16 December 2009
A Different Point of View
I find it's always a good exercise in critical thinking to approach a situation from a vantage point other than the norm. That's something I try to do on my blog, kbculture, and I've noticed that the host of this blog, Paul Anater, shares a similar outlook.
Thanks, Paul, for letting me contribute once again to your site. Happy holidays to all.
—Leslie Clagett
15 December 2009
Cookies and Sweaters and Booze, Oh My!
So we're ten days away from Christmas and I have to admit that I am woefully unprepared for the holiday. I currently work at the Roosevelt Hotel in downtown New Orleans, and while I have been inundated with decorations, carols and festively dressed holiday revelers since Thanksgiving, I have not been able to get into the spirit of the season. Any of you who have ever worked in the service industry know that the holidays can be one of the most profitable but work-weary times of the year. While everyone comes out to enjoy food, drink and holiday fun, you are in charge of making sure the food and beverages hit the table in a timely fashion while you support the merriment, regardless of the fact that 32 old ladies all want separate checks and need you to capture all of their fun on film while dealing with six other tables.
I was able to attend a holiday function last night as a guest, compliments of my dear friend Brandon, who invited me to accompany him to his company's Christmas party. We indulged in an elegant affair of food and drink (I LIVE for an open bar!) and had the opportunity to enjoy some jazz after dinner. The evening helped me to get in the holiday spirit and reminded me of fun times of Christmases past.
Brandon and I used to live in St. Petersburg, FL, and the two of us, along with Paul, always had a grand time around the holidays. Stopping by Brandon's house the other night for an evening of wine and holiday musicale, I saw that he put up the tree he used to display in Florida, and it reminded me of some the annual events I enjoyed so much at Christmas.
Ever the creative one, here's Brandon in his homage to Sonja Henie:
Paul's tree in 2004
13 December 2009
Dad’s Dream: A Tale of Two Houses
My dad, the electronics professor with the teasing wit and clip-on bow tie, had a manuscript for a college textbook to complete and three noisy rug rats underfoot. “We’ll go to the country for the summer,” he must have said to Mom. So we left the jazzy hum of multi-cultural Monterey for a taste of rural America. Mom and Dad rented a seven-bedroom, turn of the century, Dutch Colonial farmhouse in a small town nestled on the upland slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains. It was 1968.
The house itself was decrepit, with advanced plumbing issues. I can remember turning a squeaky faucet handle and observing the slow oozing of rusty goo into a wall-mount lavatory. It was minimally furnished, most notably for me with a record player and stack of albums which included The Ventures, Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass and The Beach Boys. There were clawfoot tubs, cold linoleum floors and secret passageways. It was absolutely wonderful; and it was here that we all huddled around our black-and-white console TV to watch a grainy image of Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon.
While we kids were enamored with the house and the space to run, Dad was enamored with the close proximity of his beloved redwoods. These are graceful, velvet-barked, tilt-your-head-back-and-try-to-find-the-top kinds of trees. On many Sundays after church we would be treated to dipped cones at Foster Freeze, then a drive through the dense, moist, redwood forests of California’s Coastal Range.
Summer rolled into fall and it became clear that we weren’t ever going back to Monterey. Dad bought several acres of future paradise on a steep hillside with a lush valley view and never finished the manuscript.
For the next five years he was a man with a plan and a long commute to teach year-round plus some night classes. Our occasional vacations meant piling into the Ambassador station wagon (without seatbelts) to visit family, with stops to tour model homes: A-Framed, chalet-style mountain retreats. Dad’s enthusiasm was contagious, and we had all caught it.
So in 1974, when the framing finally went up, we were all totally engaged with the process. I think this is why even today I adore the smell of sawdust on a jobsite or in a cabinet shop. Miraculously my sister and I, as teenagers, were able to agree on one thing: our new bedroom would have lavender walls and chartreuse shag carpet. Deep shag. Life held such promise; we each had ample closet space for our bell bottoms and wrap-around skirts and plenty of wall space for our fuzzy black-light posters. Dad fashioned swinging saloon-style doors to separate the toilet space from our long, double vanity.
All of the cabinetry was birch plywood with a simple, flat door, routed on the back side to lip over the face frame. Outfitted with the latest Harvest Gold appliances, the galley kitchen was no more than ten feet long. Mom chose sunflower gold tile for the countertops and a happy blue and yellow vinyl flooring. There was no microwave of course. We didn’t know we needed microwaves in the 70’s.
Brew-ha-ha
There was, however, a small appliance that truly christened the kitchen of our A-framed chalet in the redwoods. On our first Christmas in the new house, Auntie Midgie and Uncle Owen presented my parents with the latest innovation: a Joe DiMaggio-endorsed, Mr. Coffee automatic drip coffeemaker that eventually gurgled and brewed to everyone’s delight. But Dad “wrote the book” on electronics, so he didn’t need directions. When his first coffee-brewing efforts were met without success, Dad proclaimed in his most professorial voice that there was obviously “too much turbulence in the scupper hole." This would become a family mantra of sorts for all future technical difficulties.
Less than two years later, before the new-house smell had even gone, Dad learned that he had lung cancer. Our family went into survival mode and tried to reconcile that what once felt like a shiny new beginning was now the beginning of the end. My courageous dad tried to go back to work for awhile with just one lung. He loved a few things even more than the redwoods…teaching for one, family for another.
Just before he passed on, he briefly came out of a semi-comatose state and lucidly and with a sense of urgency asked us to sing a hymn, In The Garden. My mom, Auntie Midgie and I sang it very poorly, but the look on his face told me he was hearing something more angelic. Here is the last verse:
I'd stay in the garden with Him,
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go, through the voice of woe,
His voice to me is calling.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
He left us, there in his redwood paradise. He had pursued the things he loved. As I squeamishly approach the age my dad was when he bought that piece of property(!), I appreciate ever more deeply the lifestyle he modeled. He is still teaching. He’s teaching us to journey to discover our own unique dreams, the ones that are so divinely designed that they inspire a hope that propels us to act, and a joy that’s contagious.
Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Today is a gift; that’s why they call it the present.”
Merry Christmas.
My blog: http://www.highdeserthomecompanion.blogspot.com/
On Facebook: www.facebook.com/CocinaDesigns
11 December 2009
It's Puppy Love
Those are our babies. They certainly don't look loved or well fed do they? Spoiled and rotten are usually the best way to describe those two. Dolly is on the right and she's 2 and a half years old. We acquired her from a breeder we stumbled upon in North Alabama when we decided it was time to have a new member in the family. We really didn't do our research with the breeder as we should have and when we met her she was the last of the litter. It really was love at first sight. She was the cutest thing you've ever seen, and personality to boot. She fit with us from the get go, and we were so happy to take her home.
A couple months ago we decided it was time to add to our brood and started the process of searching out the right place to get another Boston Terrier. They have been in our family for years back so it was hardly an issue of which breed we preferred.
The wonders of the Internet aren't easily measured. Just browsing around, I could not believe the vast amounts of purebred dogs that were being abandoned and abused. After thinking about it, I know that my naivety had gotten the best of me and not all dog owners give the care to their animals that we do. Seeing the sad little faces broke my heart. We knew upfront that a rescued Boston would be a world of different situation compared to the brand-new puppy training we had with Dolly.
We found Quincy(in the picture, on the left) through Rockin' P Rescue outside of Atlanta. They folks there were great to work with and I certainly admire people that deal with what some people consider 'unwanted' pets. After meeting a skinny but perky Quincy we decided, with Dolly's approval, that he needed to be part of our family.
I would be telling a fib if I said it has been all giggles and roses. He came home with us at 9 months old with not a stitch of training outside the training his gracious foster-parent had offered. He wasn't accustomed to being inside and had evidently been left outside most if not all the time.
This will be our first Christmas with Quincy. Dolly loves him and they play constantly, always thinking the toy the other has is the one to have. They have created all emotions imaginable, from funny to heart-warming. We really couldn't imagine life without them.
Dolly comes to work with me a lot and Quincy will too as soon as he grows up some and can sit still for a little while. You wouldn't believe the people that come by the showroom just to say hi to the dogs.
I realize that puppies aren't for everyone and they can be a handful for sure. If you're considering a pet for someone this holiday or anytime, please remember that there are so, so many out there that need a good home. There are plenty of upstanding breeders out there, but for every good one there are untold numbers of puppy mills.
There are rescues all around you, I promise.
If you need a charity for this holiday season, these guys could sure use your help. Not all charity is money! Food, beds, toys, etc. are always welcome at most any rescue or humane society.
http://www.btrescue.org/
Thanks again to Paul for letting me say my bit. Talk to you all soon, I hope!
Not just for June Cleaver!
Everything has it's place in our industry. These appliances don't fit in every one's dream kitchen but they do have make it in to many period homes. If you're looking for something outside the norm, outside the side-by-side stainless steel, this is a great alternative.