY_ID=CATEGORY21648 Pish Posh Patchoulis -http://www.patchoulis.com/index,out.htm Three Sheets, a linen shop - 2904 18th St South, Homewood, AL 35209 - Phone: 205-871-2337

If you can't take the heat...

The hot July sun is definitely upon us...which got me thinking. My Great-Grandmother (Granny) never had air conditioning. She lived in South Alabama where the humidity is worn as an accessory and the air sticky as pine sap. How did she do it? Often while visiting her she donned a skirt and a long sleeve blouse...even in summer. I never remember her being hot or perspiring. And...she lived into her 90's. So my question is this...do we need air condition or are we conditioned to the air? I can remember hot summer days spent playing in the yard at my nanny's as a child and eagerly awaiting my mom's arrival. I would bound to the car...jump in...huddle around the vents sucking up the refrigerated air as my mom and nanny talked about the day...letting the blast of air cool my pink shoulders and sweaty nose. At my Aunt's house I remember standing in front of a window unit in the front room letting the cold air blow over me like a jet engine. Was this part of the conditioning? Did my Granny ever do that? Or...was this my "conditioning"...that would someday leave me dependent on a non-sweltering climate? There Granny was, all put together, watching over her turtle soup (try it, it's good) in the kitchen...waiting to fill our bellies with all of it's goodness and not a thought in the world about being hot. With heat waves across New York recently I thought about the fact that many of the homes there don't have air conditioning either. Maybe a window unit in some but for the most part they generally don't have heat that is as oppressive as the South...until recent years. They are used to living without conditioned air but now...people were dying from the heat and here my Granny lived without it her entire life. So, is the heat...er, hotter? Is this global warming notion making it hotter than...hot? Statistically speaking...yes. Last month was the hottest June ever recorded. While I love summer and...well...all things summer...white jeans, sandals, bathing suits, nautical stripes, tissue tees, etc...I don't like to sweat. I like my climate controlled. I like the enveloping chill of coming in from outdoors on hot summer days, but is our constant conditioning causing our heatwaves? On a greater spectrum, is it causing our global warming? What if no one had air conditioners? What if none of the pollution from those air conditioners used to run our controlled climates were in the air? Would it be cooler? Or would we just be used to the heat? We will never know and the "big picture" is, well...too big to see...so the question remains...did we become so dependent...so conditioned... that we can no longer take the heat? Granny...she could take the heat. I know this because, well...she stayed in the kitchen most days! Commander's Palace Turtle Soup 1¼ sticks unsalted butter ¾ cup all-purpose flour ⅓ pound turtle meat, medium dice ⅓ pound veal stew meat, medium dice ⅓ pound lean beef, medium dice 1 cup each minced celery, white onion, green bell pepper 1½ teaspoon garlic, minced 3 bay leaves 1 teaspoon oregano cup tomato puree 1 tablespoon hot sauce 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce ½ teaspoon black pepper 2 quarts beef stock 1 lemon, juiced 4 eggs, hard cooked and finely chopped 4 tablespoons spinach, chopped 4 tablespoons dry sherry Melt 1 stick of butter in a heavy saucepan. Add flour and cook, stirring frequently, over medium heat until the roux is a light brown. Set aside. In a 10 quart saucepan, melt remaining butter and add turtle meat, veal and beef. Cook over high heat until meat is brown. Add celery, onions, garlic, bay leaves and oregano and cook until vegetables are transparent. Add tomato puree, hot sauce, Worcestershire and black pepper and simmer for 10 minutes. Add stock and simmer for 30 minutes. Add roux and cook over low heat, stirring until soup is smooth and thickened. Correct seasoning with salt and pepper to taste. Add lemon, eggs, spinach and sherry. Remove from heat and serve. If desired, at the table add 1 teaspoon of sherry to each soup plate. Even good in the HEAT!