Not yet...Maybe later?

I was talking to a couple of friends at work this week who'd never seen this little chestnut. This has got to be one of my favorite things on film ever. Enjoy:



Enjoy.

Two things I love:

Mormon boys and synchronized swimming. . . Enjoy:



Thanks Meredith for the tip

It's all over but the wearing of silly hats...

I went to my final class as a master's student at UNLV tonight. I turned in my sub-par paper, went to dinner with my friend Becky, and it's over. I can scarcely believe it myself. If I so choose, I will not have to ever go back to the UNLV campus after next Tuesday when I walk in graduation.

A couple of my professors want me to start working on my doctorate, like yesterday, but I am looking forward to a little while of just being a teacher, member of the AVID Training Cadre, and teaching professional development classes for the district. (I know. I don't know how to say no) I'm looking forward to coming home after school and reading books FOR PLEASURE again. I'm looking forward to naps and summers spent trying to fill my time.

I know that I'll feel a little lost in a couple of weeks when this all sinks in and I will start looking for ways to fill my time. I've been considering a couple of things....



First of all, I've lost all of my excuses for not working out, and I'm tired of being fat and feeling like crap. I really want to get on this one.



I could pick up an old favorite: cross stitch. That way I could become "The Cross Stitcher of Light". Watch out everybody, you could have one of these babies heading your way.



Maybe I'll pick up a new skill? I've actually thought about this one, but don't know where to go about learning, since I don't learn skills too well from books. We'll see. I'd love to be able to knit, even if it's just scarves.



and I haven't scrapbooked in two years. Almost two years exactly. Of course, the scrapbooks I'll be creating will be Austen: The Early Years. I swear, any day I'll be dressing him like a baby and pushing him around in a stroller.



I could get down to business and write that book I've always thought about, but if I do that I might as well consider climbing this:



'cause it sounds like the same amount of effort to me.

What I'd love to do is go back to England and stalk this guy:



But I don't have the money.

Any suggestions?

Bice Advice

Sorry it's been so long since my last post. Things have been crrrraaaaazzzyyyy since Thanksgiving. I'll catch you up later, but thought I'd send a little bit of bedazzled wisdom your way. Enjoy.





I often think of [Uncle Joe] as I sit at my design table surrounded by fabric swatches and appliques... He used to say that life was like eating a Hershey's Bar...If you eat it all at once, it will come right back up and there will be no joy in it...He would say, "Life is to be lived one chunk at a time. Remember Jeannie Marie, slow and steady wins the race."

There's nothing like an analogy that involves puking up candy. It really paints a picture, doesn't it?

Thank you Uncle Joe. Thank you.

*Admit it, you're a better person just for reading that.

Something I'm thankful for...

Every Thanksgiving it's my job to make the dinner rolls. It's a long process involving multiple risings and a big mess, and I love every second of it. I love the smell of milk and honey, of yeast and flour. I love the sticky mess on my fingers and the melted butter in the bottom of the pan. I love watching the dough rise as if by magic and the beautiful brown color and smell of the rolls as you take them from the oven. Most of all I love the memories it brings back.

My paternal grandma taught me to make these rolls when I was a very little girl. I was so little that she'd put the giant ceramic bowl on a stool and bend if half while she mixed the dough so that I could help stir. She taught me the "feel" of good dough and just how to push it through the circle of your thumb and index finger so that your rolls will rise high and smooth and uniform.







She also taught me how to make her cinnamon rolls with their complicated twists containing cinnamon and sugar and caramel coated crispy bottoms.






But most importantly, by teaching me her secrets, she was telling me how much she loved me.

And, although she's been gone a long time, when I make these rolls, I feel like I'm telling her the same thing.

Bedazzled Wisdom

I'm going to admit something that will potentially cause you to lose any and all of the respect you may have for me: I like to watch QVC.

I've never actually purchased anything from QVC, although it's been close a time or two, so you may ask, "Why do you watch it?" Two words: JEANNE BICE.



For those of you who don't know the genius that is Jeanne Bice, she is the founder and creator of Quacker Factory. What is Quacker Factory, you may ask?

According to the Quacker Factory website,

"The Quacker Factory is a mythical little cottage, nestled beside the beach in a quaint Floridian seaside town. As you approach "The Factory", down a cobblestone walk, you are greeted by a charming picket fence. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The ocean breezes and clean salt air causes a rustle in the coconut palms. From the pond out back, you hear the occasional quacking of ducks... that are our inspiration.

Enter "The Factory" and you find open airy spaces, with billowing curtains, wide windows shaded by tropical shutters and the calming sounds of waves breaking on the beach. The floors are bleached-out pine boards and the furnishings are made of whicker with over-stuffed cushions of bright colored gingham. The walls are hung with angels galore - fresh cut flowers in vases and pails are everywhere. A huge wraparound porch affords a view of both beach and pond. Comfy patio furniture beckons you to grab a fresh ice cold lemonade and settle in. This is where we make dreams come true."
(This goes on for at least five more paragraphs, if you've got the time I highly recommend visiting the link above. Additionally, the English teacher in me would like to point out that I cut and pasted from the site. Any mistakes in spelling/grammar/punctuation are not mine.)

This is also where "we" make fashions like this:



Or this one if you're feeling particularly patriotic:



Or this one for a romantic date:


And this one lights up (no I'm not kidding), which could come in handy if when at the movies with your fella you go ahead and pick out seats while he buys the popcorn. That way when he comes into the dark movie theater you can just turn it on and he'll find you with no problems.

Anyway, Jeanne is as colorful and sparkly as her creations, and I love every minute of her headband wearing, cliched platitude spouting performances on QVC. She started as a widow with two sons to feed, a bedazzler, and a dream. Now she's like Buddha to the "Quackers" who pretty much worship the ground she walks on. They go on Quacker cruises, buy Quacker jewelry, and literally quack at her and each other. Again, I'm not kidding. I couldn't make this stuff up.

Jeanne is delightfully ditzy, sincere, and decidedly un PC. Here's my favorite Jeanne Bice moment of all time:



So, in Quacker land the score is now Christians: 1 Jews: 0.

Anyway, my sister knows my love of all things Bice and a couple of years ago bought me Jeanne's book:



What you can't see is that the cover has GLITTER!!! It's full of "sparkly flair. . .folksy charm" and! exclamation! points! To make things even better, when Jeanne writes something she finds particularly insightful, it's printed in pink. I've decided as a regular feature I'm going to share these "gems" (Get it?) with you. I can't keep them to myself any longer.

Here's the first, are you ready for it?

Dreams really do come true. So ruffle your little pink feathers and get dreaming!"

You're welcome.

It's a Wonderful Life. . . if you're not an OLD MAID.

*** Editor's note: I would like everyone reading this to note that my blog is a place wherein I relay things that pop into my head. I often exaggerate for effect. This post is an example of this. I would like to note that I am not miserable in my single state and this post is not a cry for help. So, although you may be tempted, there's really no need to leave me helpful hints for living a happy life. I'm good. Thank you, that is all.


When I was in high school I saw the classic film It's a Wonderful Life for the first time. If you know me, and I think most of you do, you know that I love all things Christmas. I'm not usually one for the super cheesy, but at Christmas time I say bring on the cheesiest, sappiest, most sugar coated sentimentality possible.

But....I must admit that I pretty much hated It's a Wonderful Life. Maybe it was the length or the glowing talking stars at the beginning. I don't know what it was back then, but I just didn't like it.

Last year my mom bought me the two dvd set of White Christmas and It's a Wonderful Life. I've watched and rewatched White Christmas, but have ignored the other until Sunday afternoon.

So, did I like it? I must say that I was absolutely charmed. Jimmy Stewart was adorable dancing the charleston and positively kissable in his old school football sweater and pants while flirting with a nearly flawless Donna Reed. I spent the majority of the film downright ashamed of high school me for hating this film until they got to the pinnacle of the "what the world would be like without George" part when he asks Clarence what happened to his wife Mary, and they lost me.

For those of you who haven't seen the film, George and Mary fall in love when Mary is just 18 and then marry a couple of years later while she's being actively pursued by a guy who goes on to make millions. So, you might expect that what George discovered is that if he were never born she went on to marry this guy and become a cold and materialistic woman, unhappy with her life. But no.

Instead, Clarence, nearly in tears, tells George, "I'm not supposed to tell you what happened to Mary George." When Jimmy Stewart demands to know the truth, a terrified and horrified Clarence practically shouts, "Mary became AN OLD MAID!"

Then, to add insult to injury (for those of us who share this awful fate), George runs down the street to find Mary, with dark circles under her eyes, a dowdy grey dress and frumpy hat, round wire rimmed glasses, leaving her job as a librarian. Even worse, when George runs up to her she shrieks in fear and FAINTS!

I'm sure all of you know this already, but I must say from the spinster perspective that it removed most of the warm tingly feelings I had for the film up until that point.

I'm not saying that having a family and a husband that loves you isn't rewarding. I'm not saying that I don't want those very things for myself. What I'm saying is, "Is my life really the worst thing you could imagine?" I would hope not.

After it finished, I found myself giggling uncontrollably whenever I thought about Clarence's big reveal, happy I'm a spinster now rather than then.

Oh well, I've got to wrap this up and go and eke out the remainder of my miserable existence. Because, if the film is to be believed, it's possible that I could be living in an alternate reality wherein my George (who is the answer to all of my problems, naturally) has become discouraged and suicidal and wishes that he'd never been born. When his Clarence makes it so he apparently decides that not existing is better than being married to me. (Coincidentally this is similar to the response of every boy/man I've ever dated, so it's entirely possible)

At least I'm not bitter.